A Night With Knox (2 page)

“Out
with it, woman, who should be blowing up your phone?”
Ruby says.

“No
one,” I lie, but Avery rolls her
eyes.

“You
haven’t put
your phone down all night,” she says.
“And you don’t
want to hang out with everyone else.”

“Everyone
else,
specifically
meaning your brother,” Ruby chimes
in.

“When
do you avoid Jackson?” asks Avery.

“When
there’s a
guy involved,” Ruby answers for me.
“A guy who Jackson wouldn’t
approve of.”

“Meaning
every guy,” I grumble, glancing back
down at my phone. Ruby and Avery nod in sympathy. When it comes to
acquiring information from me, my friends are pros, working as a team
to get me to crack. “This guy, Tom,”
I begin but then stop. I wonder if it’s
even worth describing how we met. As the minutes tick by, it’s
becoming all too clear that he is going to be just another entry in a
long list of guys who don’t
make it past date three. As a matter of fact,
every
guy I’ve
dated is on that list.

My
phone dings and I pounce on it. It’s
only a text message.

WON’T
MAKE IT.

Nothing
more. Just that. Won’t—not
can’t. Won’t,
because he probably has something better to do. Avery leans over my
shoulder and reads the message.

“Douchebag,”
she says, and both Ruby and I stare at her in
surprise. I’ve
never heard her use that kind of language. Tom’s
special brand of being a jerk apparently merits the special occasion.

“Oh
please, you both know I’m
not so lily white.”

Ruby
squeezes Avery tightly anyway. “Avery,
I didn’t
know you cursed in public. I’m
so proud.”

“For
fuck’s sake
let me go,” Avery says through a fit
of giggles. Ever since I met them, it’s
been Avery playing the good angel with Ruby as the devil. Somewhere
in the years of their bantering on my shoulders, they became my best
friends.

“Twice
in one evening, someone buy her a drink,” Ruby
says, eyeing every available guy in our vicinity. Avery rolls her
eyes, but the smile playing at her lips suggests she’s
completely on board with Ruby’s plan.

I’m
not the only one with a bad run of dates lately.

My
phone buzzes again and I jump for it, hoping it’s
an apology from Tom. To my disappointment, it’s
only a Google Alert I set up for work with an early report of the
team’s New
Year’s
revelry. Apparently the Falcons are having a
very
good time. They had better stay out of trouble tonight. As their
deputy PR agent, the last thing I want to do at midnight is head off
the press.

Just
as I’m
about to slide my phone back into my purse, it goes off again. Tom’s
follow-up is one word. No explanation, no justification. Not even an
emoji.

SORRY

“That’s
it
?” Ruby asks, her voice laced with
the venom that she reserves only for the Yankees and men who overstay
their welcome. She drops the phone to the table and I grab it.

“He
couldn’t
call? Or at least write a text that’s
longer than five words? Damn, the assholery is strong with that one.”
Ruby’s raging now
and she won’t
stop until someone puts a roadblock in front of her.

I
start typing a message back, but stop because I can’t
decide if I want to say
Go to hell
or
What happened? Are you okay?
But
does it even matter? He could have the best
excuse in the universe but he chose not to include it. Two texts and
four words are all I’m
worth to him apparently. Well, he can be worth exactly zero.

We’d
met at a bar one night and hit it off while watching a football game.
We’d gone
on two dates and I was sure there had been some sort of chemistry
there. Our text conversations would go on for hours. It’d
been going so well. I was confident we were headed toward date number
three.

What
if my lack of long-term relationships made it impossible for me to
find the right guy?

“Alright,”
Avery cuts in, stopping my spiral and Ruby’s
rage. “Back to the basics: you got to
know this guy Tom. Went on a date?”

“Two,”
I say.

“And
you invited him here to celebrate?”

I
take a deep breath. Avery always values practicality. When Ruby and I
are ready to carve people up, Avery dissects every aspect of the
situation. It’s
what’s
going to make her a kickass surgeon someday. Maybe she could do some
open-heart surgery on me to see if there is a malfunction that scares
men away.

“Yeah.
We talked this morning and he was still on board.”

