With a smile, I exit Ash’s sedan and stick out my hand. “Nice to meet you. I’m a fan. You’re killing it with the color commentary this season.”

  “Thanks. Other than that, nothing to be a fan of these days except the dad bod I might be working on.” He pats what appears to be a flat, hard stomach. His arms definitely bulge in a tank top that leaves me little doubt he’s stronger than fuck.

  The brunette laughs. “You’re so full of shit. You’re working out harder than ever—and dragging me with you. My thighs hurt after yesterday.”

  “Hey, watch your language around the baby.” Looking slightly tipsy, he presses a hand to her rounded belly. “We don’t want her picking up on bad habits. Besides, if you want, I’ll really give your thighs a reason to hurt.”

  When he winks lasciviously her way, the brunette laughs. She turns to Maxon. “Don’t give him any more to drink.”

  “What?” Noah protests. “The night is still young! You want a drink?” he asks me.

  “Sure,” I say, then I turn to Bethany.

  She looks torn.

  I take her hand. “I won’t stay long. I just…Ash is going to be with Montana, and I’m not ready to be alone if that’s okay.” I press my lips together and confess something that, even if it’s manipulative, has been paining me all night. “This will be my first whole year without my parents and…I’m not sure how mentally ready I am for that.”

  Her face softens. “I didn’t even think of that. I’m sorry to be wrapped up in my own crap. Come on in. Meet everyone.”

  Within minutes, I’ve officially met Noah’s wife and Bethany’s half sister, Harlow. She’s just like Bethany described her—confident and full of life. I like her instantly. I can tell she’s good people. Maxon shakes my hand, seemingly thawing toward me. Keeley pauses her pregnant walk to hug me and tell me glumly that the labor pains have stopped—again. Griff shuffles up next, seeming to take my measure. As we’re introduced, he shakes my hand a bit too forcefully as if to let me know he’s watching me and he’s got teeth he has no problem using if I mess with his sister. I give him my friendliest smile to assure him that’s not a problem.

  By the time I’ve gotten the evidence I need from Bethany and turned it over to the authorities, I’ll be long gone and none of these people’s opinions will matter.

  As unwanted guilt twinges me, Griff introduces me to his blond wife, Britta, who is also very pregnant. She’s very sweet, too.

  A tall, intellectual guy saunters up next. He might be smart, but he’s clearly logged a lot of hours at the gym, as well. He introduces himself as Evan Cook. I’ve heard the tech genius’s name. I had no idea he’s Barclay Reed’s son. Then he wraps a long arm around a beautiful African-American woman and introduces me to his wife, Nia, whom he says is also pregnant. Apparently, all these newlyweds decided not to waste any time before starting their families.

  Next, I meet a few of the inn’s guests just before they thank Maxon and Keeley for a great time and head off to bed. Single dad Trace, Noah’s brother, picks up his sleeping son in his infant carrier, waves at us, and heads home.

  Last, Evan’s friend and CFO, Sebastian, comes out of the house with a cold one and passes it my way. “Beer?”

  “I have to drive home,” I say with a shake of my head.

  “Just one,” he says. “If you don’t feel comfortable driving, someone will take you or let you crash on a sofa somewhere.”

  I hesitate. I probably shouldn’t stay long. I don’t know how Bethany will handle it. But I need to make inroads, get information. Plus, the idea of going back to Ash’s crappy apartment to spend the rest of the night alone really does sound depressing.

  “All right. Thanks.” Then I scan the lawn for Bethany and see she’s talking to Keeley and Harlow, but she’s empty-handed. “What does Beth drink?”

  He raises a brow. “I don’t know. We’ve only met once.”

  “It’s cool. I’ll figure it out.” I take a swig of the ice-cold beer, then sidle up to Maxon. “What does your sister drink?”

  “Sauvignon Blanc. I’ve got a good one from New Zealand chilling in the fridge for her.”

  “Mind if I grab her a glass? She’s had a rough night. It was killer at work.”

  Maxon nods as we head inside, toward the white, bright kitchen. “I told her she didn’t have to take the first job that came along when she got here. She’s so damn determined to earn some money so she can ‘get out of my hair,’ as she puts it and get her own place. I’ve told her there’s no rush, but she’s so damn stubborn and independent.”

