The Invitation by Adriana Locke

Ripley

“Thanks for bringing him home, Tate,” I say, watching Waffles chase a bug around my backyard.

The storm didn’t hit my neighborhood as hard as it hit the mountain. There were some branches scattered around the pool and an umbrella went flying down the hill and into the neighbor’s yard. But it was nothing compared to the logs Georgia and I had to traverse to get down the trail and to my car.

Note to self: Limit outdoor adventures with Peaches.

I had to carry her on my back the last quarter mile thanks to the blister, the heat, and the mud puddles that splashed on her legs and made them itchy. She complained and chastised me for not checking the weather for pretty much the entire descent. But instead of finding it grating, I’d just look at her and she’d give me a little smile. Then I didn’t care so much.

“He just laid on the couch and watched the door.” Tate shakes his head. “I think he thought I dog-napped him at first. He barked at me until he realized I was taking him for a ride, then he was all too happy to jump in the car. You need to review stranger danger with him. One cute poodle or a pepperoni stick and he’s toast.”

“You two talk about that dog like he’s a person,” Gannon says.

“Take this for what it is, Gannon, but that dog has more people skills than you,” I say.

Tate laughs, picking up a wet tennis ball and throwing it across the yard. Waffles sees it bounce and chases it, managing to stop it before it hits the fence. The ball never had a chance.

“Why does he hop?” Gannon asks, confused. “He gets going and hops sideways.”

“He was a kangaroo in a past life,” Tate says.

Gannon rolls his eyes. “I think your dog is broken, Ripley.”

“And I think you might be broken if you keep up the shit talk about my puppy.”

Tate laughs, swinging his attention to Gannon. He loves this kind of bickering. Baby of the family energy.

“All right, enough about the dog,” Gannon says. “I came here to discuss a couple of things.”

“What’s up?” I ask.

My brothers and I sit at a table by the pool. The air is muggy from all the rain and my clothes stick to me. My mind goes immediately to the lack of clothes with Georgia a few hours ago.

Dropping her off at her house was difficult. It felt unfair to have to say goodbye to her already. I tried to talk her into coming home with me, but she was insistent on giving us both room to think before we went all in.

I hate to tell her, but I’m already so far in that I can’t see above water.

When it came to Georgia Hayes, only a few days ago I believed I was only capable of assholish behavior. But somehow, through honesty—finally—an enormous burden has been lifted.

Sex with her has been mind-blowing, hot and intimate all at once. Even better than I expected. But it was he confessions of how she saw me, albeit through the description of a fictional dog, that showed me I was not only an asshole in her eyes.

That gave me hope that we could be … more. Maybe everything.

“Do you remember Bobby Downing?” Gannon asks.

“Fuck him,” Tate says immediately.

Just hearing the name makes my stomach curl. “How could we forget?”

Bobby Downing, an acquaintance of our father, tried to make life hell for us after Dad’s arrest. He claimed he was promised a portion of the Arrows franchise for helping Dad secure the purchase. It was bullshit, unethical, and it cost us a few million dollars in attorneys’ fees to fight him in court. But we did, and we won. There is no love lost between us now.

“I got a tip today that he has been contacting our investors—the ones he helped secure for the Arrows purchase,” Gannon says. “I’m not certain what’s being said, but he’s up to something. I notified our attorneys today, and I also called Nick to see if he can dig anything up.”

“Good ol’ Nick,” Tate says. “The best private investigator in all the land.”

Gannon folds his hands on the table. “The second thing that I wanted to talk to you about is that Jason apparently thinks it’s hilarious to have Callum assigned to my security team.”

Tate and I can’t help it. We laugh. Hard.

Gannon isn’t entertained, which makes it that much funnier.

Landry Security is in charge of our family’s security operations. Jason is the liaison and coordinates it all since he has a background in all things espionage. We all have guards at the entrance of our homes, as well as security systems. Renn has an extra guard at his house thanks to being a public figure and having a baby at home, and Mom has a detail with her at all times. She hates it, but we insist. The only exception to the rule is Bianca and that’s because she’s married to Foxx Carmichael. He’s a walking army on his own. If he can’t protect her, no one can.

Out of all the security guards that rotate in and out of our lives, Callum is the one we dislike the most. We’ve all taken our turn with him and couldn’t wait for his round to be done. He’s cocky, abrasive, and so full of himself that he might just pop.

If he’s oil, then Gannon’s water, and we’ve all waited with bated breath for Gannon to have to deal with him. It looks like now’s the time.

“I need to grab the popcorn,” Tate says, snickering.

“It’s not funny,” Gannon says, glaring at us. “I hate that motherfucker.”