Ruby
thinks for two seconds, tapping her empty shot glass against the bar
top. “Did you put his name on the
list?”

“Of
course she did. That’s
the only way to get in here tonight,” Avery
says. Her eyes flick to a corner of the room where my brother and his
friends have set themselves up. I had kept my distance all night, so
I could wait for Tom not directly under my brother’s
ever-watchful eye. There’s
something in the air with that group right now with all the coupling
up. I watch Cassie laugh on Ryder’s
arm and Savannah hug on Cash. They look like pieces of a puzzle that
fit perfectly together.

I
had been hoping to capture some of that magic tonight, to start a
romance of my own. I imagine being part of a couple while hanging out
with my friends, having a pair of strong arms around my shoulders.

“I
put Tom on as my plus one,” I say.

Avery
gives me a knowing look. “Was this
before or after the guys reviewed the list?”

“Why
would that even matter?”

“Because
your brother goes into monster mode any time a man even looks at you
suggestively,” Ruby says.

The
waitress brings over three martinis. I guzzle mine before she’s
fully gone.

“So
you add a plus one,” Ruby starts,
plucking the olive out of her drink.

“To
the list your brother checks every night,” Avery
says.

“How
much do you want to bet that Jackson gave the list a little tweak and
took Tom’s
name off?”

“Jackson
wouldn’t do
that,” I say, defending him, more
because of familial obligation than because I believe he’s
innocent. Jackson’s
had my best interests at heart since he stepped up to the plate after
the car crash that left us parentless. He’d
want me to find someone. To have something like what his friends have
found.

Ruby
places her martini glass on the bar, shrugging. “Jackson’s
a nice guy, but as an older brother he’s
a guard dog that just refuses to back down. The only way he’s
gonna let go is if someone makes him roll over and rubs his belly.”

“When
was the last time Jackson focused on his own sex life?”
Avery adds.

“He’s
too busy ensuring that I don’t
have one.” I frown at my empty glass.
They’re
right. Jackson’s
got issues with my dating and he shows no signs of lightening up
soon. Before it was cute, normal protective brother behavior, but if
their theory is true, Jackson’s
graduated from slightly exaggerated concern to the control of a
dictator.

“A
girlfriend would do him a world of good. Jackson’s
way too uptight.”

I
shudder. Too much talk of my brother having sex creeps me out. Plus,
this isn’t
just about him and his nonexistent girl troubles. It’s
about the two of us, our relationship. He definitely needs to loosen
his hold over my life. He can’t
shadow me forever.

“This
has to stop,” I say, resolving
myself. “You’re
right.”

“Give
him hell,” Ruby says as I zero in on
him. “And if that fails, give him a
kick to the balls. At the very least, it might buy you time for
sexcapades while he recovers.”

Several
men nearby balk and Ruby gives them a small wave. All balls and
brass—that’s
Ruby for you.

I
push my way through the crowd to my brother’s
group. Jackson holds a beer, which might be the most relaxed thing
about him. He seems to be enjoying himself, though, even if he’s
as serious as ever. I’d
bet good money that he sleeps in his suits. He chats with Ryder and
Parker, while Cash entertains Cassie and Savannah with some animated
story. I brush past the outer circle and into their inner sanctum.

Cassie
and Savannah wave hello and I return it, but with a forced smile.
Under normal circumstances I’d
be hanging out with all of them, but not when my brother decides to
be a royal asshole.

“Jackson,
a word?” I say, turning up the
sweetness in my voice to cavity-inducing. His arm drops across my
shoulder and I brace, half expecting a noogie. It’s
just the big-brother kind of move he loves to pull. If he tries it
tonight, I’ll
be happy to put a stiletto through his Italian leather shoes.

“Happy
New Year, sissy,” he says tapping me
on the nose, like I’m
still a five-year-old clutching a teddy bear.

I
slap his hand away.

“How’d
you do it?” I demand.

Before
Jackson can respond, Ryder steps in. “I
hear congrats are in order,” he says.
Ryder’s
played referee to more than one sibling death match before, but this
time I’m
determined. Not even Jackson’s
friends are going to save him. “Jackson
told me earlier you just got promoted at work. Can you get me free
tickets to a Falcons game?”

