I stood, pulling the ice off my head and snapping, “Danny!”

He looked to me and growled, “It says meet outside unit six and come alone.”

I slowly closed my eyes and let my head fall back.

“Evan.”

He was still growling.

I said nothing.

Come alone.

Mick, what mess are you in now? I thought.

“Evie,” Mag clipped.

I opened my eyes and righted my head.

“There’s a favor I need to do for my brother.”

“At eleven thirty on East Colfax?”

I tipped my head to the side and shrugged, but that was a sham seeing as a chill was racing up my spine.

“Lie down. Ice on,” he bit out.

“Danny—”

“Lie your ass down and get that ice back to that bump, Evie, then we’ll talk.”

“We won’t talk, you’ll just go. Obviously, the date’s off for this evening. We’ll reschedule.”

Or we would not.

“Mac says you’re a genius,” he announced, apropos of nothing.

I blinked and asked, “What?”

“Lottie. She says you’re a genius.”

Wow.

That was nice.

“She says you told her that you took apart a radio, and put it back together,” he carried on. “When you were six.”

I did do that.

My mother thought I was a freak.

My father bought every broken radio he could find at thrift shops, brought them home, made me fix them, then sold them at triple what he bought them for.

I didn’t, incidentally, see a dime of those earnings.

I was six, but, you know, allowance.

Maybe?

Mag continued talking.

“So, genius, look at my face and tell me if I’m leaving.”

I looked at his face.

I then became suddenly exhausted as the weight of my visit with my brother and all that might mean settled hard on my shoulders, and I decided to stretch out on my couch and put the ice on my head.

“Good call,” he muttered.

One could say I was correct in my concerns about Daniel Magnusson.

I didn’t know if he was toxic.

But he was a bossy damned alpha.

And meddling.

“I don’t like you,” I told the ceiling.

“You like my eyelashes,” he said as I heard him settle in my armchair.

I made no reply.

“Talk to me,” he demanded.

I sighed.

Then I stated, “I think my brother is in a bit of a bind.”

“And this requires you to go to Storage and Such in the dead of night?”

Hmm.

The crack to my head was wearing off (though the humiliation lingered), and as it was, I was belatedly sensing this might be a boon.

I got the impression he liked me.

Even if I was a freak and a geek.

Even if I got snippy about global warming (as one should).

Even if I cracked my head on the counter and landed on my ass in my kitchen.

Even if I was not at one with some guy I barely knew helping himself to my texts.

But first date already ruined, it would be annihilated if he knew about my family.

He’d never want to see me again.

I slid my eyes his way. “My brother can’t go as he’s incarcerated.”

Mag just stared at me.

“And my father can’t go because my brother and my father haven’t talked to each other in five years due to the fact they’re the same person in two different bodies and evidence suggests they don’t like themselves all that well, seeing as they carry on doing stupid, risky, escapist stuff. So, onward from that, they hate each other’s guts.”

Mag said not a word.

“And my mother can’t go because she’s probably stalking my stepfather, who’s probably out with a woman who is not his wife, and she’s desperate to catch him so she can do what she enjoys the most. Screeching, throwing dishes, acting like the wronged woman when he’s cheated on her countless times before, and she took him back, and generally causing a scene that may, or may not, end in the cops breaking it up.”

Mag remained quiet.

“And my sister can’t go because she’s likely deep in the throes of strategizing an epic selfie that she’ll post to her over twenty thousand followers, of whom she personally knows maybe fifty. This in her drive to become an online personality to A, garner her own reality program or B, get her cast in a current or future reality program or C, garner sponsors that will allow her to make taking selfies her profession.”

He spoke then.

But not to share his hasty goodnight before he beat his retreat.

He asked a question and proved he had a one-track mind; it just wasn’t the usual track.

“And what favor does your brother need you to do, meetin’ someone at Storage and Such on East Colfax?”

I closed my eyes and answered, “I don’t know.”

“You’re not going.”

My chest jolted at this implacable statement, and I opened my eyes and slid them back to him before I shared, “I’m not a massive fan of bossy dudes.”

“And I’m not a massive fan of women doing stupid shit out of the kindness of their hearts that ends with them getting their asses in slings.”

Well then.

There wasn’t much response to that.

Except…

“Danny, I barely know you, you can’t tell me what to do.” I lifted my free hand his way when it appeared he was going to speak. “And even if I knew you for years and we were the best of friends, you still couldn’t tell me what to do.”

“Evie, nothing good can happen at a Storage and Such at eleven thirty at night.”

He was undoubtedly not wrong.

But as gorgeous as he was, I suddenly did not see him.

I saw my brother, his manner, heard his voice.

And I knew, even though I really, really (really) did not want to, my brother was a fuckup, but he was my brother.

Which meant I was going to Storage and Such that night.

“Evie,” he whispered.

I focused on him and saw clear as day written on his face that he’d somehow read my mind.

“I’m going with you,” he declared.

Oh no he wasn’t.

“You can’t. They said come alone,” I pointed out.

“Do you know what I do?” he asked.

“You’re a commando.”

His lips quirked.

And.

Dayum.

How had I not yet noticed his lips?

Also, why did God want to punish me so much that I was now, when I’d decided he and I weren’t happening, noticing his lips?

Lips that were better than his eyelashes.

Better than his hair!

“I’m not a commando,” he told me.

I was oddly disappointed in receiving this knowledge.

“As such,” he finished.

I perked up.

“What I do…” He moved his head on his neck in a strange way that had me captivated, before he shared, “This is like, sixth or seventh date stuff. Maybe ninth or tenth.”

Oh boy.

I sensed a girl could be highly addicted to Daniel “Mag” Magnusson by the sixth or seventh date.

Definitely the ninth or tenth.

By that time, she’d put up with anything.