"Fuck, why you gonna be like that?" Wes shakes his head as he walks his client to the counter.

The client—a long-haired hottie in a leather jacket and motorcycle boots—chuckles. "Only speak the truth."

"You believe this shit, Em?" Wes asks.

"You. Shit. Seems plausible," I say.

"Franklin doesn't believe we're in a torrid love affair," he says.

"Hmm… I wonder why. It's so believable. I mean, you have that great personality," I say.

"Fuck personality. I have this." He motions to his face. "Tell me I'm not beautiful."

Wes is a lot of things, beautiful included. "Too pretty for me."

"Em, baby. You don't realize my range," he says.

"This guy giving you trouble?" Franklin asks.

"No. He's kind of entertaining." I motion to Wes, who's still going on about his varying degrees of beauty. He could grow a beard. Or get a motorcycle. Or cover himself in grease. "Makes the time flow."

"Talks a lot," Franklin says.

"And thinks he knows best too." My gaze shifts to Hunter. He's tattooing a dolphin on a pretty girl's shoulder. It shouldn't bother me, him touching her.

It's his job.

But I hate it.

I hate that she's close enough to smell his shampoo.

I hate that she's not broken.

That she could drag him to the back room and fuck him without having to worry about freezing in panic.

I hate that she's incredibly sweet—a fucking conservationist, who literally spends her time saving marine life—and that I have no reason to hate her at all.

And that seeing him with her inspires this petty part of my mind. The part that desperately wants to make him jealous.

It's my job, yeah.

But I also want him jealous.

I bat my eyelashes. "Believe it or not, Wes isn't the most annoying guy who works here."

"No." Franklin leans in. Stage whispers, "Could anyone be worse?"

"You don't know the half of it," Wes says.

I nod. "There's Dean."

Franklin laughs. "With the hot apprentice?"

"Yeah. I think she gets more customers than him at this point," I say.

"She's got epic tits," Wes says. "Can't blame customers."

"She'll kill you for saying that." I mean, she won't. But she will shoot him a death glare. Chloe loves when Dean teases her. When anyone else makes lewd comments, she practically hops into aikido stance.

Okay, I'm pretty sure there isn't actually an aikido stance.

And Wes is the only one who does it.

But, you know…

The point stands.

"Have you had the misfortune of meeting my brother?" I motion to Brendon, who's currently in his suite, tattooing a guy who could give Franklin a run for his money in the long-haired, motorcycle riding hottie category.

"You're Brendon's sister?" he asks.

"God, you're friends, aren't you?" I ask.

He motions to the sleeve on his left arm. "Unfortunately for you."

"You didn't go back to him?" I ask.

"Wanted to try the new guy," Franklin says.

"Fuck, I feel like a piece of meat." Wes motions go on.

He doesn't.

I print Franklin's receipt. Press my chest together as I hand it over.

Hunter's gaze shifts to me.

He asks the ocean lover to take a break. Stands. Stretches his arms over his head.

It pulls his t-shirt up his torso.

Shows off his taut abs.

Which makes my stomach flutter.

I think I'm drooling.

And impossibly achy.

God, I'm always impossibly achy now.

I need to fuck him.

I…

I close my eyes. Picture it. The two of us in my bed. Him sliding his jeans to his ankles. Me tossing my dress over my head. Sliding a condom over his cock. Straddling him. Staring down at him as I take him.

It has to go like that.

I have to be in control.

After… practice, I can let go. Let him lead. Loose myself in him leading.

But not yet.

Not until I…

God, I wish I had a better term than practice.

Who says that?

I need to practice at sex so I can be really good at it. I've been warming the bench for a while because of an, erm, injury four months back. Almost five now, I guess. But I'm doing my rehabilitation and I'm ready to go back into the game. Just need practice.

How the hell did I pick up these sports metaphors?

This is worse than comic books.

Which are actually highly entertaining.

And full of super-hot guys in spandex.

Not that sports are lacking for hot guys in tiny clothes.

But…

Uh…

"Hey." Hunter presses his palms into the counter. Looks to Wes and Franklin with a hey, maybe some privacy.

They stay put.

"This guy bothering you?" Franklin asks.

"No." God, he has such pretty blue eyes. I never get tired of them. "He's here as eye candy."

"Oh?" Franklin chuckles.

"Yeah. Which means." I motion take it off.

"Call Dean if you want that," Hunter says.

"This is cruel and unusual punishment," I say.

Hunter shrugs what are you going to do about it.

"Torture you," I say,

"Already doing that," he says.

"How?"

"Sitting here staring."

"I don't stare," I say.

