Page 131 of Burden of Proof

Smith plucked at the well-worn material and shrugged. “I’ve had it since college. I don’t know where I got it.”

I narrowed my eyes, but the flush on Smith’s cheeks was enough to let me know it was a conversation he didn’t want to have. If I respected Finn enough to not press about Neil and Annette, I had to respect Smith enough to not ask where he’d stumbled across a three-sizes-too-large hoodie for a college none of us went to.

“How was work?” I asked instead.

Smith swirled his wine and took a drink. “It was work.”

“Do you still hate it?” Marshall asked.

He scratched the side of his neck and gave us all another weak shrug. “I don’t know. Depends on the day.”

“That feels normal,” Finn said, earning a smile, so he kept talking. “That piece of crap from Hunter’s firm got shit-canned today.”

My brother’s brows lifted toward his hairline.

“The trash takes itself out or something,” I said.

My phone buzzed against my thigh, and I pulled it out to find a text message from Lincoln, another picture. This time he had on short black shorts and a black leather harness with a mesh top that didn’t even reach his navel piercing. It looked like he might have on eyeliner, but the lighting was dark and the picture was taken in a mirror.

He was in the bathroom at Rapture, Silas beside him with his arm slung over Lincoln’s shoulders.

Marshall checked his phone next, undoubtedly getting the same photo. We both set out phones down on the table, and Smith frowned at mine.

“What?” I asked.

“Is that Lincoln?”

“He’s out with Silas. They spend Fridays together since Marshall and I are here.”

“Where are they?” Smith asked.

Marshall made a choked sound in the back of his throat, and I was quickly reminded of the awkward conversations I’d been forced to have at the start of my and Lincoln’s relationship about our proclivities and how they aligned with his best friend and my oldest brother. But Lincoln and Smith were friends, they’d been intimate, and there were probably little to no secrets between them.

“Rapture,” I answered.

Marshall looked like he wanted to crawl under the table and die, but that must have been a side effect that came from being an elder millennial with younger siblings.

“Oh,” Smith said, another shrug.

Finn leaned forward, propping his elbows on the table and his chin in his hands. He smiled sweetly at our baby brother. “Have you been?”

“Haveyoubeen?” Marshall asked.

“Don’t assume you’re the only person in town who likes kinky sex, Marshall,” Finn answered, which had Smith mirroring the choking sound Marshall had just made himself.

“I’ve been,” Finn said conversationally, like we were talking about going to the park on the weekend. “I’m sure Hunter has been. Marshall, obviously. I don’t know if this is genetic or not, but?—”

“I’ve been!” Smith blurted, maybe louder than he’d intended.

“I don’t want to know,” Marshall muttered.

Smith threw him a sidelong glance and turned his attention back to his wine.

“Do they want to make you an equity partner now that Shaw is out?” Finn asked, and I was grateful for the change in conversation.

“I’m happy with the current terms,” I answered.

And I was.