I’m not sure who would. Callum seems to know something I don’t, though.

Liv sits back in her chair. “So, um…Callum here thinks Clay is sleeping at our house tonight,” she announces, the truth about to slip off her delighted little tongue as she beams. “He thinks she’s in bed with a Jaeger.”

Her brothers chuckle, and Trace approaches me, grabbing his crotch. “Oh, come on, baby,” he coos down at me. “You know you own this.”

Ugh.

The Jaegers laugh again, because they know exactly where I’m sleeping tonight, and I stare at Liv, shaking my head. “You’re enjoying this.”

“Oh, immensely.” She grins, her face flush with enjoyment as she speaks to her brothers again. “I told him it was probably two of you.”

“Aw, why’d you have to go and tell him that?” Dallas teases.

She shrugs. “Everyone knows you and Iron are a team.”

“I guess our secret’s out, Dally,” Iron boasts, the brothers skimming their palms together and ending with a fist bump.

But Army speaks up. “Why doesn’t anyone ever think it’s me?”

Liv grumbles, “Because baby-mamas are too much drama.”

I laugh to myself. Army is good-looking, but yeah… No one wants to saddle that pony and be a stepmom.

“Maybe it’s Macon,” Iron adds.

I clench my teeth.

Liv nods. “Older man...”

“Experienced,” Trace taunts.

But Dallas cuts them off. “Nah, Macon doesn’t like rich princesses.”

I ball my fists, losing my patience. I don’t want the whole world to know my sex life, but I also don’t much care that it’s being insinuated that I’m sleeping with people I’m not.

“Well, it could be Macon,” Army inserts. “Because…”

And all the Jaegers sing together, “Everyone is our type when they’re naked!” Like it’s some fucking family motto or something.

Liv laughs with her brothers, all of them amused at my expense, and I’m pretty much done.

I reach over, scoop up a glob of Callum’s pie, and fling it right at Liv. It slaps into her damn chest, sticking and splattering on her chin, and she jerks, gasping.

Not so funny now, am I?

Everyone stills, barely breathing as they wait for Liv’s reaction. I lick my fingers, waiting.

“Oh, shit,” Milo whispers, covering his laugh with his hand.

Liv clears her throat and sits up. Iron moves forward, but she pushes him back as she rises. “It’s okay,” she chirps, looking between her brothers and the Saints. “No punching. No blood.” She picks up the tequila and downs a shot. “No arrests tonight. Agreed?”

I nod once. It would suck for this to get out of hand and stop being fun.

And just as she sets the bottle down and picks up the Diet Coke, I suck in a breath before she leans over the table, raises it high, and tips it over, emptying it onto my head.

“Ohhhh!” someone laughs.

Callum snaps his fingers, smiling excitedly for Amy to start filming with her camera phone, but I’m inhaling short, shallow breaths as the icy drink mattes my freshly washed hair and plasters my thin tank top to my fucking braless chest.

I’m gonna kill her.

I stand, grabbing a spoonful of whipped cream from the plate and hold it up, ready to launch it at her.

“Don’t do it.” She points her finger. “You got me. I got you. We’re even.”

Slowly, I shake my head, and I don’t care who’s checking me out in my indecent shirt right now. All I see is her.

“Uh-oh,” Trace laughs, and everyone backs away, getting ready.

I whip the spoon, the glob slamming right into her neck, and howls fill the air.

“Food fight!” Trace bellows up to the sky.

And everyone scrambles.

“Whoo-hoo!” someone screams and laughter fills the air.

Liv kicks her chair back and launches herself around the table, and I yelp, running. Trace grabs a pan of key lime, joined by his brothers, and everyone starts slinging food. Nearby diners grab their plates and jam, diving into the dining room and out of the line of fire.

“Keep filming this,” Callum shouts. “Hell yes!”

I grab someone’s abandoned beer on a table and whip around to face Liv. “Insinuating that I’m sleeping with your brother, and more than one at that?” I shout.

I shake the beer, letting it rip all over her.

She screams but then breaks into laughter. “I’m sorry!”

You are not.

I pick up anything I can find, tossing it at her, and she inches closer, holding up her hands to protect herself.

Amy films as Callum, Milo, and the guys pitch fruit salad, cakes, and drinks into the air, Liv’s family giving it back as good as they get, chasing the Saints around the patio.

It’s lucky this hasn’t evolved into a fist fight yet.

I leap over the buffet table, slipping and landing on my ass, but before I can climb to my feet, something warm and gooey spills over my head and down my arms.

I squeeze my eyes shut, the smell instantly hitting my nose.

Mashed potatoes? She’s dumped an entire vat from the buffet on top of me. “Ew!” I cry, shooting to my feet and peeling the mush out of my eyes. “I’m going to kill you!”

Ew, ew, ew.

I shake, feeling nasty. I need a shower.

Liv laughs so hard she throws her head back.

But before I can find food to hit her with, she slides over the table and grabs my hand. “Now I get to wash you.” And she kisses me.

Hell yes. “Get me out of here.”

Now. While everyone is distracted.

Food flies through the air, Dallas stalking Callum with a couple of eggs that look like they’ll hurt if hit with them, but we don’t stick around to worry if this escalates. Grabbing my bag at the table, we run, leaving the mess for tomorrow, which is, I hope, how long it takes Macon to realize we just destroyed the place.

Leaving my car behind, we run down the dark, dirt road, Liv removing her heels to keep up in her bare feet.

We stop, so she can unlock her front door.

“I need a bath, baby,” I whisper in her ear from behind.

The tequila has kicked in, and my body stirs. She opens the door, and I head straight up the stairs ahead of her, seeing the house dark.

“Macon!” she calls out.

There’s no answer.

The others are at Mariette’s, and I know she has a nephew around here somewhere. Must be with a babysitter.

She tails me as I head to the bathroom, and we both step in, locking the door behind us.

I drop my bag to the chair next to the tub and kick off my sandals. “Good first date?” I ask.

“Not bad.”

She starts the water, turning on the shower, and the room soon fills with steam. I sit on the edge, watching her bend over and check the water’s temperature.

It hurts to look at her. The perpetual red tint of her lips that makes them look like she was born that way. The glow of her olive skin, the ever-so-subtle blush of her cheeks. Her long legs and long hair and the sweat on her body and my mouth on her tits that would make Father McNealty rain down fire and brimstone during Sunday Mass, if he knew what we were doing.

Am I really letting Callum escort me to the ball? Am I really not taking her to prom?