Restraint - Adriana Locke Page 0,19

switching the phone into my other hand so that I can detangle the opposite side of my head.

“I’m borrowing my friend’s phone. Mine isn’t charging and Walker and Peck are using a … whatever you use to air up a car tire to try to clean out the port.”

I laugh. “Oh, dear lord.”

“I know, I know. Anyway,” she says, her tone lighter than before. “I come bearing gifts.”

My stomach growls. “Of muffins? Please be muffins. I’m starving.”

“No. Better than muffins.”

“Not sure anything tops muffins right now.”

“This will. Promise.” She pauses for what I think is effect. “I come bearing … information. Well, information and a ton of questions, you little minx.”

She giggles.

I look at the ceiling as I fill with dread.

There’s zero chance she isn’t calling about Holt Mason. How that’s possible, I’m not sure. The simplest solution would be that her brothers mentioned that I left their house with Holt, but does word travel that fast between siblings?

It doesn’t in mine. Not that Lance doesn’t keep me in the loop regarding all their shenanigans, but I don’t hear about them the next morning unless Machlan, our youngest and rowdiest brother, has done something borderline illegal like punching someone in the face. That does warrant an early morning call. But this? The behavior I’m uncharacteristically exhibiting is, or was, characteristic for the Gibson boys. It’s never gotten me a phone call.

“It appears that Holt Mason has your credit card,” she practically sing-songs into the phone. “Wanna explain that?”

“I do not.”

She laughs. “Blaire! Come on. I want details.”

I straighten my shoulders and clear my throat. “There are no details to be shared. I’m sorry to disappoint.”

“That’s bull, and we both know it. There’s only one reason a woman would be with Holt in a situation so … intense that she loses her credit card. Especially a woman like you.”

I can’t help but laugh. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means you don’t exactly slum it, Miss High Brow Attorney. You’re beautiful, smart, and there’s no way you didn’t sleep with him, especially after Lincoln called and told me that Holt basically chased you out of there last night.”

What?

I get to my feet and catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror. My skin looks bright. My lips are full. There’s a slight purple mark on the top of my breast that I can see as my robe dips in the front.

All in all, I don’t look as depressed at being on vacation as I thought I would. And maybe I have Holt to thank for that.

But did he chase me out of there last night? Not like she’s implying.

Although I don’t really mind the sound of it when phrased like that.

I grin. “Lincoln is adorable, by the way.”

“Lincoln is gross. He’s my brother and has way too much time on his hands at this point in his life. But anyway, Holt is not my brother, and he is smoking hot. I’ll have you know that I had the biggest crush on him my entire life. We used to see the Masons at events, and I’d literally drool over Holt. And Oliver. And Wade. I’d spy on them and drive my brothers crazy.”

I sit on the couch again and recline back into the pillows. “When I was little, Walker and Lance used to have their friends over, and they’d chase me with frogs. We had very different childhood experiences.”

Sienna laughs. “And look at us now. We’re practically sisters.”

“That’s … true.”

“So spill it, sister.”

I nestle down into the pillows and try to embrace the odd sensation washing over me. It’s slightly uncomfortable but strangely pleasant to have this kind of girl talk. Either way, it’s definitely new for me.

This kind of mindless chatter never involved me. Girls in high school or college—sometimes even now in the lunchroom at work—giggle over romantic comedies and men they see on social media. I’m always too busy to be drawn into irrelevant conversations. But it feels different with Sienna, and I wonder what life might’ve been like had I had a sister of my own.

“We had dinner,” I say. “He’s very interesting.”

She groans. “You’re so not doing this right.”

I bite my lip before letting it pop free. “That’s not what he said.”

“Blaire!”

I laugh, my cheeks flushing with embarrassment. “I’m sorry.”

“No! Don’t be sorry. This is what I’m after. This is how it works. Now keep it going and tell me what else he said or didn’t say, did or didn’t do.”

“I just … We had dinner. We had