Page 101 of Twins for Three Bad Boys

I let it breathe a second, then I pivot, because pushing straight at Wayne is as hard as headbutting a brick wall.

“So,” I say, stretching my shoulders. “I’m thinkin’ drinks tonight.”

Hank perks up immediately. “Yes.”

“I didn’t invite you,” I tell him.

“I’m almost twenty-one.”

“You’re nineteen,” Fletcher mutters.

Hank gasps in betrayal.

I look between Wayne and Fletcher. “Mile Marker. Eight-ish. I’ll even let Wayne pick the first round so he can feel powerful.”

Wayne scoffs. “I don’t need to feel powerful.”

“Sure you don’t,” I say smoothly. “You just walk around with that broody mechanic energy for fun.”

Hank cackles.

Fletcher shakes his head, but there’s a faint smile hiding there.

Wayne drags a hand through his hair. “What’s the occasion?”

“Occasion is,” I say, “now that I’m back, my two favorite grumpy men are actin’ like divorced parents at a school recital.”

Hank wheezes.

Wayne glares at me.

Fletcher actually laughs at that one.

Progress.

“I’m not grumpy,” Wayne mutters.

“Darlin’,” I say gently, “you’ve been grumpy since 2009.”

Fletcher smirks. “That’s accurate.”

Wayne shoots him a look, and Fletcher meets it this time. Something passes between them.

“Look,” I say, tone easing back into warm. “We’ll grab a drink. Catch up properly like grown men who don’t communicate exclusively through torque specs.”

Hank raises his hand. “I feel attacked.”

“You are attacked,” Fletcher says.

Wayne exhales slowly.

“Fine,” he says at last. “One drink.”

“Two,” I correct.

He narrows his eyes.

“Two,” he agrees.