Page 15 of Never Dance with the Devils (Never Say Never #6)

“You’re right!” Janey exclaims, grabbing her phone.

I don’t need to see the screen to know that she’s logging in to the cameras right now.

“Aww, look at my cutie patootie boys,” she coos, flipping the screen around to show my brother having what appears to be a very serious talk with a propped-up Emmett.

Knowing Cole, it could be about anything from camouflage for maximum invisibility in any environment to investment strategies in offshore accounts.

Riley’s next, pulling her phone out to show pictures of her and Grace on a recent thrift store shopping excursion, both with whipped-cream-topped Starbucks concoctions in hand.

“We found a bunch of T-shirts we’re gonna tie-dye, and then some graphic ones we’re gonna cut up and use as patches to make one-of-a-kind shirts.

It should be fun and then we can wear them on our summer vacation.

” It definitely will be fun, for them. Personally, I can’t wait to see my straight-laced brother in a tie-dye T-shirt with a hand-stitched Disney character patch. Maybe a pair of Mickey ears too.

“You want to see cute?” Dani asks, pulling her phone from her pocket.

“If you’re about to show us a picture of Kyle’s dick, don’t. We’ve all seen it,” Janey rushes to tell her, shielding her eyes from whatever’s on Dani’s phone.

Shaking her head, Dani laughs. “That was an accident.”

“He sent it to the family group chat!” I counter. “Mom saw it. ”

“To quote Kyle, it’s not like she hasn’t seen it before.” Dani shrugs. “And we all know there’s not a shy bone in that boy’s body.”

I stare, open-mouthed. “It wasn’t pierced the last time Mom saw!”

“It definitely is now,” Samantha sing-songs, trying unsuccessfully to hide her laugh. In the end, she gives up and extends a hand, whispering, “Dani, high-five, babe!” Dani grins and air high-fives her back.

“Not Kyle’s dick. Just look.” When we crowd around her phone, there’s a picture of Kyle and Peanut Butter nose to nose over a plate of bacon. I can guess who won that battle, and it’s not my brother.

“Aww, they’re the cutest,” Luna coos, and everyone agrees.

“To sexy Harrington men!” Samantha toasts again. I lift my glass, participating, but don’t drink, unable to toast my brothers’ sex appeal. “This is delicious,” Samantha compliments Dani, licking her lips to get every drop of sangria.

“Thanks. I got some fresh pineapple from the farmer’s market,” Dani replies, biting into the slice that moments ago was garnishing the rim of her glass.

She’s a kitchen witch as far as I’m concerned—able to create magic from the simplest of ingredients.

She also has a way with words, speaking her mind without hesitation and usually with a few curse words thrown in.

“I’d give you the recipe, but we both know you wouldn’t use it,” she teases, and Samantha laughs, nodding in agreement.

“No, I wouldn’t, but can I put in a special request that you bring it to Janey’s next month too?”

Lifting her empty glass, Janey declares, “I second that emotion. And on that note, I need a refill.” She stands, heading into the kitchen, and while everyone else follows suit, Samantha stays in her chair, eyeing me.

“You’ve been quieter than usual. What’s going on in that big, beautiful brain of yours?” she probes gently.

“Nothing. I’m fine,” I tell her, not meaning it in the slightest. My brain doesn’t feel particularly beautiful right now.

It feels like a tangled ball of yarn, full of knots and snarls, and that stresses the hell out of me.

I like things planned, organized, and scheduled—including my mental breakdowns, thank you very much.

“You know I’m literally trained to know when someone’s lying to me, right? More importantly, to know when they’re lying to themselves.” She lets that hang there, the implication landing exactly as she intends.

I glance to the kitchen, where they’re not only filling up their glasses but pulling more cheese cubes out of the fridge.

With a sigh, I confess, “Feeling a bit left out, I guess. All of you are in these awesome relationships—with my asshole brothers, no less—and I haven’t had more than a one-night stand or a situationship in over a year.

Just… I don’t know.” I end with a shrug, not sure how to express what I’m feeling, or at least not willing to label it aloud.

Samantha gives me a hard look. “First of all, a woman of your status does not have situationships . She ‘takes a lover’, and if a guy is fortunate enough to be allowed into her private domain” —her eyes drop to my lap pointedly before returning to mine— “he should be thankful as fuck for the gift. I would say the same holds true for a one-night dalliance.”

The corners of my lips lift involuntarily. She makes it sound like I’m Lady Chatterley, not a woman who occasionally pops her head up from the business section of the news to give in to the human nature of lust.

