Busted (Barnes Brothers #3) (17 page)

Farrah all but wilted back against the couch. “I can’t take this. Please. Just . . . I think I’m going to faint.”

“Let me just go get my smelling salts.” Ressa understood, though. She had to fight the urge to toss back the plum wine like it was two-dollar whiskey. “Now stop being so dramatic.”

She huffed out a breath. “Clayton . . . he almost died. I read about what happened to his wife—there was a drunk driving accident. Apparently it almost killed his son, too. After all of that, I think it just made him all but shut down.”

Farrah got up to pace. “The baby was born early,” she said after a minute. She gave Ressa a sheepish smile. “You know how obsessed I get with these things. Anyway . . . I know he all but lived at the hospital for a while. I think his son was sick a lot.”

“Makes sense,” Farrah said, shaking her head. “His wife dies, he almost loses his son. The baby didn’t even leave the hospital for the first couple of months, I don’t think. He went from being this super social guy to a recluse. That poor guy. Ressa, he had the media hounding him non-stop. It got to the point where his twin was even running interference half the time, pretending to be him just so he could get in and out of the hospital without people harassing him. And when the media figured out what they were doing, they gave him even
more
grief . . . they came up with these bullshit stories about how he couldn’t really be grieving if he and his twin were playing games with the media.”

“Assholes,” Ressa muttered. She couldn’t imagine how hard that must have been for him. And yeah, it made sense why he’d gone into the hermit mode.

Then Farrah came back to her, held out her hands.

Ressa accepted them, a knot swelling in her chest.

“I get it.” Farrah’s eyes were dark and kind and gentle, so full of understanding, it made Ressa’s throat get tight. “I do—and sweetheart, if I were you, I’d be all over him. A crazy weekend with a beautiful man like that?”

“But . . .” Ressa waited.

“But . . .” Farrah squeezed her hands. “You’re already twisted up about him. You were months ago, and you’re just as crazy about Clayton as you are about him. What if he is still in love with her? And . . .” She bit her lip and then hurriedly
asked, “And are you sure he’s ready to handle everything else that comes with you?”

Ressa tugged her hands away and started to pace. She thought about the way he looked at her. The way he touched her and how everything inside her lit up, and how everything inside seemed to just
slow
—and wait. It was like she’d been waiting. Just for him.

She thought about the way his eyes lingered on her, how he stared at her as if nobody else existed.

When he looked at her, it wasn’t the memory of his dead wife he saw. And he wasn’t caught up in the memory of anything else either. He saw her and only her.

“I’m complicating this,” she said, swearing. Then she glared at Farrah. “
We
are complicating this. We like each other. I like how I feel when I’m with him and I know he likes being with me.” Then she paused in front of the mirror and added, “If nothing else, when he’s with me, I know he’s not seeing me as some sort of replacement. I saw pictures of her—she was like some Nordic princess. She was this tall, elegant thing, all legs and boobs and yards of ice blonde hair.”

Farrah grinned and her gaze dropped to Ressa’s chest. “Well, you’re not short . . . and you’re definitely not lacking in the curve department, Ress.”

“Ha-ha.” Ressa continued to study her reflection. A black woman stared back at her, her hair done in soft curls around her face, her mouth a deep wine red. The tank top she’d paired with her pajama pants had ridden up, revealing the outline of the newest tattoo design she was working on. It was a tower of books, one that threatened to topple over. It started on her hip and climbed up to just under her right breast. And when she looked in her own eyes, she saw the shadows and the insecurities she’d fought to hide for so long. “I’ve got tits, yeah. But he won’t look at me and see Nordic anything.”

After a moment, Farrah came up to stand next to her, leaning in so that her head rested against Ressa’s arm. “So what do you think he sees when he looks at you?”

“I don’t know.”

If she knew the answer to that, this would be a lot easier.

“Are you two going out?”

“I think so.”

There was a world of caution in Farrah’s eyes.

“Okay . . . then answer this. If he sees
all
of you, is he going to be okay with it?”

