though…”
Brannon hooked one boot on the rung of his stool and waited.
Ian blurted out, “I didn’t know she was your sister.”
Brannon scowled. Ian’s accent got thicker when he was pissed or aggravated, but Brannon had known Ian for years—they’d gone to university together in London and had spent more than a few vacations with each other since. The thicker brogue, the I dinnae — I didn’t know —and the mash-up of the entire sentence weren’t what threw him off.
He just had no idea what Ian was talking about.
“Huh?”
Ian scrubbed his hands over his face. “Look, I thought she was just this pretty lady passin’ through. Stopped in for a pint—more than a few people have been known to do that. And she’s right beautiful, you can’t say she isn’t, and we were talking and if I’d known she was your sister…”
Ian’s words started to run together, but it was probably Brannon’s fault now.
Groaning, he buried his face in his hands. “Please tell me you didn’t sleep with my sister.”
“I didn’t sleep with your sister.”
Dropping his hands, Brannon stared at Ian. “Oh. Well, okay then. What the hell is the problem?”
“I…” Ian’s face went bright red.
Brannon stared at him. He didn’t think he’d ever seen Ian blush, not once in all the time he’d known him. “Ian, was my baby sister, Neve, in here last night?” he asked quietly.
“Aye.” Ian shrugged. “She was.”
Brannon reached out and gripped the bar, squeezing the mahogany as he tried to think. “Ian … did you sleep with Neve?”
“I already told you. No ,” Ian said. Then he looked away. “But…”
“Aw, fuck,” Brannon muttered. “Damn it, Ian. You’ve got women in here flirting with your crazy ass all the time. Why did you have to put the moves on my sister?”
Then he stopped. “Or was she putting the moves on you?”
* * *
Ian saw the way Brannon’s eyes narrowed, almost jumped on the chance to just be done with the conversation.
But what kind of man did that make him?
Not much of one, really, if he lied about his very willing participation in what had happened last night. Reaching for the bar towel, he wiped off his hands. He didn’t need to, it wasn’t like he’d gotten them dirty working on a schedule. But the distraction? That, he needed.
“You could say it was … mutual moving,” he said, flicking Brannon a look from under his lashes.
“Mutual moving,” Brannon said slowly. The red-headed man looked like he wanted to pick up one of the stools and thump Ian right over the skull with it. He decided maybe he could handle taking a swing from his friend. He didn’t have a sister, but he wasn’t sure he’d want his best friend putting his hands on her. Although, Neve … he cut the thought off. Because there wouldn’t be any more putting hands on her, lovely as she was.
“If you’re going to take a swing at me,” Ian said, mind made up. “Let’s get it done.”
“What?”
“I said it clear enough. If you’re going to take a swing at me, then just do it.”
Brannon dropped back onto the stool. “I’m not breaking my hand on your hard skull, Campbell. If you want to go chasing after Neve, I can’t stop you.”
“I’m not.” He turned back to the schedule.
The taut silence had him looking back up to find Brannon staring at him, hard.
“You’re not,” Brannon said, the words slow and flat.
“No.” Ian shrugged. “She’s your sister. If I’d known, I’d have not touched her in the first place.”
Brannon shoved a hand through his hair, a hard sigh escaping. “Why? Because she’s my sister? Look, Neve’s a grown…” His words trailed off. “Hell. Twenty-eight. It’s been years since I’ve even seen her and that was for all of one afternoon. But she’s not a little kid. If she wants to hang out with you, then…”
“Brannon,” Ian cut in softly. “You’re my best friend—like a brother to me, and you know it. What’s
Brannon hooked one boot on the rung of his stool and waited.
Ian blurted out, “I didn’t know she was your sister.”
Brannon scowled. Ian’s accent got thicker when he was pissed or aggravated, but Brannon had known Ian for years—they’d gone to university together in London and had spent more than a few vacations with each other since. The thicker brogue, the I dinnae — I didn’t know —and the mash-up of the entire sentence weren’t what threw him off.
He just had no idea what Ian was talking about.
“Huh?”
Ian scrubbed his hands over his face. “Look, I thought she was just this pretty lady passin’ through. Stopped in for a pint—more than a few people have been known to do that. And she’s right beautiful, you can’t say she isn’t, and we were talking and if I’d known she was your sister…”
Ian’s words started to run together, but it was probably Brannon’s fault now.
Groaning, he buried his face in his hands. “Please tell me you didn’t sleep with my sister.”
“I didn’t sleep with your sister.”
Dropping his hands, Brannon stared at Ian. “Oh. Well, okay then. What the hell is the problem?”
“I…” Ian’s face went bright red.
Brannon stared at him. He didn’t think he’d ever seen Ian blush, not once in all the time he’d known him. “Ian, was my baby sister, Neve, in here last night?” he asked quietly.
“Aye.” Ian shrugged. “She was.”
Brannon reached out and gripped the bar, squeezing the mahogany as he tried to think. “Ian … did you sleep with Neve?”
“I already told you. No ,” Ian said. Then he looked away. “But…”
“Aw, fuck,” Brannon muttered. “Damn it, Ian. You’ve got women in here flirting with your crazy ass all the time. Why did you have to put the moves on my sister?”
Then he stopped. “Or was she putting the moves on you?”
* * *
Ian saw the way Brannon’s eyes narrowed, almost jumped on the chance to just be done with the conversation.
But what kind of man did that make him?
Not much of one, really, if he lied about his very willing participation in what had happened last night. Reaching for the bar towel, he wiped off his hands. He didn’t need to, it wasn’t like he’d gotten them dirty working on a schedule. But the distraction? That, he needed.
“You could say it was … mutual moving,” he said, flicking Brannon a look from under his lashes.
“Mutual moving,” Brannon said slowly. The red-headed man looked like he wanted to pick up one of the stools and thump Ian right over the skull with it. He decided maybe he could handle taking a swing from his friend. He didn’t have a sister, but he wasn’t sure he’d want his best friend putting his hands on her. Although, Neve … he cut the thought off. Because there wouldn’t be any more putting hands on her, lovely as she was.
“If you’re going to take a swing at me,” Ian said, mind made up. “Let’s get it done.”
“What?”
“I said it clear enough. If you’re going to take a swing at me, then just do it.”
Brannon dropped back onto the stool. “I’m not breaking my hand on your hard skull, Campbell. If you want to go chasing after Neve, I can’t stop you.”
“I’m not.” He turned back to the schedule.
The taut silence had him looking back up to find Brannon staring at him, hard.
“You’re not,” Brannon said, the words slow and flat.
“No.” Ian shrugged. “She’s your sister. If I’d known, I’d have not touched her in the first place.”
Brannon shoved a hand through his hair, a hard sigh escaping. “Why? Because she’s my sister? Look, Neve’s a grown…” His words trailed off. “Hell. Twenty-eight. It’s been years since I’ve even seen her and that was for all of one afternoon. But she’s not a little kid. If she wants to hang out with you, then…”
“Brannon,” Ian cut in softly. “You’re my best friend—like a brother to me, and you know it. What’s
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