“Wantto hear a funny story about your brother?”
We’re up in the bedroom now. I’m changing into my Thanksgiving outfit—my pajamas—while Zach feeds Marshmallow and lets him roam about the room.
“Oh god. Will this piss me off? What’d the little shit do now?”
“It involves Zoe.”
“Let me guess, she made him wait for the sexy times, he wooed her, and she gave in. Then he bailed and said he was ‘too busy for a clingy girlfriend’ or some shit like that.”
I pause, my shirt thrown over my arms, and stare at him. “That’s exactly what happened.”
Zach sighs heavily. “That’s his M.O. I’ll have a chat with him. We’ll communicate using our fists.”
I slide my shirt over my head, thankful I thought to pack a matching pajama set. “Don’t bother. Zoe will be fine. She’s a tough girl.”
“But what about all the other girls?”
I grin. “Oh, I’ve witnessed a few of them getting their shots in.”
Zach chuckles. “Good. But, really, I need to teach him a few manners. It’s all this baseball shit going to his head. He wasn’t like that in high school. He had a steady girlfriend and everything.”
“Maybe she broke his heart and now he’s taking his revenge on the entire female population?”
“You might be onto something.”
“Why does he have a different last name?” I ask.
“He kept his father’s. He’s the only one in the family who isn’t a Hastings.”
“That has to be…”
“Weird? Sometimes. I think he feels like an outcast because of it, but he decided to keep the name, so that’s on him.” He sets a full Marshmallow back in his crate and glances over at me. “Are those really your pajamas?”
I glance down, seeing nothing wrong with them. “Yes.”
“And you’re wearing those to dinner?”
“Yes.”
He shakes his head, grinning. “My mother is going to love you.”
“Zoe had them designed for me, hand drew the picture and had them printed last Christmas.”
“She can draw?”
I nod. “She’s an art major.”
“Shut up. I had no idea.”
“She’s weird and doesn’t like to talk about it. I don’t know why, though. She’s talented as hell.”
He points to my outfit. “Clearly.”
“Dinner!” Rose yells up the stairs.
I eye Zach. “Race ya?”
“One…two…”