  “That sounds like Beth.”

  “Beth, huh?” He frowns. “Look, I appreciate you giving her a ride home after her shifts, but man to man? She’s not in a good place right now. If you’re cozying up to her simply to bang her—”

  “I’m not. We’re…friends.”

  “I see the way you look at her.”

  That’s not good because if Maxon can tell I’d like to fuck his sister, what else can he read from me? “I won’t deny she’s beautiful. But she’s already let me know that she’s not into dating right now and that I’m apparently too young for her.”

  “Pfft.” Maxon rolls his eyes. “It’s not as if you’re sixteen, but like I said, she’s not in a great place mentally to be dating…or anything else.”

  Personally, I think that’s Bethany’s decision and I wonder if she’d appreciate Maxon butting in. But I don’t rebut him since I’m not actually looking to hook up with her, just make her pay for whatever sins she might have committed against my father.

  Her oldest brother shows me where the wine tumblers are and opens the fridge to extract a bottle of vino when Griff walks in. He looks over his shoulder and spots his petite wife talking to Keeley and rubbing her back helpfully.

  Then he focuses all his attention on me again, brow raised. Cue the interrogation.

  “You’re not trying to scam Bethany into bed, I hope.”

  I choke on my beer.

  “Dude.” Maxon rolls his eyes. “I already asked and I was way more subtle.”

  “Fuck subtle. I want information. And what’s with the bruises around her wrists?” He sends me a pointed glance.

  “That’s not me. There’s a persistent, handsy patron who keeps coming back to the bar. I’ve tried to intervene when I can, but it was so busy tonight that I missed his latest stunt.”

  “Why hasn’t anyone thrown this guy out?”

  “I’m going to talk to Andy about it on Tuesday because it’s not right. But I gotta ask, why does Beth seem reluctant to stand up for herself?”

  Maxon and Griff exchange a glance before the older takes over with what I assume is the more carefully crafted reply while he pours her a glass of wine. “She’s in the middle of a rough patch now. She needs to work through a few things.”

  As answers go, it doesn’t tell me much, but we’re talking. It’s a start. “Beth mentioned that she and her dad recently had a falling-out.”

  They look stunned by that admission.

  “That’s one way of putting it,” Griff snorts.

  Maxon hands me Bethany’s glass, then elbows his brother. “Yeah. Our old man is a massive, bleeding asshole. It was just a matter of time before she figured that out the hard way, too. We should get back to the others.”

  Clearly, they aren’t going to divulge more, but it’s interesting that these two have an even less glowing opinion of their father than Bethany. Of course, I never assumed Barclay Reed was a great guy. He’s been arrested, and the victims’ stories circulating online of the clients who had trusted him for decades are heartbreaking. But he’s going to get what he deserves, so I’m focused on Bethany.

  “Whatever you do, though, go easy on her,” Maxon murmurs. “She may not seem like it, but Bethany is fragile right now.”

  Griff grabs my arm. “And if we find out you’ve hurt her, we’ll be all too happy to rip your balls off. Are we clear?”

  Chapter Four

  With that warning pinging around my brain, I head outside toward the people spilled across the lanai. Evan and Sebastian seem to be deep in an office-related conversation. Noah opens another bottle of beer, takes a swig, then wraps his arm around Harlow, who is talking animatedly with Keeley, Britta, and Nia. Bethany hovers in the periphery, hands clasped in front of her. The women do their best to draw her into the conversation. She smiles, clearly listening, but says nothing. I think that’s less because babies aren’t her thing and more because she feels out of place.

  “Hey.” I approach with a cold drink in each hand before I extend the glass of wine her way. “Have a drink. You’ve earned it.”

  “Thanks. I’ve got to sit. My feet are still killing me.”

  I wouldn’t mind that, either, so I let her lead me to some patio furniture clustered on the corner of the lanai. She sinks onto a love seat, probably because it’s closest. I ignore the chair a few feet away and sit beside her, following suit when she props her feet on the low table.

  “Hell of a night,” I say.

