Anxious.

Like he’d just cheated on Sloane somehow, even though A) he absolutely hadn’t meant to look lovingly at anyone, and B) he and Sloane weren’t actually dating.

Still, Brady started to pace a little as the phone rang.

And rang.

And rang.

Brady cursed beneath his breath and hung up after the automated voicemail listed off the number. Maybe he was overreacting. Maybe Santana was, too.

It was just a picture, taken by Carol of all people. Their shared enemy.

Maybe Sloane wouldn’t care.

Or maybe she’d want to get even somehow.

Maybe—

Brady’s phone dinged as a new text message came in.

It was from Sloane.

Sorry, we’re in the middle of the movie, but good timing, I was about to message you. I hate to do this, but I forgot I had plans with Emma tomorrow night that I can’t cancel, but don’t worry, I’ll brainstorm with her about the party and the pageant. I’ll call you if I need you.

Brady let out a long, loud, and very frustrated sigh.

“Well, shit.”

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Seventeen

Sloane was a ghost Sunday morning.

No texts. No calls. No messages.

Brady wasn’t surprised, but he was miffed.

Miffed because he knew she was lying. Miffed because one picture had made her upset. Miffed because it bothered him that she was upset.

Brady was so miffed that he decided he couldn’t enjoy his day off lounging at the apartment. He couldn’t sit still. He felt too antsy. Too distracted. And apparently he was doing a shit job of hiding his frustration. The instant Dixon walked through the front door, he gave his cousin a who pissed in your Cheerios look.

“Whoa there, tiger. What are you all huffy about?”

Dixon had just finished a Walmart run and was employing the tree method of carrying an obscene amount of plastic bags on each arm. He waved Brady’s outstretched hand off and juked around him and into the kitchen. Brady rolled his eyes and then went to grumbling.

“I was supposed to meet up with Sloane tonight to go over the festival details, but she bailed.”

Dixon had been trying his luck at sweet talking a new patron, thanks to Sloane’s popularity, the night before at the bar and had missed the picture disaster. Brady didn’t feel like recapping it now. There he was, feeling miffed again about how stupid the whole situation was.

“Okay, well, can you meet up tomorrow instead? It’s not like she has a day job down here or anything.” Dixon dropped the bags on the kitchen counter. There were several boxes in a few, but Brady was too riled up to really look at them. “Have her come to the bar tomorrow night. Y’all can hash things out, and I’ll keep any adoring fans who might come in at bay.” Dixon chuckled, amused with himself.