Chapter 25
SMITH
The following Thursday, Riggs picked me up after work on his bike.
We went for a cruise through the hills and down the coast, finally ending the ride at a little Thai place in Santa Monica that Damon had picked for us.
We were early, and we’d just gotten settled and ordered drinks when somebody flung themself down beside me in the booth and slung an arm over my shoulder. I immediately knew it wasn’t Damon.
“Baby brother,” Finn cooed. “What a treat, running into you.”
I tried to not tense, to not react to the sharp glare Riggs shot at my brother. Much like the hickey and the tattoo, there was no use fighting or hiding.
“Finn.” I sighed. “This is Riggs. Riggs, this is one of my brothers, Finn.”
Finn was still dressed for work, a crisp white button-up with the sleeves rolled up to his forearms. He shoved his hand across the table, and Riggs gave him a strong shake.
“You didn’t tell us he was rugged,” Finn whispered, mouth quirked up in the corner.
“I didn’t tell you anything.”
“Told us he was the one responsible for those hickeys and that tattoo,” he said. “But you didn’t say he rode a motorcycle.”
“It didn’t seem to be any of your business,” I muttered.
“You know Marshall is going to shit kittens.”
I sighed, scrubbing a hand down my face. “I know.”
I’d thought, more times than I wanted to admit, about how my brother would react upon meeting Riggs. Would Marshall welcome him because I lo—because I liked him? Or would Marshall be cold and judgmental about him because of the way he looked and what he did for work?
“What do you do for work, Finn?” Riggs asked, swirling his straw around the thick mango lassi in front of him.
“Finance.”
Riggs eyed him. “You’ve got the blue eyes down, but I doubt you’re six-five.”
I groaned, the chronically online comment almost too much for me to bear.
“I’ve got a trust fund, though, so I think that makes up for the two inches I’m missing.” His mouth twitched. “And besides—”
“Don’t!” I shoved my hand against Finn’s cheek, pushing him to the side and halfway out of the booth.
It was bad enough we were caught off-guard with his arrival, but I didn’t want him to make dick jokes at the man I was currently involved with.
I was only getting used to being with Riggs, I didn’t want any of my brothers to ruin it for me.
“He’s fine,” Riggs promised, reaching across the table and taking my hand. “Damon is much worse.”
“Who’s Damon?” Finn asked, sliding back into the booth and pushing me against the wall to make room for himself.
“My best friend.”
“Mouth on him, then?”
Riggs made a thoughtful sound. “You could say that.”
Our waitress walked back to the table, an extra menu in hand, but Finn waved her off. “I’m not staying, but thanks.”
“You’re more than welcome,” Riggs said before I could agree with Finn that it was time for him to go.
My brother cocked his head to the side, eyes narrowed at the invitation.
“Trying to butter me up?”
“Just being polite.”
“How did you meet Smith?” Finn asked, changing direction fast enough to give me whiplash.
“I already told you this,” I groaned.
“He came in for a tattoo,” Riggs said. “He passed out, and I caught him before he hit the floor.”
I’d deliberately left that part out, and my cheeks burned at the memory.
It hadn’t been that long ago I’d walked into Riggs’s shop, desperately confused with myself and my life.
It wasn’t as easy as saying a single tattoo had set my mind straight, but the act of doing something without the intent of pleasing my brother had been a first for me.
“You didn’t tell us all that.”
“It didn’t seem relevant to the plot,” I grumbled.
“Seems relevant to him,” Finn said.
“First time I held him in my arms.” Riggs squeezed my hand, and I wanted to slide under the table.
“Oh, and a charmer.” Finn tutted his tongue against the roof of his mouth. “I don’t blame you.”
“I thought you were leaving.” I shoved my shoulder against Finn’s arm again, finally dislodging him from the booth.
Finn checked his watch and pretended to tug down and adjust his shirt sleeves. “You’re right. I was just finishing up here and heading over to Hunter’s.”
