“It is. It’s nothing. Just frustrated with work stuff.”

“Okay.” He falls silent for a beat. “You’re not already questioning your choice of a wife, are you?”

“Yeah. Definitely,” I murmur absently as she adjusts the bottoms of her suit to highlight even more of her ass. Jesus. “She’s itching to get back to her work and I need . . .” Another adjustment that has me looking even closer.

“Finish the sentence, Jase. You need what? Her to be gone so you can have the privacy to fuck somebody else?”

“Christ, Nate. Do you actually think that’s all I think about?”

At times. When a gorgeous woman is living under my roof. Perhaps.

“If it’s not, that’s the image you portray.”

“Image. Not reality.”

“Great. Then I don’t have to worry about Hendrix suing you for misconduct.”

“Always thinking the best of me, aren’t you, brother?”

“No, just looking out for you.” I can imagine his shrug. “You went from she’s the one for the job to sounding not so sure, so in my head she’s cramping your style and you’re pissed about it.”

“How about I went from single to living with someone in a matter of days? How about I have to suddenly worry about another person’s feelings and how they’re probably going to get hurt by all of this when it’s not her fault in the first place? How about stuff like that, huh? It’s a fucking lot.”

“Welcome to being a grown-up,” he says sarcastically. I refuse to acknowledge the silent dig. He didn’t fight when his life was chosen for him. I didn’t have a choice. I’ve had to fight for everything from that day forward. “Why though, Jase?”

Because I made a promise to you not to touch her and right now, I sure as shit feel like breaking it.

CHAPTER NINETEEN

CHAPTER NINETEEN

Hendrix

“Ugh.”

It’s my first and only thought when I see the caller ID on my phone say “Mom” on the incoming call.

If I pick up, then I’m already lying to her.

But nothing has broken yet and so it might be the last time I actually talk to her without the burden of guilt that’s fast approaching.

Wedding pictures will “leak” by Friday, at least that’s the plan, and so with that knowledge, I opt to answer and have a much easier conversation.

“Mom. Hi. How are you doing?”

“Honey? Are you okay? I called the bakery and the message said you were closed for a few days. Is something wrong?”

Shit. “I’m fine. Good. That was from a few days ago. I’ve been there. I just forgot to change the message.”

“But you were closed? Why? What’s wrong? You haven’t taken a day off since you opened. Do I need to come out and take care of Fucktard for you?”