No Weddings (No Weddings #1)(50)

Instead, I smirked. “They seem to have taken to you. Do you know I was strictly forbidden to f*ck you?”

She bit her lip and then nodded. “Yep. They told me Friday night.”

My shoulders shook as I laughed. “I knew it. They’re f*cking with me. I’ve spent all my life with them telling me I can’t have something, only to have them dangle it in front of me in torture.”

A firm hand pushed against my chest. I glanced down, then back up into her eyes. Her expression was fierce.

“I’m not theirs to dangle. I decide.”

I swallowed, turned on even more by the power behind her words. “I agree. You decide.”

She turned slightly, angling toward her car, but kept her gaze locked onto mine. At the last second, she leaned into me and brushed her lips across my cheek, kissing me just below my ear. “You know I’ve already decided, Cade Michaelson.”

My brain fogged with the sexy tone of her voice, but before I could respond, she turned, slid into her car, and shut her door. I crossed my arms over my chest, grinning until my cheeks hurt. She drove away with a final wave.

Minutes passed as I stood there unmoving, feeling like the luckiest bastard on Earth. The freezing night air didn’t faze me with my blood still heated from her touch.

I felt an all-knowing presence approach seconds before Kristen moved to stand beside me. She stared off into the same direction I did, where the end of her drive stretched into darkness.

“She could be good for you, baby brother.”

I turned, blinking at her.

She met my gaze.

All their meddling seemed like they’d been messing with me, but I now began to wonder if they were rooting for me deep down. Although I’d never shared the horrid details of my devastating Valentine’s Day massacre two years ago, Kristen knew what the aftermath had done to me. Some things didn’t need mentioning. And to have her support, their support, even through all the superficial shit we gave each other, meant a lot.

“What about the rule?”

She snorted, laughing. “When have rules ever stopped you?”

I stared at her a few beats more, floored at the conversation we were having. Having never spoken with any of my sisters in seriousness about my relationships before, the moment seemed surreal. However, I didn’t want to give away my feelings just yet. Not about her suggestion, and not about what was developing between Hannah and me.

She didn’t say anything more, and I didn’t ask for clarification.

But something had been offered between us in the unsaid words, eldest sister to younger brother, and I recognized it for what it was—a gift of support, even though she didn’t know the details.

Nevertheless, an enormous weight lifted off my shoulders with her veiled blessing, taking the troubling guilt I’d been feeling about breaching our agreement out of the equation.

After a deep exhalation, I nodded. “Thanks, sis.”





Music blared out the door and three blocks down, or so the cops informed us. We promptly turned it down (a decibel), then invited the officers to join us when their shift ended.

McGinty’s had an unprecedented showing. Wall-to-wall people were well on their way to being shitfaced. The Irish sure as hell knew how to party. So did the rest of us who adopted the Emerald Isle as our homeland for the holiday.

Since we’d essentially lent our name as a customer draw, we didn’t have much responsibility during the event. That was all being handled by the owner, managers, and employees of the bar.

Hannah’s cake was a hit. She’d created a bar top replica with giant frosted mugs of green beer on one side, one of them knocked over, spilling beer and foam to form a sheet of cake down the “bar.” But with most of the guests smashed by the time they dug in, that it was there and tasted good was all that mattered. Still, we made sure the local press got their photos early in the night, not only for publicity, but also for our portfolio and the bar owner’s history wall.

When customers began eating the served pieces, they moaned, begging for seconds. Curious, I picked up a slice and sampled the chocolate cake with white icing.

As the first bite settled onto my tongue, I closed my eyes and groaned. “Bacon.”

Hannah grinned, her eyes lit with mischief. “Hey, at least it’s not ganja.”

I blinked. I knew I’d downed a few beers, but my people-reading meter seemed way off. “Did you say there is or isn’t weed in here?”

She snorted, then broke out laughing. “There is not. No ganja. Here, have another beer.”

She handed me a frosted mug, and I gladly took it. It wasn’t my imported favorite, but tonight wasn’t about taste, it was about getting shitfaced. Damn. That rhymed. I made a mental note to make T-shirts for that.

It’s not about taste, it’s about shitfaced.

Mom would be proud.

I steered Hannah away from the cake toward a side booth that the Sisters Three had commandeered. Boisterous singing had been going on all night, but when Bondo came over the sound system, the chorus was shouted by everyone, including me.

“Fuck you I’m drunk! Fuck you I’m drunk—” I coughed out a laugh at Kristen’s glare. “Don’t blame me. It’s his bar.”

By the end of the song, Kristen defected, joining the rest of the world in wailing shitfaced profanity. She did me proud. I passed her another full beer.