“Hey. I’ve always been good with numbers.”

“Among other things.”

“So.” I clear my throat. “Julia’s coming to Sunday supper tomorrow.”

Ford’s eyes pop. Mouth curls into a disbelieving grin.

“Lawdy, you’ve done it now.”

“Lawdy,” Bryce repeats, not looking up from her iPad.

“How does this look?” Rollins glances up at me as he gives my pants leg a small tug.

I narrow my eyes. “Little tighter.”

“You sure?” He gives me a look in the mirror. “This is already a much…er, riskier look than what we usually do.”

“I’m down to try something different,” I say, carefully adjusting the lapels of my jacket so I don’t smudge Rollin’s chalk marks. “Do you think we could make a satin lapel work here? Maybe in black?”

Rollins and Ford just stare at me for a beat.

Sweat breaks out along my collar.

“What?”

“Nothing,” Rollins replies. “You just haven’t changed the cut or the color of your suits in…”

“Years,” Ford says.

“Ages.”

“Since you were born,” my brother continues. “I swear you came out of the womb wearing a navy blue Brioni suit.”

Ford’s eyes are narrowed now. He knows something’s up. But what am I supposed to tell him? Hey, Julia liked my sweatpants so much she tore them off me this morning and gave me the best head of my life. Not only that, she’s making me want to take chances and try new things. I think I’m falling for her, and even though I know I should keep my distance I’m going to get more tight pants made because…

Because I want to look good for her.

Because I want to turn her into the lust-crazed reprobate that I am.

Because I think I’m ready for a change.

“What is going on with you?” Ford says, eyes narrowed.

“What do you mean?”

“The tight pants,” he says, nodding at the garment in question. “Inviting Julia to supper. That big goofy grin.”

“I’m not grinning.”

“You were when you walked in here. Last time I saw you do that was 2015. I like this look on you. The grin, not the pants. What are you trying to be, a stripper? Rollins, we should just put velcro in the seams so Grey can rip them off while doing pelvic thrusts.”

I shoot him a look in the mirror. “You’re an A-S-S.”

“I know what that spells,” Bryce says. “Candy.”

Ford presses a noisy kiss to her cheek. “You’re such a smarty pants.” He looks back up at me. “So c’mon, Patrick Swayze. Show us your moves.”

“Please,” I reply, biting back a smile. “You and I both know I’m more of a Chris Farley in that scenario.”

Rollins’ shoulders shake with repressed laughter as he pins my pants a little tighter. “Not in these pants you’re not. They will definitely split right open if you try to dance.”

“Maybe that’s what he’s going for,” Ford says, laughing.

“Go get you some, boy,” Rollins adds. “We all need to blow off a little steam now and again.”