She heard the warning. She heard the love that came with it. If she was smart, she’d pay attention to it.

The phone rang and in the time it took Ressa to grab her phone from the coffee table and see his name on the display, she decided the time to be
smart
had come and gone.

Heart hammering, she hit
talk
and lifted the phone.

“Hello?”

It had been so long since he’d been out on a date, Trey wasn’t entirely certain he remembered how they worked.

Okay, in theory, yeah.

He could remember in
theory
.

Unlike Zane, Travis, and Sebastian, Trey hadn’t ever had the revolving door thing with females. He hadn’t pined for one woman for most of his life like Zach—Zach had only ever loved one woman and all the relationships he’d been in had been casual. Trey had had two serious girlfriends in high school—and then on a trip to Canada with Travis the summer after graduation, there had been this ballet dancer . . . Giselle had pretty much destroyed his mind. He couldn’t recall much about their time outside the bedroom, because he doubted they’d spent much time together outside of it.

But his experience with the opposite sex started and stopped there—those three not-really-serious relationships, and then Aliesha. In all, four first dates.

He wasn’t sure the first date with Giselle really counted as a date since they’d bumped into each other at a club—literally—and she’d wrapped her arms around him and pulled him onto a dance floor. From there, they’d ended up in her flat,
a place that wasn’t much bigger than the bathroom he had now. In that flat, he’d learned more about the female body than he had ever dreamed it was possible to learn.

Because they had totally sucked, Trey decided not to count the first disastrous dates he’d had since Aliesha’s death.

It wasn’t a lot of experience. Trey realized that. Maybe that was why he was almost as nervous now as he had been the day he’d shown up to take Marisol Hammonds to the junior prom—she’d been girlfriend number one and they’d been together from sophomore up until right before their senior year. That was when she realized she was more into jocks and she’d broken up with him by way of leaving a message on the answering machine. His brothers had ragged him something awful about that.

Actually, he thought he was
more
nervous now. Back then, he hadn’t stood and stared stupidly at his clothes for ten minutes before finally deciding that absolutely, it was just fine to wear a button-down shirt and a nice pair of trousers.

When he realized he was second-guessing the choices again, he scowled at his reflection.
Enough already, man. Keep this up and you’ll never make it out the door.

Clayton had poked his head into the bedroom, eying him with wide, puzzled eyes. “Why are you wearing your dress-up stuff? We can’t go to church. It’s Friday. Did somebody die? Nobody died, did they?”

“Nobody died.” The rush of questions had Trey smiling. “And no, we’re not going to church, although Grandma Mona wants us to come with her to church soon. She’s been asking—I just keep forgetting.”

“Okay.” Clayton slid inside the room and took a running leap to land on Trey’s bed. “Why you wearing nice clothes?”

“Remember what I told you earlier?”

Clayton’s forehead wrinkled. “The date thing. Oh, yeah. You and Miss Ressa are going out on a date.” For a minute, just a minute, he forgot his concern over the dress clothes. “I knew you thought she was pretty.”

“You never miss a thing, do you, pal?”

“Why you gotta wear nice clothes if you’re just going to take a girl to a restaurant? Is she going to be your girlfriend? Like Keelie is Uncle Zane’s girlfriend? Are you going to—”

“Let’s try one question at a time,” Trey suggested. Tucking his shirt in, he moved back to the closet and studied his belts. Before he could start the deliberation thing, he just grabbed one at random. It was black. His shirt was some kind of grayish blue, pants were black. The belt would work. No deliberation needed.

Turning away before he could think about it another second, he eyed Clayton. “I’m wearing nice clothes because I bet Miss Ressa will wear them and I want to do the same thing.”

“Why?” Clayton crossed his legs and focused his attention on Trey. These questions—and the answers—were serious stuff, in Clayton’s mind. Of course,
all
questions were serious in Clayton’s mind. Even the very silly, and very strange ones.

“If she goes to the trouble of looking nice, I should do the same.”

Clayton shrugged. “You should just tell her to wear jeans, then you could, too.”

