Fucking Nolan.

"Dean?" Jason repeats himself, more loudly this time. He seems to think the reason I didn't hear him is the background noise and not the fact that I'm completely preoccupied. "I said, are you still playing in that tournament Sunday?"

"I don't know." My attention flicks over to Brooke, who's been talking with my least favorite person ever since I came back from handling the kitchen fire—which was basically a burnt order of garlic bread. Our staff can be so melodramatic sometimes. It's a bar, not fucking Vanderpump Rules.

I watch as Brooke shakes her head, saying something to Nolan with a look of mild confusion on her face. Her eyes are glassy and she's a little unsteady on her feet. Man, she's hammered. How much did she have to drink before she got here?

Jay nods at me. "You're registered in it, aren't you?"

Nolan must feel my eyes on him because he looks in our direction and immediately glances away.

"Yeah, I am." It's a one-day tournament; not exactly the World Series of Poker, but there's a sizable payout for the top five, which I have a solid chance of hitting. Usually, it would be the perfect way to spend a Sunday. Just not right now. Turning back to Jay, I lower my voice. "Between you and me, things with me and Brooke are kind of fucked up lately, and I'm pretty sure I'd be off my A-game. Might be better if I don't go and embarrass myself." Not to mention, potentially jeapordize my reputation as a threat at the table.

Jay follows my line of sight over to where they're standing, and recognition dawns across his face. "That's nothing to worry about, man. When I walked by them to grab a drink a few minutes ago, it sounded like they were talking about her whole blogger situation. It seemed pretty innocent."

That's what I figured, though talking shop is an awfully convenient excuse for Nolan to monopolize Brooke's time. It's not like I think anything is actually going to happen between them, but that doesn't make him any less annoying.

Iron grip on my beer, I grit my teeth and force myself to focus on my conversation with Jay instead of watching Brooke. Okay, fine: I do both, dividing my attention accordingly. We talk about him and Peyton for awhile, and it's clear Jay might be even more whipped than I am. The guy's even talking about taking a weekend trip to Napa together. It's more than he ever did with his ex-wife, who was alwaysout drinking with her friends instead of spending time with him. After the hellscape of his divorce, he deserves to be happy.

Then our conversation turns to the new studio, which inevitably leads back to Brooke and how she's doing in her new role.

"She's a natural," Jay tells me. "Crushing it."

A sense of pride fills me, though it's irrational since I have nothing to do with her success. "Knew she would." At least that's going smoothly after everything that happened with her fake ex-friend and loser ex-boyfriend. They completely fucked up her life, and now they have the audacity to act like everything's okay? Who does that?

When I saw that dipshit earlier, I had the nearly irresistable urge to punch him in the face—and after a few drinks, I might have. For the best that he's gone. I'd win that fight without question, but he's the type who'd turn around and sue.

Jay adds, "Though, Brooke did have some issues with timing at the start."

"In what way?" I ask, trying to sound casual.

"She was confusing numbers. Like, switching them around. When it said three point five minutes, she was doing five point three on the stopwatch. Never really seen anyone do that before. It's all good now, though. I showed her how to use colored highlighters to break out the blocks visually, and that seemed to help."

Numbers again. Not a big surprise, if my suspicions are correct. It's another thing I need to talk to Brooke about, though it sure as hell won't be tonight or while she's wasted. Based on our argument about her taxes, I definitely need to work on my delivery before I broach any more sensitive subjects, too. Maybe write a script and reherarse it, or something.

A few minutes later, Brooke finally ditches Nolan, giving me the chance to go talk to her without seeming like a jealous asshole—which I fully am, but would rather not advertise.

"I'm going to go try to get her alone so I can smooth things over." I jut my chin at Brooke.

Jay clues in immediately. "No prob." We split off and he makes a beeline for Peyton, who pounces on him with a grin. They start sucking face in the corner of the bar like two teenagers, completely oblivious to the party around them. It's both cute and nauseating, leaning to the latter given my own personal predicament. After several weeks of hot, enthusiastic sex, this current dry spell is killing my soul—amongst other things.

Then again, my current frustrations are more than merely sexual. I want Brooke, and not just inside the bedroom.

