Page 29

Teagan

Jaysus, Mary, and Joséph and all the saints.

Layla prowls into the living room where I’m hanging out with her brothers and we all go silent. Starting from the top, my gaze does a slow descent of her body. She has her hair pulled back in a sleek ponytail and her make-up is subtle apart from those crimson lips. I get hung up on those for a moment before continuing to the black corset top that’s pushed her breasts together and up so that they’re nearly overflowing. She’s paired it with black leather leggings and some red fuck-me heels. The only jewelry she has on are some large silver hoop earrings. I’m about to stand and pull her back to her room to show her just how much I enjoy this look when Marcos cuts in.

“What the fuck are you wearing, Layla? You can’t go out in public like that!”

I’m instantly enraged that he has the audacity to try to dictate what she can and cannot wear, but this is one instance where she doesn’t need me to fight her battle.

“First of all, Marcos , I can wear whatever I damn well please. Second, you are not my keeper. You may be my big brother, but you, and every other man on this planet, have zero say in the choices I make pertaining to my own body.”

Scoffing, he turns to Rafael for support but doesn’t find it. Raf gives him a disbelieving look and shakes his head in disappointment.

“What about you?” Marcos directs at me. “You’re okay with your girl going out like this?”

Standing, I square my shoulders and move to Layla, kissing her cheek before sliding behind her and wrapping my arms around her middle. I look pointedly at her brother and say, “Aye, I am, but it doesn’t matter what I say. She’s right, mate. Her body, her decision. You’ll do well to remember that with your lass.”

Marcos’ eyes narrow at me. He starts to puff up in indignation but deflates quickly when Layla steps out of my embrace and goes to him, curling a hand around his bicep. “Don’t be a dick, Marcos. Let’s go have a good time, okay? No one is going to mess with me while the three of you are around anyway if that’s what you’re worried about. Right Raf?” She looks to her other brother who, as usual, has kept quiet this whole time.

“Sí, chaparrita,’ he says with a wink. “But I don’t think Teagan will be taking his hands off you the entire night, so there won’t be any question about your status.”

“Too right,” I agree. My lass can wear whatever she wants, but I will make it known that Layla is mine.

* * *

The drive to the club is tense, despite my attempts to lighten the mood. I expected Layla to receive some slagging from Marcos but was surprised by his outburst. From the small amount of time I’ve spent with him, he’s seemed pretty easygoing with a more progressive outlook, but maybe I’ve pegged him all wrong. Talking to Layla about it now is out of the question since he’s currently sulking in the front seat.

After parking the car in the lot across the street, we make our way to the entrance where a decent-sized line has formed. The thump of the bass can be heard, but it doesn’t give away what type of music they’re currently playing. A group of guys around my age zero in on Layla, leering at her in a way that makes my jaw clench. I’m already holding her hand, but I release it to lay my arm over her shoulders once we reach the end of the line, drawing her closer while staring the wankers down. She must sense the tension in my body because she glances up at me with a questioning look.

Bending my head, I whisper in her ear, “Those tossers keep looking at you like that and I may have to go caveman on you just so they know you’re spoken for.”

A low, throaty laugh sounds from Layla before she turns inward and slides her hand up my chest to cup my jaw. Before I have a chance to register what’s happening, she’s kissing me. And it’s not your casual shifting—this is full-on lobbing the gob with wide, open mouths, tongues fighting for dominance kiss. The hand not holding my face curls into my shirt, pulling me close. On instinct, my hands grip her hips then snake down to cup her arse. I’m about two seconds away from backing her into a dark alley when I hear someone clear their throat loudly.

“If you two are done tongue fucking each other, can we please move?”

Marcos is eyeing us with disgust when we pull apart. There’s a large gap between us and the people we got in line behind, but the fuckers who thought to stare at my lass are no longer looking this way.

“Right, sorry, mate.”

