My two favorite girls.
My eyebrows rise in surprise and I stand. “Heidi.” I kiss her cheek and turn and kiss Nicki. “Hello.”
“You’re back? Why haven’t you called us?” Heidi smiles sexily and looks me up and down.
The girls and I have a thing going, a very good thing. Had, I correct myself.
“I just got in.” I glance down at my brothers, who are all goofily smiling up at them. Yeah, yeah. I get it: they’re gorgeous. “These are my brothers, Jameson, Elliot, and Tristan.”
Heidi gives a sexy little wave with a playful sashay. “Gentlemen, I’ve heard a lot about you.”
“Hello.” They all smile up at her as if she’s Aphrodite herself.
“What are you doing after?” she asks. “Let’s catch up?”
“Ah . . .” I frown as she puts me on the spot. “I can’t tonight.” I gesture to my brothers. “I’ll call you?”
“You promise?” She smiles as she leans in and pecks me on the lips.
I step back from her. “Sure.”
They turn and walk off through the crowd, and we all stare after them. Heidi in her hot-pink tight dress and figure to die for: nothing is left to the imagination. And Nicki is just a walking wet dream, every man’s fantasy.
I drop back into my seat, deflated.
“What the hell are you doing?” Tristan whispers. “Go and bend them over the bar, right now.”
“Totally,” Jameson agrees.
I scratch my head, flustered. I pick up my drink and drain the entire glass.
They did look good . . .
Fuck.
I glance over, and Elliot raises his eyebrow again.
“What?” I snap angrily.
He holds his two hands up in surrender. “Nothing.”
“I’m not in the mood, okay?”
He widens his eyes, realizing he’s hit a sore point.
Tristan’s phone rings on the table, and he answers. “Hey, dude. Yeah, I’m ready.” He glances at his watch. “Pick me up on your way through.” He listens. “Okay, see you then.” He hangs up. “Harrison just finished work. He’s picking me up on the way home.”
“Yeah, I’ve got to get going too,” Jameson says as he puts his hand up for the bill.
“Let’s have another one,” Elliot says.
I nod, feeling more unstable than ever. “Get the whole fucking bottle.”
Jameson’s eyes rise to meet mine, and he frowns. “What’s wrong with you? You’re acting weird.”
“Yeah,” Tristan says. “I was just thinking the same thing.”
“Nothing,” I snap.
Elliot leans back in his chair. His knowing eyes hold mine, and he signals to the waiter. She comes over. “We’ll have two more scotches, please.”
Hayden would have had a margarita.
“Actually”—I cut him off—“I’ll have a margarita . . . make it two.”
“Margaritas.” Elliot winces. “The fuck is wrong with you?”
“Four,” I say to the waiter.
“No scotch?” she asks Elliot.
“No,” I reply for him.