"Hi, mama!" Brooke throws her arms around Vidya, throwing the two of them off balance slightly as I approach. She releases Vidya and studies her, growing teary-eyed. Brooke isn't much of a crier, so I can only assume her apparent state of intoxication is a factor. "I can't believe it, I'm so excited."

I lean down to give Vidya a hug. "Congrats, Vidya. Happy for you guys." Even though it's a little unexpected for them to be pregnant before the wedding, I knew they'd have kids sooner rather than later. Brendan is the only guy I have ever known to have baby fever. He was made to wear one of those baby carriers strapped to his chest, destined to drive a minivan with pride.

Though, he doesn't have much of a stomach for guts and gore. Even aggressive hockey fights make him uncomfortable when they draw blood. Let's hope he doesn't faint during delivery.

Vidya gives us both a shy smile. "We're excited, too. Though it was a bit of a surprise." She laughs, placing a hand on her still-flat stomach. "At first, I thought I was nauseated from the vertigo I'd been having due to the concussion."

Brooke tsks sympathetically. "Have you been sick?"

"Super sick. I've been throwing up daily for weeks, and I can't even stand the smell of coffee. Coffee, you guys. My favorite thing in the whole wide world. What's happening to me?"

After a split-second of debate, I move in closer and slip an arm around Brooke's waist. Her gaze falls to me in surprise but she doesn't pull away.

She averts her eyes, glancing back at Vidya. "Has my brother been taking good care of you? You know you've got to milk this for all it's worth. Midnight cravings and all that."

Vidya nods, tucking a dark lock of hair behind her ear. "Almost too good. He's filled the pregnancy books with color-coded sticky notes and insists on using a digital food thermometer to ensure that my meat is fully-cooked. He saved my first ultrasound as his computer screensaver, too. I mean, it looks like a little bean. You can't even tell it's a baby yet."

"Sounds pretty on-brand," I say. "Overachiever as always."

"Do you think it's a boy or a girl?" Brooke asks.

"You know, I don't have a gut feeling one way or the other. We'll be happy no matter what, as long as the baby is healthy." Suddenly, Vidya pales. She sucks in a sharp breath, palm flying to cover her mouth. "Speaking of getting sick...Excuse me." Before either of us can respond, she's halfway to hall that leads to the bathrooms.

Brooke winces, watching her disappear out of sight. "Brutal."

"No kidding." Poor Vidya. Pregnancy seems like a fucking nightmare. Not to mention, the horror show that is childbirth. God bless women for dealing with that shit. If men had to do it, we'd all be extinct.

Seizing the opportunity while we're still alone, I thread my fingers through Brooke's, gently tugging her in the direction of the back office. "Come on, let's go talk alone for a minute."

First, we make a pit stop at the bar to get her a glass of water at my insistence. It won't necessarily sober her up, but at least switching to water instead of booze will stop her from getting any drunker. Brendan eyes us as we step around clusters of people on our way to the back office, probably assuming we're disappearing to go fool around. If only that were the case. I wave him off and mouth, 'be right back' but he still looks suspicious.

To be fair, under different circumstances, that is what we'd be doing.

We step into the hall and pass the bathrooms, heading for the last door on the left. Even over the music, I'm pretty sure I can overhear Vidya throwing up. Brooke follows me into the office, shutting the door behind her. The background noise fades to a quiet din.

I lean a hip on the glass desk, facing her. "What did our friend Nolan have to say?" it slips out before I can stop myself. Then again, it's not like my feelings on the guy are a secret at this point. I'm pretty sure it's mutual. He probably has a voodoo doll of me at home or something.

"Jealous?"

"Should I be?" I ask, but there's no bite to my response. Nolan wouldn't bother me nearly as much if Brooke and I were on solid ground. He's not a real threat, more of a nuisance than anything.

She draws her bottom lip into her mouth, hesitating. "Nolan suggested I review the financials for everything I did with Jade, because we made a lot of money last year and I have nothing to show for it."

Damnit. A fully reasonable suggestion—and not one she'd have taken from me. I bite down on the urge to point that out, because I'm not in the habit of making things worse for myself.

"What do you think?" I ask carefully.

