At the main table, Marcus lounges like it’s a throne, his arm slung around the narrow shoulders of a black-haired girl with bright blue eyes—eyes that are too wide, too clean,too youngto belong in a place like this.
She doesn’t look at me when I sit across from her. In fact, she looks down, like making eye contact might cost her something. I frown.
Landon leans in, his lips brushing the shell of my ear. “She’s Talia,” he murmurs. “Marcus’ girlfriend.”
I jerk back, my spine stiffening.Girlfriend?She looks barely eighteen. And Marcus looks like anexpiredthirty-five year old.
I didn’t like him before. But now? Now I’m personally planning his fucking funeral. Before I can speak, a voice breaks through the static of my disgust.
“Lanny Lan!” a too-cheerful guy calls out, sliding into the seat beside me with a grin and a plate stacked so high with barbecue it might collapse under its own weight. “What have you brought for dessert?”
“Nothing,” Landon growls, clearly unimpressed. “You can get a bite of Zay.”
I turn, a smile spreading across my face before I can stop it. Isaiah Cross, is the owner ofTat Attackin town, the place where I have gotten at least ten of my tattoos over the last year. I used to live for their thirty dollar Thursdays and holiday specials.
“Isaiah, don't tell me you tat so many asses, you don’t remember mine?” I snort, and his dark brown eyes flash with recognition.
Isaiah shakes out his moss-green hair and leans over his tattoo-covered knuckles grazing my arm. “I could never forget an ass like yours…”
“Jasmine?” I snort just as another girl—barely more than a teenager herself—glides past and drops two plates in front of us.Fuchsia hair braided tight to the side, deep brown eyes, and a low-cut tank top.
“Right, Jasmine.” He nods and I laugh because the guy fucks everything in town, so him not remembering me in A-Okay probably better than just okay.
Before I can come up with a response that includes teeth, a monotone voice cuts clean through the noise. “Isaiah.”
I glance up.
The man standing near the end of the table could be mybiological brotherif I squint hard enough. Same grey eyes. Same blonde hair.
He’s just tall, lean, and pale—but not sickly. More like carved from marble. His blonde hair is long and tied into a bun on top of his head, the sides of his scalp shaved into a low fade, and his eyes are a darker grey than mine, like he holds the clouds in them.
He doesn’t blink. Doesn’t smile. Just stares at Isaiah like he’s a fly buzzing too close to something sacred.
Isaiah rolls his eyes. “Come on, Asher. I’m being friendly.”
“Too-friendly,” he comments, sitting next to Talia and sliding her a smaller plate of barbeque.
We fall into a strange, almost peaceful silence for a few minutes, and I decide—if I die tonight, it’ll be fine as long as it’s by this plate of barbecue.
The ribs slide right off the bone, the mac and cheese is gooey perfection, the yams are sweet without being cloying, and the green beans are seasoned just right. And the cornbread?Thick sliced, golden crust, with honey butter melting into every crevice. It’s an actual crime how good this food is.
I take one bite of the ribs and moan, eyes fluttering shut.Because holy fuck. If this is what dinner with the Raiders is like, I might have to join.
Next to me, Landon clears his throat pointedly. I open my eyes to find him staring—hard.
Isaiah nearly chokes on his beer. “Shit,” he grins. “If she’s gonna keep making noises like that, I’ll go fix her another plate myself.”
“No.” Landon’s voice is sharp. Final.
I pretend not to hear him and keep eating. Because honestly? He should be grateful I’m not moaning louder.
I’m about halfway through the best meal I’ve had in years when Marcus finally speaks again. “Where’s my little brother?”
The table stills for a beat. Isaiah’s smirk fades, his face going a little red. He’s still holding a rib an inch from his mouth when he answers. “He’s with Cassandra.”
Marcus leans back in his chair, drumming his fingers once on the table. “Still?”
Isaiah shrugs, not meeting his eyes. “She wanted company. He volunteered.”
