A Long Time Coming (Cane Brothers, #3)(25)

“I wouldn’t let him,” I say.

“I know, but if I don’t get along with him, that could hurt your marriage. There could be resentment, so yeah, I’m going to do something for him. Sure, because I know if I do this little thing for him, I won’t run the risk of not getting to hang out with you.” Breaker’s busy, so we don’t get to see each other daily. But so far, since I’ve been going out with Brian, there hasn’t been much disruption to how much time we spend with each other. But the idea that we won’t just be able to walk a few steps out our front doors to get to each other is startling.

“Do you really think life will change that much? I mean . . . you could always move close.” I smile. “Your brothers live across the street. That could be us.”

He tilts his head to the side. “Are you . . . asking me to follow you?”

His teasing tone causes me to roll my eyes. I pick up the syrup that came with my pancakes and drench them. “Not if you’re going to be obnoxious about it, but yes, it doesn’t have to be a straight cut-off when I get married. Brian understands our relationship, and who knows, if things work out with Birdy, maybe we can continue to go on double dates. And on those double dates, we can annoy them with our history by talking about all the college fun we had while they just sit there and stare at us.”

“And when you say college fun, you really mean all the nerdy and embarrassing things we still do today.”

I place a bite of pancakes in my mouth. “Precisely.”





“Lia, you ready?” Breaker asks, knocking on the door.

I check myself one more time in the mirror and make sure everything is in place.

Let’s be real for a second. I’m not one who often goes all out when it comes to gussying up. I prefer minimal makeup because I don’t like how it cakes on my glasses. I don’t curl my hair often, and if I have a choice between jean shorts and a dress, I always choose jean shorts, but tonight, I felt the need to . . . spice it up.

I know what you’re thinking. It’s because Birdy is so pretty, right?

Well, you would be wrong. Birdy has nothing to do with this. I thought I would try to match the level of gorgeousness of my ring.

I know you don’t believe me, but that’s the reason, the ring. Not Birdy and her beautiful long blond hair or her long black eyelashes or the fact that she has such a nice pair of boobs that mine look like corn nuts in comparison.

This is all about the ring.

I smooth my hand down my purple tube dress that just so happens to match my glasses. It also accentuates my curves—what little curves I have. I spent an hour curling my hair, and then I brushed out the curls because that was what the girl on the YouTube tutorial told me to do, and she was right. It’s made my hair all wavy and pretty. And my makeup, well, I made sure to highlight my eyes with mascara and then put on a subtle lipstick that wouldn’t clash with my dress, more accentuate it.

I’m pretty sure Brian is not going to recognize me. Maybe this is a good thing, spice things up before we get married and show him exactly what he’s hitching himself to.

Clutch in hand, I open my front door and nearly choke on my own saliva as Breaker comes into view.

This is . . . this is not the Breaker I know, who wears old junky Jack Skellington T-shirts and backward hats because he’s too lazy to worry about his hair.

This is a different Breaker.

Sophisticated.

Date Breaker.

Wearing a pinstripe gray suit and deep black button-up with the top few buttons undone, he looks so freaking good, like he belongs in a magazine. His pants are tight around his thighs but loosen up around his calves and ankles where the fabric stops. He’s wearing loafers with no socks, and his hair is styled to the side in a messy way, giving him a sultry look that I wasn’t expecting. And that tan chest, peeking out through the buttons of his shirt, so easily reveals the slightest hint of corded muscle that identifies him as a man who spends a great deal of time in the gym.

His suit fits him like a glove, not an inch to spare of fabric.

Handsome.

Sexy.

Arousing.

All the adjectives that come to mind.

“Wow, Lia,” he says, taking me in and pulling on the back of his neck. “Shit, you look really good.”

I’m snapped back into reality as I glance down at my dress and black high heels and then back up at him. “Oh, thank you. I, uh, I thought I would match the fanciness of my ring.” I hold it out to show him as if he hasn’t seen it before. “See? Fancy. And I’m fancy. We’re all fancy.”

His brow creases. “You okay?”

“Yes, great. Thank you. Just telling you I’m fancy.”

He chuckles. “All right, well, glad we established that.” He holds his arm out for me. “Ready to go?”

“Yeah, of course. So ready. Never been more ready. Just the most ready, so let’s get this show on the road.”

“You’re being weird,” he says as I lock up and then walk arm in arm with him toward the elevator.

Maybe because you look really good.

And smell nice.

And have a sense of suave circling you that I wasn’t prepared to see.

“No, I’m not. Can’t a friend just tell another friend how fancy they feel? Is that a crime?”