“Finn.”
“Do you have brothers, Riggs?” Finn asked sweetly.
“Just me,” he said.
“You’ll have to forgive me then.”
“He doesn’t have to do anything,” I snapped.
“Besides keep his mouth off of you tonight so you show up with a skin-colored neck tomorrow and not another bruise for Marshall to have an aneurysm over.”
I rubbed the side of my finger beneath my nose, hating the way my hands shook. Riggs offered me a sympathetic, if not amused, smile.
“Are you okay?” he mouthed at me.
“Embarrassed.”
“Oh, Smith.” Finn rolled his eyes at me. “Don’t be embarrassed over me. Your Riggs here knows it’s all in good fun, doesn’t he?”
Riggs cracked his neck and slid out of the booth.
He was the same height as Finn but broader in the shoulders, and I couldn’t lie, the tattoos made him look almost menacing.
Add the thick silver rings around two of his fingers and the leather jacket hanging off his shoulders, and I was a goner for the man.
Finn remained unbothered, smiling at Riggs like he had all the time in the world.
“I like you,” my brother said.
“I don’t care,” Riggs said simply. “The only Covington I’m concerned about is the one who isn’t in my face right now.”
Finn chuckled, smoothing a hand down the buttons of his shirt. “If I was in your face you’d know.”
“Would you stop it?” I asked, reaching over and shoving Finn’s thigh. “Go to Hunter’s, tell him about the motorcycle, I don’t care. Just stop this.”
“You’re the best of all of us,” Finn said, throwing me a sideways glance. “And none of us will apologize for holding you to a higher standard than we hold ourselves.”
It was the most honest thing he’d ever said to me and also the most exhausting.
Finn’s words were a reminder of why I’d acted out in the first place, but I hated the idea of him or the other two thinking I was only involved with Riggs as an act of rebellion.
I didn’t want Riggs to think that either.
“I’ll see you tomorrow night, okay?”
Finn took a step back, looked once more at Riggs and another time at me.
“Alright,” he agreed. “Well, be safe, baby brother.”
And with that, he turned on his heel and walked toward the door.
He took the air with him, and as much as I wanted to sit back down with Riggs and wait for Damon’s arrival, something wasn’t right with Finn and I couldn’t let him walk out like that without addressing it.
“He’s not normally like that,” I said by way of apology.
Riggs cupped my face in his hand and traced his thumb across my cheekbone, any signs of unhappiness already long gone. “I didn’t imagine he would be.”
“I need to—”
Riggs gently pressed his mouth against mine and whispered, “I know.”
A low whistle grew louder to my right, and Riggs ended the kiss in time for me to see Damon sauntering toward the table.
“Do I get a kiss too?” he asked.
Riggs gave him the finger.
“I’m so sorry,” I said instead of hello. “I’ll be right back.”
“I’ll be here,” he promised, jerking his head toward the booth and taking a seat next to Riggs.
I spun and jogged to the door, looking left and right and not finding Finn.
He couldn’t have gotten far, so I headed for the parking lot, relieved to find his red BMW still parked in the lot.
Finn stood at the trunk, hands braced against it and his head hanging low on his shoulders.
My brother looked like a man defeated. I ran toward him, slowing down on the approach but not hesitating to close the space between us.
I slid my hand against the small of his back, not faltering when he startled under my touch.
“What’s going on with you?” I asked.
He made a derisive noise in the back of his throat and stood straight, sniffling his nose in a way that led me to believe he’d been crying.
“I’m not the one living a mid-life teenage rebellion.”
“Quarter life,” I corrected, which earned me a smile.
“I’m sorry for that.” He scrubbed a hand down his face. “I’m fine. It’s just….doesn’t matter. I’m fine. I am sorry for what your boyfriend must think of me, though.”
“He knows me well enough to know you’re not normally like that,” I assured. “It’s water under the bridge.”