Overwhelm clouds her features. "I know I should, but I don't know where to start."

I wonder what she'd find if she did. Brooke said they were pulling in five figures per month. If she wasn't watching where that money went, Jade could have easily been siphoning it off for herself. Based on everything else that went down, I wouldn't be remotely surprised if she screwed Brooke out of her fair share of their earnings.

"If you want help..."

Brooke huffs. "I don't think so, Dean."

And there it is. Not like I haven't tried to apologize. I have—repeatedly. She's just refused to talk to me. Or see me. Still, I know the apologies I gave her via text won't cut it.

Pushing off the desk, I take her hands in mine. She looks down, avoiding my eyes. I hate it. I'd rather have an argument than have her shut me out.

"Brooke."

Reluctantly, she looks up at me, her chin trembling slightly. Guilt hits me in the gut. Nice one, Hollis. My intentions were good but my execution was shit.

The truth is, I'm used to fixing things. I do it with Josh all the time; have been for nearly a decade. It's a deeply-ingrained habit at this point. Instinctual. Find a problem, fix the problem. Rinse and repeat.

"I'm sorry about the other night. I didn't mean to hurt you, and I feel terrible that I did."

She tugs her hands from my grip, gesturing with her palms out. "You didn't just hurt me, you judged me."

"That wasn't my intention, but I can see how it came across that way." My mind goes blank, and I pause, scrambling inwardly for words. Apologies aren't exactly my forte; neither are relationships. Swallowing my pride, I continue with the truth. "It's just...I care about you, and I hate the idea of you dealing with problems that, in theory, I could help you with."

Especially when they involve money, but I don't say that part out loud.

Her expression falters. "You care about me?"

"You think I stopped caring because we had one stupid fight?"

"I don't know. Maybe."

Now I'm just getting irritated, and I'm not sure whether it's with her or myself.

I take a step closer, bringing us toe-to-toe, and her breath snags. My fingertips glide across her cheek, steadying her face. The apprehension in her eyes fades slightly.

"It's going to take a lot more than that to get rid of me."

Her lips part, pupils dilating. I lean in to gauge her reaction, and she does the same, meeting me halfway. When our mouths crash together, everything clicks into place, just like it always does.

Fuck, I missed this.

Brooke lets out a sigh, fingertips flying up to grip my shirt as I turn us around, steering her backwards so she's sitting on my desk. She wiggles back a few inches, widening her legs so I can stand between them, and her fingers sink into my hair, pulling me closer for another kiss. My entire body comes alive in response, more than ready to rail her on the desk right here and right now.

It would be easy to let myself get carried away, but I hold back and keep my hands firmly within PG territory, one cupping her face and the other around her lower back. I don't want to push it when, somewhere in the back of my mind, I'm pretty sure something is still wrong.

When we finally pull apart, a silence hangs between us that tells me I'm right.

What the hell is it?

Brooke offers me a weak smile. "We should get back out there. Otherwise everyone is going to think we're in here having sex."

I search her face, trying to piece together what's really bothering her. Something isn't adding up. Even with my apology, I can tell she's still upset. I want to ask why, but it isn't the right time or place. Especially not when she's tipsy. The last thing I want is to instigate another argument.

I squeeze her waist gently. "Let's talk tomorrow night, okay? My place, your place, whatever you want."

"I don't know, I have a lot of studying to do."

I'm sure she does, but I'm not taking no for an answer.

"I'll bring over a bottle of wine so you can take a break. Let's say eight p.m. I have dinner plans with my parents, and then I can come over right after."

Brooke stiffens, though I can't pinpoint why. Dinner? My parents? The idea of me coming over? None of the possible explanations make sense.

"You don't have to."

"I want to, and I am. You can yell at me then if you want."

Her smile is wry. "Careful, or I might take you up on that."

When we return to join the rest of the group outside, we get a few prying stares, though I think it's clear neither of us look disheveled enough for anything unsavory to have occurred.

Brendan hands me a fresh beer, pointing at Brooke and Charity with the neck of his. "Everything okay with you two?"

"We had a minor disagreement," I tell him. "All good now."

Except it's a lie. It wasn't minor, and things between us clearly aren't good. I just don't know why.

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