The Consequence of Seduction

She rolled her eyes. “It’s why you keep me.”

“Oh.” Max put his arm around her. “And here I thought I kept you for sex. My bad.”

“Clearly your sex isn’t enough to keep the woman trapped,” I offered in a condescending voice. “She needed diamonds too.”

“Nobody asked the Reid gallery,” Max snapped. “And we weren’t talking about me, we’re talking about you.”

“My favorite subject.” I winked at Becca.

Max threw a chip at my face. “Put sunglasses on those things before she throws her bra at you. I don’t want my fiancée launching herself across the table because you don’t know how to train those eyes. Feel me?”

“Do it again,” Becca whispered.

“What’s Reid doing?” Milo asked, plopping down next to me with Colt and Jason in tow. We were having our weekly meeting at our favorite bar in the city.

I still wasn’t sure how it had happened. Four months ago I was invited to Jason’s wedding. The plan was simple: break up the bride and groom. The bride in question just so happened to be an ex from hell. The type of ex you order a hit on just because the mere fact that they’re alive and breathing offends the shit out of you.

I would never go as far as to do something like that . . . but I did try to break them up. In doing so, I experienced some of the most traumatizing moments of my life at the hands of an eighty-six-year-old woman who truly had the strength of ten men.

I’m not exactly sure what happened, because I was high most of the weekend on antianxiety pills Max crushed into my drinks, but there were ants, trees, at one point I think she rubbed Bengay on me, and when I opened my eyes one fateful Sunday afternoon, the woman had no top on.

She was also putting on a Superwoman wig.

But that’s not the point.

The point is that somehow, that experience had bonded me to everyone around the table. Jason was a local police officer and had had more than his fair share of bad luck when it came to relationships. Milo, his sister, had recently married Colton, his best friend since childhood. I wasn’t sure how that didn’t affect their friendship, but they all seemed completely okay with the fact that Colton was sharing Milo’s bed at night. I glanced to the right. That left my brother and his fiancée. Damn, a lot had changed in the last year. One weekend was all it took to transform my otherwise normal life to one where I scream when I smell Bengay and hide under the table whenever an elderly woman walks into the room.

“The eyes!” Becca explained to Milo. “He was doing the eyes again.”

“Damn your eyes!” Max exploded. “This night is about an intervention.”

I raised my hand.

Max swatted it down.

Sighing, I waited for his speech. Max never did anything halfway. His explanations were always—and I do mean always—long. And they usually involved lots of pictures, props, and hand gestures, all of which were more than likely illegal to use in public areas.

“My intervention six months ago was about getting my head out of my ass,” Max said thoughtfully as he tapped his fingertips against his chin.

“Hear, hear.” I lifted my glass in the air and smiled.

Max’s eyes narrowed. His intervention actually included more than getting his head out of his ass. We had signed him up for a reality dating show on which he got attacked by goats and sea life on a daily basis and nearly got clawed to death by twenty-five available and desperate women. Judging by the tic in his left eye, I imagined he was taking a stroll down memory lane.

“Continue.” I sipped.

Max shook his head as if returning to the present and pounded the table with his fist. “Reid’s intervention is about getting ass.”

Whiskey went flying out of my mouth before I could stop it—landing on Jason’s cheek and nose. Cursing, he wiped his face off and stumbled backward, landing on one of the waitresses.

Chips and salsa went sailing into the air.

Joining the whiskey on Jason’s face.

We waited in silence for Jason to set himself to rights. I ordered another whiskey. Milo yawned. Colt took out a few more napkins “just in case,” and Jason finally rejoined us at the table smelling like a Mexican fiesta gone wrong.

We often waited for Jason. He was so accident-prone that Max actually ordered giant-size bubble wrap for the guy as a birthday present.

Jason hadn’t been amused.

I’d laughed my ass off.

Also earning myself a black eye to match the one Jason had at the time.

“I get plenty,” I explained once Jason joined us again. “And why are you concerned?”

Max tilted his head, then covered my hand with his. “Bless your heart, you don’t even know.”

“Know?” I repeated.

“Your balls.” He nodded. “They’re getting old.”

“They are not!” I jerked away from him. “I’m twenty-eight!”

“Next stop forty,” Max said under his breath. “Should we pick out your coffin? I’d go with oak. It’s always so nice—soothing, really.”

“Funny, I’m a fan of the darker woods myself,” Milo piped up.

“I’m not dying!”

“Shh,” Max whispered. “It’s okay.”

Patience. Patience. Patience. Oh, and just in case you were wondering, when Max was born? No praise. In fact I’m pretty sure the doctor said, “Sorry, ma’am, we did everything we could.” He’d been a pain in my ass since birth. When he was an infant he did nothing but cry; even then he knew how to push all of my buttons, repeatedly.