Peyton leans over the table, staring me down over her pile of chocolate-chip pancakes. And by the time we'd run 3 miles and performed countless reps, Peyton and I were starving in a way that could only be satisfied with a boatload of greasy diner food.

"Dean asked to be your boyfriend, and you said no." She shoves a bite of food in her mouth, incredulous.

"He didn't directly ask that," I argue. "The B-word was never specifically mentioned."

I'm pretty sure Dean hasn't been anyone's 'boyfriend', ever.

"Are you living on Mars? He spends the night, doesn't want to see other people, and likes hanging out when you're not having sex. Read between the lines, Brooke."

He's good at cuddling, too, but I don't think offering that up will help my argument. Instead, I look back down at my plate and jabbing a piece of stuffed french toast with my fork, mopping up a pool of syrup with it. In the background, the din of the diner fills the silence between us.

"You've convinced a world-class ladies' man to finally settle down," Peyton adds, pointing at me with her fork. "This is a good thing."

It will be—if it sticks.

Grabbing my glass of orange juice, I take a sip and try to change the subject. "What about you and Jay? What's going on with that?"

Her unshakable confidence of moments ago wavers. "I've seen him more nights than not, but I'm not entirely sure. Neither of us is seeing anyone else. At least, I know I'm not, and I'm ninety-nine percent sure he isn't. But I don't want to press him for a label just yet, either."

"See? You're no better than I am."

"He just got out of a nasty divorce," she counters. "It's different."

I snort in disagreement, but say nothing. At least Jason has proven he's capable of commitment, which is more than I can say for Dean.

"How was your meeting with Nolan the other day?" she asks, sawing into her turkey sausage.

"It was good," I say. "Still gathering more evidence to send him."

Peyton's eyes darken, because she's as angry as I am about what happened—maybe more. After Peyton publicly called Jade out, she left so many hate comments on Peyton's social media that it took Peyton days to delete them all. She still creates new accounts from time to time to troll her when she's in a bad mood. Jade has an immature streak a mile wide that I didn't see until it was too late.

"Are you gonna nail Jade's ass to the wall?"

If only. I fantasize that on the regular. All I'm asking for is for her to go through what I did: being burnt at the stake on social media. Maybe become an embarassing meme or a gif for good measure. Is that so much to ask?

"Not much I can do about what she did to me. I can't prove who plagiarized what; there's no paper trail. But it sounds like Aaliyah might have a strong case. I won't be super involved in that, though. I'm not actually party to the lawsuit, so I'll probably bow out once they start working together."

Dean will probably be happier when that happens, too. Based on the offhand comment he made last night about my 'lunch', he's not exactly Nolan's biggest fan. Jealous is a cute look on Dean, though.

Peyton tsks thoughtfully, leaning back in her chair. "Well, I like to think a hefty dose of karma is headed her way."

"I do, too."

And if there's any justice in this world, there will be.

At least Friday was great. Saturday was fine, too. But Sunday is off to a garbage start.

I signal, merging onto the freeway for the fifteen minute drive to Topgolf, where I'm meeting Brendan and Jay. I've said it before, but I really need to dial back monthly brunch with my parents at their country club to every other month. Quarterly would be even better. That, or start meeting them for meals one-on-one. They are significantly more tolerable separately; I just wish they realized that. Or cared.

By the time I pull into the Topgolf parking lot, I'm still in a less than social mood. I almost feel like I need to conduct some kind of crunchy-granola energy cleanse to ditch the bad vibes. What do people burn again? Sage? Hell, Brooke probably knows. That kind of thing is right up her alley. But after what I just sat through, I'd need to torch an entire plant.

Several buckets of balls later, I've blown off some steam, and I'm moderately more capable of socializing again when the guys suggest a break to grab drinks at the restaurant and bar side. Though, given the choice, I'd really prefer to keep hitting things.

"Penny just put in her notice," Jay tells us, taking a sip of his beer. "She's moving to Hawaii. Which means I'll be acting as manager for the foreseeable future."

"Shit. That's not good," I mutter.

Competent managers are nearly impossible to find. It took six months to find Penny, and several more to train her. Recruiting someone who is trustworthy, organized, and skilled at sales is incredibly challenging, if not impossible. It's like those Venn diagrams where there are three items, but you can only pick two.

"Sorry, man." Brendan winces. "That's bad timing."

Jay leans back against the couch, resting his arm along the back. His expression is tight, which is a stark contrast to his usual, easygoing disposition. "Yeah, not exactly ideal with the presales campaign for the Westlake location launching right away. I'd need to clone myself to handle all of that. What are your thoughts on stepping into oversee some of that, Dean?"

