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I lift my elbow, and she snakes her arm through, then lays her head on my shoulder.

Corbin tells the driver, “Let’s take my sister to her villa first.”

Oakley says, “John will make sure she gets back.”

Yeah, that’s what Corbin’s afraid of. He’s reluctant but then agrees. “Okay.” He reaches back, tapping me on the shoulder. “You’ll text me when she’s in her villa with doors locked.”

“Sure, no problem.”

A few minutes later, we’re in front of the Shearers’ mega villa. Oakley jumps off Corbin’s lap, comes around to Becca, and wraps her in a hug. “Make sure to cool off.”

“I already feel better. Thanks for making me have fun. You’re the bestest sister-in-law ever.”

“I know. Now let John take care of you.”

Corbin arches a brow with his hands crossed over his waist. I know that look, and he’s mulling over the possibilities of me making sure that Becca gets in bed—without me in it.

When their Mamaw died, Corbin knew that Becca leaned on me for support and comfort. Hell, they were in Dallas for a playoff game the night Mamaw died. She ran to me. My condo. What I don’t know is if Becca ever explained to him our college story. Our secret.

But when Becca left me that voicemail, basically cutting ties with me, I reached out to Corbin to make sure she was okay. I respected her wishes and didn’t contact her, and I hadn’t spoken to her until we came here for the Stallions reunion.

“Don’t worry. You know I’ll make sure she’s fine and has water and headache meds before she goes to sleep.”

He slaps my back. “I trust you.”

But if he did, would he say that?

“Night, Corby.” Becca sometimes calls her brother, Corby. “Have fun with your little thief.”

Oakley giggles. “He loves when I steal things.”

Becca almost falls off the golf cart laughing, and I have to pull her arm to straighten her back up.

“Can you please lose the nickname?” Corbin asks, tired and getting a little grumpy.

“Why? It’s cute,” she says.

“Because we’re in our thirties. And it’s what I call Oakley, not what you call her, sis.”

I bump my shoulder against hers. “He has a point.”

“Nobody asked you, Godfather.” Her smile brightens the night around us, and her captivating sea-blue eyes look navy blue in the moonlight. “See, I have a nickname for you too.”

“No, that’s what the guys call me. It’s not what I want you to call me.”

“I didn’t realize bulked up hockey players were so sensitive,” she says with a bit of playful snark.

The driver zips through the pathways, and we end up at Becca’s villa. I tip the guy twenty bucks even though the trip is all inclusive. When I look around, Becca has one shoe in her hand and one on her foot, wobbling on the slatted wood.

“Whoa. Hold onto me,” Becca says to me, but it’s me holding her.

“Where’s your key card?”

She dips her fingers inside her bra. Her brows pinch together until she pulls it out and waves it in the air. “I thought it may have fallen out while we were dancing.”

“Why?” I hold her steady while she taps the lock.

Glancing at me, she says, “I don’t exactly have boobs.”