I took a drink from the cold bottle. “I think I just might have a crush on your girlfriend’s baby sister.”
Smith put his hand to his chest. “What?! You fell for your sexy, down-to-earth, hilarious, bad-ass best friend? Who could have possibly seen that coming?” Then he crossed his arms, his tone once again becoming serious. “Oh, right. All of us.”
I winced. “It’s slightly terrifying for several reasons. One being that Dylan isn’t a fan of us being together and I’m afraid she’ll cut my dick off.”
Smith nodded. “Be careful, she’ll do it. I mean, shit, she shot my dad.”
My eyes went wide. “What? She shot your old man? When?”
Smith turned slightly away from the dance floor. “New Orleans.”
I knew there was a confrontation with Smith’s asshole drug-addicted low-life father, but I had no idea that Dylan shot him. “Did she kill him?” I didn’t think so. I figured we would have known if he had died, but maybe not. Smith wasn’t one to share about his family.
“Nah. She shot him in the foot. He was fine.” Smith let out a laugh. “Dylan means well, you know? She’s protective of the people she loves, and it seems to me that she is trying to look out for you just as much, if not more, than she is her sister. She says that Bryan never sticks around, she gets bored easily. You have Landry now, stable is your new middle name.”
“I just can’t picture Bryan leaving us…but maybe Dylan is right to worry, she’s known her a hell of a lot longer than I have.” That last comment felt bad on my tongue. I hated even entertaining the thought that Bryan would just up and leave us on a whim.
“Don’t worry so much about what Dylan thinks. She cleaned up your puke. She watched you stumble in, night after night… She’s hesitant when it comes to the two of you. You both seem volatile to her, you know?”
Smith was right. Dylan had literally cleaned up my messes when she had joined us on tour. I knew to her I was just a player with a drinking problem. And I couldn’t really blame her for thinking it. “Lexi cleaned up your messes too, man. But she didn’t get in the way of you and Dil.”
“Dylan isn’t Lexi’s baby sister.” Smith smiled, almost apologetically. “Look, man, you did me a solid when I was about to screw things up with Dylan before they even started. I owe you, and I’m here for you.”
I shrugged. “To be honest, I’m not even sure Bryan is into me. I’ve never had to guess at that before, never really had to put myself out there.”
“She’s into you, man. Why do you think Dylan has her panties in a twist about everything?”
We both stayed quiet for a while, just watching the girls dance and sing. You could see the love between them, that unmistakable bond of sisters. I bet when you added Mikah to the mix, it was even more profound. “You have any advice? You have insight into these Lawson girls.”
Smith took a deep breath. “They were raised to be strong, capable women. They can hold their own in any situation, don’t forget that. And just be yourself, and be honest. They don’t take well to fake.” He chuckled. “Oh, and ice. Keep some ice handy.”
“Ice?”
“You’ll see.”
I watched as Dylan spun Bryan around. I made sure to catch her eye. She wanted to watch me pick up a chick? She’d get a front row seat. “Let’s go do some shots.”
After the next song was over, the girls came and joined us at the bar. It was a good thing too, because we were starting to draw a crowd of ladies. Smith grabbed Dylan, dipped her back, and kissed her—letting the chicks know he was taken and the men know to back the fuck away. My hands itched to do the same to B. Every male eye in the bar had been on her while she danced with her sister. I settled with pulling her in for a one-armed hug around her neck and a kiss to the top of her head. It would have to do for now. I didn’t need Dylan chasing me around the dance floor with a knife.
Bryan looked around the room. “Did you pick one?”
I chuckled, “Yeah, I picked one.” The jukebox was blaring out some Manfred Mann’s. I grabbed B’s hand, spun her in a circle, singing at the top of my lungs, “Wrapped up like a douche another roller in the night!”
Bryan started cracking up, like bending over holding her side, cracking up. “What the hell did you just say? What kind of musician are you? Those aren’t the words to that song.”
I scoffed, “Yes they are.”
She shook her head. “No. They aren’t.”
“Okay, lyric police, what is he singing?”
Bryan waited for the chorus to come back around and then sang loudly next to my ear, completely and totally off key. “Revved up like a deuce another runner in the night!”
I pursed my lips. That did make more sense than singing about a douche. “You sure?”
Smith threw his arm around her shoulders. “Why’d you correct him? We’ve been letting him sing the wrong words for a decade. It’s hilarious. I’m pretty sure there is even a YouTube video of it somewhere.”