“I still can’t point out Utah on the map, and I turned out just fine,” Tyler commented beside his brother, his broad wingspan taking up nearly the entire back end of the couch.
“That probably has something to do with how many times you got your head knocked in,” Mateo added. “I swear to God they designed our helmets with Echo’s track record in mind.”
“You know, a door can be breached in with a boot, or a shoulder…” Frankie pointed out.
“I’ve never gotten a critique until now, so I think you two should stop licking each other’s asses so often and be thankful that I was the one doing all the heavy lifting.”
“All right, all right.” Sam shook his head. “The girls are here. Let’s be gentlemen, right?”
Mateo snorted. “You should hear the two of them talk. Seductresses. Feeding off us like leeches for the last two weeks.”
The Swans both raised an eyebrow, the left corner of their mouths turning up in interest, looking every bit the pair of brothers with mirrored expressions.
The tips of my ears reddened as I realized the attention was on me and Frankie entirely. Of course Nat and her future husband would be boning—but the girl from Colorado and their old friend who was in a forest fire of a relationship last they knew of was unexpected.
Frankie clasped his palm over the back of my neck, squeezing the tense points of pressure affectionately. I immediately dropped my shoulders from where they’d ended up at by my ears.
Tyler ran his icy eyes from the tips of my socks to the crown of my head, surveying me like an elevator making a stop on each floor on his way to the top. It was no wonder women apparently fell at his feet; the assessment was scorching and deliberate. Not in a flirtatious way, but something more calculated. More so reading me like a book.
I squirmed free of Frankie’s touch, his fingers lingering down my back briefly. “So, what is it you guys do?” I addressed both brothers.
Pleased with the runaround, as if it told its own little secret in and of itself, Tyler perked up.
“I own a bar,” he announced proudly. “Best spot in Salt Lake.”
“Have you ever met a bar owner that also bartends at their own place?” Sam said.
“That must be fun,” Nat commented. “It’s very hands-on. I’m sure your staff loves it.”
“I like to know what goes on,” Tyler agreed. “Get to know the clientele, show my face, make sure there’s no funny business.”
Someone would have to be out of their mind to start a fight with Tyler Swan. He was scary as all sin and I couldn’t imagine a bouncer alive that was as intimidating as this man.
“What he means is,” Sam interjected, “he likes to know what women are coming in and out of his bar every night and make sure they get the very best customer service experience possible.”
“Is that wrong of me?” Tyler looked to everyone but his brother, outstretched palms like landing pads. “I’m very passionate about those Yelp reviews.”
“Echo is a full-service man,” Mateo testified. “Always has been.”
“I’ll cheers to that.” Tyler stretched his long body across the coffee table and tapped his beer to Mateo’s. His shirt sleeves bunched up his arm revealing twists and curves of a serpent and a sword inked into his skin.
“What about you?” I reinvested in Sam with glowing curiosity. His friendly copper gaze reminded me of a puppy. “If he’s the bartender you must be the…sous-chef?”
Frankie cackled beside me. “Wink once put his instant mac in the microwave without the fucking water. Almost burned the entire barracks to the ground in three-and-a-half minutes.”
“Like you never sat post all night and did some dumb shit when you got back in.” Sam laughed. “Actually now that I think about it, Pike, weren’t you the sorry son of a bitch that fell asleep and missed call time not once, or twice, but on three separate occasions? We got fucked for that.”
“Cicadas put me to sleep.” Frankie shrugged. “Not like you could fly anywhere without a pilot. I needed to be alert.”
“So not a sous-chef,” I surmised, giving Frankie’s thigh a teasing squeeze.
“You’re a saint for dealing with him, Ophelia.” Sam said. “I work for a nonprofit called War Paws. We pair animals with veterans who need support after returning home from areas of conflict.”
“I love that.” Nat brought her palm to her heart. “Rescues?”
“Always,” Sam promised.
“I’d have a new dog every week. I couldn’t stand the cuteness.”
“I did adopt my first week,” Sam confessed with a short laugh. “Big guy spoke to me. I have a soft spot for the labs.”
“I want one.” Nat turned to Mateo, wrapping her arms around his neck. “We should go to the shelter next week, babe.”
Mateo’s steely stare zeroed in on Sam across the room. “We’ll see, honey.” He caressed her back and turned a middle finger toward his friend that everyone but Nat could see.
“Do you want dogs?” Frankie asked me.
Again, all eyes in the room trained on the two of us. Such a mundane question, yet so loaded given the circumstance.
“Yeah.” I nodded, feeling perplexed. “Yeah, I want dogs.”
“Not for nothing, Ophelia. If you’d have said no I would probably have to kick you out.” Mateo shrugged. “I don’t make the rules.” Then, a second later, he amended, “Wait, yes I do.”
“No one’s kicking anybody out,” Frankie argued.
Nat stood from the couch, clearing the plate of cheese and crackers and the empty bottle of wine off the table. “I am,” she declared. “I’m kicking us out for the night. You boys try not to get into too much trouble before tomorrow. Coming, Phee?”
“What do you mean?” Mateo followed her tail. “We’re just getting started.”
“You are just getting started.” She turned and tapped his nose. “Enjoy your night with your friends, and remember being hungover is absolutely no fun when you have to drive the next day so tread carefully.”
I tried to stand from the sofa and strong, possessive hands threaded together over my middle and tugged me back down.
“I don’t remember agreeing to this,” Frankie objected. His lips grazed the shell of my ear and a whole string of explicit words and images shuffled through my mind.
“You’ll survive,” I assured him, doing everything in my power to inch off his lap, when all I wanted to do was stay glued to it.
I meandered into the kitchen, clearing empty beers and dented metal caps off the island, sweeping a dust of chip crumbs into the pull-out disposal, then turning to help Nat load the dishwasher with oily plates from the pizza. Nat was right—the men deserved at least a little bit of time to themselves after a few years apart.