a glimmer. He couldn't help it; it was just there. And it made him smile as only brothers smile at each other. "But it worries you. Cal and Quinn, me and Layla. That leaves you and Cybil. You afraid fate's going to take a hand? Destiny's about to kick your ass? Should I order the monogrammed towels?"
"I'm not worried. I factor the odds in any game I play, make the players."
"The third female player is extremely hot."
"I've had hotter."
Fox snorted, turned to Lump. "He's had hotter."
"Plus, she's not my type."
"I didn't know there was any woman who wasn't your type."
"Complicated women aren't my type. You tangle in the sheets with a complicated woman, you're going to pay a price for it in the morning. I like them simple." He grinned over at Fox. "And plenty of them."
"A complicated woman will give you more play. And you like play."
"Not that kind. Simple gets you through. And plenty of simple gets you through a lot. I figure going for quantity, seeing as we might not live past our next birthday."
Reaching over, Fox gave Gage a friendly punch on the arm. "You always cheer me up with that sunny, optimistic nature of yours."
"What are you bitching about? You're going to eat, drink, and possibly make Layla, while I settle for club soda and bad music in a crowded West Virginia bar."
"You could get lucky. I bet there's at least one simple woman inside."
Gage considered as he pulled to the curb near the bar. "There is that."
IT WASN'T WHAT HE'D PLANNED, FOX THOUGHT. He'd had the idea of sitting with Layla at a corner table, well in the back where the music wasn't loud enough to hamper conversation. A little get-to-know-each-other-better-as-regular-people interlude, maybe followed by a little low-key necking. Which, if done right, might have led to some fooling around in his truck, and ended with her in his bed.
He'd considered it a pretty damn good plan, with room for flexible options.
He'd ended up crammed with five other people at a table for four, drinking beer and eating nachos while the juke blasted out twangy country.
And laughing, a lot.
The live music wasn't bad when it started. The five guys stuffed in the stage corner managed to pump it out pretty well. He knew them and, feeling generous, bought them a round on their break.
"Whose idea was this?" Quinn demanded. "This was a great idea. And I'm not even drinking."
"Mine, technically." Fox clinked his beer to her glass of diet something. "I routinely have great ideas."
"It was your general concept," Layla corrected. "My execution. But you were right. It's a nice bar."
"I particularly like the Bettie Page wall clock." Cybil gestured toward it.
"You know Bettie Page?" Gage wanted to know.
"Know of, certainly. The fifties pinup sensation who became a cult icon, partially due to being the target of a Senate investigation-read witch hunt in my opinion-on porn."
"Cybil met her." Quinn lifted her soda, sipped.
Gage peered over his drink. "Get out."
"I helped research the script for the biopic that came out a couple of years ago. She was lovely, inside and out. Are you a fan, Mr. Turner?"
"Yeah, actually, I am." He took a sip of club soda as he studied Cybil. "You've got a lot of unusual avenues in there."
She smiled her slow, feline smile. "I love to travel."
When the band came back, two of its members stopped by the table. "Want to jam one, O'Dell?"
"You guys are doing fine without me."
"You play?" Cybil poked him in the shoulder.
"Family requirement."
"Then go jam one, O'Dell." Now she gave him a push. "We insist."
"I'm drinking here."
"Don't make us cause a scene. We're capable. Q?"
"Oh yeah. Fox," she said. "Fox. Fox. Fox." Letting her voice rise a bit on each repetition.
"Okay. Okay."
When he rose, Quinn put her fingers between her lips and whistled.
"Control your girl."
"Can't." Cal only grinned. "I like 'em wild."
Shaking his head, Fox lifted a guitar from its stand, held a brief conference with the band as he slung the strap over his shoulder.
Cybil leaned over to Layla. "Why are guitar players so sexy?"
"I think it's the hands."
His certainly seemed to know what they were doing as he turned, tapped out the time, then led with a complex riff.
"Show-off," Gage muttered, and made Cybil laugh.
He went with "Lay Down Sally," an obvious crowd pleaser. Layla had to admit it had a tingle working in her when he leaned into the mike and added vocals.
He looked the part, didn't he? she thought. Faded jeans over narrow hips,