Securing Layla under my arm again, we move forward while Marcos grumbles to Rafael about having to pluck his eyes from his head after watching our public display. I’d feel the same if it were my sister, but I can’t find it in me to give a single fuck if it means the rest of the world knows Layla is mine.

Once we’ve paid our cover charges and received our bracelets proving we’re of the proper age to drink, we enter the club. I usher Layla in ahead of me, keeping a hand on her at all times. I’m surprised at how bright it is in here. Rather than the dark and hazy atmosphere that’s common for nightclubs, it’s dimmed just enough to be soft and moody. There are no fog machines or flashing lights, just a large dance floor in the middle of the room full of people line dancing to the country song ringing out. Along the outskirts of the space are tables and booths similar to how Pat has things set up at O’Nelly’s. To the right of the entrance is the biggest bar top I’ve ever seen. It extends along the wall to the right before curving into an L-shape at the back wall. There are four bartenders - two men and two women - evenly spaced along the bar, all with their own fully stocked shelves.

It’s amusing to see predominantly women grouped around the first bartender. He reminds me of the male version of Alicia with his jet-black hair, tight black t-shirt, and both well-muscled arms sleeved in tattoos. He knows exactly what he’s doing with every smirk and wink if the full tip jar is any indication. The next bartender is a curvy lass with a high blonde ponytail who is just as popular, but the majority of her customers are men. She’s clearly as skilled as the counterpart, leaning over the bar to speak to a patron, fully aware that he’s looking down her low-cut shirt. She blows him a kiss when he drops a twenty-dollar bill in her tip jar. The other two bartenders are busy as well, but it appears to be only couples at these two stations.

“What are you two drinking tonight? The first round’s on me,” Rafael calls out over the music, surprising us both.

“You don’t have to do that,” Layla replies, but he holds up a hand to stop her.

“I know I don’t, but I want to. If you don’t tell me, then I’ll just order you a Pbr.”

She gasps loudly before glaring at him. “You would not! You’re a lot of things, Raf, but cruel isn’t one of them. I’ll take a Dos Equis with an extra lime.”

“Thanks, mate,” I tell him with a nod. “I’ll have whatever you’re having, as long as it’s not tequila. ”

Layla bursts into a fit of giggles that has me regretting my words. Raf just raises a brow and looks between the two of us.

“Ah hell,” I groan. “Let’s just say tequila and I are not friends, yeah?”

Raf nods knowingly and saunters off toward the bar where a young, male Hispanic bartender is mixing drinks. He looks up as Raf approaches and a shy smile breaks across his face. Raf rubs a hand on the back of his neck while resting the opposite arm on the bar as he says something. The bartender starts blushing, and I catch Rafael running a single finger along the back of the man’s hand.

Oh.

I start to ask Layla about it but remind myself that it’s none of my damn business and doesn’t change a fecking thing. As curious as I am, if he wants to discuss his love life with me, he will.

“Where’d Marcos run off to?” Layla asks suddenly, her head turning from one direction to another as her neck cranes, searching for him.

I follow her lead and begin to scan the crowd. After a moment, I spot him.

“There he is,” I tell her, lifting a hand and pointing toward the stairs leading to the VIP level. He’s following a young, brunette woman in a red dress, and although I can’t hear him, it’s evident he’s pleading with her. They reach the top of the stairs and he grabs her hand, spinning her so their faces are inches apart. Even from this distance, I can sense the building tension. It looks like he’s about to kiss her when a blonde walks through a VIP area straight to him. It’s dim enough up there that I can’t see her face, but something tickles my brain when she presses her body against his side and runs a hand down his arm. She says something that makes the brunette stiffen and Marcos whips his head toward the blonde, seething. She jerks back in alarm and literally spits in his face before stomping back to the room she came out of. Marcos wipes a hand over his face and hangs his head in defeat.

“Damn, that was brutal,” I say with a wince.