“Join the club,” I say.

“I told Jason to get him off my detail and he did that thing he does where he acknowledges what you say and acts like he’s on your side, but you know he’s not going to do shit.”

“Ah, I know that look well,” Tate says. “I get it for just about everything I say.”

“I’m not sure what I can do to help you with this one, Gan,” I say. “I don’t want Callum here.”

“He’s not working with me again,” Tate says. “I just got rid of him.”

Gannon groans. “Fine. I’ll just call Ford Landry myself. Fuck Jason.”

Tate and I exchange a grin. Fuck Jason? This should be fun.

I glance around the yard for my puppy, only to find him in the pool and chasing a floating tennis ball.

“Get out of there,” I say, giving him a look that tells him he’s disobeyed me, and I’m not pleased.

He looks at me and then charges toward the ball like he either doesn’t understand or doesn’t care.

“Come on, Waffles,” I say, sterner this time. “Don’t make me get in there to get you.”

He paddles twice in a circle and heads back for the steps.

“Hey, Ripley,” Tate says. “Carys wants to go to a concert this weekend and she has four tickets. Her new boyfriend won’t go with her—surprise fucking surprise—so she wondered if you and I wanted to go with her and one of her friends. Could be fun.”

“Are you fucking her yet?” Gannon asks.

“Who?” Tate asks him.

“Carys.”

“Hell no,” Tate says. “Not happening.”

“She’s a hot little thing,” Gannon says. “What’s wrong with her?”

Tate wrinkles his nose. “I know too much about her. I’ve heard too many stories that I can’t unhear. Besides, she’s into the kind of guy who will stomp all over her heart. I’m too nice for her.”

“Maybe she should give Gannon a shot,” I joke. “He’ll break her heart. She’ll love it.”

Gannon smirks.

“I couldn’t handle that drama,” Tate says. “And you couldn’t either—either one of you.”

“While that sounds like an absolute barrel of fun, I can’t go with you,” I say. “Sorry.”

I don’t know if it’s the way I say it, or the tone I use, or just that Tate can read me better than almost anyone in the world. But he looks at me with a curious, skeptical look that makes it clear he knows something is going on. That it’s not just me not wanting to deal with Carys’s friends.

That something else is at play.

I know it’ll come out that things have substantially changed with me and Georgia sooner or later, but I don’t really know how to explain it without it seeming like we got trapped in a cabin and fucked. Because that’s not what it was. At all. And I don’t want to cheapen the story by miscommunicating it and painting it in the wrong light.

“What?” Tate asks.

“Nothing,” I say.

“Liar. What’s going on?” Tate asks, studying me.

I smile. “Tate, nothing is going on.”

Tate leans toward Gannon and points at me. “See that little grin? That cocky wobble? That means fuckery is afoot.”

“Really? What kind of fuckery?” Gannon asks.

“I don’t know.”

Gannon glances at me, and then back to Tate. “I have no idea why you think you know this.”

“It’s called context clues, Gannon,” Tate says, sighing. “How can you be the oldest kid out of six and run a multi-million-dollar operation and not know how to read people?”

“It’s simple. I hate people. I don’t care what they think or what they feel. I’m going to do what I want, and they can take it or leave it. Doesn’t matter to me. Their opinion isn’t going to change a damn thing, so why would I waste my time trying to decipher their opinions?”

I grin. “Suddenly, so much makes sense about you, Gan.”

He rolls his eyes.

“Don’t change the subject,” Tate says, resting his elbows on the table and leaning forward. He’s like a bloodhound on a trail. “Start talking.”

“There’s nothing to talk about.”

Gannon settles in. “If I cared, which I do not, I’d start by considering what he’s been working on. Who he’s been dealing with? Where has he been in the last twenty-four hours⁠—”

“Gannon, you’re a fucking genius!” Tate exclaims, bolting upright.

Oh, fuck. Here we go …

“Tate, before you get too carried away⁠—”

“Do you know who he’s been spending time with?” Tate asks our brother. “And who he was with today in the storm?”

“Tate …” I warn.

“Let me check my notes and see who he was scheduled to be with today,” Gannon deadpans. “Come on, Tate. I have no fucking idea who he was with. Do you not listen to anything I say?”

“No.” Tate turns crisply to me and gives me a shit-eating grin. “Georgia.”

Waffles barks in the distance.

Her name is a sentence, a concept—an answer. I can’t dispute it. I don’t want to. But I do need to rein him in before he gets on the phone like an old spinster and tells the world.

“Let me explain,” I say.