  “I have a whole new respect for waitstaff. It’s a hard job.”

  “It is. Bartending is also tougher than I remember. Or maybe I’m just rusty.”

  “It might feel that way, but you have the right touch. I heard nothing but compliments on the drinks tonight.”

  I smile. “Good. Since I started again, I’ve been telling myself that it’s like riding a bike.”

  A smile floats across her face. “Probably. Like a lot of things, I guess.”

  “Yes.” The first thing that comes to mind is sex. In fact, whenever I get close to Bethany, it’s always on my brain.

  It sucks being so suspicious of the woman I’m dying to fuck.

  As she sips her wine, I scoot closer—until she stiffens.

  Biting back a curse, I settle back against the cushions and remind myself that I should be focused on what to say next to Bethany, how to get her to open up like she was on the drive over. I have to stop fixating on how to get into her pants. Something has raised her reserve again, damn it, and I need to relax her.

  Thankfully, I know just how…

  “Let’s play a drinking game.”

  “Like we’re at a frat party?” She raises an arched brow at me.

  “Like we’re trying to forget our problems, be silly, and have a little fun.”

  Bethany glances around the gathering. “The rest of the women are all pregnant. They can’t play.”

  “I meant just the two of us. We’ve got our cozy corner and some fresh drinks. Why not?”

  “Or we could just call it a day and get some much-needed sleep.” She sighs tiredly.

  “Where’s your New Year’s spirit?”

  With a shake of her head, she laughs. “All right, but only because it’s New Year’s and only because I graduated college at seventeen, so I missed all the usual party stuff.”

  “Excellent. We’re going to play a game called Drink or Dare.”

  “I’ve never heard of that.”

  Because I just made it up. “It’s like truth or dare, but if you don’t tell the truth, you’re daring yourself to take a drink.”

  She shrugs. “Sounds simple enough. But I’m going to bore you. I’ve led a pretty sheltered life.”

  I haven’t, so this should be interesting. “I’ll ask you a question first so you get the gist of it. Um…drink or dare. Have you ever had a one-night stand?”

  Bethany presses her lips together. “I’m pleading the fifth.”

  I shoot her a grin, but wonder why she won’t answer. “Then you have to drink.”

  She lifts her glass in salute, then takes a dainty sip of the vino before setting it on the table again. If I let her play like this, we’ll be here all night.

  “Nope.” I hand her the wine glass again. “You have to drink all of it.”

  Her eyes flare wide. “Are you kidding?”

  “Hey, every time I defer I have to drink a whole bottle of beer.” And after a few, I’ll probably be drunk as hell. But I’ll cross that bridge if and when I come to it.

  “I’m a total lightweight,” she pushes back. “This is going to be a short game.”

  That definitely skews the odds in my favor, along with the fact that I probably outweigh her by nearly a hundred pounds.

  With a little frown, she lifts the glass to her lips and starts imbibing. At first, the sips are small and controlled. But when she eases the tumbler from her mouth and sighs at how little she’s managed to drink, she tries again, this time gulping the wine until she manages to drain every last drop.

  “Fantastic. Wait here!” Before she can ask what I’m doing, I dart into the kitchen, past Maxon and Griff, who are strolling out to meet up with the others, then grab the bottle of Sauvignon Blanc from the fridge. When I return to the lanai, I refill her glass and set the half-full bottle on the floor beside the love seat. “Now you’re ready for the next question.”

  She narrows her eyes at me. “Isn’t it my turn to ask you a question?”

  “Sure.”

  Her jaunty little smile surprises me. “Hmm… Drink or dare. How old were you the first time you got drunk?”

  She’s keeping things light, which makes this game easy on me. Me? I’ll be pressing hard, but she probably won’t figure that out until it’s too late.

  “Thirteen. I went to a cousin’s wedding, and when the adults all got busy socializing and dancing, I dipped into the punchbowl. No one told me it was spiked. My mother was so pissed when my dad had to pull me out of the men’s bathroom because I’d gone in there to pee but I was too drunk to find my way out.”

  Bethany laughs out loud, an artless smile brightening her face. She’s always stunning, but this expression makes her beyond beautiful. The tinkling sound of her amusement is light and feminine, and for the first time, she’s responding to me without first thinking. Right now, she’s natural. She’s real. This is her.