“You deserve whatever you desire, you know,” Samantha continues. “If you want a lover, take one. If you want a relationship, create one. If you want the whole white picket fence fantasy, get it. Alone or with someone. You’re Kayla Fucking Harrington, for God’s sake, woman. Act like it.”

“Is this how you talk to your clients?” I deadpan.

“No, but I wish I could sometimes.” She sighs longingly. “Lucky for you, you get the sister special, complete with tough love, because you, of all people, can handle it.”

She’s right. I can handle anything. I always have.

No matter the crisis or issue, I’m the go-to girl.

And somewhere along the way, people even quit asking me to do it.

They just trusted that I would. Hell, I knew to intervene before problems even materialized, predicting and intercepting them as they formed.

But living my life as the one Harrington who can deal with anything is exhausting.

“Thanks. I think,” I say with a wry twist of my lips.

Samantha does that magic trick all therapists have—she stays silent, waiting me out while I deliberate long and hard about what I’m about to say and its potential ramifications.

Finally, I carefully divulge, “I had one of those encounters that only exists in fiction—a semi-anonymous, one night of complete and utter madness.”

She gasps, clapping her hands fast but silently so as not to draw the attention of the ladies in the kitchen. “And?” she whisper-screams.

Taking a deep breath, I admit, “It was good, like so good that it stays with you, playing on a loop in your head, over and over until it makes you crazy.” She grins like that’s a good thing, when it’s not.

It’s a bad thing, a very bad thing . “Stop it,” I scold her before finally, flat-out asking what I really want to know.

“Have you ever heard of a one-night stand becoming something more and actually working?”

I keep it pretty simple and straightforward, conveniently leaving out the two guys-and-one me factor even as I picture the three of us in that hotel room, and then, on opposite sides of my big desk, which thankfully covered my body’s heated reaction to their unexpected presence.

I could see Riggs and Maddox again, spend a long night or even an entire weekend in orgasmic bliss, but you don’t track someone down for a repeat fucking.

Riggs might’ve said ‘one date’, but they want more from me.

I just don’t know what yet. And that’s when I shut down, hiding behind my strong and fortified defensive walls.

But I wonder… what if I had said yes to dinner? Or more?

“Uh, have you met me and Chance?” she quips back, her face screwed up in a ‘duh’ expression.

“That’s how it started. Then we were casual, nothing serious, just getting our jollies off, but look what happened.

” She waves a hand, flashing her wedding ring while indicating not only their shared home, but their joined lives.

I swallow thickly. I don’t know if I want that. I also don’t know if I don’t want that. Again, I’d never really thought too deeply about it, always focusing on the next contract, the next investment, the next opportunity at Blue Lake. I never thought about… me.

But maybe I should.

Digging deeper, she asks, “Are you thinking of revisiting a one-night stand for an encore performance? Or maybe even more?” Her tone is that of an astute therapist. The brightness in her eyes is all friendly excitement.

Instead of answering her, I just say, “I don’t know.

Just feeling a bit left behind, I guess, which is not the time to be making life-changing decisions.

” If there’s one thing I’m sure of, it’s that rational, strategic plans from a position of power are how you make positive growth, whether it’s in business or in life.

She peers at me curiously, her head tilted in a way that makes me wonder if she can actually read my mind.

“I’d argue that’s exactly the time to make life-changing decisions.

If you want something different, make the choices that get you closer to whatever that is.

You deserve it all—career, love, family, happiness…

the life of your dreams . Move toward that. ”

I almost laugh. She makes it sound so easy, like picking dinner options from a prix fixe menu.

But her earnestness has me swallowing down my flippant response.

“Thank you. I’ll think about it,” I say sincerely.

“Also, can I retroactively invoke a confidentiality clause and request you don’t mention this conversation to Chance? ”

“Of course.” She laughs brightly. More seriously, she vows, “You can always talk to me, Kayla. About anything. I’ll keep it between us.”

As I nod my appreciation, the rest of the women come back from the kitchen, saving me from further interrogation.

“Who’s ready for a game?” Luna asks.

I hold up my hand. “Me. I’m really good at board games, especially the one with cheese and meat, maybe some fruit and crackers.” I point at the charcuterie spread in the middle of the coffee table, then grab a tiny pickle, nibbling on one end. “See? I’m a winner every time.”

Luna laughs, and though Samantha gives me a few extra glances, she doesn’t say anything about our conversation for the rest of the evening.