I lied. You are getting Dean's POV, but it's not quite date night yet. I had a cute Brooke scene before the date already written that I want to post, so I can't skip that—but after two Brooke POVs, thought we should check in with Mr. Hollis first.

So it will be this chapter; Brooke before the date; then Dean during the date. Sorry for any confusion! But it ultimately means you get more chapters - I hate wasting stuff that has already been written.

Sitting through drinks with the guys last night verged on psychological torture. Trying to keep a straight face whenever the subject of women—or 'Holly', in my case—came up. Wanting to be able to ask my best friend, of all people, for advice on what the fuck to do, but knowing I can't because I went and railed his sister. Good move, Dean.

Maybe I'm more like my impulsive little brother than I thought.

"Thanks for getting this round," Josh says, hopping out of the golf cart and grabbing his 1 wood.

"No problem." Like I had a choice. I can count the number of times Josh has paid for anything on one fist.

At any rate, I was desperate for a way to occupy my time before seeing Brooke tonight, even if it meant footing the entire bill for 18 holes at Eagle Ridge Landing, which costs a pretty penny. Money well spent to keep me from pacing circles around my condo for hours on end.

I already hit the gym early this morning before working on statements for the fitness studio for a few hours. In between both of those, I took a long ass shower where I took matters into my own hands, thinking about nothing but Brooke's lips wrapped around my cock the entire time. It took the edge off for approximately one hour, but now I'm tightly wound all over again without any guarantee of relief in the near future—because Brooke has been standoffish in our text threads, all business about the wedding and little else.

Again, this is something I'd love an outside opinion on. Better yet, maybe a woman's opinion. Vidya would be perfect. But I can't expect her to keep secrets from Brendan, either.

Josh looks down and lines up, adjusting his grip before pulling back and taking his shot. The head of the club connects with the ball, making a satisfying little clink, and the ball sails up in the air, landing halfway down the fairway in the middle. It's a beautiful drive, probably because my little brother has lots of free time on his hands. He can hit the range in between racking up debts with loan sharks and texting me for bailouts.

His brand new set of clubs isn't lost on me, either. But Josh is who he is and I've learned to accept that. In my brain, he's still the 4 year old with a lisp who followed me around when I was 7, trying to copy everything I did, and I can't hate him even when he's a dick.

"Mom's been asking about you," I tell him.

Josh strolls back over to the cart and replaces his club in his golf bag. "Asking what?" He removes his black Nike hat and rakes a hand through his light brown hair, shooting me a questioning glance. We look so much alike that people sometimes ask if we're twins, though my hair is darker and he's an inch shorter. Our black golf shirts and khaki pants nearly match today as well, which was entirely coincidental. I'm not much for the usual pastel golf attire.

"Gee, I don't know. Maybe what you plan to do with your life at the ripe old age of 27?" Frustration edges into my tone and I try to quell it.

As much as Joshua is a hazard to my mental health, I feel sorry for him on some level too. His dyslexia has always made life harder for him than it is for the average person. I sailed through college with very little effort even while playing high-level competitive hockey. Josh struggled to graduate high school and has floundered through life ever since, even with having our parents' resources at his disposal.

Though, his learning disability is not cause of his gambling woes. Josh is smart—extremely smart—when it comes to games of strategy. He can give me a run for my money at the tables; even wins, sometimes. Where it goes off the rails is with his lack of self-control and non-existent willpower. There is a compulsiveness to his behavior that results in strings of bad decisions, bad bets, and bad consequences. An emotional component I didn't account for when I taught him how to play, nearly a decade ago, a choice I now sorely regret.

I want to tell him to just quit making stupid fucking decisions, but that's about as fruitful as beating my head against a brick wall. In fact, the wall might listen better.

Rifling through my golf bag for my driver, I glance back over at Josh, shooting him an expectant look.

"Well, Nadine and I were talking about moving in together." He takes a swig of his beer and sets it down in the cart, wiping his forehead with the back of his hand.

Does this mean I'll actually get to meet this mystery woman someday? Then again, can't blame Josh for keeping her under wraps; I wouldn't want to subject Brooke to our parents, either. She'd probably run for the hills after witnessing that dysfunctional circus, especially compared to how normal and well-adjusted her family is.

