“Stop doing that.”

“No can do.” He slurps again.

I ignore him, walking toward the patio door, and give it a yank.

It’s locked.

I press my face to the glass, eyes roaming the inside of the house where the kitchen is.

“They’re in the front room. Mom is showing Hollis your baby books.”

Fuck. That means he’s already been in the house.

My brother gives his eyes a big roll. “This is why we don’t bring people home, idiot. She’s going to get attached and when this Hollis chick wises up and dumps you, it’s going to break Mom’s heart.”

He’s right, Mom would get attached if Hollis and I were actually an item.

“Hollis isn’t going to dump me.” Because we’re not even dating. I guilted her into coming along, but no one knows this but her and me, and no one is going to find out.

Obviously I don’t say that out loud.

“She’s not your type,” he informs me, taking another swig from the beer can.

“What the fuck, Tripp—yes she is.”

“No she’s not. Your type is ‘thirsty’ and ‘clingy’, and this girl is neither of those things. I bet she even has an actual job. Where did you say you found her?”

“Work.”

“She works for the Steam? Don’t shit where you eat, bro.”

“No, she was at the stadium last week for a meeting and I bumped into her.”

“What was she doing at the stadium? Is she a reporter?”

“No, she’s in publishing. Books.”

“That doesn’t explain what she was doing there.” He won’t let it go.

“Having lunch.”

“With who?”

Why is he like this?

“God, why are you asking so many damn questions? What is this, the Spanish Inquisition?”

“I’m looking out for you! You don’t know this girl. For all you know, she’s a gold—”

“Hollis is not a gold digger.” I laugh and laugh, as if he’s just said the funniest thing.

“How the hell do you know? You’ve known her all of, what, five days? Seven? For all you know, she’s—”

“Her dad is my boss.”

That shuts him up for all of three seconds. He opens his mouth, takes a deep breath, and begins bitching at me all over again.

“Hollis is Thomas Westbrooke’s daughter? Dude, are you insane? I just told you not to shit where you eat! Dating your boss’s daughter is like shitting on your entire meal, plus your salary and your car and all the coats you own.”

“How about you let me worry about it?” I begin the walk back to the front of the house. “Better yet, how about you worry about yourself?” He’s such a goddamn commitment-phobe. The dude doesn’t even do casual sex with strangers.

“How about you take my advice and lis—”

Our dad rounds the corner, a scowl on his face, stopping us both in our tracks.

Hot on my heels and still lecturing, Tripp smashes into my back.

“You two at it again?” our old man asks. “Jesus Christ, you’re loud enough that the neighbors can probably hear you in the next county over. Tripp, leave your goddamn brother alone.”

Goddamn brother? What the hell, Dad? That’s just rude.

“And Trace, go save your girlfriend from your mother. She’s about to guilt-trip the girl into taking a wreathmaking class at the rec center with Fran and Linda.”

Guilt-tripping—a Wallace family tradition.

“Fine.” I stomp off like an adolescent, my dad and my brother making me feel like I’m twelve, breathing down my neck and telling me what to do.

I find Hollis in the front living room, and as soon as I walk in—

“Shoes off young man!” Mom scolds, narrowing her eyes at my feet and beaming over at Hollis simultaneously.

What kind of monster has my mother become?

“Did you start the grill like I asked you to?”

Oh my god. “Yes, Mom.”

“I’m going to need you and your brother to start setting the table.”

Speaking of which… “Why did you invite him, anyway? He’s already picking fights with me.” Do I sound like I’m pouting? Sure. Do I care? No.

Our mother is having none of my nonsense. “Stop arguing and go set the table.”

“Thanks, babe.” Hollis winks at me, the word babe catching me off guard. Makes both my mother and I grin like fools.

The smile my mother is beaming at us could launch a thousand ships and I.

Am.

In.

Hell.

10

Hollis

Dinner was hilarious.

I would relive it again and again just to see the horrified look on Buzz’s face any time his mother said something about him even remotely embarrassing. Or the times his brother told a story from their childhood.

Or when his dad scolded him like he was a sullen teenager.

I don’t blame him for acting like one; his entire family has been up his ass the entire time we’ve been here, as if he’s never brought a woman home before and no one knows how to act with me sitting here.

Genevieve Wallace won’t let me lift a finger.

The boys, on the other hand, have become the lackeys. Even Tripp is taking a beating this late in the game.