He looks at me expectantly while I pause, mulling it over. The venture is paying me handsomely, so asking me to step up into a more active role is a pretty fair request. I have lots of time on my hands, and handling the financials for the bar and studio doesn't consume much of it. Having something to keep me busy would be a positive.

On the other hand, managing the presales campaign would involve dealing with staff more than I'd prefer. Wrangling young adults is not my forte. It's like a fucking CW show half the time. At least the staff culture at the studio is marginally more mature than On Tap. If On Tap is like high school, the studio is more like college. I can tolerate it...in small doses.

But if I catch anyone making out in the sales office again, they'll be out the door. I don't give second chances like Jay does.

"Okay," I agree. "We can set up a meeting this week to go over everything."

"You won't have to handle any recruitment for the front end," he tells me. "I've already got the sales associates in place, and they're all great. I'll be interviewing for both studio manager positions at the same time. You can work with the head coach to help recruit additional coaches for grand opening."

"Who do you have lined up for head coach?" Brendan asks.

"Confidentially? I was going to offer it to Brooke. She nailed her mic test and second interview yesterday afternoon," Jay says.

Brendan's face lights up. "That's awesome. She needs a win right now."

She really does. Something like this would be great for her, and I almost say as much before I catch myself and hold my tongue. Saying that would seem way too familiar.

"Don't tell her yet," Jay stresses. "I still have to make her a formal offer."

There is no shortage of irony that Jay's directing that statement at Brendan instead of me.

"Wait." Brendan turns to face me, crinkling his brow. "That means you'll be running outreach events and conducting launch training together. Is that going to work with you two?"

Guilt begins to boil in my gut and I hold Brendan's gaze for a beat before breaking away. My eyes land on Jay, who's studying my face carefully while he waits for me to respond.

Brooke telling her friends is a given—I know how she operates. Did Peyton tell Jay? They've been spending a lot of time together. Fuck, does he know? I'm starting to think Brendan is the only one who doesn't.

I give a half shrug, taking a sip of my beer. "We've managed with the wedding planning so far, right? In fact, we've been getting along well."

Technically, this isn't a lie, but it sure as hell feels like one. Damnit, Brooke. Why didn't she want to tell him? I can't wait until this is out in the open.

"That's what Vidya said," Brendan muses. "I wasn't sure if she was just trying to pacify me."

"All good," I tell him. "We've declared a truce."

A second later, my phone chimes and a message from Brooke comes through. Instead of a text, it's a photo. Without thinking, I tap to enlarge it and my screen is filled with Brooke's plump cleavage, showcased perfectly by a low-cut black lace bra.

Holy shit.

I am going to bury my face in those tits later.

I'm so distracted, I completely forget where I am—and who I'm with.

Brendan glances over, giving me the side-eye. His eyes fall to my screen and he catches a brief glimpse of what I'm looking at: his sister. Fortunately, there's no way of telling that from the headless photo.

I quickly lock my phone, flipping it face down on the table.

Fuck my life.

"Really?" He gives me a withering look. "Sexting at the table with Holly, now?"

Holly? It takes me a couple seconds to remember why Brendan thinks that. Then it clicks—that's what I told him after the broken button incident. This tangled web of lies is going to catch up with me sooner or later. My guess is, sooner.

Jay snorts. "Nice, Hollis."

"That was unsolicited," I protest. "Caught me off guard."

"Apparently." Jay pushes his chair back, nodding to the bathrooms on the other side of the bar. "I'll be right back. I'll ask for the bill, too."

Brendan shakes his head as if to clear the sext from his brain. "Moving on. Are you free later for dinner?"

I'm wide open for dinner, but after that, I'm going to christen every surface in my apartment with Brooke. We can slip in another poker lesson somewhere, too. She did pretty well for her first time.

"Yeah. Want to grab something to eat?"

"Why don't you come by my parents? They're grilling tonight, and they asked me to invite you. They haven't seen you in awhile."

My stomach flip-flops, and it takes significant effort to hide my reaction. This is not an unusual request. I've been over to the Maccabes' for dinner more times than I can count.

It is, however, the first time since everything happened with Brooke.

Brendan adds, "We can go over some of the wedding details with Brooke and Vidya."

Oh, great. Vidya already knows something is up. Now she can send me knowing looks from across the room while I try to keep my hands to myself and prevent myself from making any slips verbally.

It's not like I can decline, either. I just told Brendan I was free.

I guess this is happening.

