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He’s amused, but he doesn’t get to answer because Ethan, who’s sitting on my other side, grins at me and says, “So, how did my brother convince such a smart woman to give him a shot? Did he charm you with that emotionally unavailable, brooding-bad-boy thing he does, or are you in an actual hostage situation here?”
I laugh, and my hand goes straight to Gage’s thigh like it’s got a mind of its own. What Ethan said is funny, and I know it’s his way of breaking the ice some more with me, using the good-natured ribbing tactic these brothers have mastered, but I’m feeling all kinds of “he’s mine, don’t hurt him.”
And suddenly, all eyes are on me.
So, naturally, my brain forgets how to exist as an intelligent woman and throws out, “I thought I was signing up for zaddy charm and some decent dinners. Instead, I got surprise feelings and a man who thinks my boobs are public domain.”
A beat of silence follows.
I feel like I just said boobs in church.
Abort, abort.
I want to dissolve into particles like Marin.
Then Ethan groans. “Jesus, not slang. Anything but fucking slang.” He looks at Gage like he’s side-eyeing him with dramatic brotherly disappointment, but there’s a grin in his eyes for me.
Kristen laughs into her wine.
Olivia’s laughing and looking at me all “yes, girl.”
Madeline thinks I’m hilarious.
Bradford, Hayden, and Callan? Also highly amused by the entire situation.
Ingrid’s beaming at me like she just adopted me.
Edmund even appears to be smiling.
And Gage? His hand slides up my thigh, his mouth grazing my ear like the man doesn’t care he’s seated next to his mother, and says, loud enough for everyone to hear, “Not public. This is a very private collection.”
I am deceased.
And now would be a great time for him to fake a seizure. Or spontaneous man flu, the kind that kills after one sneeze. Or literally any excuse to get us out of here before I really do dissolve into Marin particles.
Madeline saves the day. She leans forward to look around Ethan at me, and says, “Just ignore my husband. He’s a grandpa and refuses to enter the twenty-first century. I personally try tosend him as many texts that include as much slang as I can. And if you give me your phone number, you can too.”
Ethan grins again and extends his arm behind her before swooping in for a quick brush of their lips.
“Yes,” Olivia says, pulling out her cell. “We should add you to the group chat.” She passes her phone across to me. “Add yourself and I’ll put you in the chat.”
I key my number in and as I hand her phone back, I look at Ethan. “I know less than ten slang terms. You’re safe with me.”
“Thank Christ,” he says.
Ingrid stands and meets my gaze with a smile. “I’m so glad you came today, Amelia.” Then, she just begins clearing the dining table like she didn’t just give me something James’s parents never gave me.
Gage, Callan, and Ethan get up to help their mom while Edmund, Bradford, and Hayden disappear down the hall like there’s a secret portal that will take them somewhere very fun. Meanwhile, I’m pulled over to the couch with the girls, and within sixty seconds, I’ve learned two things: one, these women are emotionally invested in a dating reality show I’ve never heard of, and two, the latest episode sparked a very serious conversation about things you’d murder your man for.
You know, casual Saturday things we talk about.
“What would you kill Bradford for?” Oliva asks Kristen.
“Eating my strawberry jam.”
She’s not even joking, and I can’t stop myself from laughing. I hold up my hands in defense. “I’m not laughing about the jam. I’m laughing at how serious you are.”
“Oh, that’s at the top of a very long list,” she says, very straight-faced. “And he knows it.”