I glance over at the hottie lumberjack.Yes. Yes, I do need something.
But I’ll settle for what’s realistic.
“Yes. Please.”
She grabs a glass from under the bar and pours a couple fingers of good bourbon into it. “This one’s on the house. You enjoy that before you have to deal with that man out there. He was on one today.” She chuckles.
He’s on one every day.“Thanks, Veronica.”
I’m grateful she called me. Even though I wish she would refuse Jacob service, I can’t put her in that kind of awkward position.
I take a little sip of my drink, enjoying the burn.
After a minute, Veronica walks out from behind the bar, talking to the lumberjack in a murmur, giving him his check. I strain my ears to interpret his rumbling response, but it’s too low for me to catch.
She heads back to the bar, and he tosses some bills on the table, leaving without so much as a glance in my direction.
I’m not sure if I should be disappointed that I’m invisible or relieved, considering my current appearance. There is no way I could snag a man that lickable without a few more hours of sleep and, at the very least, a half-hearted attempt at making myself presentable.
It’s been a long time. I need to get laid.
Shoving the inconvenient thoughts of my neglected libido aside, I fling back the rest of the bourbon. I have bigger fish to fry. A brother to carry home. Or at least to the truck.
Once the heat from the drink has warmed my insides, and I feel less murdery, I gird my loins and head out the back door.
The air bites at my cheeks. The sun is descending, and the trees lining the property cast gloomy silhouettes.
About thirty feet away, resting in the corner of the property under a bony maple, sits an abandoned bathtub. Jacob’s tawny-brown hair flicks in the breeze just above the lip of the tub.
I pick my way over the gravel and dead grass, skirting patches of snow lingering in the shadows, refusing to melt.
Perching on an old stump next to him, I wait.
He’s been worse since his birthday—he just turned twenty-five. I wish it was your typical quarter-life crisis, but it’s more than that.
His face is serene in slumber, not at all like that of a man who lost his twin sister at fifteen and hasn’t fully recovered. He looks so young and so much like Aria it nearly takes my breath away. He has the same stubborn chin, aquiline nose, and thin lips they inherited from Dad.
A loud snore rips out of him, echoing around us.
Just perfect.
Time to wake up Sleeping Beauty.
I push on his shoulder.
The snore cuts off, and his eyes blink open. A sleepy grin takes over his face. “Hey, Fin.”
“Hey, Jake.”
His smile droops, his glazed eyes shuttering.
And then he’s snoring again.
I smack his cheek. “Jacob. Wake up. We need to get to the truck, and I can’t carry your heavy ass.”
He groans.
I stand, lean over him, grab both of his hands, and yank him upward. He barely shifts. “C’mon.”