"Congratulations, but I don't think that's what Mom meant." While she's eager for me to settle down with someone, I think she's more concerned with Josh obtaining steady employment, remaining out of jail, and staying off the radar with the media.

My father's political rivals can be ruthless and they enjoy digging up dirt more than a dog with a toy. It's a miracle Joshua's antics haven't been leaked to the press yet. I guess it helps that half the time, Josh dabbles in underground games, and the other participants aren't exactly eager to shine light on themselves, either.

"I have been seriously thinking about pursuing something specific," Joshua says evasively. "But I don't want to say more until I decide for sure. I know you're always up my ass about not following through."

Maybe because he never does.

"Is it a legally legitimate line of work, perchance?" I pass by him on my way to the tee box.

He makes a face from behind the steering wheel. "Yes."

"Just checking." It's a low bar, but a reasonable question in his case.

Well-intended as I was at the time, I'm ultimately to blame for the train wreck known as Josh's life. He always looked up to me when we were growing up, and I was the one who taught him to play poker when he was 19. Stupidly, I thought learning something new would be good for his self-esteem.

I had no way of predicting it would be akin to prying open Pandora's Box; no one else in our family struggles with addiction. Maybe I should have known by the way he was unable to regulate himself with video games when we were younger. He would sit in front of the TV for hours on end without so much as getting up to eat or drink. I never understood it, but I chalked it up to a teenage phase.

And Josh did eventually move on from video games... right into compulsive gambling.

Thanks to me.

Shrugging off the thought, I look down, lining up the ball with my club before pulling back for a practice swing. My shot that follows is solid, though not quite as good as his, which means I get to take the next one first.

Josh idles the cart as I climb back into the passenger side of the cart. He shifts the cart into gear, navigating the fairway. We each take our turns and end the par 5 hole with 6 strokes each, which is respectable enough—though as a scratch golfer, one more than I'd like.

As we cruise over a small wooden bridge that carries us over a pond and to the next hole, Josh steals a glance at me, jutting his chin. "What about you?"

"What about me?"

"You're allowed to needle me about getting a job, but you've been single for like, your entire life."

Oh great, now that he's thinking about playing house with Nadine, he's turned into Dr. Phil too.

"Don't worry, Mom needles me about that plenty."

"Does she now?" he snorts. "Good to know I'm not the only one who gets the gears."

He doesn't even know the half of it. His status as permanent disappointment means all the familial expectations get heaped onto me, double-strength. Playing hockey? Not something our parents ever approved of. Owning a bar? They prefer to pretend I don't. Don't even get me started on our mother's dreams about me running for office someday. And by dreams, I mean obsession. It's a dead-end one, too, because it'll never happen. The last thing I want is my father's life.

We tee off again. Josh outshoots me for the fourth time this round, and we're only on the fifth hole. The competitive part of me—which is all of me—is more than mildly irritated, but I try to hide it.

He brings the cart to a sudden halt a couple yards behind my ball, causing us to lurch forward as he parks it. "You still haven't answered my question, you know."

"You didn't ask one." I slide out of the cart, grabbing my 7-iron. Suddenly, my black golf shirt feels about ten times too warm.

Josh rests his arm along the back of the seat, studying me hawkishly. "Are you dating anyone? Anything? I feel like you never tell me shit about your life." His dark green eyes probe mine. It's an odd role reversal to be questioned by him.

He's not wrong, either. Sometimes it's hard to tell him much because our lives are diametric opposites. I can't exactly tell him how well my business ventures are going when it feels like I'm rubbing my success in his face. We still hang out, we just keep it fairly light and superficial when we do. Which sums up our family dynamic as a whole, really.

"That's because there's never anything to tell. Do you want a recap of my last hookup? A play by play of positions?"

His emerald eyes narrow, square jaw ticking. Like I said, Joshua is skilled in the strategy component of poker, which includes reading people—at least, he is when he's not on tilt, which is woefully often. Right now, he's at the top of his game and is getting a read on me that's a little more accurate than I'd like.