*

A couple of hours later, I pull into the driveway of the Maccabes' white two-storey house. It's the stereotypical suburban television home, replete with brick-red door, immaculately trimmed hedges, and black shutters on the windows. Brooke's car is already in the driveway, sitting beside Brendan's. A month ago, this would have been status quo. Go in there, say hi to their folks, exchange some hateful banter with Brooke, eat a good meal, and carry on as per usual.

Now, I have no idea how to behave.

I knock twice and Brendan answers the door almost immediately. He's changed out of his golf gear into a navy blue sweater and neatly pressed khakis. I swear, he's like a younger version of his dad.

"Hey." He reaches out, taking the bottle of Cabernet I brought and motioning for me to enter. "Thanks. Come in, everyone's having a drink in the living room."

I follow him inside, greeted by the familiar apple-cinnamon scent of their house. Karen bustles out of the living room in a frenzied blur, wiping her hands on her apron before removing it and draping it over her arm. She always works overtime when entertaining guests, and she steadfastly refuses our repeated offers to help.

"Dean." She steps closer and wraps me in a warm hug, which is funny since my own mother didn't hug me when I saw her earlier. Taking a step back, she gives me a maternal once-over. "It's good to see you."

"Good to see you too, Karen. Thanks for inviting me."

Karen ushers me and Brendan into the living room, where Vidya, Brooke, and Brooke and Brendan's father, Perry, are seated. She takes the bottle of wine from Brendan's hands and disappears back into the kitchen.

I catch Brooke's eye from across the room and she gives me a tiny smile that no one else appears to notice. She's wearing a black tank top with a swingy pink skirt that shows off her legs. Knowing what's beneath that tank top will live rent-free in my head for the duration of the meal.

Perry stands up to greet me, offering a me a firm handshake. He's dressed in a nearly identical outfit to Brendan's, which I know they didn't plan, but always happens.

"Dean. I hear you and Brooke have been working hard helping out with the wedding."

"They've been great," Vidya says, flashing me a broad smile. "Having lots of fun doing it, too. Right, guys?"

Brooke rolls her eyes. "I'm tolerating him."

Tolerating me? Oh, she's going to pay for that one later.

When Perry releases my hand, I scan the living room for a place to sit. Vidya is tucked under Brendan's arm on the three-seater couch with her legs extended, while Perry is in the armchair. This leaves me next to Brooke on the loveseat, which only adds to the awkwardness factor.

Suddenly, I wish I hadn't driven, because I could use a stiff drink. Or five.

Most of our small talk centers around the wedding, which makes it easy to keep the conversation flowing. Brooke relays the story about the caterer to everyone, all of whom are deeply amused by the idea of us posing as a couple. This doesn't inspire a great deal of confidence in me with respect to how the big reveal will go down.

My phone buzzes in my pocket and I slide it out, discreetly trying to check the screen without being rude. It's a cryptic text from Josh. Quickly, I excuse myself and head into the laundry room off the garage for some privacy. After I learn that it is not, in fact, an emergency—Josh is merely being dramatic, which is par for the course when it comes to him—I end the call and head back for the living room.

As I do, Brooke walks out of the powder room located along the same hallway. We nearly collide, just like on New Year's, but I manage to come to a screeching halt before I plow her down.

We stare at each other for a second, both caught off guard. My gaze falls to her full, pink lips, lingering for a breath before lifting back up to her eyes. The urge to kiss her is nearly overwhelming. Not being able to touch her in front of everyone is akin to water torture.

"Hey," I say.

"Hi." Brooke looks up at me, pale blue eyes eyes darting across my face. She looks a little bit nervous, which is a pretty accurate descriptor for me as well. Dinner hasn't even started, and I already feel like I'm walking on a tightrope.

We're on the other side of the house from the living room and kitchen, but there's still a risk of being overheard. I check our surroundings to verify that we're alone, lowering my voice. "Still coming over later?"

She takes a step closer, biting back a coy smile. "Aren't you afraid you'll get sick of me?"

If that was going to happen, it already would have happened. I don't know if me telling her that would be very comforting, though.

"I haven't seen you since Saturday morning," I point out.

"That was only yesterday." Brooke's fingers land on mine, and the contact short-circuits my brain. As far as I'm concerned, dinner can't end soon enough. I'd take the food to go, if I could.

I open my mouth to reply, but before I can, a deep male voice interrupts us.

"What the hell is this?"

My heart stops when I turn around and find Brendan standing in the hallway behind us. He's holding a bottle of wine in his hands, and the expression on his face tells me he just saw everything.

Whoops. You knew it was bound to happen!