"I don't know," I said, and shrugged. "That's the one thing that's stopping me. He's distracted."
"Too many knock-outs." Graham shook his head. "Good thing you stopped fighting when you did or you'd be a lot uglier than you already are."
I laughed at that, despite the sick feeling in my gut that Graham was pulling out on me. I was called Pretty Boy Saint when I was—briefly—in the local MMA circuit. For whatever reason, I'd managed to avoid the kind of disfigurement other fighters suffered—cauliflower ears, broken and bent noses, busted swollen lips like Sean and Conor. I had my share of scars from kicks and punches, but my bones had all remained intact.
"I see Celia is with you," I said, keeping my tone level. I had planned to tell him Greg was talking about hitting on her, but Graham interrupted me.
"Speaking of which, stay away from her." Graham turned to me, catching my eye, an accusing expression on his face.
I frowned, a jolt of adrenaline surging through me. "Like you really need to even say that."
"I know what a dog you are. Just keep away, okay? Spencer would love an excuse to come after your family. Believe me, any excuse. If you even touch Celia, you're going down."
I glanced away, hurt by his words. "I thought you'd ask me to look out for her."
"What am I? A fool?" he said, laughing. "I know you better than anyone."
"Then you should know I've never laid a hand on Celia and never would."
"Keep it that way."
We sat in an awkward silence, and I was at a loss for what to say.
Sure, I was a notorious bachelor, and hadn’t dated seriously since I’d entered the MBA program. I’d tried love, but found it to be untrustworthy. You give your heart to someone, tell them your secrets, your fears, and they up and leave you for your frat brother.
I grabbed another beer and took a long drink, needing the warmth to wash away the anger and hurt Graham's words brought out. Not only had he given me a not-so-subtle hint that we wouldn't be going into business together, he was warning me off his little sister.
Like I was planning on banging Celia…
Yes, I’d imagined it. Practically every time I saw her I imagined it, but I would never hit on Celia even though she’d grown up to be this beautiful sexy woman.
I wouldn't touch her. I knew how her family felt about me and mine.
"You're a hound," Graham said. "You can't deny that, even if you're my friend. Keep away." Graham stood up from the beach bar. "I'm going up the coast with a few guys to catch some bigger waves. Greg's going to watch over Celia for me."
"Greg?" My jaw dropped in shock. "He's as big a hound dog as I am. He's already said he wanted to hook up with her."
"He was just testing you. See what you said. I'm warning you: Stay away."
"Don't worry about me." I gripped my beer. "I'm not in the market for the girl next door."
“I’m counting on that,” Graham said and held my gaze. “She’s not that kind of girl, Hunter, and you know it.”
I waved him off and he finally left me alone, carrying his board to his Jeep. I sat there fuming and thinking about Graham's stepfather. He had ample reason to dislike my family, and avoided being connected too closely with any of us despite my long friendship with Graham. Guilt by association and all. One day, I'd find a way to take the business totally legit, free from any association with my uncle and his wise-guy friends.
Still, it hurt that Graham felt he had to even say anything about Celia. Graham and I had gone to public school and college together. While his family's money was legit and mine was dirty, it was all green and got us both into the same schools. There was nothing his stepfather the bastard assistant DA could do about that, no matter how hard he tried. He had tried to get my uncle on racketeering charges, but failed. He had a vendetta against us, and a grudge because my uncle had broken his perfect record of prosecuting bad guys.
As I nursed my beer and considered my future, I felt someone sit beside me, and turned to see Celia. She’d sidled up beside me and taken the stool next to mine.
Damn. She was hot in that girl-next-door, girl-you-take-home-to-mother way. Her skin was tan and smooth, her bikini was tiny with a semi-sheer wrap tied around her waist, and her long dark hair was wet from surfing. I’d admired her form while she rode the board during several decent waves and now I was seeing it up close.
“Hey, Hunter,” she said in that soft voice. “What’s up?”
“Not much, little sis." I did my best to put on my big brother persona. "That was some nice surfing. You’ve got great form. Graham's taught you well.” I tried to meet her eyes, but I couldn’t help taking her in with a quick look from her feet right back up to her eyes once more, skipping ever so briefly over her delicious over-ample curves, which threatened to spill out over the top of her tiny bikini. She was lush, like a ripe fruit brimming with sweet
juices—so different from the geeky dork girl with braces who used to hang out at the gym with Graham.
"You look upset," she said and frowned. "What was my big brother saying to you that's made you mad? "