the moment, but Brantley didn’t bother to make Trey aware of that fact.
“I mean, for starters, the guy’s hot. And he’s straight. That’s certainly a problem,” Trey grumbled.
“Not only does he have the looks, he’s got the brains, too,” Killian added, stepping around Trey to join them at the table.
Trey glared at Brantley. “Fucker.”
Brantley laughed. “Hey, it’s important that family knows how much you care about them.”
Trey shot him the finger.
“What’s up?” Brantley asked Killian. “Where’s Tori?”
“Hangin’ with Bryn and Sadie. Somethin’ about a sisters’ night. Eric’s with your folks.” He thanked the waitress when she delivered his beer. “Where’s Cal and Griffin?”
“I hit them up,” Brantley told him. “They said they’d stop in if they could.”
“I saw Sawyer and Kaleb out in the parkin’ lot,” Killian supplied. “They were waitin’ for one of their brothers.”
Perhaps they’d make it a party. Brantley wasn’t about to complain. The Walkers could fill up the bar and he’d be quite content. Considering this was purely a distraction, the more the merrier.
Two hours later, Brantley wasn’t so sure more and merrier went together all that well.
Turned out, Brantley’s text had turned into a mass invitation and what looked to be half the family had descended on the only bar in town. Travis and five of his six brothers had arrived along with some of their significant others. Griffin and Cal had both showed up solo and were now three sheets to the wind. Some of his cousins had joined the festivities: Rex Sharpe and his husband, Jack, were there. Rex’s brother, Rafe, was working the bar. Jaxson Briggs was rolling solo, as were Kaden and Keegan. And those were just the ones Brantley had stopped to chat with.
Of course, his mingling had ended abruptly when Reese arrived not too long ago. At that point, Brantley had opted to chill in the corner by his lonesome, pretending it didn’t bother the shit out of him that the man had crashed his party. Not that it was really a party. Nor was it his because this was a public place, after all.
But still.
“All right, spill,” Cyrus said, taking a seat in the vacant chair to Brantley’s right. “Who pissed in your Cheerios?”
Brantley offered him a glare, tossed back the rest of his beer before signaling to the waitress for another one.
“You two are somethin’ else,” Cyrus said, a huge grin planted on his face.
Brantley knew he was attempting to get a rise out of Reese, who happened to be paying attention now that Cyrus had wandered over. The smile belied every ounce of concern in Cyrus’s tone, yet it was there all the same. Thankfully, Cyrus was keeping a safe distance, the blinding smile meant to infuriate Reese as much as if Cyrus had saddled up on Brantley’s lap.
“Why’s that?” Brantley asked, his gaze connecting with Reese’s across the room.
“What’s it been? Two months? Three? And the bottom’s already dropped out.”
“It didn’t drop out,” Brantley argued, holding Reese’s gaze. “It never fully formed.”
“Wouldn’t know it by the way you two are mopin’ around here.”
“Not mopin’,” Brantley countered, turning his attention to Cyrus.
“Well, I would play it up for your audience, but I’m a reformed man.” Cyrus sat up straight, ran a hand over the front of his shirt.
“Is that right? Who’s the lucky guy?”
“Hint: you’re related to him.”
Brantley grinned. He was already well aware that there was something going on with Trey and Cyrus. He’d given Trey a hard time about it earlier, when Cyrus appeared and both men got a little taller in the other’s presence. It was an interesting combo, but Brantley could see how they might make a good pair.
“I’m happy to hear it,” Brantley said, grinning back. Might as well let Reese think what he would. “But do me a favor,” he said quietly, leaning in near Cyrus’s ear. “Spare me the details of your sex life. Unless, of course, you want me to punch you in the face.”
Cyrus barked a laugh, still smiling.
They sat there for a few minutes, chatting about mundane bullshit when the door opened and a newcomer drew Brantley’s attention. All eyes seemed to shift to the entrance, but he doubted anyone else saw what Brantley did.
A fucker who was going to get a beatdown.
Dante Greenwood stepped into the bar, his gaze doing a quick skim. No sooner did their eyes meet across the room than Dante turned and walked right back outside.
Brantley might’ve taken offense to his hasty retreat if he hadn’t seen the woman Dante had