Free Out of Control by Shannon McKenna Page B

replacement, instantly. Margot’s voice did not grate. It was low, rich and smoky, like fine Scotch. Margot glided, swayed, sauntered like a female panther. No bouncing.
    He slammed out of his truck and stalked into the house. The open door swung in the breeze. Every light in Sean’s path towards the fridge had been flipped on and left burning. A murmur of voices from the back porch indicated that Miles, their protégé, student and future employee, was out there too, helping suck down Davy’s beer.
    He slapped the porch door open. “The next time you pull a shit parking job like that in my driveway, I’m slashing all your tires.”
    Sean froze in the act of lifting the bottle to his lips. “Shoot, Davy, that would be really counterproductive of you, being as how it would take that much longer for me to move my truck and park it according to your rigid specifications.”
    â€œThe delay would be worth it if I actually managed to make an impression in your thick skull, smart-ass.”
    Miles put his beer down and got awkwardly to his feet. “Uh…should I, like, go? I’ll go take the bus, if this is a bad time—”
    â€œSit down, Miles,” Sean said. “This is business as usual.”
    Miles dropped back into his chair and hunched down into his habitual vulture shape of which they were both trying to break him.
    Sean studied his brother, a frown between his eyes. “You’ve got that puckered-butt, hollow-eyed look of a guy who hasn’t gotten laid in months. For God’s sake, grab a beer, and chill. We brought Chinese.”
    â€œI already ate.”
    â€œWhere?” Sean demanded. “You haven’t gone out in ages.”
    Davy let the screen door slam loudly as he grabbed a beer out of the fridge. As a rule, he didn’t rely on chemicals to change his state of consciousness. Fuck it. He put the beer back, grabbed a glass, and pulled out his emergency bottle of single malt.
    Sean was still waiting for an answer to his question when Davy stretched out in one of his deck chairs. His eyebrows quirked when he saw the whiskey in Davy’s hand. “Mr. Pure, imbibing strong spirits? How depraved. So? Where did you eat? With who? Let’s have it.”
    He inhaled, and braced himself. “Margot Vetter.”
    Sean’s dimples came and went as he struggled not to grin. “Oh! Awesome. Guess we’re going to have to start calling before we drop by. It’s about time, man. I was starting to worry about—”
    â€œWhy didn’t you tell me about the stalker?”
    Sean blinked. “From the tone of your voice, I take it you haven’t gotten lucky yet. Guess we can’t all be as slick as I am at seduction.”
    â€œFocus,” Davy snarled. “Just answer the goddamn question.”
    â€œI didn’t want to give you a chance to think it to death,” Sean said bluntly. “And I thought it would be a hell of a lot more effective if she asked you in person. Dewy eyes, long lashes going blinkety-blink? Full, trembling lips? Heaving bosom? And it was, wasn’t it?” He studied his brother, and repeated in a sharper tone. “Wasn’t it?”
    Davy studied his brother over the rim of his glass. “Just how well do you know her, anyway?”
    Sean’s tilted green eyes were unusually cool. He waited a very long time to reply. “You mean, have I put the moves on her?”
    Davy waited to inhale. Seconds ticked by. Miles looked worried.
    Sean stretched out his long legs and propped his boots up on the porch railing. “I tried, sure. Any straight guy with a pulse would try. Except for you, of course, but we all know that you’re, ah, special. She just wasn’t into me. It’s like when I got that crush on my high school French teacher. She just sort of pats me on the head while I pant and drool.” His shrug was elaborately casual. “I think it’s you