Page 73 of Seein’ Red

I slap him on the back, then weave my way through the tables toward the cake. Or at least what is left of it. The massive, five-tier cake has been reduced to a series of slices laid out on the table. I have no idea what flavor it is—raspberry something?—but I do know that Alice at Oh, My Lard! outdid herself with it.

Grabbing a slice, I spin around to head back to the table, stopping dead as I run into a wall. A tall, dark-haired, tattooed, beer-brewing wall.

Milo Hayes.

His signature smirk is gone, but the single wayward curl that is always falling into his face remains. Generally speaking, we’re about the same size and build, but what Milo has on me, other than being eight years my senior, is the Hayes staredown. He’s just as intimidating now as he was all those years ago when I showed up to ask Willa to prom.

Oh boy…

“Milo…”

“Nash…”

We give each other a curt nod, then let silence fall between us. As much as silence can with a dance party going on in the background.

I open my mouth, trying to find something to say, hoping the right words will appear, but he stops me.

“This is the part where I’m supposed to tell you that if you hurt her, I’ll hurt you. But as long as she’s as happy as she is right now,”—he nods to the dance floor—“that’s all I care about.”

His words catch me off guard. I don’t know what I was expecting—that chastisement I suppose—but a comment about his sister’s state of mind was not it.

“Me too. Promise. And if I fuck that up, you won’t have to kick my ass; I’ll be kicking my own.”

“I’ll still kick your ass,” he says around a laugh. “As will the other five…and Auggie. But good to know.”

“Noted.” I force an awkward smile, happy that he’s accepting of the situation. Hopefully the rest of the Hayes brothers will be too. “Well, I better get this over to our girl.”

I hold up the piece of cake, and we nod at each other again. Sidestepping Milo, I exhale fully, not realizing that I was even holding my breath. One scary older brother down, five to go.

Catching Willa’s eye as the song ends, I hold up the plate of cake, making sure she sees it. Eyes going wide, she makes a beeline for me, reaching for the fork immediately.

“OMG, you read my mind!”

“Figured you worked up an appetite. Plus I need you refueled and ready.”

“For?”

“DJ is about to play our song.”

I look over at the DJ, nodding at him to give him the signal to queue up the requested tune. He nods back, silently letting me know we’re up next.

“We don’t have a song, Nash.”

“Sure we do. Not my fault you don’t remember it.”

Willa’s brows furrow, lips pressed into a line. Oh, now I’ve gotten to her.

“Excuse me? I did not forget anything. We don’t have a song. Couples have songs, and you didn’t let us get to that point.”

Ouch, shots fired. It’s the truth though, and I deserve that. Well, the part about us not getting to be a couple is true. Not the we don’t have a song part.

“You are partially correct.”

Willa stomps her foot, her frustration rising. I shouldn't be enjoying this as much as I am, but I can’t help it.

“Partially?”

“Yup. Because we have a song.”