Page 2 of Hale Yes (Highway to Hale #1)

If I’m being honest, the end should have been six months ago.

In fact, I’d been on my way to Kayla’s apartment to break up with her back in November, but when I got there, she told me the doc had put her grandmother on hospice care.

While I’m not in love with Kayla, I’m not a complete dickhead, so I stayed.

Her grandma died two days later, and I couldn’t do the breakup while Kayla was actively grieving. And here we are in May. Six months is an appropriate amount of time to stay in a relationship I’m desperate to get out of, right?

“I told you I wouldn’t be home because tonight is about Phoenix.”

“But…”

I try to keep the coldness I feel out of my voice and aim for resolute. “Good night, Kayla. I’m turning off my phone, and I’ll see you at the wedding tomorrow.” Before she can reply, I hang up.

Dick move? I don’t really give a fuck right now. All I wanted was one night with my brother, his last night as a single man, and Kayla couldn’t even give me that without calling or texting every few minutes. And it was stupid shit too.

Mr. Snuffles has sneezed twice. Do you think I should take him to the cat emergency room?

I’m thinking about wearing the yellow dress to the wedding tomorrow instead of the blue one.

Can you get me a bottle of Hale’s new perfume? I want to try it.

I have a mosquito bite on my ankle.

Yeah. Not exactly life-altering conversations that couldn’t wait until fucking tomorrow.

Turning off my ringer and pocketing my phone, I return to the bachelor party to find a busty blonde hanging all over Dutton. Her voice is a high-pitched coo.

“Like, a man in a cowboy hat is totally the hottest thing, like, everrrrr. It like, totally makes me hot.”

God kill me. Like, totally.

I turn to the bar and order a Suffering Bastard—because why the hell not at this point?—leaving a generous tip when the bartender slides the chilled glass toward me. I take a sip, appreciating the slight bitterness combined with the warm bourbon followed by the spicy kick of ginger beer.

When I join our group, I notice Phoenix’s frat boy friends heading down the stairs with a group of women, and I look questioningly at Dutton.

“Strike out with blondie?”

He laughs raucously. “Hell, son. You know better than that. I promised her I’d dance with her as soon as the deejay plays a country song.”

Phoenix tips his beer bottle at our cousin. “I swear, dude, you pull more tail than a toddler at a petting zoo.”

“You didn’t do so bad yourself before you got snagged.”

My twin grins like a damn idiot. “I’ve changed my ways, cuz. I’m about to be a married man.” He points at the nonexistent ring on his left hand.

Dutton’s eyes flit between me and Remington. “And which of you will be next?”

“Not me,” we say in unison, like we’re back in grade school and trying to get out of a chore our mom asked one of us to do.

Phoenix bumps me with his shoulder. “What about you and Kayla, brother? You thinking about wedded bliss?”

I shake my head. “No, not even close. I nominate Remi.”

Remington lifts his middle finger from his glass of scotch to let me know what he thinks about that idea.

“I’m focused on my career. Maybe I’ll think about marriage later, but it’s too much fun playing the field right now.

” His forehead scrunches. “They all want to get too serious too quickly, and I’m not ready for that. ”

Dutton rolls his eyes. “Because you’re going out with women who know you’re a rich bastard. They all want to be Mrs. Remington Hale.”

Phoenix nods appraisingly. “That’s true. You pretty much date only within our societal circle, and they all know the kind of money our family has.” Then he adds wryly, “You’re certainly not getting laid due to your personality.”

“Fuck off,” our older brother grumbles, proving Phoenix’s point. “I can be charming.” Remi tends to be on the broody side, and his scowl belies his last statement.

My twin’s eyes sparkle, and I can tell he’s up to something.

That feeling is confirmed when he leans closer with a wicked grin on his face.

“Remi, I bet you can’t hook up with a regular girl, someone who’s completely unaware of your net worth.

” He leans back with a look of satisfaction on his face, laced with a side of challenge.

Remi, never one to back down from a brotherly bet, lifts his chin. “I most certainly could.”

Dutton and I watch the interaction with interest, both of us knowing Phoenix has Remi exactly where he wants him. “Prove it.”

Remi swirls his tongue around his inner cheek and glares. “Fine. What did you have in mind?”

Phoenix doesn’t crow, but he might as well because his smirk is one of pure satisfaction. “You take a girl from this bar home tonight.”

“No problem,” Remi returns, looking just as smug as my twin. “Hold my scotch.”

Then Phoenix delivers the kill shot. “One of our choosing.”

Our brother’s dark eyebrows inch together over his brown eyes. “Who gets to pick? I don’t mean to sound like an asshole, but I don’t trust you, Phe.”

