***
Of course, Nate’s not even there when I get out of the bathroom. Only Parker and Boo, who watch me from the couch as I wander into the kitchen and fix myself a cup of coffee. When I settle in on the chair across from them, two sets of eyes follow my every move.
“What?” I ask, taking a sip.
“How long have you and Nate been screwing?”
I splutter, sending coffee shooting up my nose. “What?”
He looks at me. “You really want me to ask again?”
“No.” I shake my head swiftly. “Definitely not.”
“So?”
“We aren’t… it’s not…” I take a deep breath. “You’re way off, Parker.”
“Really?” His eyes narrow. “That’s not what he told me.”
“Nate told you we were screwing?” I wince at the sound of my own voice — I’m yelling so loud, I bet they can hear me in the control room.
“No. He didn’t say screwing. He just didn’t deny it when I asked if he was crossing a line with you.”
“He’s not,” I deny immediately. “We’re not.”
“Uh huh.”
“Where is he?” I ask.
“Downstairs grabbing a shower and checking in on things in the control room.” He grins. “Why? You missing him already?”
“No. I’m going to kill him.”
Parker laughs. “Don’t do that. Then I can’t punch him in the face.”
“Why would you punch him in the face?”
“For screwing my little sister.”
“Ugh!” I scream. “For the last time — I AM NOT SCREWING NATHANIEL KNOX!”
“Good to know,” a dry voice says from the doorway.
Crap on wonder bread.
I turn slowly from Parker, who’s grinning like an idiot, to Nate, who’s leaning casually in the door frame, looking serious and badass with still-damp hair and that wicked looking leather jacket I’ve been plotting to steal for years. I’d think he was pissed, if not for the way his eyes are crinkled up at the corners.
He’s so gorgeous it takes my breath away.
Dammit.
“You’re annoying,” I tell him, then turn to my brother. “And so are you.”
Parker’s grin widens. “You’ll miss me when I’m gone.”
“Doubtful,” I lie. My eyes drop to my dog, who’s perched on Parker’s lap. He’s licking my brother’s hand with such reverence, you’d think it’s made of rawhide. “Come on, Boo. Come see me.” I pat the cushion next to me. “Come on.”
His tiny head cocks to one side, considering my words, before he yawns, closes his eyes, and snuggles closer to my brother.
“Traitor,” I hiss, rising to my feet and stalking toward the kitchen. I need more coffee.
I swear, all three of them laugh at me as soon as my back is turned — Boo included.
***
Seven hours later, I’m so bored I’ve skipped passed regular old stir-crazy and gone completely insane. Parker and Nate both left hours ago — Parker to check on his yacht, Nate to deal with some of his existing clients and continue the search for Cormack. Which means I’m sitting in the loft for the second day in a row, going totally out of my mind.
Within the first two hours, I finished every bit of work I had outstanding for WestTech, cleared out my junk folder of several dozen male enhancement emails, and watched four consecutive YouTube video compilations of people nailing their X Factor auditions. Hour three, I did the dishes and brushed out Boo’s coat, much to his chagrin. Hour four, I finally remembered Nate left me a phone for “emergencies only” and texted Lila.
Dying of boredom was technically an emergency. Right?
Phoebe: Hey! It’s me.
Lila: Darren?
Phoebe: No.
Lila: Oh. Tom?
Phoebe: No.
Lila: Well, this is awkward. Um… Martin?
Phoebe: How many dudes are you texting at once, Lila?
Lila: OH, it’s you. Hi Phee.
Phoebe: How’d you know it was me?
Lila: I’d recognize that semi-judgmental-but-loving tone anywhere. Even in text form.
Phoebe: Cute.
Lila: So, you’re still alive? I haven’t heard from you.
Phoebe: I saw you yesterday.