* * *
“Are you going to drink that?”
Mick looked up from the scotch sitting on the counter in front of him and frowned at his brother.
Owen arched an eyebrow. “You’ve been staring at it for the entire time we’ve been standing here. It’s twenty-six-year-old single-malt Glenfiddich. If you’re not going to drink it, I will.”
Mick snorted and slid the whisky over. “Go for it.”
Laughing, Owen shook his head and slid it back in front of Mick. “How ‘bout you tell me what’s going on in that big brain of yours first? Clearly, it’s got something to do with Zeta. It doesn’t take a genius to connect the dots. You both disappear during the reception. You both turn up after the blackout wearing different clothes. She turns up wearing something of yours. Spill. I’ve got a twenty-buck bet with Bria, and she won’t pay up until I get confirmation.”
Mick snorted. “What’s the bet?”
Owen smirked. “That you bonked like rabbits. Bri reckons you did it on the beach, I say you did it under a tree.”
“And here I was thinking you were worried about your little brother.” He looked at his scotch, turned the glass a few degrees to the left. To the right. The left again. “And you’re both wrong.”
Owen rested his elbows on the counter, studying him. “Is it serious?”
Mick scowled. “I don’t know.”
“Bullshit.”
Mick turned his scowl to Owen.
“Look, Mick, we both know Tilly is the smartest out of the three of us, but out of you and me?” He waved a finger back and forth between them. “When it comes to really knowing what’s going on, you run rings around me. Always have. I’m just a numbers guy. But I’ve watched you fool around with the idea of romance for years, and I’ve watched you and Zeta circle each other since you first met. And I gotta say, not one single girl or woman you ever sank any serious time into made you come alive like she does. You’re too bloody smart for your own good, Mick. Your ego knows that. And Zeta calls you on it. There’s a part of you that knows that’s a good thing. So I’m going to ask again if it’s serious?”
Mick stared at his brother. Swallowed. Let out a choppy breath. “It is.”
A smile split Owen’s face.
“Onmyend,” Mick clarified. “I don’t know what she feels.”
Owen looked at him like he’d grown an extra head. “Then tell her how you feel, idiot. Ask her howshefeels.”
Mick’s gut clenched. “Pretty certain she’ll laugh in my face.”
Owen snorted. “Pretty certain you have no idea what she’ll do until you do it.” He reached across and took back Mick’s drink. “You don’t deserve this.”
“Oi!” Mick protested on a laugh. A laugh. Here he was contemplating his very future, and Owen was making him laugh over a scotch. Life was weird. Surreal.
“What doesn’t he deserve?” a male voice chuckled on their right as Nick Blackthorne joined them at the bar.
Owen threw their famous cousin a smirk. “Young Michael here won’t tell a girl he likes her.”
Nick’s eyebrows shot up, and then he tossed back his head, laughing.
“You two can just sod off,” Mick muttered, throwing both his brother and his cousin a glare.
The rock star shook his head, still chuckling. “Mate, take it from an idiot who took way too long to tell a girl he liked her… Tell her. Now!”
Owen grabbed Mick’s shoulder and gave it a squeeze. “Do it.”
“Do it,” Nick Blackthorne echoed, as he reached down the bar and picked up the glass of scotch from in front of Mick. He held the glass aloft. “Do it.”
“Hey,” Owen protested, as the rock star downed the liquid in one go. “That’s my scotch!”
“Thatwasmy scotch,” Mick pointed out.