“I’ll pick,” I offer, and Remi’s eyes shoot toward me before he nods.

“Okay, I know Helix won’t do me dirty. What are the terms?”

Phoenix taps his chin with a well-manicured finger. “Hmmm. If I win, you have to slow dance with me tomorrow night at my wedding reception. Like junior high style with your arms over my shoulders.”

Dutton and I crack up because that is classic Phoenix… utterly ridiculous. Remington is not so impressed if the sigh he blows out is any indication.

“Fine, and if I win, you have to play golf with me every Saturday for the next year.”

My twin grimaces. We all play golf, but none of us are as fanatical as our older brother. “I’m only asking for one dance, and you want me to give up my Saturdays for fifty-two weeks? Completely unreasonable.”

Remi, ever the negotiator, counters with, “Okay, once a month for six months.”

“Deal,” Phoenix says, shooting his hand out to seal the arrangement. “But if it rains, you forfeit that month, and I don’t have to make it up.” My brothers shake, and Remington turns his bleak gaze to me, like I’m the grim reaper coming to take him away.

“Who are you choosing, Helix?” His head swivels slowly from side to side, assessing the women in the VIP area.

“Nope, not gonna be someone from up here. I’m picking someone down there,” I tell him, striding to the floor-to-ceiling glass separating the exclusive section from the rest of the club. The group follows me, and I cross my arms over my chest as I scan the women down below.

Remington was right to trust me. I’m not going to screw him over, but I am going to make him work for it. That means no wealthy party girls. Skipping the dancing bodies, I let my eyes flit across the seating area on the far side of the room.

Two women are sitting at a high, round table on the edge of the dance floor, a brunette and a redhead. The brunette stands and tugs on the other woman’s hand, but red pulls her hand back and shakes her head. Hmmm. Is she a little shy?

I watch as her friend joins another group of women on the dance floor and finds her groove to a Gwen Stefani tune.

My eyes go back to red, who is still seated.

She fidgets with the top of her dress, as if she’s uncomfortable with the amount of cleavage she’s showing.

She appears to want to be anywhere but here.

If I’m reading the scene correctly, brunette dragged red to this club tonight, probably insisting she wear a skimpy dress. Brunette would be the easier target for my brother, but I need to make this a bit more of a challenge for Remi.

After another quick scan of the area, my eyes are drawn back to red. She’s beautiful, her hair cut in a cute bob of dark auburn waves. When she attempts to pull the bottom hem of her dress down to cover more of her legs, I smile. Bingo.

“Her,” I tell my brothers and cousin as I point. “The redhead at the fifth table from the left.”

Turning my head, I find Remington with his nose practically pressed to the glass. “Fuck,” he breathes, eyes trained on the beauty. “Thanks, Helix. You’re the best brother ever.”

Phoenix snorts and smacks Remi between the shoulder blades. “She seems like a wallflower. Good luck with that, bro.”

“You better get your putter polished, Phe,” he warns, backing away from the window and adjusting the collar of his black shirt. “Watch and learn, boys.”

Dutton grabs his elbow and stops him before he can head toward the stairs. “You’re supposed to look and act like a regular guy, not a dude with money coming out of his ass.”

Remi holds his hands out to the side. “What the fuck? I look regular.”

We survey him from head to toe, and Phoenix snorts. “Hate to tell ya, Rem. Regular people don’t wear thousand dollar shirts, Brioni loafers, and a Patek Philippe watch that costs more than a Toyota.”

Our older brother rolls his eyes. “Fine. I’ll go down there naked, but then it will be gravy. I look awesome naked.”

“Just take off the watch and change your shirt and shoes,” Dutton suggests.

Remington pats his pockets sarcastically. “Well, shit, I seem to have left my spare shirt in the car.”

“Switch with one of us,” Phoenix suggests.

Remington eyes each of us, quickly dismissing our brother’s neon pink monstrosity and Dutton’s western shirt. His gaze falls on my simple charcoal-gray button-down. It cost me about eighty bucks, so definitely a far cry from Mr. Fancy Pants, but it’s better than his other options.

“Helix, switch with me.”

We duck into a corner and trade shirts and shoes before he removes his watch and buckles it onto my wrist. His eyes hold a healthy measure of gratitude and a hint of warning. “Thanks for not fucking me over, man. And please don’t scuff my shoes.”

I can’t help but chuckle. “You got it, bro. And I’ll bring your clothes back to you tomorrow.”

When we return to our group, Phoenix is cackling. “Gotcha all set up at the Hampton Inn, Rem.”