“Her purse.”
“Not her phone?”
“She’ll ditch the phone.”
“When she runs?”
“Mmhm.”
“You think she’ll run without the baby?”
“I doubt it.”
“Would you take custody if something happened to the mother?”
“Yes.”
“Connor.” Declan spins me around. He sets his coffee down and places both hands on my armrests, effectively caging me in. Mismatched eyes stare into mine. “Do you love this woman?”
“No.”
“Do you think she loves you?”
“No. Don’t be stupid.”
“Is it possible you’re wrong about how you feel about her?”
“No. I’m obsessed with her.”
Declan releases my chair. “That’s your love language, Con.”
“Is it?”
“Yeah, it is.”
“You should fire the Musketeers, then, because you know everything there is to know about me,” I say.
“Is that one Musketeer still around?” he asks.
I nod.
“One is better than none. You think you can stick with him?”
“Yes.”
“Great news, brother. There we go. Are we calling her Ekatia or Renne?”
“Renne. It fits her better.”
“Her name has two n’s like your name.”
“It’ll look nice on our wedding invitations,” I say, just to get him riled up.
Declan turns my chair toward him so fast, my coffee sloshes into my lap. I vault out of the chair and drop my pants. “Hot, hot. What the fuck is the matter with you?” I grab a towel and wet it in the bathroom, then clean my pants.
“Wedding invitations?” my brother asks, his voice high-pitched.
“I’m joking. Jesus, Dec. I would never steal your thunder. You’re the one who’s getting married.” I change into faded blue jeans. “Are these jeans even mine?”