“Well. . . .” Trey pretended to think that over. “I guess I could, but I think Ressa would rather wear what she wants to wear.”

“But then you have to wear stupid dress clothes.”

“I bet Ressa won’t think they are stupid.” He moved to the bed and caught Clayton’s nose, tugged it. “Your aunt Abby loves seeing Zach dressed up. And think about how all those magazines and TV shows go on and on about Uncle Sebastian when
he
gets all dressed up.”

“Those are goofy.” Clayton rolled his eyes. Then he looked down, plucked at a loose thread on his shirt. “A boy at school called me a dumb liar. I saw a poster with Uncle Sebastian on it and I said who he was and the boy said I was lying.”

Trey sighed and crouched down in front of him. “You might hear that some. You know you’re not lying.”

“Everybody was going on and on about how awesome he was. I really know him. He’s my uncle. And they laughed at me.” Clayton’s lip poked out.

“I’m sorry.” He hugged Clayton closer, brooding. “You need to remember, though. Sebastian is your uncle—he’s not a prize to brag about or anything.”

“I wasn’t bragging.” Clayton’s thin shoulders rose and fell.
“There was one girl who said her sister likes to kiss his poster—that’s weird. Isn’t that weird?”

“Very.” Easing back, Trey ruffled his hair. “You should have seen some of the girls I went to school with and how they acted about Uncle Zach. I bet they were just as weird.”

“
Girls
are weird.” Clayton sniffled. Then he said, “Neeci isn’t, though. Neeci is just Neeci. She believes me. She said she’s never seen any of his movies, but she believes me.” At that, Clayton slid Trey a sly look. “I told her I hadn’t seen too many of them, either. It’s not fair. He’s my uncle. I should be able to see more.”

“Nice try.” Trey grinned. “When you’re older. Besides, there’s that one coming out on Blu-ray soon—you were too little to see it in the theater last summer, but we can watch it together now.”

“But—”

Clayton’s would-be argument was interrupted by the sound of a chime—the alarm system Travis had nagged him into installing years ago—its computerized little voice announcing.
Front door
—

“Anybody here?”

Clayton’s eyes rounded and he bounced up off the bed and ran down the hall. “Uncle Travis!”

“Sounds like,” Trey said. As Clayton pounded down the stairs, Trey grabbed his shoes, a pair of black leather ones—again, not giving himself any chance to deliberate.

He was halfway down the steps when he caught sight of his brother, and the worry punched a hole in him. Too thin. Too pale. Travis was even skinner than Trey was.

And if he asked what was wrong, Travis would lie through his teeth.

As though he’d heard his thoughts, Travis turned his head, met his gaze.

“Well. Look at you,” Travis mused.

“Look at you.” Trey told himself to ignore it. That was what he
should
do. Travis knew how to take care of himself. He’d been doing it for a long time, and Trey knew that. But right now, he looked like death warmed over. “Travis, hope you don’t mind me saying, but you look like . . .”

Travis lifted a brow and glanced at Clayton who was tearing into a bag.

“Yeah.” Travis shrugged. “Rough few days at work.”

What in the hell are they doing? Feeding you to the lions when you don’t crunch numbers fast enough?

A taut silence passed between them, as things Travis wouldn’t tell, and Trey wouldn’t ask, hummed in the air.

That silence was shattered by a shriek from Clayton.

“Cool!” Clayton yanked something out of the bag—it looked like a new video game. He flashed it at Trey and then tossed it down and ripped into the bag again.

Still staring at his brother, Trey moved the rest of the way down the stairs. If he let himself focus, he could catch the faintest edge, no matter how hard Travis tried to keep him out. Yeah, there it was . . . exhaustion, irritation . . . and a lingering pain. With a caustic smile, Trey asked, “So what are they making you do at work these days? Lay down on the road and let your clients drive trucks over you or what? That’s about the only thing I can think of that might make you look that run-down.”

“I’m fine.” Travis’s voice was short, almost brusque.