“He’s not the kind of man I would have pictured you with is all.”
I rested my ass against the edge of Finn’s trunk and jammed my hands into my pockets. “What kind of man do you picture me with?”
He snorted, resting beside me. “A woman, if we’re being honest.”
“Oh, come on.” I knocked him playfully with my elbow. “I’m too much like Marshall for that.”
Finn laughed at me, loud and earnest.
“He makes you happy?”
“Very.”
“Okay,” Finn said.
“What about you?” I asked. “Are you happy?”
Another laugh, but far more self-deprecating. “I’m fine, Smith.”
“That’s not what I asked.”
He pushed off the car and clapped me on the shoulder. “You are too much like Marshall sometimes, you know?”
Finn pulled his keys out of his pocket and unlocked the driver’s side door, walking toward it with his shoulders sagging. I stepped out of the way and crossed my arms in front of my chest.
“He’s a good man,” I said, speaking of Riggs and of Marshall, and… “And so are you.”
“Debatable,” he muttered, sliding down into the driver’s seat. “But I meant what I said. You’re the best of all of us.”
I took a step backward. “I’m going to tell them all you said that.”
“You better.” Finn pulled the door closed and the engine of his car roared to life.
I didn’t bother watching him go. Finn would leave when he was ready. Instead, I returned to the restaurant, finding Damon and Riggs side by side, a fresh mango lassi on the table and an order of steaming noodles between them.
“See?” Damon said when I returned. “He’s here, now we can eat.”
“He’s not always like this,” Riggs said to me.
“Seems to be going around.”
“Riggs would make sure you were fed,” Damon said, serving some pad Thai onto a plate and pushing it toward me. “And so would I.”
“Thanks,” I mumbled.
“So, Smith Covington, age twenty-five. Tell me about yourself.”
Damon smiled at me like a tattooed golden retriever, and he was so much like Riggs that it was jarring to see them next to each other.
So, I told Damon about myself. Told him and Riggs both about what it was like being sold by my mother and growing up on the Covington estate with three half-brothers who were all far too old to care about me.
I talked about Marshall the most, about why I went into architecture, what I loved the most about it.
Riggs told me about some of the original elements of his building he’d insisted on saving during renovations, and Damon smiled at him like Riggs had just won a gold medal in the Olympics.
“Let me out,” Riggs said after we’d finished eating. “Need to piss.”
Damon scooted out of the booth to let him up and then it was just the two of us alone.
“He said he’s told you about Ev,” Damon said, looking over his shoulder. Apparently this was the part of the conversation not meant for his best friend’s ears.
“He did.”
“And about…about…”
“He’s told me,” I said, not wanting Damon to try and find an explanation that didn’t need to exist.
“And you’re fine with both?”
“I’m more than fine with both,” I promised him. “I really like him, Damon.”
“I believe you.” He stirred his drink with his straw, frowning at the orange mixture before looking up at me with resolution on his features. “Before he comes back, Riggs would never ask this of you, but I will.”
I nodded, waiting for him to go on.
“Please don’t hurt him, Smith. He would hurt himself if that was what you wanted, but please do—”
Before Damon could finish, Riggs returned from the bathroom.
Instead of sitting down across from me, he slid into the space beside me, casually throwing an arm over my shoulder.
It felt right to have him there, to lean against him and breathe in the warm scent of him—leather and sweat and the green soap he used in the shop.
There was no way of telling Damon I’d never hurt Riggs, at least not on purpose.
He’d given me more in a handful of days than I’d ever thought possible.
Sabotaging the thing building between us was not on my to-do list, but the only way I could prove that to Damon was with time.
“Miss me?” Riggs asked, pressing his mouth against the side of my head, almost a kiss, but not quite.
“Always,” Damon said, watching us with curious eyes.
I settled into the crook of Riggs’s arm, and Damon launched into a conversation about the next tattoo he wanted to get, the seriousness of our own conversation forgotten.