“You’re supposed to be the best man at my wedding. You’re my only brother.”
“You started this. I would never have done this to you,” Keats says. “But you broke the code, man. How could you do this to me?”
Byron nods, jaw muscles working. Eyes cast down, he says, “In the ambulance, Dad told me I’d never forgive myself if I let the love of my life get away from me.”
Keats scoffs, eyes suspiciously glistening with emotion. “Even if it meant screwing your brother over?”
Byron nods before lifting his even gaze to Keats. “He said you’d forgive me one day.”
Keats exhales hard—he’d said the same thing to me all those months ago when he was trying to justify his plan to get Isabella back. I can see the battle of emotion and logic and sense of fairness warring across his face. But there’s also still some unresolved resentment there. After a stretch of silence, he releases another ragged breath. “How do you want to settle this?”
Byron’s shoulders stiffen. “The usual?”
“The usual.”
Isabella and I look at each other with bewildered expressions that soon turn to panic when the McAllister brothers suddenly go out the door to the back veranda, and down the stairs to the yard below.
“Byron? Keats?” Isabella calls after them, running as fast as she can on high heels.
“We’ve got to settle this, babe.” Byron whips off his T-shirt, followed a second later by his older brother.
Hello, matching lion tattoos.
“Byron, you have wedding photos in a week.” Isabella sounds panicked. “Keats, do not hit him in the face, or I will hurt you and your car.”
“Pants off. I’m only in boxers,” Keats tells his brother, not acknowledging Isabella’s warning. He proceeds to shake his arms and legs loose, winding his shoulders. It’s hypnotic, and another reminder that I’m seeing more of his body today than I did when we got down and dirty on Mt. Coot-Tha.
Byron slips off his shoes by stepping on the back of them. I don’t know what’s happening but my eyes are glued to Keats body, and the sight of Byron pulling down the zip of his jeans to reveal navy blue briefs that actually look amazing on him. Isabella clings to me, burying her face against my arm.
I can’t believe she doesn’t want to see this. All they’re missing is a mud pit. All I’m missing are the proverbial “dollar bills”, and popcorn.
“Ready?” Byron asks, naked but for his underwear.
“Bring it on, bitch,” Keats says, lips curved into a humourless smile that I barely see because my eyes are drinking in all the taut skin he’s showing.
The brothers begin to circle each other, side stepping as they seem to measure the other, arms up at waist level, muscles tense, ready to pounce like wrestlers at the Olympics. Then they’re meeting in the middle, shoulders wedged against the other, sexy neck against sexy neck and they’re trying to reach down towards each other’s underwear, grunting with the exertion. Pushing and shoving with open palms, only to clash again and repeat the process of trying to get a hold of each other.
Isabella finally looks in their direction just as Keats manages to grab the waist of Byron’s briefs. Keats pulls with Byron countering by latching on to his brother’s boxers. It’s hot guy sumo wrestling
Damn, Byron’s got cute butt cheeks.
“I want children!” Isabella scolds from the sideline while the McAllisters continue their bout of giving each other a wedgie.
They struggle some more against each other until Keats wraps a leg around Byron’s, tripping him. They fall to the ground with Keats on top. Byron quickly puts his brother in a headlock which Keats counters with a forearm against the younger McAllister’s neck and jaw. Byron’s bicep flexes as he tightens his grip, the action pressing Keats’ arm firmer against his throat.
Isabella takes a step towards them, but I grab her arm and shake my head.
Keats and Byron glare at each other, panting from the effort, both taking audible breaths.
“Give up?” Byron asks through gritted teeth.
“Fuck you. You give up,” Keats spits out.
After another minute or so of the deadlock, Byron releases his hold on his brother, and Keats takes his arm off the younger McAllister’s neck. He rolls over to the grass beside Byron and they surprise Isabella and me by laughing.
“You’re an arsehole,” Byron says as he chuckles, fingertips on his pecs as he sucks in air.
“You’re a piece of shit,” Keats replies through a genuine grin, a lower arm against his forehead to shade his eyes as he looks up at the blue November sky above.
Men are so weird.
Byron turns his head to look his brother in the eye. “You ever make a play for my wife again, and you’re dead.”
Keats nods. “Don’t steal my girlfriend next time.”
“This is what I’m marrying into,” Isabella says wistfully. When I look at her, she’s actually smiling with an “aww” expression on her face.
I’ve never been more jealous of her in my life. Or happier for her.
Isabella turns to me just as I’m checking out Keats in his underwear. I jump a little and try not to look guilty. She places a gentle hand on my arm. “You know, Jess, a better friend would’ve probably noticed before now that you’re”—she lowers her voice—“really into Keats.”
“What?” My smile feels too fake to be convincing. I tone it down. “I’m not—”
Isabella nods with a knowing smile. “You are. It’s okay. I’m just sorry I didn’t see it before. I would’ve set him up with you instead of Sofie.”
My eyes flick over to where the McAllister brothers are still catching their breaths and chatting on their backs on the grass.
Keats hasn’t heard her. Good…I think.
Chapter 31
It’s amazing what a bit of make-up can do. I turn my head from side to side, not quite believing what the make-up artist has been able to achieve in half an hour. She also did my hair
