Facing the Music (Rosewood 1)

Blake frowned into his mug and sipped his coffee. He should’ve canceled breakfast with his brother today, but they had a standing breakfast appointment every Tuesday. Now he’d be forced to discuss the Ivy situation with his brother over biscuits and gravy. It was bad enough he’d been going over it in his mind almost endlessly since he took Ivy home on Sunday afternoon. He hadn’t seen her since.

“She’s in Birmingham with Malcolm Holt.”

“Malcolm Holt? No shit?” Grant seemed really impressed—of course, Malcolm wasn’t off with his woman. “That superhero movie he did last year was pretty good. A better choice for Red Rhage than one of the Hemsworth brothers. Hey, didn’t they used to date?”

“Malcolm and one of the Hemsworth brothers?” Blake asked drily.

“No, dammit! Malcolm and Ivy. I thought I remembered reading that on a checkout-stand magazine once.”

Blake turned to his brother on the stool beside him and punched him in the upper arm. “Thanks a lot for that terribly useful information. I feel so much better now

about her being off with him instead of with me.”

Grant winced and rubbed his arm. “Sorry. I thought you knew. It’s been a while, if that helps. A few years, actually. Well before People magazine named him Sexiest Man Alive. He’s probably taken. Do you want me to look on my phone and see who Malcolm is dating now?”

“No,” Blake snapped. “She says they’re friends, so that’s all it is. And even if they’re humping like rabbits as we speak”—he winced as he said the words—“it’s not really my business. We’re hardly exclusive.”

Blake was the one who’d made a big deal about how their relationship was just casual fun for old times’ sake. He’d only said it because Ivy seemed nervous he would think otherwise. It was a nice idea that something real might develop between them, but he wasn’t stupid. He would take what he could get while he could get it. But he couldn’t very well turn around and complain about her being with another guy, even a “friend,” after saying something like that.

“Besides, what’s the point? Soon she’ll be back in LA, where he lives. It might make more sense for them to be together in the long run.”

Grant narrowed his eyes at his brother. “What the hell?”

“What?” Blake asked.

“Where’s my super-competitive brother? The one who wouldn’t let me win at anything growing up? That Blake wouldn’t just step aside and let the movie star win. It . . .” He hesitated, studying Blake’s expression. “It seems like you’re into Ivy again. Are you?”

Blake shrugged. “Well, yeah. I mean, we slept together, if that’s what you mean.”

“No,” Grant said with a sharp shake of his head. “I sleep with a lot of women and you’ll never see that moony look on my face.”

Blake snorted at his brother’s rude assessment. “That’s because you’re a man whore.”

“I’m uncomplicated,” Grant argued, without the slightest hint of offense in his voice. “There’s a difference. Anyway, you’re not exactly president of the Chastity Club yourself.”

Blake focused on his omelet, adding some ketchup to his plate for his hash browns. He didn’t want to talk about this any longer. His brother was crazy, looking for things that weren’t really there and meddling in affairs that weren’t any of his concern.

“So did you guys do it with the lights on or off?”

Blake turned to his brother with a warning glance, and then looked around the diner to see if anyone else was near enough to hear. Fortunately, it was a slow morning at Ellen’s. Grant had never been very good with social volume control.

“Say it a little louder, jackass,” Blake hissed. It made him miss his brother Mitchell. Mitchell was a year younger than Blake. He was always more focused on his studies than the ladies, unlike Grant, but he was easier to talk to. He was quiet, serious. When you went to him with a problem, Mitchell would give you a reasonable and well-thought-out answer.

Unfortunately, Mitchell was at Vanderbilt finishing medical school. It would be years before his residency was completed and he could return to Rosewood for more than a few days at a time around the holidays. That just left Grant, unless Blake wanted to confide in his youngest brother, and he most certainly did not. Just the sight of Ivy at the dance had made Simon blush like he was smitten. Talking about his sex life with Simon seemed very, very wrong. Hell, he wasn’t sure if his brother had even slept with a woman yet.

“Well?” Grant pressed.

“Technically the lights were off, but there was plenty of moonlight coming through the windows.”

His brother knew how self-conscious Blake was about his leg. He didn’t like people looking at his scars. He never wore shorts, even out on the field in the summer. In his sexual encounters since the accident, he’d found ways around exposing his injury. Dim lighting helped. Undressing himself at the last moment did, too. Grant seemed to think that until Blake was screwing in broad daylight, he was disguising his issues.

“Before you get all preachy with me about my leg, you should know I’d already shown it to her when we were out on my deck.”

“That’s certainly progress. Is Ivy the first person you’ve shown that wasn’t family or one of your many doctors and therapists?”

He shrugged. “I guess. At least that I’ve shown on purpose. I don’t want my injury to be the constant topic of discussion. Everyone knows what happened to me. The scars just bring it to the forefront of their minds, making them forget about what I’ve achieved and focus on feeling bad for me. When I’m seducing a woman, the last thing I want is her pity. Or worse, for her to be thinking about my leg and how it might . . . impact my performance.”

“That’s not really good for the mood,” Grant admitted. “Although some women might eat that up. Plenty of women dig a man that’s ‘damaged.’ They get off on healing you with their bodies or something.”