His name was Digby Ingram, and he was the missing member of Chase’s celebration weekend. He was late because he had to pick up his friend.
“Everyone,” he said, with his arm around the broad shoulders of the man standing beside him, “this is my business partner, Dallas Bauer. He’s gonna be spending the weekend with us.”
I watched as Dallas shook hands and smiled, and it was quick, efficient, indifferent even. Until he got to me.
“That was a nice takedown,” he said, and the deep, husky sound of his voice rolled through me even as he clasped my hand tight. “You’ve clearly had some training.”
“A bit,” I answered, meeting the warm, long-lashed slate blue eyes and noting the deep lines in his face—his forehead and between his brows, as though he scowled often but he smiled more, as evidenced by the crow’s feet and the laugh lines that bracketed his mouth. He had a weathered, lived-well-in-his-skin look. Between the coppery sun-streaked mane and stubble, along with the rakish grin, his entire vibe spelled trouble. Big trouble. Not for Brig, though—for me. The man was brimming with conceit and charm, and that was a particular weakness of mine.
I went for scuffed-up and rugged men whose faces had some character to them, a nose that was a bit off-center from being broken more than once, a crooked smile, a strong jaw shadowed with stubble, a smoky bourbon voice, and callused hands. Those were the kind of men that made me stop and catch my breath. It was the promise of showing off my power, of being able to manhandle and use them and not have to worry that I was being too rough. Crushing them against me all night long because, at the end of the day, they needed me. They knew I was their home. That was what did it for me. That’s the kind of man I’d consider sticking around for. The thing was, men like that blew in like a desert storm and were gone just as quickly. They weren’t meant to stay still for long.
“More than a bit,” he replied casually before letting me go, turning slowly, almost like he was forcing himself to, until he was facing Chase. “Congratulations on your promotion. I hope you don’t mind me crashing your party.”
“Absolutely not,” Chase affirmed, sounding stiff, but I already knew the reason. He’d wanted to be alone with Brig. All the rest of us were in the way.
“And who the hell is this, exactly?” Digby snapped, indicating me with a wave of his hand before lifting and rotating his right shoulder again, and tipping his head back and forth. I hadn’t broken anything, but it was an uncomfortable hold to be put in, and he was likely going to be sore in the morning. “And why the hell does he care if I’m sneaking up on you?” he asked, turning to Brig.
“You just surprised us,” Brig replied lamely.
“Surprised you? Really?”
Brig only shrugged.
“Tell me who he is,” he demanded with a sharp exhale of breath.
“You just met him,” Brig teased.
But unlike Dallas and me, Digby Ingram and I had not shaken hands. Not that I was surprised. His pride was still smarting from me putting him on the ground.
“We’re old friends,” he offered by way of explanation.
“Bullshit. I know all your friends, because I’m actually the oldest,” Digby stated. “And I don’t fuckin’ know him.” He crossed his arms petulantly, like a child. “Try again.”
“Croy and I have been friends since grade school,” Brig said jovially, forcing a smile. “You just never heard me talk about him because we lost touch for a bit after Choate.”
“Is that right?” Digby asked, nodding, scowling at me.
“Yes,” Brig said, trying to sound natural and failing miserably. He wasn’t a good liar, and whereas normally I liked that in a person, at the moment it just made everything feel awkward. “Plus, it turns out that Croy and I have a business deal we’re working on together.”
“And what is that?” Digby questioned him, not letting it go, a dog with a bone.
“It’s business with Lane,” he answered, and I could have kicked him.
It made sense. We had just talked about his sister hours earlier, so it followed that if he was going to lie about something, that it would be the one thing I knew about. But as it was the reason for my presence, the threats on her life spilling over onto him, thus creating the need for the entire ruse…it wasn’t helpful that he went there.
He really was a shitty liar.
The glower I was getting from Digby was not becoming any friendlier. “Really,” he said flatly, not in question but instead in utter disbelief. “You have business with Lane?”
“With Brig,” I clarified, “to do with Lane.”
He grunted before stepping closer to me. “So, Croy, what is it you do in Bristol?”