this one. I didn’t speak up when I should have and I almost lost Leah Mae because of it.”
We all went silent and I stared at the floor for a long moment. The way they put it, it didn’t seem all that complicated. It wasn’t like I was thinking about marrying her. Yet. Maybe this was just how real relationships happened.
The silence went on long enough to get awkward. I cleared my throat again. “Get back to work, lazy-asses. I don’t want to be here all day.”
Devlin took his beer back to the spot he’d been painting, and Jonah started climbing one of the ladders. Bowie shook his head at me with a little grin on his face. Kinda made me want to punch him—but not too hard.
Jameson patted my shoulder. “She likes you too, Gibs. I’d bet my poker money on it.”
“Thanks. Now shut your pie hole about it.”
He slapped me on the back, then went back to work.
“Hey guys,” George said from the doorway. He came in dressed in an old t-shirt and torn jeans. “Sorry I’m late.”
“What the hell happened to you?”
George looked a little rough. His hair was a mess, his beard hadn’t been trimmed in a while, and he had dark circles under his eyes.
“It’s June,” he said. “She’s killing me.”
“Killing you how?” Bowie asked.
“I don’t know what’s gotten into her,” George said. “She’s insatiable lately. I’m talking multiple times a day, like meals and snacks, only sex. She woke me up in the middle of the night last night and… well, I won’t go into detail, but suffice it to say, it was pretty great. But I’m exhausted. I haven’t had a full night’s sleep in a week.”
“Slow your roll, George,” Bowie said, wincing. “Hearing about June is like hearing about our sister.”
“You better get some rest tonight,” Jonah called down. “We have an eight-miler tomorrow.”
“Ah, shit,” George said. He grabbed a paint roller. “What’s new with you guys?”
“Gibson has feelings,” Jameson said.
Everyone laughed, including George.
“Go ahead, shitheads, laugh all you want,” I said. “Next Cock Spurs game, y’all are gonna have to get your drunk asses on the bus to get home by yourself.”
We all got back to work and a couple of hours later, we’d finished. Place didn’t look half bad with some new paint.
Just as we were done cleaning up, the girls arrived, fresh from their spa day. Each of them, including June, darted for their significant others, jumping into their arms. Callie looked a little shy as she walked toward me, her tongue darting to the notch in her lip.
“Hey, you.” I slipped my hands around her waist and drew her close. “Have a good time?”
“Yeah, it was nice.”
I leaned in to kiss her—just a taste. But then kissed her again because it felt so damn good.
“I like it when you do that,” she whispered, brushing her nose against mine.
“That’s good. I like doing it.”
Her lips were so delicious, and so close, I decided I didn’t care that my sister was probably staring at us, and kissed her again. Scarlett knew I didn’t have to do this here. We were all in on the truth, so kissing Callie now wasn’t for show.
I pulled back and looked her in the eyes, ignoring everyone else. “Ready?”
“Sure.” Her phone rang and she pulled it out of her bag. “Hang on a second. I should take this.”
I nodded.
She held the phone up to her ear. “Hey, Cole. Are you still in the studio? How’s it going?”
Bowie caught my eye and whispered, “Cole? She isn’t talking to Cole Bryson, is she?”
I shrugged. Cole Bryson was a big deal—famous rock star with millions of rabid fans.
“Yeah, I know it’s hard,” she said, her voice soothing. “But you need to remember, you’ve done this before. Look at those platinum records on the wall. You’ve totally got this.”
Holy shit. Maybe it was Cole Bryson.
She paused again, listening, and her posture changed. Crossing her arms, she widened her stance. “All right, Cole, I get it. But if the album doesn’t feel right, is wallowing in self-pity going to fix it? No, it’s not. The only thing that’s going to fix it is you. So here’s what you’re going to do. You’re going to peel yourself off the floor, grab that guitar, and get your ass to work.”
I raised my eyebrows. She sounded like a coach giving her team a fourth quarter locker room pep talk.
“No more excuses,” she said, her voice firm. “I’m serious, quit being a pansy. You’re