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“She’s worried that only one bedroom will be used,” Ben says, stepping off my porch to grab Briar’s stuff.
I jog down, too. “What’s the big issue if I did hook up with her? Your fiancée is going to extreme measures.”
“She’s protective.”
“Protective? She acts like Briar is an innocent cub she’s releasing into the wild.”
Ben stops and places his hand on my chest. Here we go. “Just remember the bet, okay? Hands off, and you’ll get your little dude ranch.”
I stare down at his hand, ready to remind him that he might be a retired professional football player, but I’m bigger and stronger than him now.
He pulls back his hand. “Please,” he says, without sounding genuine in the slightest.
“I told you once, and I’ll tell you again, you don’t have anything to worry about.” Especially now that I know she’s pregnant with another man’s child.
“Just make sure of it. Gillian’s happiness is the most important to me. You fuck with that, and you fuck with me.”
I hold up my hands and shake them. “Ohhh…you’re scaring me.”
“Fuck,” he mumbles, but he smacks on an exaggerated smile when he turns back toward the car. “Hey, you two.”
Briar climbs out. The trunk pops open, and Briar moves to get a box.
“How nice of you to help, Ben,” Gillian says. “I know you have track practice.”
“This is more important.” He bends down and kisses her.
“And you’re welcome, Gilly Bean.” I put my hand on Briar’s arm. “Let the men get it. You just sit there and look pretty.”
“Oh no, you didn’t,” Gillian says.
“Really, I’m fine.” Briar’s teeth are clenched, and she’s giving me that look that says she wants to cut off my dick.
“Ben and I are here to help. There are drinks in the kitchen.”
“Fine, come on, Briar. Rarely is Emmett such a gentleman, so let’s take advantage,” Gillian says.
I’m impressed that I got Gillian to go along with it by acting like a chauvinist. I thought she’d tell Ben and me to have a seat, and she’d carry two boxes at once.
One look at the boxes that are barely taped, and I wonder how fast Briar moved out of her place in Chicago.
“Is this a produce box?” Ben asks.
“Yeah, and it looks like she just threw stuff in there.” There’s a picture frame, cords, pens, notepads. “Why did she move back again?”
Ben shrugs, putting the produce box on top of another box that looks as if it’s about to disintegrate. “Gillian hasn’t told me, and I’m wondering if maybe she doesn’t know because when I ask for specifics, she says Briar just told her she had to get out of Chicago.”
We walk up the porch steps and inside.
“Who ordered grapes?” I ask the girls because of the box.
No one laughs. Gillian used to find me funny, but I guess not now that her sister is moving into my house.
“Did you pick a bedroom?” I ask Briar.
Ben repositions his boxes, wincing and sighing. Briar clearly hasn’t picked a room, from the blank look on her face.
“Go on up and pick one.”
