Total pages in book: 83
Estimated words: 81843 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 409(@200wpm)___ 327(@250wpm)___ 273(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 81843 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 409(@200wpm)___ 327(@250wpm)___ 273(@300wpm)
I shake my head. “You’re full of shit.”
“Fine. You’re also too busy for a woman, and I’ve never seen you with someone for more than two months—three at best. You’re decent at interpersonal skills but suck at intrapersonal ones.”
“Not true,” I say.
“How do you figure?” Tate asks.
I sweep my hand across the room. “Take this situation as an example of my intrapersonal skills. You two came here because you value interacting with me. I must be decent at it if you want it so bad.”
“If we don’t come here, we won’t see you.” Tate gives me a fake smile. “And Renn needs you to sign off on moving forward with the Royals acquisition.”
I want to pause and remind Renn that I am not signing off on his fuckery but am too invested in this conversation with Tate. I shift in my seat, focusing on my youngest brother.
“Why does this bother you so much?” Tate asks.
“It doesn’t bother me. It’s just annoying that you seem to think I’m incapable of finding a wife because … why? I work too much? I like things orderly and planned? I’m intelligent?” I smirk at him to get under his skin. “I know you tell yourself that women don’t like intelligent men to make yourself feel better, but that’s not true, Tate.”
Tate folds his hands in front of him and settles in. “So this means you think you will marry someday?”
My insides twist as his words fall on my ears.
He has no way of knowing that I’ve been considering this question a lot lately, nor does he realize that the idea has been weighing heavier and heavier on my mind. I should blow him off and get on with my night. But his conclusion that I’ll be alone forever ticks a fear I only recently discovered.
It’s not one I really want to face.
“Yes,” I say, my voice void of the rising emotions welling inside me.
“Interesting,” Tate says.
He leans back and exchanges a look with Renn—one full of bullshit and mischief. Fuck.
I steel myself for what’s coming next. I don’t know what it is, but I know, yet again, that I won’t like it.
Tate licks his lips. “Do you remember how we bet fifty thousand dollars a few years ago that Gannon would wreck his sports car within six months?”
“I still feel bad about that one, but yeah. Why?”
“And then you had to donate it to a charity of my choice because … who won? Oh, right. Me,” Tate says.
I hold my hands out, hurrying him along. We seem to be on a meandering path to nowhere, and I want to get to the end as quickly as possible.
“Do you remember when we also had a wager that Renn would be the leading scorer on his team in his last season?” Tate asks, side-eyeing him.
“What?” Renn sits up, his eyes wide.
Tate grins. “Jason bet you wouldn’t be the leading scorer, and I bet you would. Because I believed in you.”
“And I won,” I say, rolling my eyes. “Can we focus here?”
“You bet against me?” Renn asks, mouth hanging agape.
“Yes, and you came in second, just like I predicted.”
“Fucker,” Renn says, crossing his arms over his chest and shaking his head.
“So … wanna have another little wager?” Tate asks, smiling cockily.
Renn stands and plants both hands on the table as if bracing himself.
I take a deep breath. “A wager for what?”
“I bet you one hundred thousand dollars that you won’t get married and stay married for six consecutive months,” Tate says. “I’ll give you three years to make it happen. Winner gets the money deposited into their preferred charity, per usual.”
“You’re out of your mind,” I say, standing and collecting my dishes.
“Is that a yes?” Tate asks, following me into the kitchen.
I place my plate and glass beside the sink and spin around to face my brothers. Renn stands behind Tate, mouthing something to me I can’t understand. The two of them together are like two errant toddlers in adult bodies.
I’d laugh if I weren’t annoyed.
“I would never marry someone to win a fucking bet,” I say, exasperated with the conversation. “Who does that?”
If I weren’t so determined to end this conversation with Tate, I’d warn Renn to wipe the smug look off his face.
“I’m not saying to marry someone to win a bet,” Tate says like I’m a child. “I’m just saying that in three years, you’ll almost be forty.”
“Your point?”
He laughs. “If you haven’t found someone, fallen in love, and married them by then, my point stands. And, therefore, I win.”
The swipe at my age—something Tate loves to point out at every opportunity—isn’t lost on me.
Bastard.
“I have work to do,” I say. “Scram.”
They head for the door, chuckling to themselves. I follow them to ensure they actually leave.
“I’ll let Gannon know the Royals is a go,” Renn says.