The Bluff (Graham Brothers, #2)(97)

Does that mean I want to forgive him and keep going as we were?

Nope. But I did already do something to help him because, as Chevy often tells me, I just don’t know when to quit. Kyoko texted me late last night, groaning about her bosses being impossible. I told her to come interview for a job. My job.

Is James hiring? No.

Does Kyoko want to take my job? No.

But were either of those reasons enough to stop me from convincing Kyoko she needs to drive here and interview for a job? No, they were not.

James and Kyoko can both thank me later.

Or, in James’s case, he can NOT thank me, because I’m not planning on talking to him again. I’m just going to ignore the whiny voice saying I miss him already, and I’m a hundred times more heartbroken over this than I was when things ended with stupid Dale. I mean, not that there was any heartbreak involved in that relationship.

But thinking about Dale has me thinking about what he did, which has me thinking about my dad, which makes me remember the truth of the matter.

“I don’t want a relationship anyway. Men can’t be trusted.”

“Not this again,” Val groans. “Why do you keep coming back to this?”

I haven’t told my two best friends the reason I can’t trust men. Not about seeing Dale in Austin. Not about my dad. Which is very un-best-friend-like of me, and they will absolutely give me grief about keeping this from them. “It’s a long story.”

“We’ve got nothing but time, chica.”

Lindy looks at her phone. “Or, we have an hour. Then I need to pick up Jo.”

There’s a knock at the door, and when I try to get up, Val holds me in place. “I’ll get it,” Lindy says, giving me a pointed look. “You’re too much of a flight risk.”

“Hiya,” Kyoko says when Lindy opens the door.

“Oh, good. Reinforcements,” Lindy says.

“I’d get up to hug you, but I’m being held hostage,” I tell her.

Lindy ushers Kyoko inside. I make quick introductions, and Val pours Kyoko a jalapeno margarita.

“Can you talk sense into her?” Val asks.

“Doubtful,” Kyoko says, plopping into the chair across from the couch. She grins when Lindy practically sits down on top of me again. “But I’ll do my best.”

“How was the job interview?” I ask.

“I officially got the job. But I won’t say it wasn’t without some enthusiastic family involvement. Also, I think it was … your husband—Pat?” She looks questioningly at Lindy, who nods. “Yeah, he was in a dumpster for some reason. No one explained why.”

I can imagine several reasons, and all of them involve Pat running his mouth to James. I’m happy to hear about the family involvement though. Maybe it means they’re jumping on board to help James with his crisis of overwhelm. Good.

“A dumpster, huh?” Lindy makes a face. “I love Pat, but he probably deserved it. Hopefully, he showers before I get home. Anyway, Winnie was just about to tell us why she doesn’t trust any men.”

“Was I?”

“Yes,” Lindy and Val say at the same time.

“I don’t remember ever agreeing to that.”

Kyoko takes a sip of her drink and hums appreciatively. “Now. You’ve fixed my life. You’ve tried to help James fix his. Your turn!”

“I don’t need fixing.” When they all laugh at this, I glare. “I’m fine.”

“You’ve had two breakups this month,” Lindy says.

“You’ve been fired twice,” Kyoko adds.

“You’re living on your brother’s sofa,” Val says.

“You could sell your app at any time but for some reason, refuse to do so. You keep helping everyone else with their lives, while ignoring your own.”

I stare down into my drink. “If your goal was to bring me down, it’s working. My life is a lot sadder than I realized. I guess I’m not fine?”

Val pats my knee. “No, you’re not fine. But you will be.”

I really, really hope she’s right.

“What kind of sad sack convention do we have here?” Chevy emerges from his room, glancing at the limes, tequila, and scattered glasses on the table. I swear his eye starts to twitch.

And, of course, seeing my brother makes Val spill her drink all over her shirt. It looks like she’s bleeding from a gunshot wound to the chest.

Chevy winces as he looks down her shirt, then, as though realizing he’s staring at Val’s chest—honestly, it’s hard to miss—his gaze shoots straight to the ceiling as he rocks back on his heels. “Sorry. Is that my fault?”

“It’s fine,” Val says in an overly bright voice. She holds her shirt out from her body.

“You can borrow one of my shirts,” I tell her.

“Or one of mine,” Chevy says. “Here.”

And while we all watch, my brother strips off his T-shirt and holds it out to Val. She stares at him for a long moment, her gaze traveling over his bare chest. My brother is built like some kind of oversized-teddy-bear-linebacker hybrid. He’s big and sturdy, not ripped or cut like the Grahams, and has a pretty impressive coating of chest hair. If you’re into chest pelts.

Apparently, Val is very, very into them. Stocky and hairy must be exactly her fantasy, because her eyes have gone all glazed. She’s holding Chevy’s shirt but making no move to put it on.