Memphis
I fucked up.
If I was thinking with my other head, I would have let that brunette suck me off in the back room.
But I couldn’t.
Because despite the chick’s nice bod, pretty face, and her ability to get me physically interested in what she was offering…there was one glaring—and inconvenient—problem.
She’s not Sky.
My jaw tightens as my post-nut clarity amplifies, reinforcing all the reasons this shouldn’t—and won’t—happen again.
I’ve been down this road with her before.
Not only do I know where it leads, I know all the twists, turns, and rest stops along the way.
I know how it ends.
With her fucking me up.
“What the hell, man?” Phoenix calls out.
Thinking quick, I stride into the kitchen.
Where the impatient asshole is peeing in the sink.
I tell him the first thing that pops into my mind. “My bad, dude. Had to drop a deuce.”
His eyes widen with suspicion as he peers over my shoulder. “Is that what we’re calling it now?”
Fucking hell.
I don’t even need to turn around to know he just caught Sky slinking out of the bathroom and put two and two together.
She couldn’t have waited another five minutes?
“It’s not what you think.”
No way in hell am I owning up to what happened because the fucker practically resides in Josh’s hairy ass crack.
Zipping his fly, he drops his voice. “Oh, good. Because I think you’re fucking your brother’s girl.”
I have two options.
One—I can stay silent.
Or two—I can bullshit my way out of this.
However, Phoenix isn’t half as dumb as he looks.
Which leaves me with option number three.
Opposition.
“Last I checked, you were a singer, not a priest.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
I take a step forward. “It means I don’t have to confess shit to you. Like I told you before, it’s not what you think.”
Because it doesn’t mean anything and it’s never happening again.
“Right.”
I’m contemplating beating it into his head when he holds up a hand. “Look, I didn’t see shit. I don’t know shit. And I won’t say shit.” He points a finger in my face. “But don’t fuck up the family.”
As far as families go, ours is about as divided as one can get.
Even still, I understand why he’s worried.
We might fight and piss each other off, and fuck knows there’s more than bad blood between certain members…
But when we’re up on that stage? We’re a united front of blood, sweat, and tears.
A supernatural phenomenon that only the four of us can create.
“I won’t,” I assure him.
I learned my lesson the first time.