Page 12 of The Way We Touch
At some point, he started the tradition of introducing my Dare dishes with a pepper- or spicy-themed song. Then members of the wait staff decided to hop onto the bar and dance Coyote-Ugly style.
Like I said, the evening crowd gets a little rowdy.
“Aw, I wanted to do ‘Give it Away’ by the Red Hot Chili Peppers!” Allie whines while shaking her hips to the old disco tune.
“I have to buy assless chaps for that one.” Craig says it like it’s just a given.
“No assless chaps.” I point at him. “We still have kids in the restaurant at night.”
“Then at least I have to have a pair of glittery horns and gold lipstick.”
“I got you, baby.” Allie wraps her arm around his shoulders, laughing as they continue dancing.
We’re getting closer to eleven, which is opening time. Not many people show up this early, but we have to be ready if they do.
“What are you going to do with that?” Craig points to the glass bowl holding leftover ghost-pepper shreds.
I dig behind the bar and take out a jar of local honey, setting it beside the open bag of tortilla chips.
“I saw a recipe for spicy honey and goat cheese toasts. Doesn’t that sound amazing?”
“That might be too fancy for the ole Coot-Shoot.” He switches off Donna and puts on quiet yacht rock for the daytime crowd.
“I’ll eat it,” Allie cries. “Goat cheese is the bomb!”
“Do people still say the bomb?”
“This person does!” Allie continues, rolling silverware in napkins and singing along to Toto on the PA system.
I’m about to go when a low voice echoes through the dining room.
“Dylan?” It’s my biggest brother Garrett. “Where you at, girl? What’s for breakfast? I’m so hungry I could eat a horse.”
My chest squeezes at the sound of his happy, boisterous request. Every time he or Hendrix come home, I’m struck by how badly I miss them.
“Garrett!” I squeal, breaking into a run. “You’re home!”
My arms are around his neck, and I dance around to jump onto his massive back. Wrapping my legs around his waist, I hang on like I could possibly hug him tighter.
“Get off me, banshee!” He laughs that deep laugh of his.
Lowering my legs, I hop around in front again to give him a proper hug. Garrett is massive, and he gives the best hugs, lifting me off my feet.
“I’ve missed you, Sis.” He puts me down again. “You’ve got a little meat on your bones. Not so breakable these days.”
“I’ve stopped playing football with ogres.” I push his shoulder, and he doesn’t even move.
“You look good.”
In that moment, a tall figure steps up beside him, and I hiccup a breath. “Holy shit…” The words slip from my mouth on an involuntary whisper.
Logan Murphy should come with a warning. The picture Craig showed me on Instagram didn’t do him justice at all. He’s as hot as a Carolina Reaper on black asphalt in the middle of July.
He’s a few inches shorter than Garrett with softly messy dark hair and smoldering blue eyes. His jaw is impossibly square and dusted with a five o’clock shadow, and his biceps stretch the sleeves of his light blazer.
Don’t even get me started on how the black tee underneath stretches across his chest. His waist is narrow like a runner’s, and I can just picture his muscled ass with the way his thighs stretch those dark jeans.
Full lips part in a smile over straight white teeth, and a blush burns from my neck all the way to the top of my ears when I realize I’ve been staring at him way too long—with my mouth open, no less.