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“Yeah.”
“And one, being the oldest, naturally wanting to be on top.”
The corners of his mouth lift, just slightly. “Exactly.”
I raise my glass. “And the evidence of your brother’s success is, quite literally, everywhere.”
Tris jumps in to clarify. “I’m thrilled for him. Honestly. No one is happier than me about Angel Inc.”
“But you’re a firstborn, competitive type, and there’s a small part of you that wants to kick ass too.”
“A big part, actually.”
Which should make me uneasy, frankly.
“Tris.” I cock my head to the side. “You shouldn’t feel guilty for feeling like you do. That a part of you wants to do better because Enzo has done so well is very normal.”
His expression tells me I’ve hit the nail on the head. “I would just feel better if he hadn’t given me the money.”
“I get it. But . . .” Maybe this is pushing it. But Tris doesn’t strike me as the kind of guy I need to pussyfoot around. “I also think your ego is getting in the way of accepting something offered out of love.”
Surprisingly, Tris doesn’t seem to take offense at that in the least.
“I’m sure it is,” he admits with more self-awareness than I have in me.
Lightening it up a bit, I tell him the truth of it. “You really have a nice place here, Tris. I can see why it’s so popular. I had no idea Brax was cooking for you either.”
His eyes narrow, just slightly.
“What?” I ask with mock innocence. But I already know. Tris didn’t do a very good job hiding his thoughts back in the kitchen. Actually, he never does, which is something I like about him. No games. What you see is what you get.
“Tell me about this date,” he says, not even trying to hide the fact that he’s jealous. Which should be a red flag, but instead, I kind of like it.
“It was less of a date and more of a . . .” How do I put this delicately? “Um . . .”
“Hooking up?”
I take a sip of wine to avoid answering.
“You and Brax hooked up?” he asks, but not in an accusatory or judgmental way. Which is good. The sexiest guy in the world with ambition to match my own, and not to mention magical fingers, wouldn’t matter for squat if he believed in double standards.
Although I’m pretty sure I know him better than that already, and thankfully there’s no censure in his tone.
“Sort of. But not all the way. You know how it can be, home for the holidays and all. And he’d only gotten more good-looking since high school.”
Am I pushing his buttons? Testing him a bit?
Yes.
Should I be?
Probably not.
“He’s a good-looking guy,” Tris admits.
Not the answer I’d have expected.
“Yes, he is.” I take another sip of wine.