"You do too."

"Do not."

"And you wear these dresses that demand my attention."

"I like this dress."

"I do too." His voice drops as his gaze shifts to my chest.

Wes cuts in. "Fuck, dude, you gonna pull one of those 'it would look better on my floor' lines? 'Cause you should know that doesn't work." Wes looks to me. Am I right?

"Worst thing a guy could say about my dress," I agree.

"That's not how you hang clothes." Franklin nods.

Hunter chuckles. "What about I prefer your lipstick on my cock?"

"Fuck, that escalated." Wes shakes his head. "They think they're all coy and subtle about fucking."

"Oh." Franklin raises a brow.

Wes whispers something.

Franklin chuckles.

I mean, he's right.

We're so stupid flirting a dozen feet from my brother. Especially when I keep insisting we wait on telling him.

Brendon is in the zone, sure, but it only takes one loud comment to send him into caveman mode.

And that…

I so don't have the mental space for that.

"I don't remember anyone asking for your opinion," I say.

"What about me?" Franklin asks.

"Well, since you asked so nicely." I motion go on.

"You're a cute couple," he says.

Wes shakes his head. "That's betrayal."

"Speak the truth." Franklin holds out his hand.

Wes shakes. Walks him to the door.

Returns with company.

"Look who the cat dragged in?" Wes motions to Griffin, who's incredibly non-plussed.

"You asked me to meet you here," Griffin says.

"You're ruining the mystery, Grif," Wes says.

Griffin shakes his head in that you're ridiculous way of his.

He comes by a lot. To check on Hunter. Or meet Wes. Or just say hey.

He's a good guy.

He obviously wants to be here.

But he's just… not.

"You gonna take a gig here yet?" Wes asks.

"You think I'm gonna ditch Chase just because you asked for the five-hundredth time?" Griffin asks.

"He's a dick," Wes says.

"So are you."

"Less of a dick."

"See. He's even got a smaller dick!"

Griffin rolls his eyes.

Hunter laughs, but it doesn't hide the hurt in his expression. He's given his brother space for months now. But the space between them kills him.

Fucking Wes starts this conversation every time Griffin stops by.

Don't get me wrong. I like Wes.

But he's either oblivious to Hunter's pain or he's reveling in it.

Maybe his intentions are good. Maybe he thinks he's pushing Hunter. But…

Fuck anyone who hurts him.

"You all right, baby?" Hunter's fingers brush my palm.

I look to Brendon. Make sure he's focused on his client. "Brendon said you wanted to take me and Kay to dinner sometime."

"Yeah." Hunter nods.

"Like a double date?" I ask.

"Sorta." He reaches over. Brushes a hair behind my ear. Rests his palm on my cheek.

I lean into the touch.

Let my eyes close.

Let my body fill with warmth.

This is so stupid. So risky. So reckless.

And, right now, I'm so apathetic.

God, I need him touching me.

I need all of him.

All the time.

And I need—

Well, one thing at a time.

"Have an announcement to make," he says.

"You gonna fill us in on the dirt?" Wes asks. "Tell me you're finally getting that Evanescence tattoo."

Hunter shakes his head. "He can't let go of that."

"Can't blame him. Goth Hunter was a thing of beauty," Griffin says.

"You weren't there," Hunter says.

"I've seen pictures." Griffin chuckles. "You looked like a fool."

"Jesus, Griff! How many times do we need to have this conversation! Tact!" Wes shakes his head what's wrong with you?

They exchange that headshake pretty much… all the time.

I would tell them to leave.

But they're doing a great job blocking Brendon's view.

And, well, they're kinda entertaining.

Friends.

Family.

They're Hunter's family.

Maybe it's still fucked-up with his older brother. But it's something. It's a hell of a lot.

"No. Em gets to hear it first." Hunter rubs my temple with his thumb. "You free next Tuesday?"

I nod. "You free tonight?"

"Depends why you're asking." He plays coy, but we both know it's bullshit. We spend nearly every night together.

"I was thinking about that thing," I say.

"That thing?"

"Where the ball's in my court." I clear my throat. "I was thinking, um, that I want to, um…"

"She wants to bone you, dude. Even I can figure that out," Wes says.

"And I need tact?" Griffin shakes his head.

"Two things can be true," Wes says.

"Fuck, they're always ruining the moment," Hunter says.

"No. It's perfect," I say.

His eyes bore into mine. "You sure?"

"I think so."

He nods.

"My place?" I swallow hard. Adopt an impossibly easy smile. "Sevenish?"

The smile he returns is a hundred percent drunk in love. "You'll have to tear me away."