I
see an opportunity and turn my sweet smile to Ryder. “Only
if you do me a favor.”

“I
am at your service.”

“I’d
like you to beat someone up for me.”

“Give
me a name and consider it done.”

“Jackson
Masters.” And I jerk my head towards
my brother, the smile on my lips hardening.

“What
did I do this time, Shelby?” Jackson
looks at the space just over my head. It’s
his trick. To play dumb. To pretend to be docile. For the most part,
Jackson has been an amazing stand-in parent. He came to awards
dinners, graduation ceremonies, and moving days. He helped me sort
through my student loans, lease an apartment, and—most
important—he taught me his
tried-and-true hangover cure. But tonight—and
in my dating life in general—I
definitely don’t
need his over-protective bullshit.

The
only time I know Jackson’s
lying to me is when he doesn’t
meet my eyes.

“How
do you know Tom Parker?” I demand.

“I
don’t know anyone by that name.”

“Bullshit,”
I say, putting my hands on my hips. “He was
all on board for tonight. I put his name on the list and now he’s
not coming, which he informed me via
text message
.”

“What
a dick,” Cassie says coming to my
defense. “You’re
better off without him.”

“Well
I have my brother to thank for that.”

The
second Jackson meets my eyes, he breaks like a one-pound bag holding
a ton of shit. “Yes, you’re
better off,” he says in a leveled
voice. “He drinks too much and has
left Illusions with more women than Cash used to.”

My
fingers curl into a fist, and I itch to punch my brother in the face.
But if I want him to treat me like an adult, I can’t
react like a child.

“I
don’t care if he’s
a certified dickwad. You let me fight my own battles.”

“You’re
my sister. That makes you my responsibility.”

“I’m
my
own
responsibility,” I say.
“How many times are we going to have to go
over this? My love life is none of your business.”

I
stamp my foot before I can stop myself. It’s
the most childish thing I’ve
done all night, but I can’t
help it—Jackson has made me sink to
his level.

Jackson
studies his shoes. Everyone around us grows quiet, waiting for the
full-out battle. I ball my hands into fists, pressing my lips
together into a thin line. There’s
no need to ruin another evening with our bickering. Fed up, I decide
to take the high road and walk away.

I
spot Ruby and Avery having a good time at the bar. They’re
knee-deep in men. Ruby, drink in hand, sways to the music. She
seemingly ignores her handful of admirers but I know she’s
hyperaware of each and every one of them, observing carefully and
picking favorites. Avery and a tall guy lean over the bar, both of
their heads bent in conversation. I can see her smile from across the
room. This is my problem, not theirs. I don’t
want to ruin their fun with my troubles. Instead I weave through the
crowd heading for the back stairs.

I
climb the stairs and when I reach the top, shoulder open the door,
shivering at the blast of cold air that meets me. The roof deck is
empty tonight, but the skyline is bright with life. A thousand lights
blink from skyscrapers, winking in the darkness. From here I can see
the shadows of bar goers spilling out onto the street, the warm glow
of cigarettes against their lips. It’s
cold out. I forgot to grab a jacket, but my anger is enough to keep
the chill off. The door slams and I look over my shoulder. The guy
standing in the door looks familiar. He’s
built like the guys I work with. Broad shoulders. Muscles packed
tight into their arms and legs. He’s
gorgeous—I can tell even from afar. I feel
the heat rise in my cheeks under his piercing gaze.

Knowing
my luck, he’ll
know one of the athletes from work who view me as their little sister
and I’ll be
in the same position I am with every other guy.

So
when the stranger stands next to me at the edge of the roof, I sneak
another look. He’s
got green eyes that search me with a perfect devil-may-care smile
spread across his lips. His features are strong, irresistibly
masculine—as if they were cut from
stone. In a crisp white button-up and dark jeans and a navy blazer,
he is clean cut, neatly put together—but
with a spark of danger in his expression.

“Hello,”
he says. His voice is smooth as Scotch with an
edge of a southern accent.

“Can
I help you?” I ask tartly. I can’t
decide whether to resist my attraction to this stranger, give into
the sour mood of the evening, or to throw caution to the wind.