“I’m late!”
I grab my glasses off the nightstand and shove them onto my face crookedly. I glare at the clock accusingly, wondering why my alarm didn’t wake me at eight like it always does. Now, it’s after ten, the museum is already open, and I’m supposed to be on duty.
I roll out of bed, sprinting for the bathroom. There’s no time for a shower, so a quick brush of my hair, a quicker brush of my teeth, and a fresh layer of deodorant are all I can do. For once, I’m thankful for the ugly uniform I’m required to wear because it limits my choices, so I get dressed in record time.
“Bag, protein bar, and ooh, phone.” I retrace my steps to grab my phone from the nightstand too, giving the clock one more glare.
One step into the living room and I stop in my tracks. “Carter?”
He’s here. In my kitchen. Sipping on—I inhale and catch the scent that should’ve been an automatic tell—fresh coffee from the mug Samantha gave me. The one that says Hos before Bros.
“Good morning, sleepyhead,” he croons. “Coffee?”
But other than his being here, drinking coffee, the other really weird thing is . . . he’s naked. Like full Monty, sausage and biscuits, dick and balls naked . . . in my kitchen.
“What’re you doing? Why are you . . .?” I point south, keeping my eyes averted north politely.
He chuckles and holds his arms out wide. “Didn’t seem like a big deal after last night.”
Huh? Last night?
How could he know about my dreams? Oh, duh . . . I’m still asleep.
I pinch my arm sharply. “Ow!”
“What the fuck? Why’d you do that?” Dream Carter comes over, setting the coffee down along the way. He takes my arm in his, rubbing the red mark that’s already popping up.
“To wake up. I’m gonna be late for work.” The explanation makes perfect sense to me, but Dream Carter doesn’t seem to think so.
With a furrowed brow, he speaks slowly as though I couldn’t possibly understand regular tempo speech. “You’re awake. Your alarm went off, but I didn’t realize it was for work, so I turned it off. Sorry. Do you want some coffee to go?”
“I’m . . . awake? And you’re naked in my kitchen? With fresh coffee?” I laugh at the ridiculousness.
He grins, a bright glint in his eyes. “Go to work, Luna. I’ll call you later. We’ll do dinner. And if you’re a good girl, maybe a bit of dessert too.”
“Oh-kay,” I drawl because Dream Me really has to get to work, but staying here and having an early dinner could be good too.
Dream Carter swats my butt, telling me he’ll lock up and to have a good day.
When Maeve yells at me for being late, I realize that none of this is a dream. Carter really was naked in my kitchen this morning, which means last night . . . was real too?
I can’t examine that too closely without freaking out, so I bury myself in customer service mode. It’s not until the end of the day, when I check my phone, that it truly hits me.
Carter: Dinner, 7pm. Capitol Chophouse. Wear a dress.
Bossy and to the point. Infuriating man.
A few minutes after that, he texted again.
Carter: Or wear whatever you want.
A smile steals across my lips at his self-correction. That’s the only reason I consider actually going to this dinner.
Who do you think you’re kidding? You’re totally going. And you should hurry up because you need a shower before you go.
Showered, shaved, lotioned, and potioned, I smooth my palms over the skirt of my dress. I considered taking Carter’s option to wear whatever I wanted to heart and show up in overalls or baggy jeans just to be ornery, but ultimately, I decided to play along with whatever this dinner plan is. The dress is the same black one I wore to Carter’s parents’—freshly steamed after what I did in it last time—but it’s the best I could do from my closet on short notice because Samantha borrowed the green dress, not caring that it exposes several more inches of thigh on her long legs than it does on mine.
The hostess at Capitol Chophouse greets me politely, if not a bit stiffly, when I come in. “I’m meeting a friend here . . . Carter Harrington.” I see the spark of interest in her eyes at Carter’s name, and she looks me up and down more thoroughly. I follow her to the table, expecting to find Carter waiting for me.
Instead, there are two people sitting there . . . Carter and Zack. “Uh, hi.” Both men stand as I approach, and then there’s a weird moment where they both reach to pull a chair out for me.
Zack chuckles and sits back down, letting Carter get my seat. “Guess it’s a good thing you’ve got manners, huh? Your brother would have you doing one of his seminars if you didn’t.”
Carter leans my way. “He’s talking about Chance. He hosts a podcast called Two Men and a Mic that teaches young men how to thrive in our current world, business economy, and beyond. I don’t think he mentioned that at dinner.”
“Dinner?” Zack echoes, catching that nugget instantly.
“Yeah, things got a little carried away when the old man caught wind of the whole deal. Called a family dinner,” Carter explains as if the dinner was no big deal, which it most definitely was. It was more like a Family Dinner with capital letters.
“Glad I missed that.” Zack shakes his head knowingly, and I wonder if he’s ever gone to a dinner at the Harrington home. I never cared before or even gave it a single thought, but now, I’m curious.
“For sure,” Carter agrees. “About that . . . there’s something I want, I mean . . . we want to talk to you about.” Carter reaches over and takes my hand, pressing a soft kiss to the back of it.
Zack catches onto that quick too. “You son of a bitch,” he snarls at Carter. He’s at least keeping his voice somewhat reasonable considering the place, and I realize Carter smartly planned for that. “Did you sleep with my sister?”
Scratch that . . . because the table next to us totally heard that.
“There wasn’t a lotta sleeping going on,” I murmur accidentally, and Zack’s stony glare shoots to me. “Oops, that was supposed be my inside voice.”
Carter squeezes my hand and tries to reassure Zack. “It wasn’t some meaningless fuck.” He flashes me a private smile, and I blush furiously as I stare at him in wide-eyed horror. And then it gets so much worse. “It was special. A first.”
“Could we not?” I whisper angrily, hoping Carter will shut up. The table next to us has given up all pretense of not-listening and is going so far as to lean our way for a better earful.
Zack looks from me to Carter and seems to realize that not only did we sleep together, but that it was a first for me. Apparently, that technicality counts by some societal standard I don’t agree with, but I’m sure as hell not discussing my sex life with my brother.
“I’m going to kill you, you motherfucker,” Zack shouts, loud enough to stop dinner and conversations at all the surrounding tables. There’s a chorus of surprised gasps as every eye in the restaurant locks on us.
Zack’s on his feet in an instant, coming around the table in two strides. Carter stands to meet him with his hands held out wide in a placating stance. “Look, man. Calm down.”