Page 51 of By All Accounts
“Okay,” he said again.
“If you promise you’ll reach out to Smith and be very normal about it and try to get to know Riggs.”
That earned me an eye roll, which made Marshall look much younger than his face had any right to pretend to be.
“I’ll think about it,” he grumbled.
I checked the time on my phone and shot my brother a sweet smile.
“Well, this has been a treat, but you only blocked out an hour of my day and my calendar says this meeting is over.”
“That doesn’t mean you have to go,” Marshall said, reaching across the table and pushing my sandwich tray closer to me. I glanced at him, the delicate way his brow knit together, the concern he was trying so desperately hard to not verbalize. I hated when his kindness shone through because he made it impossible to stay mad at him.
For as much as my brother drove me up the wall with his overbearing dominance about everything in his life, I knew Marshall meant well. He took his role as oldest brother seriously, and he tried very hard to be whatever the three of us needed him to be. The only problem was what we needed him to be now wasn’t the same as what we needed twenty years ago, and he hadn’t figured out how to turn the old part of him off.
And I realized, with startling clarity, neither had I.
“Will you call Smith?” I asked.
“I’ll call.”
“Okay.”
“Will you tell me what’s going on with you?” he asked me back.
“No,” I said quickly, toasted rye crunching beneath my fingers. Marshall winced, and I course corrected as best I could. “Not yet. Not now.”
He licked his lips, pulling them between his teeth and nodding his agreement or maybe his concession. They felt the same.
“Okay,” he said.
“Okay.”
And we finished our lunch.
CHAPTER 18
FINN
By the time dinner rolled around, I was ready to jump out of my skin. I’d been on plenty of dates before, but I’d never been as nervous as I was for dinner with Daniel. We’d already sucked each other off. I’d eaten his fiancé’s cunt in front of him. Hell, if I went all the way back to the beginning, we’d already had sex. Daniel had seen me at my worst, but maybe that was why it felt so important to make a good impression this time around. Frowning at myself in the floor-length mirror beside my bed, I texted Andrew—the least assuming of my brothers—a picture to make sure I didn’t look like I was trying too hard. He promised me I wasn’t, then wished me luck.
Daniel said it would be easier to meet me somewhere instead of us both battling traffic to get home and get back out. I texted him the address of a restaurant in Beverly Hills, and he promised to meet me there at seven. He was four minutes early, which was fine because even with all my fretting, I’d been ten minutes early.
“I hope I didn’t keep you waiting long,” he said, lifting onto his toes to brush a kiss against the corner of my mouth.
“You’re early.”
“You’re earlier,” he teased, sinking back down onto his heels.
“A better version of myself than I used to be,” I promised, sliding one hand against the small of his back and turning us both toward the door. “Ready?”
“Lead the way.”
The restaurant was loud and crowded…and running behind. Our seven p.m. reservation was looking more like seven forty-five at best, but Daniel took the delay in stride. He reached behind himself and covered my hand with his.
“Let’s go wander,” he suggested. “Get a drink. Get some air.”
The hostess promised to text when our table was ready, so Daniel and I set out in search of better scenery. The hands against his back turned into joined fingers against the outside of our thighs, and it felt so good to hold someone’s hand. Even better to have mine held in return. I gave Daniel a squeeze, smiling at nothing when he squeezed me back.
