Series: Like Us Series by Krista Ritchie
Total pages in book: 146
Estimated words: 145257 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 726(@200wpm)___ 581(@250wpm)___ 484(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 145257 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 726(@200wpm)___ 581(@250wpm)___ 484(@300wpm)
Before Donnelly can down all the beer, Akara steals two from the flight and hands them both to me.
“Thanks,” I say.
If my brother’s not going to drink, I’m doin’ it for him. I take them both like shots, too. Warm liquid slides down the back of my throat, and then I tell Thatcher, “The temps are actually trained well, so you really shouldn’t worry about anyone.”
That statement shocks him out of his vigilant stance. “What?”
“I said—”
“I heard what you said.” He stares at me like I’ve grown three horns. “Just didn’t think you’d be praising Dad.”
“If it gets you to enjoy yourself tonight, I’ll kiss his fucking feet, if I have too.”
That gets me a major eye roll. “I’m having a good time.”
“Says no one.”
“Says me.”
I pick up his beer glass again, and he grabs the thing out of my hand and puts the rim to his lips. He takes a baby sip that causes me to roll my eyes.
“Fucking hell,” he curses.
My muscles tense and I follow his gaze to the Cobalt brothers. Eliot has pulled a flask out of his jacket. No one on Epsilon will stop them from underage drinking. They’ll just report it to the parents tomorrow.
But Thatcher made it very clear that Jane’s under-twenty-one family members were only invited to the bachelor party on the stipulation they wouldn’t drink.
Sober Cobalt brothers are difficult enough. We don’t need shit-faced ones too.
Thatcher takes a step forward.
I put a hand to his chest. “I’ve got it.”
He gives me a look.
“This falls under best man duties.” I point at myself. “Me, best man.” I point at him. “You, not.”
He glowers at me, but I’m so not affected by my brother’s broody nature.
I add, “Jane would be really upset if she found out you spent tonight corralling her brothers.”
He lets out a resigned breath. “Fine. But if you need me, use your radio.” SFO all have their comms on an Omega-only channel. Even though we’re all off-duty, it makes it easier to stay relaxed in case there really is an emergency.
“Copy that.” I smack his chest, then hightail my ass to the sofa area. Charlie, Eliot, Tom, and Ben all stop talking as I approach, and I don’t waste a minute to plop myself down in the tiny space between Tom and Eliot. They have to scoot out of the way so we’re not thigh-to-thigh.
Eliot’s pint of soda almost sloshes on his lap. He curses under his breath.
“Hey, gents.” I pull out a pack of cigarettes from my pocket. “We having fun here?”
Charlie has his feet kicked up on an expensive-looking coffee table. My mom would’ve dragged me by my chicken-wing if I did that growing up. He tilts his head to me. “Depends on your definition of fun.” His yellow-green eyes pierce through me.
As though saying, I know Akara and Sulli kissed, and I know you’re protecting that secret too.
He could let loose that fact at any moment. With his family around, he might be more inclined to ignite drama for fun.
I’m on edge for a second and shove my cigarettes back in my pocket. Thatcher might only be six-minutes older, but I’ve definitely shirked a lot of responsibility onto him. So he always feels older, and I didn’t grow up with a lot of little brothers. Just younger cousins. Rarely gave orders to anyone, just took them.
Still, I can handle the Cobalt brothers who’ve strewn themselves over the leather furniture like they’re cigar-smoking, heaven-dropped and hell-raised American gods.
I have to believe that for my brother’s sake.
While I turn to Eliot, I say, “I saw your flask. How about you give it to me, and I won’t cause a scene?”
Eliot grins mischievously. “What if I want a scene?”
Ben leans forward on the opposing couch. “Come on, Eliot. Just give it to him.”
Tom’s the one who reaches into Eliot’s blazer and pulls out the flask. “What are we to deny a thirsty patron?” He hands it over to me.
I untwist the top and take a small sip. It’s only wine. “Thanks for the vino. Tom’s right; I was thirsty.” I stand up and take the flask with me. In and out quick.
I just became a certified firefighter tonight. Extinguishing flames every which way. I laugh at my thought as I tip the flask to my lips and continue through the packed brewery.
Fuck no.
I eagle-eye Tony Ramella. He saunters away from the loud pack of cousins at the bar. He’s laughing at a conversation he pulls away from, but he’s aimed for Thatcher.
Swift as a motherfucker, I cut off his path.
His laughter slowly fades on me, but his shit-eating grin lingers, which makes me want to shove his face in literal shit. He’s shorter but tries to pull himself higher. “What’s up, nephew?”
A brittle laugh sticks to my chest. “The day I call you uncle will be the day I’m dead and buried and you resurrect me as a fucking ghost. And then, I’m only gonna say it right before I murder your ass.” I swig from the flask.