The hell you are
. He glared at his twin and watched as Travis narrowed his eyes, glaring back. Then, because they didn’t have time for it now, he shrugged. “We can talk about it later, though. You in town long?”

“Yeah. I . . .” Travis cocked his head like he was searching for the words. “I’m on leave right now—I’m between jobs at the moment. Looks like I might be moving into a consulting capacity once I go back, or at least sometime in the very near future. But for now, I’m on leave. I’ve been . . . sick, had to take time off.”

Sick
—instinctively, he went to step between Travis and Clayton even though a body wouldn’t stop germs.

Travis rolled his eyes. “Relax. I’m not contagious. Not like I’d come here if I was. I’m here more for the downtime anyway.”

“You didn’t get fired, did you?” Trey had to admit, considering how rough Travis had looked the past few months—hell, the past few
years
—it wouldn’t bother him at all if Travis
ended up needing to look for another job. And
bullshit
that Travis had been sick—that wasn’t what had him looking like hell.

“No. I’ve got a job. I’m just taking some time off—we’ll re-evaluate in a few months.” Travis shrugged.

Was it him or did it seem that his twin’s mouth went tight at the movement? Like it hurt? Trey wasn’t sure.

“You’re staying here, then.” Trey didn’t ask.

Travis just grunted. “I was kinda looking forward to pizza and movies, but looks like you have plans.”

“Daddy has a date,” Clayton announced as he finished ripping the paper off a Nerf gun.

For the next breath, the only sound was the boy’s desperate, determined efforts to tear the packaging open. And then, Travis lifted his head, a wide, wicked grin on his face, one that chased away the exhaustion and the irritation. “A date . . . do tell, Daddy.”

“A date. In my case—and yours, it would involve social interaction with a female,” Trey said. “You’re familiar with the general idea, I think.”

“More familiar than you are, I’d say.” Travis bit his lower lip, held it there a moment as he crossed his arms over his chest. “Now why haven’t I heard anything about this? Last I heard, the only woman you were interested in, things didn’t exactly work out.”

Feeling the creep of red as it spread up his neck, Trey shrugged. “Not much to say, just yet. I asked her out a couple days ago, she said yes. We haven’t even gone out yet.”

“So this is a first date.”

Before Trey could respond, there was a knock at the door. Travis moved aside as Trey headed to the door. “It’s the babysitter.”

Travis grinned at his nephew. “A babysitter, kid? Is she pretty?”

Clayton went red. “She’s a girl!”

“Well, yeah. The best ones usually are. Is she pretty?”

Clayton darted a look at the door.

Trey hesitated a minute. “She’s saving for college.”

“Hey,
I’m
not babysitting. I’m on vacation, man.” Travis
ruffled Clayton’s hair. “I want pizza, though. I’ll buy. Then I’m probably going to crash early.”

“But . . .” Clayton poked out his lip. “Movie? I thought you said a movie.”

“We’ll do that tomorrow when Dad can join us.” Travis bent down and whispered something to him.

Trey heard the word
date
and
girl
involved. It made Clayton giggle.

Shaking his head, Trey opened the door to let Annabeth Hawkins in.

One thing about having his brother crash like this . . . it had taken his mind off the panic. For a few minutes at least.

*   *   *

Ressa whipped off the dress and tossed it on the bed with its three predecessors. The black wiggle dress was a little
too
sexy. The red polka dot one was
cute
. That was the problem. It was too
cute
. The pink square neck one was just fine . . . if he was taking her home to meet his mother.

Snarling under her breath, she stood in front of her closet, a closet
full
of clothes, too, thanks to her somewhat problematic love for shopping. She wore a black bra shot through with a red lace ribbon and a retro piece that was both girdle, garter, and panties. It was moderately comfortable, sexy as hell and it managed to smooth things down so that
if
she had gone with the black wiggle, she would have filled it out just fine.

But it was a first date and the message she was going for wasn’t
Fuck me now
.

Even if that was the message she had on her mind.

Even if that was the message she’d had on her mind pretty much from the first minute she’d seen him again—well, it wasn’t the
only
thought on her mind.