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“I need to talk to you,” Iris declares out of nowhere, her focus on me.

“Go ahead and talk.” I settle into the overstuffed chair, ready for her to grovel.

A sigh leaves her and she glances around the room—specifically at our father—before she returns her gaze to mine. “Not in here. Somewhere more private maybe?”

“We can discuss whatever it is in front of Brooks and Dad. I have nothing to hide.” I arch a brow like the dick older brother that I am.

She clutches her hands into fists on her lap. Ah, Iris. Doesn’t she realize I’ve got her all figured out and I know how to get under her skin? “Fine. I’m sorry for what I said to Sinclair last night.”

“What exactly did you say to her?” I believe what Sinclair told me, but I want to see what Iris says.

“I told her to be careful because come on, Augie. You’re not the best when it comes to women.” Iris shakes her head, reaching out to pet her little monster’s head. That downy blonde hair looks soft to the touch, I can’t deny it. “Though I figured you were serious if you brought her here.”

“When have I ever brought anyone here?”

“Never.”

“Exactly. So why would you say that to Sinclair about my so-called intentions? I’d think they were pretty obvious since I brought her home this weekend with me. I never do that,” I say again.

“You’re right. You’re right, but sometimes we need to…I don’t know. Hear you say it?”

She sounds like Sinclair. I’ve always been told actions speak louder than words so here I am doing the actions all over the place. Guess they need the words too.

“I’ll give you that.” I incline my head toward her. “Please don’t say anything bad about me to her parents tonight.”

“I would never.” Iris rests her hand against her chest. “I did a little research on them. Did you know her dad invented Jock Rot?”

Dad chokes on his drink, setting it on the bar in front of him with a hard thud. “What did you just say?”

“Jock Rot, Dad. You never heard of it?”

“No.” Dad shakes his head. “Not at all.”

“Wow, really? I used that stuff before back when I was playing football with Rhett.” Brooks shakes his head, seemingly impressed. “It works.”

“Ew.” Iris shakes her head. “The name is horrible.”

“I suppose I should let him tell the story, and I’m sure he will, but according to Sin, once he sold it, the business that took over changed the name and sales tanked,” I explain.

“But the selling point was the name. Teenage boys all over the country loved that shit because it was called Jock Rot, which sounds gross, but it cured it,” Brooks says, his voice dripping with disappointment. “Why would they change such a cool name?”

“Retailers wouldn’t carry it on the shelves if it was called Jock Rot. That’s why,” I tell him.

“What the fuck is jock rot anyway?” Dad asks, sounding impatient.

Brooks launches into a long explanation as to what exactly Jock Rot is and Iris and I make faces at each other from across the room as Brooks describes the symptoms. So gross.

“That’s disgusting,” Dad says when Brooks is finished. “I’m glad my wife wasn’t in here to hear all of that.”

“Sorry, sir.” Brooks ducks his head, his face turning red. Poor guy always puts his foot in his mouth around us and…seriously, what the fuck? Am I actually starting to feel sorry for him? That’s something I never do.

“You’re fine, Brooks.” Dad sighs, shaking his head. “When are her parents supposed to arrive? And where’s your mother? She’s taking forever.”

Iris jumps to her feet. “I’ll go look for her.”

“I believe they’re supposed to get here around six.” I check my watch to find that it’s only just past six. “Sinclair mentioned they could be late sometimes.”

“I hate lateness. It’s so fucking rude,” Dad mutters as he pours himself another drink. He didn’t even pass around the ones he made for us and I stand, going to the bar and grabbing my drink. “Have you met them?”