Smart, Sexy and Secretive (The Reed Brothers 2)

Matt’s doubled over with laughter. “That was the funniest thing I’ve ever seen.” He points at Paul. “She’s so pissed.” He shoves my shoulder. “You’ll be lucky if you get laid at all.” He laughs like hell. I can’t figure out what’s so funny. They probably just ruined my night.

“You are not amusing,” I say. But a grin tugs at my lips, too. Damn, she was pissed. But she just solved my problem. “Now we have condoms. A lifetime supply. Are you happy?”

Paul snaps at me, “I would be happy if you’d use them.” His face softens. “I am just trying to take care of you. I would do the same thing for Sam or Pete or Matt.”

Matt nods dramatically at me. “We’re all subject to the condom talk. He brought one to me in bed one time when he realized he didn’t see me go to the drawer.”

“And thank God for that,” Paul bites out. “Because if you’d gotten April pregnant, where would you be now?”

Matt sobers. “I’d be a f**king father. Which is something I’ll never be.” He lumbers to his feet. “I’m going to bed now,” he says. I can feel the weight of his heavy sigh as it settles around the room.

“Damn, now you make me wish I’d let you get her pregnant,” Paul says.

Sometimes we forget how Matt’s life has changed. He may never get to have kids. He may not even get to have a life. His future’s undecided. But then, none of us have a predetermined life span. His is just more precarious.

Paul grabs the tail of Matt’s shirt. “I’m sorry,” he says when Matt looks back.

Matt squeezes his shoulder and grins. “Why? Did you give me cancer? No. Cancer is the only one I blame.” He grins at me. “Now go get Emily pregnant, Logan. Hurry the hell up.” He slaps his hands together. “Chop, chop.”

“You sorry f**ker,” Paul says. “If I didn’t love your sorry ass so much, I’d have to hate you.”

Matt looks down at his watch. “Time’s a wasting,” he warns.

I laugh. I can’t help it. The look on Paul’s face is priceless.

Paul swipes a hand down his face again. “Just be careful,” he says. “Be careful.” He shakes his head like he has more to say but now he’s talked out.

I lean over and bump fists with him. “Thank you,” I say. “I love you.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Paul says, swiping his hand through the air as though he wants to erase our conversation. He looks defeated, and I don’t want him to feel that way. Matt closes the door to his room, and I sit down across from Paul.

“I’ve never felt like this before,” I say.

“I know,” he admits. “That’s what worries me.”

“She’s the one for me.”

“I know.” He’s quiet, contemplative.

“I’m afraid,” I blurt out.

“Of her?”

“Fuck no. Not of her.” I point toward my room. “Did you see what she looks like now? Her f**king earrings cost more than our yearly rent.”

“All the more reason to use a condom. Finish school so you can get a good job that will support her.” He sighs heavily. “I’m preaching to the choir.” He throws his hands up.

“We’ve had so much between us since we met,” I say. I don’t want to talk about it with him. I’ll talk about it with her. “I can’t explain it.”

“I get it.” He grabs my knee and squeezes it. “I understand. You finally got her back.”

“She’ll probably make me use one just for sheer meanness when I go back in there. Do you think she’s pissed?” I look anxiously toward the door.

Paul just laughs.

“Her father doesn’t like me.”

“He doesn’t know you yet.”

“He knows I’m deaf and that I’m all tatted up.” I look down at my arms. Every single tattoo means something to me. I wouldn’t erase them if I could.

Paul shrugs. “And neither of those things makes you bad for his daughter.” He quirks an eyebrow at me. “Getting her pregnant, on the other hand…” He lets his thoughts trail off.

“He brought her ex-boyfriend to New York to live with her. That’s why she’s here at our apartment.”

Paul purses his lips like he’s whistling. “Sorry,” he says, when he remembers I can’t hear whatever noise he’s making. “That’s shit.”

“She refused to stay there.”

“Good girl,” he says with a smile. “I knew I liked her.”

“Her father is going to be a problem.”

“Win him over, dumbass,” he says. “You’re smart. You want to succeed. You’re talented as hell. And you love his daughter. He’ll get over the tats and you not being able to hear.” He motions absently toward his ears. I’ve been deaf so long that my family doesn’t see it as a handicap. Neither do I.

I push to my feet. “I’m going to bed.” Paul arches his brow at me. “None of your f**king business,” I grouse. But I rub his head as I walk by, and he shoves my hip to get me away from him. “Love you, dumbass,” I say.

“Love you better,” he replies. It makes me smile.

I still have a grin on my lips when I open my bedroom door a crack and stick my head in. I am prepared to retreat if a shoe or a lamp flies in my direction. But the only thing I see is Emily sitting on my bed with her guitar across her lap. Her fingers absently strum the strings, and she twists the tabs at the top of the guitar. I have no idea what they’re called or what she’s doing, but she is obviously absorbed in her task.