Jameson rolls his eyes and drains his glass. “This wasn’t in the brochure.”

The table erupts into laughter, and I look around the table at my three happily married brothers. “What was in the brochure?” I ask them.

“What do you mean?” Tristan asks.

“How did you know you’d met the . . .” I pause.

“The one?” Elliot asks.

“Yeah.” I shrug. “For interest’s sake.”

“Hmm.” Jameson runs his fingers over his stubble as he thinks back. “I didn’t really know at the time. Like, there wasn’t a lightning-bolt moment when I knew, as such.”

“Yeah, me too,” Tristan agrees. “But there was something different about her.”

“Like what?” I ask, my interest piqued.

“I guess . . .” Tristan pauses. “She was like this really cool friend who was way cooler than me that I desperately wanted to fuck.”

I chuckle.

“For me it was different. I didn’t . . .” Jameson purses his lips as he thinks. “I just wanted to be near her all the time. Like, I was obsessed with her, but different obsessed.”

I frown. “What do you mean?”

“I hated going home with her not there and would avoid it at all costs.”

I listen intently. This is all news to me. I thought they’d had this primal urge to marry their women the day that they’d met them.

“I felt more at home in her tiny apartment than I did in my penthouse,” Jameson adds.

What?

“Me too,” Tristan agrees. “I missed her. When I wasn’t with her, I missed her. I found myself rushing to get home and cook her dinner and watch television on her couch . . . and suddenly, somehow, it wasn’t about sex anymore.”

“Which is helpful now that you have RFI and a useless lock on the door.” Elliot holds his glass up toward Tristan.

Tristan chuckles. “Facts.”

“So what you’re saying is your sex life is shit.” I frown.

“Not at all,” he replies. “The sex is ridiculously good, but more than that, I wanted to talk to her because she was the first person who actually listened. My life became better because she was in it.”

My heart begins to hammer.

Sounds familiar.

“I guess my biggest thing for me was”—Elliot chips in—“I didn’t want to sleep with anyone else. I lost all attraction to other women overnight.”

I feel the blood drain from my face. I haven’t had sex in two months.

It’s like the urge has completely left my body. I would rather lie on my bed and watch Hayden read than have sex with another woman. I end most days jerking off in the shower and then happily cuddling her back.

Fuck.

“What’s wrong? You look like you saw a ghost,” Tristan says.

“All good.” I fake a smile.

The conversation changes subject, and I sit still as their words of wisdom roll around in my head.

My life became better because she was in it.

I glance over to see Elliot’s gaze fixed firmly on me. He raises an eyebrow, and I snap my eyes away.

Don’t even.

“Christopher?” I hear a female voice call. I glance over to see Heidi as she approaches our table. Nicki is with her too.

My two favorite girls.

My eyebrows rise in surprise and I stand. “Heidi.” I kiss her cheek and turn and kiss Nicki. “Hello.”

“You’re back? Why haven’t you called us?” Heidi smiles sexily and looks me up and down.

The girls and I have a thing going, a very good thing. Had, I correct myself.

“I just got in.” I glance down at my brothers, who are all goofily smiling up at them. Yeah, yeah. I get it: they’re gorgeous. “These are my brothers, Jameson, Elliot, and Tristan.”

Heidi gives a sexy little wave with a playful sashay. “Gentlemen, I’ve heard a lot about you.”

“Hello.” They all smile up at her as if she’s Aphrodite herself.

“What are you doing after?” she asks. “Let’s catch up?”

“Ah . . .” I frown as she puts me on the spot. “I can’t tonight.” I gesture to my brothers. “I’ll call you?”

“You promise?” She smiles as she leans in and pecks me on the lips.

I step back from her. “Sure.”

They turn and walk off through the crowd, and we all stare after them. Heidi in her hot-pink tight dress and figure to die for: nothing is left to the imagination. And Nicki is just a walking wet dream, every man’s fantasy.

I drop back into my seat, deflated.

“What the hell are you doing?” Tristan whispers. “Go and bend them over the bar, right now.”

“Totally,” Jameson agrees.

I scratch my head, flustered. I pick up my drink and drain the entire glass.

They did look good . . .

Fuck.

I glance over, and Elliot raises his eyebrow again.

“What?” I snap angrily.

He holds his two hands up in surrender. “Nothing.”

“I’m not in the mood, okay?”

He widens his eyes, realizing he’s hit a sore point.

Tristan’s phone rings on the table, and he answers. “Hey, dude. Yeah, I’m ready.” He glances at his watch. “Pick me up on your way through.” He listens. “Okay, see you then.” He hangs up. “Harrison just finished work. He’s picking me up on the way home.”

“Yeah, I’ve got to get going too,” Jameson says as he puts his hand up for the bill.

“Let’s have another one,” Elliot says.

I nod, feeling more unstable than ever. “Get the whole fucking bottle.”

Jameson’s eyes rise to meet mine, and he frowns. “What’s wrong with you? You’re acting weird.”

“Yeah,” Tristan says. “I was just thinking the same thing.”

“Nothing,” I snap.

Elliot leans back in his chair. His knowing eyes hold mine, and he signals to the waiter. She comes over. “We’ll have two more scotches, please.”

Hayden would have had a margarita.

“Actually”—I cut him off—“I’ll have a margarita . . . make it two.”

“Margaritas.” Elliot winces. “The fuck is wrong with you?”

“Four,” I say to the waiter.

“No scotch?” she asks Elliot.

“No,” I reply for him.

Jameson chuckles and slaps Elliot on the back as he stands. “Good luck with that one. Christopher left his taste buds in Spain.”

Tristan stands too. “Thank fuck I’m not staying. I can’t handle that shit.” He pulls his jacket on. “What time we signing contracts tomorrow?”

“Nine,” Jameson replies.

“See you then.” I fake a smile. They amble off through the restaurant, and my eyes come back to Elliot. He’s now leaning on his hand, his finger steepled up along his temple, his gaze fixed firmly on me.

“Who is she?”

“Nobody,” I lie.

“Cut the shit. Who the fuck is she?”

“Just drop it.”

“I can’t help you if you won’t talk to me.”

I stay silent.

“Listen, dickhead . . . don’t lie to me. I know there is something going on with you, and I want to know what it is.”

“Four margaritas.” The waiter puts them down on the table in front of us.

“Thanks.” Elliot picks his up and takes a sip. He winces. “The first one is always so rough.” He licks the salt from his lips. “Christ almighty,” he mutters under his breath. “Tastes like fucking shit.”

I exhale heavily. “Her name is Hayden Whitmore.”

“Nice name.” He smirks as he takes another sip. “Sounds like a character from a Jane Austen book.”

I smirk and take a sip too. “She is.”

He watches me and waits for me to elaborate.

“Kind, loving, innocent, and . . .” I pause. “Different to the women I know. Curvy and sweet, intelligent and witty. She’s fucking perfect.”

“So what’s the problem?”

“I don’t know.”