Page 27 of Sweet Distraction

“Hey, my kids are still alive and moderately polite,” Hawkin says.

“Never mind. Don’t use us as examples”—Vince shrugs and laughs—“we were barely functioning humans five years ago—”

“Speak for yourselves.” Giz raises his hand. “I’ve been emotionally stable since . . . well, at least since last Tuesday. Just ask Hendrix,” he says, referring to his wife.

I grin despite myself, and the knot in my chest eases slightly. This is what I needed. My brothers. Their banter. Their levity. Their understanding. Their unconditional support.

It’s not going to make what’s ahead in the days to come any easier, but that suffocating, isolating feeling I felt yesterday has lessened.

“You don’t have to do it alone,” Vince says. “Seriously, bro. We’ve got you.”

“Thanks. I . . . just thanks,” I say.

“And Willow?” Hawkin asks, eyebrows lifted and smirk widening. “You didn’t mention much about the nanny.”

I know these guys better than I know myself and can already guess where this conversation is headed.

I roll my eyes and take a long pull from my beer. “What about her?”

“She hot?” Hawke continues.

No. Yes. Christ if I can even really remember, because I was so goddamn focused on Poppy.

That’s a lie.

A flat-out, bald-faced lie.

Willow is pretty in the girl-next-door way. Natural. Unassuming. Completely not my type at all.

“He’s not answering,” Gizmo says. “That means she’s definitely hot.”

“Road trip to Rock’s house to check her out,” Vince says, no doubt because he knows it’ll get under my skin.

I hold my hand up before the other two agree. “I was a bit preoccupied meeting my kid for the first time. I didn’t notice,” I lie, to which a roar of protests go up.

“You’re so full of shit, Rock, you stink,” Vince says. “Tell me what other time you’ve been in a room with a woman and haven’t noticed her?” He levels me with a look. “I distinctly remember that time you had to get stitches in your ass. You were drunk as hell and could tell me what every single nurse in that emergency department looked like. So, uh, try again.”

I roll my eyes and set my empty bottle down with a thud and downplay. “She’s . . . okay, I guess. Just not my type.”

“You mean her tits weren’t up to her neck, and she didn’t immediately run up and grind herself against you, begging for your time?” Hawkin says to a round of laughter.

“Fuck off.” These assholes. “No. More like she has zero interest in me. Wasn’t fazed by who I was in the least.”

“So, she’s perfect for you, then?” Giz asks around a mouthful of pretzels.

“Exactly your type,” Vince adds, grinning. “Not being fazed means she’d humble you and that giant-ass ego of yours real quick.”

“Don’t you guys have anything better to do?” I ask.

“You’re the one who got on the bat phone and called this emergency meeting, so nope, apparently we don’t have anything better to do than bust your balls over how you’re going to fall head over heels for the hot nanny,” Hawkin says.

“Jesus, wait until the wives figure this one out. You won’t be able to get them and their matchmaking out of your house.” Vince chuckles.

And he’s right. I know my texts will be lighting up within minutes of them finding this out.

“I appreciate you guys trying to make me laugh, but you’re batshit crazy. Besides the fact that she’s taking care of a toddler for me I never even knew existed. Pretty sure she has a less than stellar opinion of me.”

“That’s how you know it could be real love.” Hawkin pats his chest and sighs. “Already pissing her off before she’s even met you. Talk about starting with a good foundation. Something you can build true feelings off.” I flip him off, and everyone laughs. “I mean, if she were just here for your abs and your complete dysfunction, then we all know it would never last. But hatred? Now that’s something you can rally around.”