CHAPTER 1
Jimmy
“Drop the panties!”
Those definitely weren’t words I ever thought I’d hear myself say when not in the company of a female.
It wasn’t the underwear I was even worried about, I just didn’t want to have to take another trip to the vet, and I wasn’t sure how Sherlock would be able to digest the material. Over the ten years I’d had my garbage disposal disguised as a bloodhound, he’d eaten a remote control, several iPods (back when those were a thing), batteries, gravel, pennies, and even a light bulb.
Sherlock’s jowls hung low as he dipped his head. His big brown eyes stared up at me and he gave me his best puppy dog stare, but it wasn’t going to work. I had to get the item of clothing away from him.
I wondered if my brother Billy would have more luck. After all, his nickname was Panty Dropper.
In our hometown of Firefly Island, Georgia, we Comfort men were known for three things: fighting, flirting, and fucking. My oldest brother Hank was the fighter. Should be pretty obvious from his nickname which one my middle brother Billy was known for. And then there was me, the youngest of the bunch. I was the flirt.
It wasn’t somethin’ I tried to do, it just came naturally. From the time I could walk, and maybe even before then, I’d been accused of being a charmer. Half the time I didn’t even realize I was doing it.
That had been the case with the owner of the red lace underwear that Sherlock currently held in his mouth. Molly was a sales rep in town for a conference, and last month we’d got to chatting at Southern Comfort, the bar that my brothers and I owned. One minute we were discussing local cuisine and the next she was asking if I wanted to get out of there. It had been a while since I’d wet my whistle, so to speak, so I’d obliged her.
I knew that the undergarment had to belong to her because she was the only woman I’d brought home in the past year or so. I’d become much more discerning about who I hooked up with after an irate husband showed up at my doorstep, sayin’ that I’d been sleeping with his wife and he was gonna kill me. Turned out I had been doing what he claimed, but I’d had no clue the lady was married.
Thankfully, I’d been able to diffuse the situation and had since even become friends with Gerald, the irate husband. But since then, I’d made sure to ask more questions and wasn’t quite as trusting of people as I once was. No one-night or even three-night stand—as was the case with Gerald’s wife—was worth it.
Since I was gun shy about casual flings, and not interested in anything serious thanks to a dysfunctional as hell family situation, I hadn’t been entertaining much at Casa Comfort. Most nights, it was just me and my ride-or-die Sherlock, and I was fine with that. Even when he frustrated the shit out of me.
“I’m serious. Drop it.”
He didn’t.
Holding my hand out and demanding that Sherlock drop the lacy scrap of fabric was gettin’ me nowhere. Since I didn’t want to spend the first day off I’d had in three months in a standoff with my dog, I decided to say uncle.
I went to the treat jar and grabbed a biscuit. After watching a Dog Whisperer marathon, I’d promised myself that I was going to stop rewarding his bad behavior with treats, but even in the moment I’d made the promise I knew that I’d never stick to it. I was a big pushover.
That was just one of the many reasons I didn’t want children. I’d never be able to discipline them. They would have me wrapped around their tiny fingers. I also really enjoyed sleep and freedom, two things I’d seen disappear completely from the lives of each and every one of my friends who had procreated.
As soon as the dog biscuit neared Sherlock’s nose, he opened his mouth and the underwear fell to the floor. When I picked it up and tossed it in the trash I noticed the time. It was almost eight o’clock in the morning.
Shit.
Today was the first day in a long time that I didn’t have a charter scheduled. I loved my job, the endless days of powering the Vitamin Sea out onto the open water and seeing the shoreline I’d known my whole life. Especially, since I got to see it through new eyes, every time I heard the exclamations from those who were seeing it for their first time.
Still, every once in a while, it was nice to have a whole day to do nothing but rest. I needed that, too, because I was still pretty knocked out by the drinking I’d done the night before down at the bar. I didn’t know how much longer I could continue knocking ’em back like I did in college. Sure, I still had a few years until I hit thirty; it wasn’t like I was ancient, but I could already feel my instincts telling me to slow things down.
Thankfully, the majority of folks I took out were on vacation, so their mentality fit with mine just fine. Relax and enjoy: my motto.
My phone buzzed and I saw that it was a text from my brother Hank. The fighter.
Meeting. Noon. House.
I wondered if this family meeting had anything to do with the inheritance we’d learned about after my father passed. It wasn’t his cash. Hell, our old man hadn’t had two dimes to rub together and if he had, he would’ve owed ’em to somebody.
Nah, the moola my siblings and I were set to inherit was from my mama’s side of the family. Sabrina Wentworth’s granddad had made his millions in pharmaceuticals in the early sixties. His empire had been carried on by his son and passed on to my mother, and she’d left it for us in a trust.
Fifty. Million. Dollars.
That amount of money was unfathomable to me. It would be like telling me that I was getting a billion-teen-hundred dollars. It didn’t even make sense.
But that incomprehensible amount was exactly what I was set to inherit, split four ways with my brothers and sister. A sister, mind you, I hadn’t even known existed until a few months ago. She was snatched up by my maternal grandparents after my mama passed. I’d only been two at the time and hadn’t remembered she existed.