This time the deafening silence was booming out of his corner as he let that little gem sink in.
Maeve.
Hanging out with his friends.
A pack of low-life scum who thought the nickname Panty Whisperer bad-ass enough to ooh and aah at its inception, giving high-fives and back-slaps as though going home with whomever it had been back then hadn’t simply been some callow escape, but a conquest worth celebration.
They’d been hanging out with his little sister.
And lying to him about it.
“Oh, wait. Before you flip. I’m not talking about Joey and those guys. Mostly Sam. Once in a while Rafe and Mitch show up. And, to be clear, I don’t date any of them. Ever.”
A relieved breath hissed through his teeth and a few seconds later his jaw unlocked too.
“Helloo? Earth to Panty Whisperer, betrayer of sisters’ trust everywhere.”
Wow. Little Maeve with the one-two punch. The girl knew how to drop a bomb and then turn the tables in a heartbeat. God help the guy who landed her.
“Maeve, just give me a minute to catch up. To wake up, okay?”
He could hear her tongue clucking through the line. Could practically see that impatient posture and pouty scowl. The same one she’d been pulling since she was six years old. Of course back then it wouldn’t have been directed at him. Back then he’d been her hero. The one to intervene on her behalf with older sisters who didn’t want clumsy hands breaking their stuff.
“Ready yet?”
“Yeah, why not? Go ahead and give it to me.” He pushed up from the bed, figuring there wouldn’t be any getting back to it after this, and headed in search of sustenance of the coffee-and-cookies variety.
“I can’t believe you told Nikki you knew how long it had been since she had sex. I can’t believe, after you figured out who she was, you would be so thoughtless as to violate my trust like that. And you didn’t just stop at …
Pushing the start button on the coffeepot, he grunted his acknowledgment of wrongdoing, knowing it would be a move just short of suicide to interrupt the rant in progress for the petty satisfaction of pointing out that she’d broken Nichole’s trust first.
Garrett was halfway through his first cup of coffee when the quiet from the other end of the line hit a point where it was clear this wasn’t just Maeve taking a breath, but she was waiting for a response.
Setting the mug aside, Garrett rubbed a palm over the smooth finish of his kitchen table. “So, aside from being pissed you’d told me about her dating history, did she sound okay?”
There was another silence from across the miles, though this one Garrett wasn’t quite sure how to read.
Then, “She was fine. Why wouldn’t she be?”
“You know. Because she’s a commitment girl.” He still didn’t know how they’d gotten their lines crossed so badly. In all these years he’d never made such a mess—
“Oh, that. Yeah. Get over yourself, Garrett. She wasn’t looking for serious with you. Which I’m pretty sure she actually told you already.”
Yeah, she had. But maybe he just hadn’t liked the sound of it. Or maybe he hadn’t wanted to believe it was true because for some reason he didn’t like the idea of it in the context of her … with him.
“Okay, I can practically hear you worrying over there. But you’re going to have to take my word for it. Nikki is fine. This was exactly what she needed. Except the part about it being you and all.”
Thank you, Maeve.
“She wanted to prove to herself she could have a little fun without it having to turn into some white-dress event. And she did. So no biggie.” Maeve let out a giggle in the background. “Though next time I’m guessing she’ll get the guy’s name first.”
Next time.
Garrett closed his eyes against the words. Figured out it only facilitated the mental peep show—Nichole leaning back on her bed with those big brown eyes peering up at … not him. Hell.
Walking over to the counter, he refilled his mug and threw half of it back at once. Time to wake up and get on with the new day.
“Yeah. Hopefully.”
NICHOLE SANK THE six and watched the cue ball come to rest neatly behind the four. Nice.
Across the felt landscape Maeve tapped her foot impatiently against the leg of her stool, watching as Nichole adjusted her stance and lined up her shot.
“Wow, your form’s really improved.”
Nichole paused, glanced up. “Huh?”
“No, really.” All nonchalance, Maeve waved toward the pool cue, the twitch at the corner of her mouth a warning of what was to come.
Hard to believe it had only been a week with the amount of ribbing she’d taken. But there it was. A week since she’d had the hot press of Garrett’s mouth against hers, the weight of his body—
“You’ve got a firm grasp on that butt … while the shaft just glides through your fingers. I don’t know … it’s almost like you’ve had some practice with the wood lately.”
Mouth hanging open, Nichole fought the slow burn spreading across her cheeks and neck … and lost. “Seriously?”
Maeve smirked. “Ohh, shoot! Your alignment just went to hell.”
“You wish.”
Leaning over the table she straightened out the shot, drew back, focused—
“Gentle with the tip.”
—and scratched. “Maeve!”
Her friend looked less than chagrined. “What? This is pool. I was working the lingo. Whatever your depraved mind does with it is on you.” Jumping from the stool, she winked. “Plus, I really want to win!”
Nichole waited until Maeve was all lined up before settling a hip at the side of the table. “You know, Maeve, there’s more to the game than your stroke. The stick you choose, for example.”
An expression of horror crept over Maeve’s face. “You wouldn’t.”
No, she wouldn’t.
Well, maybe just a little. “I recently had my hands on a nice hard wood. I think I’ll tell you about it. In detail. Let’s start with—”
“Enough!” Maeve’s frantic squeak was punctuated by the one-two thud of the eight and the cue sinking in short order. “You win! Oh, my God, I feel dirty.”
Nichole tossed her hair over her shoulder, reveling in the victory. “As you should, cheater.”
“Yeah, yeah,” Maeve grumbled, too competitive to let any loss go without at least a brief sulk and most likely one more go at retaliation. Only she seemed to shake it off in a blink, her smile returning to full blast. “So, what do you want from the bar?”
“Whatever. You pick.”
Maeve