  It’s arousing as hell.

  “I can picture you as a bleary-eyed teenager stumbling around to find the exit. Oh, that’s hysterical.”

  “When I recovered from the horrible hangover the next afternoon, I found the humor in it. When my dad was explaining what had happened to my mom, he was trying really hard not to chuckle. But he wasn’t terribly successful.” I take a swig of my beer. “Now it’s my turn. Drink or dare… Have you ever stolen anything?”

  Instantly, her face closes up. I grit my teeth, mentally berating myself. That question was too much, too fast. Damn, I need to be more patient.

  “That’s a terrible thing to ask.”

  “Sorry. It was just random,” I lie. “I’m usually better at this, but it’s been a long day.”

  “Then why don’t we end it?”

  I take a risk and grab her hand. “Please. I’m enjoying my time with you. Would you rather have another question?”

  “No, it’s fine.” She waves me away. “I need to stop making assumptions and being insecure.”

  “About what?”

  “Nothing.” She shakes her head. “You asked me about stealing. I’d rather drink.”

  Because she’s guilty and she doesn’t want to admit it?

  “Living dangerously?” I taunt.

  “That’s one way of looking at it. Bottoms up.” She lifts her wine and downs the entire glass in seconds.

  Coupled with her almost nonexistent dinner, I wonder how much longer before she’s feeling the alcohol.

  As soon as she sets the empty glass down, sinks back to the cushions, and shoots me a slightly unfocused glance, I have my answer. The booze is hitting her. Now we might get someplace.

  “What did you steal?” I whisper conspiratorially.

  “I never said I stole anything.”

  “You drank to avoid answering me.”

  “Which means I’m not talking about it.”

  I slip into flirt mode. It’s not conscious. I can’t help but want to flirt with her. “Did you steal someone’s heart?”

  Instantly, she scoffs. “I wish. I’ve never really been in a relationship. I always put work first—and I was fine with that. Hell, I was great with that since my dad was my only real example of what marriage was. If that was supposed to be happiness, I wanted no part of it.”

  “Never?”

  She shakes her head.

  “You’ve never been anyone’s girlfriend?” I can’t fathom that. She’s beautiful and obviously smart and surprisingly easy to be around.

  “In high school, I was the age of an average freshman when I was a senior. The upperclassmen ignored me. The underclassmen were intimidated by me. When I got to college, all the guys referred to me as jailbait. No one wanted anything to do with me.” She shrugs. “As soon as I finished my MBA, my dad put me to work. I wasn’t about to date clients and I didn’t have a lot of opportunities to meet other men. I didn’t have any girlfriends I could go barhopping with, either. And online dating never held any appeal. Besides, I was too busy.”

  “But you’ve had sex?”

  “Yes.” She glares at me.

  I want to know how old she was, who with, why she gave her V-card to someone she didn’t even have a relationship with. But my last too-fast question taught me that I need to slow down. So I’ll keep a lid on my curiosity—for now.

  “What about you?”

  “I’ve had sex,” I assure her, tongue-in-cheek.

  “A lot of it, I’m sure. You’re smooth. You look like the kind of guy who knows what to do with a woman. One of my first thoughts when I saw you was of your hands.”

  “My hands?”

  “They look capable of stroking a woman and making her very happy.”

  Okay, that’s the booze talking, but it’s interesting to know that she’s thought about me, even in passing, as more than a friend.

  “Oh, yeah. What else did you think?”

  “Hey, it’s my turn to ask you a question. And since you sneaked in a few extras, you can answer me. Ever been someone’s boyfriend?”

  “Not since high school, but yeah.”

  “Why not since then? Why not now? Did something happen to swear you off relationships?”

  Good question, one I haven’t given much thought, to be honest. “No, nothing happened except I got busy with work and figured I had all kinds of time to find the right woman. And I want what my parents had. They were married for twenty-eight years, and I never saw two people more in love. A couple of my buddies put a ring on the first piece of steady ass they got, and now they barely talk to their wives because they have nothing in common and they’re miserable. I want more.”