“Yeah, I like this one. It’s Greta Van Fleet.”
She grinned. “Good. Then I’m changing it. I’m thinking ’90s boyband.”
I choked on a laugh as she slid off her stool and headed to the brand-new, top-of-the-line digital jukebox they’d just had installed. It was probably at least a quarter of the way paid off with all the dollar bills Remi had been feeding it.
“Make it NSYNC!” I called out. “I was never a Backstreet Boys fan.”
She glowered at me over her shoulder, but it held no heat. She was barely suppressing a smile.
Grinning to myself, I watched her ass as she sauntered away. My attention was stolen when someone slid onto the stool beside me.
“Do you know what time it is?” Tyson snapped. “I’ve been sitting at your house for almost an hour. If I don’t get proof of life to give Cass, she will end mine.”
Oh shit.
Oh motherfucking shit shit shit.
I glanced at Remi, who was thankfully preoccupied with smoothing out a dollar bill on the edge of the machine, and then leveled my glare on Tyson. “You have to leave. Like, right fucking now.”
He scoffed. “I just spent the last thirty minutes looking for you.”
Goddamn my meddling, overprotective family. I’d told Cassidy to back off and give me some space to explore things with my mystery woman, but I hadn’t guessed that her reprieve came with an expiration date.
“Since when do you stay out past eight p.m.?”
“Since I’m on a date,” I hissed.
“What?” he asked, awestruck. And judging by his smile as he started searching the bar, he was fucking thrilled too. “With who? Where is she?”
I leaned into his face. God willing, I was blocking his view. “I don’t have time for this. She’ll be back any second and you cannot be here. Do you understand me? You have to—”
It was a small bar. Even if she hadn’t turned around, he would have spotted Remi in a matter of seconds. But just my luck, as soon as the opening notes of “I Want It That Way” started playing, my brother sucked in a sharp gasp.
“No fucking way,” he breathed.
I didn’t have to look in her direction to know she was headed our way, a huge smile lighting her face. Pleased as fucking punch to meet whoever had joined me.
Fuck me. As if the verbal diarrhea with Jack Grey hadn’t been enough of a clusterfuck that I’d barely managed to reel in before Remi had caught on, this was about to be a shit show with Tyson.
“She does not remember anything. Not me. Not the kidnapping. It’s the same as when she was in the hospital,” I whispered. “So play it cool, and I’ll explain everything later.”
He looked at me like I’d lost my ever-loving mind, and honestly, there were a lot of days when he wasn’t wrong. This, however, was not one of them. Yet.
“Hi,” Remi chirped as she stopped in front of us.
Tyson didn’t budge or reply. He just stared up at her like he was face-to-face with a ghost. I knew the sensation all too well.
I stood and slid my arm around her hips, praying she didn’t feel my heart thundering in my chest. I kicked his stool, hoping he’d at least fucking blink.
“Remi, this is—”
“You were one of my doctors,” she stated, but her tone suggested she wasn’t totally confident in her assumption. “Right?”
He wasn’t, but he’d been up to her room after almost every shift to check on her for me. Scrubs. Hospital ID. White coat. It wasn’t exactly a far leap for her to make. When she hadn’t recognized him after she’d woken up, it was one of the first clues we’d gotten about her memory loss.
Oh, but she remembered him now. Fucking hell. This was exactly why I hadn’t introduced her to my family yet.
Tyson slanted his head. “Was I?”
Okay. Okay. That was at least better than Jack’s faux surprise blunder.
“Yeah. I definitely recognize you. I’m sure you see a lot of patients, but I was in the same plane crash as Bowen.” She pressed into my side.
His gaze followed her movement.
I gave her a tight squeeze and cleared my throat. “Remi, this is my brother, Tyson. Tyson, this is my girlfriend, Remi Grey.”
“Your brother? How crazy is that? Your brother helped save my life.”
Finally, with that little ego stroke, he snapped out of his shocked stupor. With a good old classic Tyson Michaels arrogance, he smirked. “Probably. That does sound like me.”
“He’s a plastic surgeon,” I told her. “So I’m gonna go with a probably not on saving your life. But it’s definitely a small world.” I grinned and pinned Tyson with a glare.
I hated lying to her and hated even more the way she looked at me whenever Sally came up. I doubly hated how she thought my heart had ever belonged—or could ever belong—to someone else. But I all-out fucking loathed each and every time I had to pretend I didn’t know her or about her past. And it shredded me that she’d noticed it too because I was a fucking dumbass who’d forgotten to ask questions I already knew the answers to.
