you, Ryan?” Definitely not the doctor I was looking for.
“Tanner? Oh, how lovely.” Her voice is flat and monotone. “Yes, you guessed right. Well done. Gold star!” Her forced patronising tone is unmistakable and has become quite natural in all of our exchanges.
“Why are you answering Indie’s mobile?” I ask, doing nothing to hide the annoyance in my voice.
Indie is whom I was hoping to get a hold of. Indie is kind and good and decent. She also happens to be head over heels in love with Camden, so I know she’d have mercy on me. Her best friend and flatmate, Belle Ryan, on the other hand, will be less inclined to sympathise.
“Indie’s in the bath. She told me to watch her mobile and only bring it in if Camden calls,” she snaps. “You might share DNA with the man, but you’re nothing like him.”
A leer breaks across my face. “I don’t even want to know what you mean by that because, knowing you, it’s sure to be an insult.”
“Another gold star, Harris.”
“All right, can you just go get her,” I huff. “It’s an emergency.”
“What’s happened? Did you twist an ankle climbing out some girl’s window again? Oh! Did her husband catch you this time and beat you to a bloody pulp like you deserve? Or did you call her by the wrong name while you were balls deep and she threw you through a closed window? Indie’s your doctor for football, Tanner, not an STD clinic for whatever sideshow escapades you get into in your personal life.”
I bite back a growl and reply, “I’m stuck and I need a ride before someone sees me and calls the paparazzi. It’s…an urgent matter.” I glance down at my birthday suit and can’t help but feel that I’ve reached a new low with this one.
She huffs. “Give me the address. I’ll tell her.”
I give her the directions before we hang up without so much as a goodbye. I’m actually surprised she offered to give Indie the message. My relationship with Belle Ryan is difficult at best. In the early days of Cam and Indie getting together, Belle and I did some heavy flirting that I was certain would turn into heavy petting and eventually heavy shagging. The sexual chemistry between us was intense.
But all of that was before my brother decided to fall in love.
A few months ago, Cam and I were at a pub called Old George with Belle and Indie, and just when I was about to seal the deal with the crazy hot Dr. Ryan, I saw Camden dancing with Indie. And it wasn’t the kind of dancing I’d seen him do a thousand times before with a thousand other birds at various clubs around London. It was the kind of dancing you feel ashamed to be watching because it was such an incredibly private moment. It was like they were Greek gods atop Mount Olympus and we were all watching from the lowly human plane. I couldn’t bring myself to turn away, but what I saw between them made me horribly uncomfortable.
It was love.
My brother—the knicker-dropping, smirking sod that is Camden Bloody Harris—was in love.
A Harris Brother doesn’t toss out that emotion freely either. We only have two loves in our lives. Our sister and the gorgeous game of football. Nothing more.
So, Indie Porter becoming a permanent fixture in my brother’s life pretty much puts a NO ENTRY sign on Belle Ryan’s sausage warmer. I’m a “shag ‘em and bag ‘em” type, and doing that with her would get my arse kicked by both my brother and Indie. My sister would be there at the end to finish the job.
But, bloody hell, it’s not for lack of wanting. Belle Ryan is hot enough to resurrect adolescent wet dreams. She’s tall and curvy in all the right places. Her body is the kind of shape that hourglasses are inspired by. As it is, I’ve never been one for the skinny birds. They just seem too frail. Too weak. Too breakable. Belle, on the other hand, looks like the type that could give it as good as she takes it. She has gorgeous muscled legs that I’ve fantasised wrapped around my face; a trim waist that accentuates the perfect swells of her arse; and tits that make me want to cry over the fact that I’ll likely never see them. I’m a proper boob bloke, too, so it really is a shame because she’s sporting a lot more than a