Layla nods her head absently before turning to me. “Part of me feels bad for him but the other part of me says it serves him right for having a revolving door of women for so long. It’s no wonder she doesn’t trust him to continue a relationship after he moves. He can’t even go to a bar without some past hookup or wannabe approaching him.”

Rafael appears at our sides, holding a whiskey tumbler and two bottles of beer with lime wedges jutting out of the top. We thank him while keeping our eyes on the VIP area.

“What did I miss?” He asks, looking from us to where Marcos is descending the stairs.

I take a long pull from my beer before responding, “There was a confrontation with a couple of lasses that didn’t end well.”

“Yeah,” Layla agrees. “Be prepared for a grumpy Marcos.”

Raf groans, tossing back the rest of his drink. “I’ll go get a bottle of Tito’s.”

Layla

“So that’s the girl that’s changed your life, huh? What’s her name?”

I hadn’t planned on asking Marcos about it, but as his little sister, it’s my job to annoy him. He also deserves my nosiness after all the shit he’s been giving Teagan and me. He’s been sitting across from me, nursing a bottle of Tito’s and pouting like a child.

“Layla,” Raf mutters a warning under his breath.

“What? Everyone here saw that debacle take place. Acting like it didn’t happen is stupid. And how else are we supposed to help our beloved brother if we don’t get the details?”

Marcos groans as he leans forward and buries his face in his hands. I made him go to the bathroom and wash it with soap and water before he could have his liquor—germs are germs.

“Her name is Camila. I met her last year at a post-win after-party. She was friends with my date, but her boyfriend at the time knew the hosts. You could tell she was miserable, but she wasn’t my problem, so I went about my night like the pendejo I am. After a couple of hours, I went outside to catch some air and she was sitting in a lounge chair by the pool, crying and holding her wrist with the opposite hand. Looking around, I didn’t see anyone else, so I made my way over. Come to find out, her boyfriend was drunk off his ass and tried to get handsy with her. She kept telling him no, so he got mad, grabbed her wrist, and tried to lead her off somewhere. His grip was hard enough to leave bruises. I guess he caused a big enough scene that some party-goers intervened and hauled him off.”

My heart hurts for this girl, and it reminds me of Norah’s assault. I’m incredibly lucky to have never had anyone try to force me into sex, so I can’t fully relate, but I can imagine how terrifying it would be.

“Anyway, I stayed out there with her, just talking about nothing, until she calmed down enough. I hadn’t been drinking, so I offered to take her home. My date was too busy drinking and dancing to notice my absence, and I didn’t care enough about her to stay. I ended up spending the night at her place—on her couch, Layla. Don’t give me that look. She didn’t feel safe, so I offered to stay just in case her asshole of a boyfriend showed up. There are a lot of other details to the story, but the shorter version is that we became friends, even though I was completely gone for Camila. It took months to get her to agree to go out with me, but eventually, she said yes and that’s all I needed. We were happy, she felt safe, and I had my forever-date. Then CFC happened and you know the rest.”

I’m momentarily swooning at the fact that my womanizing brother referred to a girl as his “forever-date”. It’s so unlike him that I’m forced to believe he really does love her.

“Okay, so who was the blonde?” Raf asks.

“Ugh,” Marcos groans. “That’s Ashley. We hooked up a few times over a year ago when she was in San Antonio for an internship. I was there for a conference and we met at the hotel bar we were both staying at. I thought it was done and over, but then she ended up moving down here this last summer thinking we were together.”

Teagan suddenly chokes on his beer and we all look at him in alarm.

“Teag, are you okay?” I start thumping his back, even though I know that doesn’t actually work.

Once he gets himself under control enough to speak, he sputters, “Please tell me her last name isn’t Rogers.”

I gasp loudly as my brain catches up and Marcos freezes, eyes wide as saucers. “Yeah, it is. How did you know that?”

“Ashley is my ex, mate.”

I’m about two seconds away from puking at the thought of both my boyfriend and brother sleeping with the same girl.