He shrugs. “Because I can? Because I wanna. Maybe I should just ask Luc. He’ll wanna know who his sister is hanging around, anyway. If the guy is old school commando, I doubt Luc would be cool with his pregnant sister riding around with him.”
I roll my eyes. “I’m pretty sure he knows, considering she wasn’t trying to hide it. She’s nine months pregnant and planning a wedding to Spencer’s colleague. You guys might be the only brothers in the world that micromanageevery singlechoice their baby sister makes.”
“Spencer?” Mitch speaks over me. “You sound awfully cozy on that first name basis, Abby Cadabby. I sure hope you’re making good choices.”
“Ugh, stop it!” I pick up the last of my taco and shove it in my mouth. After I swallow, I swipe a napkin over my lips and toss it down. “I used his name because that’s his name. We’re not otherwise affiliated, we’re not friends. We don’t even have a business relationship. He’s just a client’s friend.”That I had the lovely pleasure of bickering with for half of the afternoon.“I’m done here.”
“Abby.” Nix grabs my wrist before I turn away. “You need to eat more. One isn’t enough.”
“I’m getting dessert and sitting down to watch a movie. With that and what I did eat, I’ve had heaps of calories. Remember that thing I said about micromanaging?”
“What movie?” Mitch looks at me with narrowed eyes. “Please don’t let it be a chick flick. Please don’t let it be a chick flick. Please don’t let it be a chick flick.”
“We’re watchingMy Best Friend’s Wedding.”
“No.” Mitch’s eyes shoot to Nix. “No!”
“Yes.” I tug my hand free and walk away. “It’s my choice tonight. That was the deal.”
“Nixon! Tell her.”
“I did tell her,” he grumbles. “It’s either that, orFour Weddings and A Funeral. I know which one I choose.”
“The newFast and the Furiousis out,” Mitch whines. “Can’t we watch that?”
“Nope!” I swing the freezer open and pull out the tub of ice cream. Forgoing bowls, I grab three spoons from the drawer, and his when I hip-bump it closed and the handle squarely hits my hipbone. “Frig. Frig. Frig! That hurt.”
I tuck the ice cream under one arm, and the spoons into my left hand, while I furiously rub my hip with the right to ease the sting. That’s going to bruise by tomorrow, and then the guys will have more reason to baby me.
I grab the rest of the bottle of wine on my way past the counter, then move through the dining room and past my whispering brothers. I don’t particularly want to know what they’re whispering about. It’ll be me, I have no doubt. And probably something along the lines of bubble wrap and oxygen tanks for a sensory deprivation room.
They’ll do anything to save me from myself.
I leave them sitting at the table, and flop into the center cushion of Nix’s long, black couch. Pulling my feet up so I’m sitting cross-legged, I reach out for the futuristic remote control, and point it at the ninety-inch monstrosity my brother calls a television.
Why watch TV unless you’re going to watch one with cinematic quality?
Secret save-our-sister talks end within minutes of me flipping to the correct channel, and I spend the rest of my night curled up on the couch between two of my strong brothers while I stuff my face with delicious ice cream.
Life could definitely be worse. We know that from experience.