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“That’s not an answer,” he teases, lifting my hand to his lips and placing a soft kiss on the back of my palm. A shiver runs through me as I savor the touch.
“Uh, cry when I laugh, I guess. Otherwise I could be at a funeral and laughing my ass off, which is wrong.”
“But you’d be okay crying whenever I told you a joke?” he asks, taking a sip of his soda water before he levels me with a questioning look. “I’m not sure I can handle that.”
“Good job you’re just not that funny then, right, Hotshot?” I tease.
Brody chuckles in return, his fingers tightening around mine. The touch is so warm that I sigh contentedly with my gaze drifting down to our laced hands. Unintentionally, my thumb strokes over the scar, causing him to tug his hand back. Every time that I’ve thought to ask him about it, I’ve chickened out. I may not know how he got that scar, but I can feel it deep in my bones that it’s not something he wants to talk about.
Still, I’m not sure what comes over me, because when I link my hand with his again, I ask, “What happened?”
This time when I stroke my finger over the line running from the top of his index knuckle to the top of his hand, above his thumb, he doesn’t pull back. Instead Brody stares down at the table. Stock still and quiet. All echoes of his smile are completely gone.
“Brody?” I whisper his name as Rowan approaches our booth.
He stands there staring between Brody and me, and our hands.
“You got a minute, Ro?” Rowan asks, nodding toward the kitchen.
The last thing I want is to leave Brody after my prying question. I knew he didn’t want to talk about it from the way he’s always pulled back when he’s noticed me looking at it. But the more time we spend together, the more I want to know him better. I want to know what makes him tick and why. Brody’s gotten under my skin and I want to get under his too.
“It won’t take long,” Rowan presses, taking a step back and turning his back on Brody to give me a look that says he’s not going away.
“Okay,” I tell him, squeezing Brody’s hands as I slip out of the booth.
Before I follow my brother, I try to lighten the atmosphere between us with a smile. When he returns it, my chest loosens slightly. I didn’t even realize that it was so tight, but the release of tension allows me to breathe freely again.
“I’ll be just a sec, okay?”
“Take your time, sweetheart.” He grins at me, adjusting the expensive watch on his wrist. “I’ll be right here.”
With a hop and skip of my heart, I follow Rowan to the side of the bar. Mine and Brody’s booth in the corner is still in sight and I steal another smile as Rowan scoffs, “Sweetheart?”
The acerbic tone snaps my attention to him instantly. It’s blatant that he’s got a bee in his bonnet, but Rowan has always been over the top protective where I’m concerned. And while I’ve humored it in the past, and maybe after Tyler I should continue to do so, I’m not in the mood for it today.
Ignoring his remark, I draw in a deep breath before I ask him, “Everything okay?”
Rowan’s green eyes widen on mine. “What the hell are you doing?”
“Excuse me?”
“Brody-fucking-Spencer? Really Rosie? I didn’t think you were that stupid.”
The remark is a slap to the face, leaving me reeling. If I’m honest, a physical slap would probably sting less at this point. My eyes dart to the booth where Brody is on his phone, and I’m relieved he’s not aware of Rowan’s outburst.
“I’m not stupid, shithead, I’m getting laid.” Rowan growls at my reply, standing taller so that he’s physically overbearing too. When he opens his mouth to give me more of his shit, I cut him off. “I don’t know who Spencer is and I don’t care because it’s me Brody’s fucking. And”—I hold my finger up to shut him up—“you don’t get to comment or judge. In fact, you don’t get an opinion on anything because I’m a fucking adult, Rowan.”
“But you’re still my baby sister and I’m trying to look out for you.” Rowan grips my wrist as I turn to walk away. “This is another disaster in the making.” He pulls on his hair like he always does when he’s exasperated.
I take a deep breath to stop myself from snapping at him again. I know his concern comes from a good place. After my catastrophe with Tyler, it might be warranted too, but everyone keeps telling me to move on, and that’s what I’m doing, isn’t it?
“Fuck, Ro, you don’t know him.”
“I’m a big girl, Rowan, and I know enough.”
“He’s a—”
“You’ve got customers waiting,” I say, ending the conversation before it turns into a real fight.
