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A Long Time Coming (Cane Brothers, #3)(87)

Author:Meghan Quinn

Lia: I need more friends! I need girl friends, to be precise. Lottie and Kelsey seem cool, and if they’re going to be on our Family Feud team, then I need to get to know them.

Breaker: So you are inviting yourself?

Lia: Please . . . Pickle.

Breaker: Ugh, fine, but I swear to God, Lia, if you start spouting off embarrassing shit about me like you did at the last brunch before the wives were around, I’m going to kick you right in the crotch.

Lia: Oh no, not a kick to the crotch. shivers

Breaker: Yeah, a giant old foot right to the camel toe.

Lia: I had a camel toe ONCE! Do not use that against me.

Breaker: I can still see it like it was yesterday . . .

Lia: And you were saying you don’t WANT me to say anything embarrassing about you to your brothers . . .

Breaker: Oh, would you look at that? The camel-toe image vanished.

Lia: Funny how that works. When do I need to be ready?

Breaker: I leave in twenty. Dress slutty.

Lia: Slutty? Why?

Breaker: Might be fun to send Brian another picture.

Lia: Too soon, Breaker, too soon.

Breaker: LOL, noted. See you in twenty.

“I need to buy some of your cologne,” I say as we pull up to Huxley’s place, a large white coastal-style house with black-framed windows and accents. It’s beautiful with its manicured lawns and fresh flower boxes under the window. Picturesque. The type of house I’d want one day.

“Why do you need to buy some of my cologne?” Breaker asks as he parks in the circular driveway.

“It smells sublime. I think I want it for myself.”

“You can’t wear my cologne,” he says, giving me a strange look.

“Why the hell not?”

“Because we can’t smell like each other. Besides, I like the smell of your perfume. Viktor & Rolf really suits you.”

“It’s scary how you remember my perfume. I’m not sure Brian could even describe the scent to me if I asked him.”

“A subtle combination of rose, jasmine, and orchid,” he says, his eyes landing on me.

And then we stare at each other for a few seconds, in the car, with the world whipping around us. How does he know that? I wouldn’t be that precise with the way it smells, yet, Breaker knows everything.

Every last thing about me.

He knows that when I get my period, I get horrible migraines, and he’s always there with Ibuprofen, caffeine, and Sour Patch Kids.

He knows that I’m not that big on working out, but that sometimes I get in moods of wanting to work out, so he always has a variety of classes I can join when I come to him. He keeps them in a note in his phone.

He knows that without even having to ask, he buys Comic Con VIP tickets for us and thinks up our costume ideas because I love going. Still, I can’t handle the stress of it all, and I’d rather be told what to wear and when than to figure it out myself.

And apparently, he knows exactly what I smell like. Notes and all.

Not sure I could say the same about Brian. Then again, like Brian said, we have our entire lives to figure it all out.

So why does that sentiment feel sour on my tongue now?

“Come on,” he says while opening his car door. “I’m starving, and they’re serving make-your-own breakfast tacos.”

Shaking my head from any thoughts of Brian, I open my door as well, just as Breaker moves around his car and grabs the door for me.

“What are you doing?” I ask, looking up at him as my hand slides into his.

“Helping you out.”

“Why would I need help?”

“Uh, I don’t know . . . you don’t wear dresses often, so I wasn’t sure if you knew how to walk in one.”

I press my palm to his face, which causes him to laugh and pull away. “Can’t a guy be a gentleman without being chastised about it?”

“Can’t a girl wear a dress without being teased about it?”

His teasing falls flat right before he says, “You can, and if I didn’t say it before, you look beautiful, Lia.” Those bright blue eyes stare back at me, sincerity so heavy that it almost feels . . . real. Like him holding my hand is real, and his words are spoken from a different place, a place that isn’t just friendship.

“Thank you,” I say, waiting for him to guide us to the door, but he doesn’t.

He stays put, standing in front of me, his eyes scanning the navy-blue maxi dress I paired with a few gold necklaces. I styled my hair with some soft waves like the hairdresser did yesterday and added a heavy dose of mascara to make my eyes pop.

His hand reaches up to my hair, where he twists a few strands between his finger and thumb.

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