“Oh, Adia,” I sang. “Check your phone, little sister of mine, and meet Marcus and Remy.”
“I’ve seen Marcus alre—” she broke off with a gasp. “You flat chested bitch.”
“I know,” I sighed happily, getting looks of confusion from both men. “Marcus, Remy, this is my little sister, Adia, on the phone.”
Both of them greeted her, then looked back at me.
“We were driving past and figured we’d stop by and see if you wanted to come up to the ranch. One of the foals is about to be born. We got the call ten minutes ago.”
“Horse babies,” I breathed, jumping up and trying to figure out what I needed. When nothing came to mind, I looked at both of them in a panic. “What do I need?”
Remy pointed to my feet. “Shoes.”
Looking down at my feet, I clicked my fingers. “Right. Wait, I don’t own cowboy boots.” For some reason, this meant I checked to see what theirs looked like, only to stop when I saw them wearing regular boots. “Hang on, do you guys wear those?”
I couldn’t remember if I’d ever noticed what shoes they were wearing before.
Remy snorted and gestured with his thumb at Marcus, who looked unimpressed by the question. “Don’t mention those to this guy. He fucking hates them.”
I blinked at this piece of information. “Why do you hate cowboy boots?”
Shoving his hands in his pockets, Marcus raised an eyebrow. “If you look at professional equestrians, none of them wear those things, so why should I?”
“What he means to say,” Remy began, leaning toward me, “is that when he was eighteen, he got a pair from his parents to celebrate his birthday and this place. Two weeks later, he’s working on a new horse we’d bought, and something spooked it, making it rear back and then drop down on his foot.”
“Because those fucking things have no protection, it broke three bones in my foot,” Marcus spat, glaring at his best friend. “That’s probably why professionals don’t wear them. And I don’t need a damn heel to make me taller, so why would I wear them?”
Glancing at Remy’s feet, I noticed he was wearing the same boots as Marcus. “Why don’t you wear them, Remy?”
He looked at me like I’d grown a second head. “If you saw an accident like that, would you wear them? And it’s not like I need the heel to make me taller, either.”
This was true. Thanks to Mom’s genes, I wasn’t tall. I couldn’t speak for all Malaysian women, but on the whole, they were petite or of average height. Both Remy and Marcus stood at roughly a foot taller than my five foot four inches, if not more. Why would they need anything to make them taller?
“Uh, hello?” my sister snapped, making me jump.
“Shit, sorry, Adia. I forgot you were there.”
That was way the wrong thing to say, and even before she yelled at me, I knew this when both men’s jaws dropped.
“You’re such an asshole. If you forget you’re talking to someone and they call you out on it, you don’t admit you forgot. You come up with some bullshit excuse, so they don’t use it against you in the future.”
She had a point.
“Remember how I said in the truck I was worried about her meeting your family and to break her in gently?” Remy said, his eyes still on me.
Marcus rubbed the back of his neck, looking slightly awkward at the question. “Yeah?”
“I’m thinking you’re either okay if they all turn up out of the blue or that you need your head checked for not choosing a woman who’s normal and sane.”
I’d just opened my mouth to set him straight and tell him I was normal and it was just the rest of my family who wasn’t, when Adia chuckled. “Well, sissy pants, I see you’re in good hands. You owe me a drunken sister fest, by the way.”
“Let me know when you want to visit.”
“Will you get us a bottle of that Mojito mix stuff you got last time?” she asked.
Seeing both men now raising their eyebrows at me, I said defensively, “She drinks responsibly and with an adult who can keep her safe. Anyway, the legal age of drinking is eighteen in most countries, including Italy, so I don’t see the issue. If the vast majority of the world thought it wasn’t okay, why would they keep that as their legal age limit for alcohol consumption? Did anyone ever think about that?”
“Babe,” Marcus called, getting my attention. “Most people have consumed alcohol way before they’re legally allowed to purchase it. There’s no judgment here.”
“Okay, Addy, I have to go. Thanks for the entertainment,” Adia cooed, snapping me out of my contemplation of all things Marcus.
“Righty ho, jugs. Study hard.”
“Bitch!” she snapped back.
“Slut puppy.” I hit the end button as soon as I said it, effectively stopping her from calling me another name and hanging up first.