Never Marry Your Brother's Best Friend (Never Say Never, #1)

“Kyle, I can’t. This dinner is important. Call Mom and have her come pick up Grace,” I suggest reasonably.

“Gotta go, man. See ya later, and” —he shoots a wink at Luna— “hopefully, I’ll see you sooner.” Somehow, without my noticing, Kyle has already straddled his motorcycle, and he starts the engine, drowning out my arguments with the roar as he revs the throttle. He pulls off, shouting loudly, “Bye, Gracie-Face-y!”

“Bye, Uncle Kyle! Be safe!” she yells, her hands cupped around her mouth needlessly because this little girl has lungs so big the neighbors two streets over probably heard her, even over Kyle’s bike. “Ready, Uncle CJ?” Seeming to only now notice Luna, she holds out her hand. “I’m Grace Harrington, nice to meet you.”

Cameron’s taught her well, especially for an eight-year-old. Luna, charmed it seems, shakes her hand politely. “Luna Starr, nice to meet you too.”

Grace looks gobsmacked. “Is your name really Luna Starr? Like moon and star? That’s cool. I wish my name was cool like that.”

Luna bends down, getting on Grace’s level. “Your name is pretty cool too. Are you graceful, by any chance?”

Grace shakes her head so wildly that her blonde curls fly back and forth. “Nope, Mee-Maw H says my name is ironic because I never met a piece of furniture I don’t walk straight into.”

“Well, that only makes it better. Keeps people guessing,” Luna says, making Grace beam with pride. “We should probably go if we’re adding another stop,” she tells me.

I plaster a smile on my face, never wanting Grace to feel as though she’s a bother. “Yeah, let’s go, Gracie. It’s a drive, so hop in.”

But someone else hears me say ‘drive’ and also hops in the car. “Nutbuster, get out of my car!” I shout at Kyle’s dog, who’s climbed in Luna’s open door and is sitting happily in the backseat, ready to go for a ride.

Rrrarf!

“Did you say the dog’s name is Nutbuster?” Luna asks, her brows scrunched together as though sure she must’ve misheard.

I sigh in response. “Technically, his name is Peanut Butter,” I say about the brown, long-haired dog who’s probably drooling and shedding all over my back seat. “But when he grew, he stopped right at” —I hold my hand groin high to explain— “and he’s a bit overly welcoming. By the time he racked us all a few too many times and we’d have to greet him with our hands over the crown jewels, the name stuck.”

“What’re crown jewels?” Grace asks. “Can I wear them?”

“No,” I say sharply.

Softer, Luna says, “I don’t think you want these jewels, honey. They’re all wrinkled and hairy and gross. A lady like you deserves a tiara.”

“Ooh, can I get a tiara, Uncle CJ?” Grace asks. Thankful to not be talking about testicles, I quickly nod in agreement. “Woohoo! Let’s go to Mee-Maw H’s, then.”

Before I know it, Grace and Nutbuster are in the back seat, buckled in and ready to go, and I’m looking at Luna in confusion. “How’re we going to do this?”

“Breathe, Carter. It’s not on your plan for the day, but it’s fine. Let’s go so we’re not late to the Cartwrights’.” Her tone is soothing and calm, like this is no big deal, like flirty asshole brothers, no-filter kids, ball-busting dogs, and fake marriage dinners are just another Saturday. As ridiculous as that is, she does help me settle down a little.

“Okay, this is fine, totally fine,” I repeat, more for myself than anything. Getting in the car, I back out of Kyle’s driveway, cussing him a blue streak but only in my mind so that Grace doesn’t learn those words . . . from me.

Once we’re on the road, I call my mother on speakerphone, hoping to warn her that we’re doing a drive-by drop off, but it goes to voicemail. “Uh, hey, Mom. I’m bringing Grace by. Kyle said she was hanging out with you until Cam could pick her up later. See you in a few.”

I hang up, but there’s something gnawing at my gut. Kyle wouldn’t have pawned Grace off on me and lied about the plan, would he?

He’s Kyle. Of course he would.

“Shiii—”

“’take mushrooms,” Luna says loud enough to drown out what I was going to say. “What’s wrong?”

I dial Cameron and end up with his voicemail too. “Cam, Grace is with me and I’m not sure where I’m supposed to take her. Kyle said Mom’s, but you know how that goes. Where are you? Call me.”

I look in the rearview mirror and see Grace’s smile as she pets Nutbuster. This is not how today was supposed to go. Not at all. And one look at the clock tells me that I’m running out of choices.

I run through the list of Grace-sitter options beyond Kyle, Cameron, and Mom, which is basically the rest of my family.

My brother Cole? He doesn’t live far, but then I remember that he’s out of town this weekend, so he’s a no-go.

My brother Chance? He teaches Saturday classes and turns his phone on silent to ensure he’s not interrupted. Plus, the center where he teaches is in the opposite direction.

My sister Kayla? Yes!

I dial her number and she actually answers. “Kayla! Where are you? I need a favor . . . I’m begging you.”

“And hello to you too. Yes, I’m doing fine, thank you for asking. How are you?” she replies, sweet-sarcastically correcting my rushed non-greeting.

“Sorry, but Kyle tricked me into . . .” I freeze when Luna swats my arm with the back of her hand and shoots a pointed look toward the back seat. “I mean, uh . . . I picked up Grace from Kyle, and he said Mom was taking her, but she’s not answering her phone. Do you know where she is?”

“Well, I have good news and bad news. I do know where Mom is because she’s next to me. Unfortunately, we’re in Westport today.” That’s an hour away, meaning there’s no way I can get Grace to her or Mom.

Resigned, I sigh. “I’ll figure it out. Somehow. By the way, maybe forget you have a younger brother because I’m going to kill him.”

Kayla laughs, thinking I’m kidding, but honestly, I might throw a punch or two Kyle’s way if I can sneak attack him. I hang up with Kayla and look at Grace again.

“Change of plans, Gracie. You’re going to go with me and Luna,” I tell her. Before she can ask a million questions, I fill her in on the fancy dinner with the fancy lady at the fancy house with all the fancy things that we do not touch. “It’s like a game. Be on your best behavior and practice all your manners so Uncle CJ can work, and I’ll get you that tiara we were talking about. Deal?”

She tilts her head and then whispers to Nutbuster, “What do you think?” She leans the other way, acting like the dog is whispering to her, and then nods. To me, she says, “Deal . . . with the caveat that the tiara is purple and real. Not one of those plastic ones.”

“Are you negotiating with me?” I can’t help but laugh. She is her father’s daughter. “And how do you know the word ‘caveat’? You’re eight, not eighty.”