Page 115 of Cocky Brutal Sinner

“Wow,” Ryan says, elbowing me. “I’ve never seen you smile like that, Beau.”

“Really?” Brinley quips. “I have.”

“Well, to be fair, you’re doing things to make Beau happy that I’m not qualified for.”

“Ryan!” Pippa snaps. “I told you, no sex jokes until the awkwardness has passed.”

He groans. “That could take forever. What am I supposed to do, never talk?”

“Yes,” Nate and James say simultaneously, making everyone laugh.

“How are you feeling, Maura?” Brinley asks. I might be the only one who knows her well enough to hear the nerves in her voice. Brinley told me that Cat was the first to fully forgive her, thanks to her physical inability to stay mad at anyone. Pippa was next, because, as Pippa put it, “let she who has never fucked up throw the first stone.” Maura’s was more evasive, but Brinley has been here every chance she could get, making sure Maura had everything she needed when James was busy. They aren’t back to how things were, but they’re getting there.

I take her hand and squeeze it.

“Better,” Maura says. “No more irregular tachycardia, which is good. I hate being on partial bedrest, though.”

“You can still paint small pieces when you’re sitting,” James says.

“I can’t hand-crush rocks, though. I’m only allowed to use the industrial crusher now.”

“And you miss just taking a hammer to something,” Brinley says sympathetically.

Maura’s lips quirk into a small smile. “Exactly.”

“You can come to the UPS offices and use the shredder if you’re craving destruction,” Cat offers. “It was my favorite part of the job during my secretary stint.”

“Thanks. I might take you up on that.”

“Are there more of these things?” Ryan says, mouthful of quiche. “Because I think I could eat another dozen or so.”

"You know Beau made a whole Friendsgiving spread, right?" Eden asks. "He dropped it off earlier. There's a turkey resting in the kitchen the size of a Labrador, plus osso buco for anyone who wants to be fancy about it."

He shrugs. “I’ll make room.”

The playful energy shifts as the elevator doors open for Luke. His shoulders are squared defensively, his usual easy smile absent. His eyes land on Brinley and my clasped hands, and his jaw tightens.

I don’t let go. Now that he’s here, I’ll skip actively making out with Brinley, but if he can’t even handle us holding hands, then I doubt we’ll stay for the rest of the party.

Eden hands Luke a glass of whiskey, and he does a double take.

“Everyone else has wine,” he notes.

“You prefer whiskey,” Eden says, tapping her forehead. “I know these things. Party planner brain.”

She says it lightly and shrugs.

I catch it from across the room—a fraction of a second where Luke's eyes lift from the whiskey to Eden's face. Not in a way that means anything to anyone else. Just a long look across the foot of distance between them, while she's already turned away to refill someone's wine and isn't paying attention to him at all.

The look is the kind I used to give Brinley across a Sunday breakfast table—the one that says I'm allowed to look as long as nobody's watching.

Eden glances back, sudden, like she felt it. Luke's eyes are already on his drink by the time hers find him.

I look down at my own drink and try very hard not to laugh.

Whatever that is, it isn't my business. I have my own circus to manage. But there's a strange comfort in knowing I'm not the only one in this room who pines for something they can never really have. The difference, I don’t think Luke would ever make a move on his little sister’s best friend.

Which makes me the only real asshole in attendance at this party.