“Yeah. Please do,” Tate says before turning to Gannon. “I’ve been waiting for this for years.”

Gannon is puzzled. “Should I know Georgia?”

“No,” Tate says. “She went to school with us and is best friends with Jeremiah’s fiancée, Sutton.”

“Okay,” Gannon says, nodding. “I remember her. I met them … somewhere recently.”

“Yes. We played golf against Jeremiah in the cancer charity tournament last weekend.”

He nods. “Right.”

“Anyway,” Tate says, forever the gossip, “Georgia and Ripley fight like cats and dogs.”

Gannon smirks.

“They once had an argument in the comment section of one of my Social posts. Totally stole all the attention from me,” Tate says, sticking me with a quick glare.

“The horror.” Gannon shakes his head. “So you and Georgia have a contentious relationship. Got it. Now what happened so I can move on with my life?”

They both look at me expectantly.

How do I say this correctly? Carefully? How do I put something into words that I don’t fully understand myself just yet?

“You fucked her,” Gannon says without a hint of emotion.

“It’s not like that.”

“What?” Tate’s jaw drops. “You fucked her?”

My temple throbs as I pin him to his seat with a look. “I did not fuck her.”

He leans back. Smart move.

“We were trapped in a cabin during the storm,” I say. “It gave us time to talk.”

“And fuck,” Gannon says.

“Gan, I don’t want to fight you, but I will.”

He smirks, the sonofabitch.

“We cleared the air about a lot of things,” I say. “It turns out that we just needed some time to get on the same page.”

“So you got on the same page?” Tate asks carefully.

“Yes.” I fire a look at Gannon not to interject. “We rehashed a lot of things, got to the bottom of a number of events and misunderstandings, and⁠—”

“And you fucked.” Gannon shrugs. “We know where this is going, Ripley.”

“You know what? This is why I don’t invite you over much, Gannon. You’re an asshole.”

He grins. “Fine. Shoot the truth teller.”

“So the two of you are … what?” Tate asks. “Friends now?”

“With benefits, clearly,” Gannon says.

“Gannon, I swear to God I’m going to kill you,” I say.

He holds his hands in front of him as if he’s deferring to me—which we both know he’s not.

I get up from the table and walk to the pool. I snag Waffles’s ball out of the water and toss it across the yard. The sight of him chasing it with his tongue waggling out of the side of his mouth calms me down a little.

“I don’t know what we are,” I say. “We’re taking some time to process it.” I take a deep breath. “I know where I stand.”

“You love her,” Tate says simply. “You always have. We all know it.”

My head whips to him, my mouth hanging slack.

He laughs. “We all talk about it all the time, wondering if you two will patch things up or if you’ll screw up and marry someone else.”

My heart pounds as I watch him smile, seemingly happy that this transpired.

Does he really think that? Do our friends? Why didn’t anyone say anything?

And hell, if she married someone else … Fuck. Fuck no.

“So is this a done deal as soon as you ‘process it’?” Tate asks.

I take the ball from Waffles and throw it again.

“There’s only one little hiccup that concerns me,” I say. “And, although Georgia hasn’t mentioned it specifically, I think she’s worried about it, too.”

“What is it?” Gannon asks.

I take my seat again. “It turns out that Dad had an affair with her mom.”

“When?” Anger paints Tate’s face. “Recently?”

“No, I’m not sure but it was when we were in high school.”

Gannon shakes his head. “Just when you think you can’t hate Dad more …”

“Apparently, her mother hates all things Brewer,” I say.

“You can win her over,” Tate says, nodding. “Bust out that charm and she’ll be eating out of the palm of your hand.”

“You could fuck Georgia and her mom,” Gannon says.

I ignore him and keep my focus on Tate. “That’s my hope. I think Georgia is trying to figure out how to get around that. Her mom is the only family she has.” I bite my lip. “I couldn’t get in the middle of that, you know?”

“No, I don’t know.” Gannon stands up and stretches his arms over head. “If her mom had a problem, that would be it—her problem. You can’t carry around everyone else’s problems, Rip.”

“This is why no one likes you,” Tate tells him.

Gannon smiles. “And that keeps life simpler.” He winks at us. “I gotta get going. Good talk. If you need any more life advice, do not let me know.”

“See ya,” Tate says, giving me a look.

“Later,” I call after him.

Tate waits for Gannon to disappear inside the house before speaking again.

“I truly hopes this works out for you,” he says. “You and Georgia? I think it makes sense in a very hurricane-meets-a-tornado kind of way.”

“Me, too.”

I hope. God, I hope. Because I know I can’t go back to trying to keep my distance and try to hate her.

Not when I think I might love her.