"You're being evasive," he points out. I scoff and head over to my ball, ignoring him. But when I line up and take the shot, it slices to the right and lands in the sand trap beside the green. It's like I'm telling on myself.

Even with my back turned, I can feel his gaze weighing down on me. "You're seeing someone," he calls out. When I turn back to face him, Josh sees the look on my face and his jaw drops. "Holy fuck, I was completely bluffing, but you are, aren't you?"

I wave him off as I pass by. "No, I'm not." We come to stand side by side in front of the bags while I return my club.

"Knew it would happen someday." He grabs his iron, shaking his head. There's barely-contained glee in his voice. Along with my friends, he'd like nothing more than to see me simp over someone.

"That's not exactly what's going on." My hands are suddenly damp and I tug off my golf glove, trying to convince myself it's because of the midday sun and not the topic of conversation at hand.

He flashes me a broad, white-toothed grin. Cockiness and the ability to get under someone's skin runs strong in the Hollis bloodline. "Just thirsting after someone, then?"

You could call it that. For nine goddamn years.

I clench my jaw, debating how much to tell him. "It's complicated."

"Must be, if it's got you acting like this." Josh gestures at me with the head of his golf club. His tone softens. "Who is it, anyway?"

"Someone I have no business pursuing."

His eyebrows jump slightly. "And the plot thickens. Don't suppose you're going to tell me who."

Much as I am tempted to spill it to someone, and as unlikely as it is to get back to Brendan even if Josh does blab, I can't risk it. If and when Brendan finds out, it needs to be from me or Brooke. Preferably both. Until then, it's under lock and fucking key. This situation is risky enough as it is, but Brendan finding out second-hand is a surefire way to torpedo our friendship.

Touching Brooke in the first place may have been one too, but it's a little late for that.

"I can't say just yet. But don't you..." Stealing a glance behind us, I confirm that there aren't any golfers waiting for us to finish. The course has been blessedly quiet today, which means we can take our time between shots. "Doesn't seeing mom and dad make you want to nope out of the whole relationship thing? Because existing like that seems like torture."

Torture seems preferable, actually. At least torture can be kinky sometimes.

"Who says you have to exist like that? Not everyone stays together for 'political reasons'." He makes air quotes with his fingers. "There's this thing called divorce now, they've just opted not to take advantage. Even though we know they should."

Objectively, I know he's right. But I still can't shake the feeling that commitment is a one-way ticket to misery. I've seen it happen too many times to believe otherwise. Something happens when relationships solidify that sours a good thing. Complacency? Resentment? Boredom? I'm not sure. Maybe all of the above.

Brendan and Vidya are the lone exception as far as I can tell, but he's too pure for this world. Doesn't count.

When I don't respond, Joshua adds, "Bro, if that's your hold-up, that's fucking weak."

"Helpful," I mutter. "Scintillating insight, really." You know it's gotten dire when Josh is judging you.

"I mean, obviously getting involved with anyone is a risk on some level," he admits, giving a one-shoulder shrug. "But isn't that your specialty? Assessing risk versus reward?"

"Usually, it is." Problem is, I'm not sure how Brooke feels. I spent nine years trying to make her hate me and I suspect my overachieving ass may have succeeded a little too well.

Plus, this seems like an all-in type of situation if we're going to continue—or ever tell Brendan.

Josh claps me on the back, sauntering over to the tee box. "So all you have to do is decide whether it's a good bet or a bad bet. Easy enough, right?"

"Right."

If this flops, there's zero chance of being around Brooke after like everything is okay. I wanted to maim Nolan last weekend as it is, and he was only doing a half-assed job of flirting with her. She wasn't even flirting back.

Question is, how likely is it to flop? My fear is, very. And I'm not in the habit of making bad bets.

I watch Joshua tee off while I mentally try to calculate the odds, but the math doesn't work in my head. There are too many variables and not enough information.

Good news is the next two chapters are mostly written. After that it's a little touch and go but with Instagram down yesterday, I was shockingly productive! Haha.

Don't forget to add Playmaker to your library - updates will hopefully start next week!