Filthy Beautiful Forever(20)

I clear my throat and mumble “It’s fine.” But my answer must be too quick, because it sets off Colton’s bullshit meter.

Colton laughs. “You are so full of shit. When are you going to wake up and realize that you and Tatianna have nothing in common, other than great sex, and the girl you've been in love with your entire life is right under your nose?”

I focus on my drink. I won’t tell Colt that the sex isn’t so great – in fact I can’t even get off. “Pace, what's new with you?” I ask.

Colton curses under his breath, while Pace laughs at my obvious attempt at a topic change.

“I'm trying to get Kylie pregnant,” he announces, proudly.

“No shit?” Colton and I ask in unison.

“You guys aren't even married yet,” I point out.

He shrugs. “Close enough. We're engaged.”

I smile because I hated to see the way Pace always used to flounder with women. As a guy I always understood it, but as the oldest brother, I had to worry about him. When he found Kylie, watching him make the change from perpetual womanizer to family man was a relief. “Well, you shouldn’t have too much of a challenge getting her knocked up. Lord knows you’ve had enough practice.”

“You're not getting off that easily, brother,” Colton says, turning toward me. The douche is going to make me talk about Mia.

I try to take another sip of my drink and realize I've downed the entire glass. Shit.

Colton smirks at me and holds up the decanter of scotch. “You want some more of this?”

I narrow my eyes.

“Then you're going to have to actually talk to us. Like a grown up. No more of this grunting and evading caveman bullshit. Tell us what's going on,” Colton says.

“Give me the damn scotch,” I bark.

He hands it over and I pour myself a healthy measure while deciding exactly what I'm going to tell them.

Pace leans back in his seat, crossing his feet at his ankles, and Colton settles in, getting comfortable too. Here we go, it's fucking sharing time, apparently.

“When Mia and I were kids, we sort of promised each other that if neither of us was married by the time we were thirty, we'd marry each other.”

Colton chokes on his liquor, coughing and sputtering loudly. “You've got to be kidding me.”

Pace chuckles to himself. “That's fucking brilliant. You should totally do that.”

Neither of their responses is encouraging.

I expect them to tease the shit out of me for entertaining Mia’s childhood promise, which they do, but then the conversation shifts and I find them debating the actual merits of this marriage promise while I down glass after glass of scotch. Finally, Colton takes the bottle away and places it across the room.

“Shit, man,” Colton says. “You don’t have to march down the aisle with her tomorrow or anything, but I know you. You get this possessive-ass ‘mine’ caveman look whenever you talk about Mia. Something you never do when you talk about Tatianna.”

I feel fuzzy and unsure. And the longer I sit here, the more uncertain I become. A childhood marriage proposal is crazy right? That's just some stupid thing kids say—it doesn't mean anything. Does it? Mia seems to believe it does. She'd shown up here, just months after her birthday. My heart pounds faster when I think about that fact.

Colton asks about Tatianna again, and that's just not a topic I'm ready to discuss.

“I honestly don’t see why you’re still with her, bro,” Pace says.

“Seriously man, if she doesn’t make you happy—break up with her,” Colton adds.

I lift my glass to my lips, like more liquor will help me figure out what to do. Leaning back in my chair, I close my eyes and let the alcohol warm me. I allow myself to picture what my life would be like with Mia in it. Dangerous to be sure. I see kids running around with her auburn hair and green eyes, Sundays on the yacht, my home filled with laughter and love. I’m warmed by the idea. Or maybe that warm tingly sensation is the alcohol. Either way, I think it’s time to go home.

Pace gives me a ride and drops me off at my front door. The house is dark and quiet with Tatianna gone and Mia likely in bed by now. I head to my bedroom and get a text on my phone.

It’s Mia.

Are you home?

Yes.

Where were you?

Brothers.

I don’t know what else to say, because it’s strange knowing that I spent the whole evening talking with them about the two women in my life and still don’t know where I stand.

Sounds like fun.

I was trying to figure out some shit with my life.

We don’t have to text, she's not here. Meet you in the kitchen? We can eat the peanut butter directly from the jar like old times and talk about it.