She laughed, leaning back against Blaise’s chest and relaxing. His hands came to her hips as he tipped them both forward. “Aspen said I had to be nice to her brother’s friends. So this is me being nice.” He flashed Aspen a grin before pressing a kiss to one of her temples, brushing a strand of her hair back. The entire gesture was loving, tender.

Tabatha made a sound, her eyes wide. Her mouth parted in a surprised grunt. “How many brothers and sisters are there in this group? This is becoming ridiculous.”

Blaise’s eyes narrowed.

Aspen covered his hand, speaking before he could, “Channing is Bren’s brother. Blaise is Cross’ brother. And Channing is friends with my brother. It’s not that difficult to follow.”

“Who is your brother?” Tabatha shot back. “Please tell me his name doesn’t start with a B or a C. Can we get some more Ts in the mix?”

Aspen frowned. “My brother’s name is Nate.”

Channing called from the phone, “Is this call about Nate?”

Aspen looked to me. Cross looked to me. Everyone looked to me. Well, except Blaise. He was only focused on Aspen, drawing a circle on the back of her neck and ignoring the rest of the noise.

Okay, then. Seemed I was in charge.

I started, “We’re calling because we need to run something by you, see if you might have an idea how to handle it.”

“Okay, but first who’s the other chick? The bitchy sounding one.”

Zellman snorted, his head looking firmly toward the floor.

Jordan even laughed at that.

Blaise was ignoring us.

A choked sound rippled from Tabatha, and that seemed to get her free from the corner. She came forward a few steps, and her hands loosened, falling down but still holding onto the other wrist. She was half-hugging herself. “My name is Tabatha Sweets and I’m the reason for this call.”

Silence.

Channing said, “Okay? Look. I’ve got a bounty in my truck trying to kick out the windows and piss on my men. I’ve stepped away from them while they’re being railed by the bounty’s fucked-up family. Get to the point or I’m ending this call and calling my sister later to talk to her alone. Got it?”

Tabatha didn’t respond right away.

Channing wasn’t down with that. “Start talking. Now!”

She jumped forward. “My father is Henry Sweets.” She stammered to a stop.

A part of me was appreciating this moment because I’d seen Tabatha say a lot of things, but rarely when she was flustered about how to respond. Pissed. Happy. Feisty. Scared. But this, when she seemed just flummoxed, and yes, I was preening that I had used both of those words just now, but that’s what she was. She was flustered by my brother.

I was loving it.