Ryke openly checks the girls out, and they nearly shriek, their eyes bulging. “You’d think that you just gave them a ride in your Maserati,” I say to my brother. “I don’t own a Maserati.” It was a figure of speech. He stands up and tosses his napkin on the chair. “Give me five minutes.” Connor pockets his phone. “That long?” “Fuck off,” Ryke says easily before leaving to approach the girls.
