Perfect Score (Easton U Pirates 3)

Ryan got himself situated at the head of the table, and Morgan and I sat next to him. Thankfully, Dawson, who’d been one of the last to arrive, sank into a seat at the opposite end. As the drinks started flowing and the evening got started, I noticed how Morgan’s shoulders loosened. Lewis, the guy I’d spoken to at the tux fitting, pulled me into a conversation about the Pirates’ baseball record, which was a bit worse now than in the last two seasons, and he wondered if they’d even make it to the postseason.

But even as we all ordered our meals and Morgan and I bickered about how we each took our steaks—Morgan’s well done and mine medium rare—I could feel Dawson’s gaze on us, or more specifically, on Morgan, and it made me uncomfortable. And a little more protective. So much so that I stretched my arm across the back of his chair as I sipped my beer, like I was a cross between a mama bear and a possessive gorilla. And Morgan, who undoubtedly noticed, didn’t mention it, just settled against me, though I didn’t know if he was conscious of it. It was just natural for us to gravitate toward one another. We’d done it our entire lives. No one seemed to notice or care, maybe because the tuxedo fitting had been much the same sort of scenario, but I did feel Ryan’s hot stare as if he was scrutinizing us more closely. Was he aware of what I was up to regarding his brother? Morgan did mention that Ryan had asked at the tux fitting about him and Dawson avoiding each other. If anything, he should’ve been fine with me acting like a mother hen.

As far as Dawson was concerned, I didn’t know if he was trying to figure Morgan and me out or if seeing Morgan again made him rethink what happened between them. The problem was, he was being an ass about it, not even mature enough to greet him properly or have any kind of adult conversation. It shouldn’t be up to Morgan to approach him or seek resolution—not in my opinion, at least—because it was Dawson who’d run out on him.

Our dinner was delicious, the drinks were good, and everyone seemed to be having a great time, talking and laughing. After desserts were served, Ryan cleared his throat and asked for everyone’s attention.

“Thanks for being here, guys. And for organizing all this, Morgan,” Ryan said, leaning forward to catch his eye. “You’re the best brother ever.”

“Hear, hear!” I said, raising my glass, and everyone toasted to Morgan as his cheeks turned a deep scarlet. Even Dawson murmured something and took a sip of his drink.

“I never saw myself getting married before my thirties, but here we are,” Ryan said, and everyone laughed. “I guess when you meet your person, it doesn’t matter how old you are, and Kate is it for me.”

Morgan absently pressed his shoulder against mine as he sighed dreamily. I wanted to whisper in his ear that he’d have that someday, we both would, but I couldn’t get the words to form on my lips. They somehow got caught in my throat, feeling wrong, and by then, the moment had passed. So I just reveled in his warmth.

“But tonight is about having fun with my awesome friends.”

“You definitely need some fun before being dragged down by the old ball and chain,” Dawson said, and a couple of men snickered, but most seemed uncomfortable with the comment, and Morgan clenched his fist on the table. Dawson added, “You sure you don’t want to hit a strip club later?”

“I’m very sure,” Ryan replied, his voice tight. “When have I ever enjoyed that shit?”

“True,” Dawson replied. “You’re like a sixty-year-old trapped in a twenty-five-year-old body.”

“Cheers to that,” I said because I couldn’t help myself, and everyone laughed, which seemed to release the tension.

“Ready to get out of here and smoke some good cigars?” Lewis said just as the server came around to begin clearing empty plates.

“Definitely,” Ryan replied, gratitude in his gaze.

Once the bill was settled, everyone stood to exit the restaurant. The cigar bar was only a block away, so we walked there as a group. Once inside, Morgan asked for the manager, who took us to a private room in the back, which had its own bartender, server, and restrooms.

And even though Dawson had made fun of Ryan for being an old soul, in this atmosphere, the rest of them fit the part too, sitting back on the cushy couches and wingback chairs and ordering bourbon with their favorite cigars brought to them in fancy humidors.

Morgan and I didn’t want to be left out, so we did the same, practically choking, not only on the strong drinks, which were meant to be sipped, but also the cigars.