But Clint’s ego was just fine. It didn’t need to be stroked.

No matter what Kane said.

“I don’t need the fork to eat. I wanted to use it to stab my eyes out.” He nodded toward the dance floor where his mother gave a loud whoop and threw her arms in the air, lifting the hem of her short dress so high C.J. quickly averted his gaze lest he see parts no one but Gwen’s gynecologist should see. “Anything sharp and pointy will do.”

The waitress followed his gaze. “Yes. That is disturbing.” She shifted the tray to her hip. Studied him closely. “Is she your date?”

He flinched, but he couldn’t blame the kid for thinking Gwen was younger than her actual age. She saw her plastic surgeon more often than her own sons. “My mother.”

“Oh.” Then she shocked the hell out of C.J. by giving his forearm a quick squeeze. “I’m sorry.”

He raised an eyebrow as amusement flowed through him. Not many felt sorry for him. He was a Bartasavich, after all. People usually envied him—his looks, his money, his business acumen.

He nodded his thanks. “Wish I could say you get used to it, but that’d be a lie.”

His mother caused drama wherever she went. If C.J. had to guess, he’d say tonight’s show was all for his father’s benefit. But Senior was still staring at Carrie. C.J. doubted Senior even knew what Gwen, the first in a long line of Mrs. Bartasaviches, was doing. How hard she was trying to prove she was over him.

How hard she was trying to make the old man jealous.

The waitress watched his mother do a pelvic thrust that should have been illegal, then bend at the waist, stick her ass in the air and shake it.

The waitress scrunched up her face. “Eww. Mothers should never twerk. Something like that could scar a person for life. Have you tried therapy? It might help.”

He chuckled, surprised he could laugh at this. “After tonight, I just might need it.”

He helped himself to a couple of the quiches. Pie of death or not, he was hungry. He’d worked through lunch and hadn’t bothered with dinner before catching his flight to Pittsburgh.

He was still chewing the first one when Kane approached him. As they had so many times throughout their lives, they sized each other up. There’d been a time when C.J. could read every thought in Kane’s head. When he’d known his little brother’s strengths and weaknesses as well as his own.

Those days were long gone, killed by Kane’s drug addiction and subsequent stint in the army. Kane was now clean and sober—had been for years—and even owned a local bar called O’Riley’s. But there was too much hostility, too much anger to ever mend the bond that had been broken between them. There were days C.J. could admit he regretted that. That he missed his brother.

But he’d be damned before he’d ever say it out loud.

“Estelle said you were here,” Kane said, his expression closed, his eyes hooded. “I’m surprised you could tear yourself away from your desk.”

Not as surprised as C.J. had been to hear about his brother’s engagement. He hadn’t known Kane and the redheaded ER nurse he’d gotten involved with last year were that serious, until Estelle had told him they were engaged as she’d hand delivered his invitation to this little soiree.

Kane had spent the past twelve years doing his best to avoid any ties whatsoever to anyone—except Estelle. What the hell made him think he was ready to commit to one woman?

“I wouldn’t have disappointed Estelle,” C.J. said, eating the second quiche. “Or miss the chance to get to know your fiancée better.” He wiped his hands on a paper napkin and crumpled it in his hand as he scanned the ballroom. Spotting his future sister-in-law across the room, laughing at something a pretty, very pregnant blonde said, he sent Kane a grin. “Charlotte seems like a nice woman. A smart woman. Too good for the likes of you. I’ll have to do my best to make sure she realizes that before she makes the biggest mistake of her life and goes through with this marriage.”

“I think you’re safe,” the waitress told Kane. “I mean, look at you.” She swept her hand up and down in front of him. “You’re gorgeous. And you have that whole bad-boy vibe going on, which most women find irresistible but, personally, I don’t get. No offense or anything.”

“None taken,” Kane said, looking torn between amusement and horror at the girl’s assessment of him.

“Yes, my brother sure is a fine catch.” As long as a woman didn’t mind being tied to an ex-addict with a bad attitude and a ton of emotional baggage. “He’s a real prince among men. All the women fall for that pretty face. Want to smooth out those rough edges.”

Kane’s mouth thinned. He made a show of looking around. “Couldn’t find a date, Junior? All the big-haired, big-breasted debutantes in Texas busy this weekend?”

“Between Mom and Carrie, I’d say there are two too many here now. I’m not sure this party could handle another one.” He nodded toward Oakes, who was valiantly trying to hold a conversation with an older man while Carrie clung to his arm, her hand caressing his bicep. “You try to put a stop to that?”

Kane followed C.J.’s gaze and shrugged. “Oakes is a big boy. He can handle himself. He’ll give Carrie a gentle brush-off, something that will save her from being embarrassed.”

Kane’s way of dealing with problems was to avoid them until they went away on their own. Or someone else took care of them. Oakes’s was to be patient, to pick and choose his words and actions carefully and hope for the best.

“She’s humiliating Dad,” C.J. said. “And getting more than her fair share of attention for it. You need to go over there and tell her to back off.”

“Not my job. Being in charge of everyone and everything, being a huge pain in the ass, is your thing.”

C.J.’s fingers tightened on his hat. Kane could give lessons in being a pain in the ass. “I take charge,” he said, “because no one else ever steps up.”

“Why don’t you just beat the crap out of each other and get it over with?” the waitress asked. Why was she still there? “That’s what my brothers do when they’re mad at each other. Then, while the blood is drying, they’re suddenly best friends again.”

“We’re not friends,” C.J. assured her, not taking his eyes off Kane.

But at one point they had been. Less than two years apart in age, they’d spent every moment together. Had been playmates. Confidantes. And as close as two brothers could be.

Those days were long gone. No sense wishing them back.

Or regretting the distance between them now.

“Guys are so weird,” the waitress murmured while C.J. and Kane continued to glare at each other. “This is what’s wrong with the world, by the way. Too much testosterone. Especially in leadership positions. I’m seriously considering forming a society consisting solely of women. Sort of like the Amazons but not as bloodthirsty. I wonder how much my own island would cost?” she asked in a thoughtful tone as she walked away.

“I’d buy her an island,” C.J. muttered, “if we could convince Estelle to live there with her.”

“A society with no hormonal teenage boys?” Kane asked. “Or horny adult drummers? I’d pitch in for that.”

They shared a grin. Too bad their moment of brotherly bonding was interrupted by another of their mother’s enthusiastic “whoop-whoops,” this one accompanied by a fist pump.

“That’s your cue, Junior,” Kane said, his grin turning into a knowing smirk. “Go save the day.”

C.J. wished the waitress hadn’t taken off. He could use more food. And a drink. A strong one.

He’d need one to deal with his mother.

With nowhere to leave his hat, he stuck it back on his head, then crossed the dance floor, weaving his way through the jostling bodies. “Excuse me,” he said, tapping Gwen’s date on the shoulder. “Mind if I cut in?”

“C.J.!” Gwen trilled, her voice somehow carrying over the blaring guitar riff, the pounding bass. Tottering on her four-inch heels, she flung herself into his arms. “You’re late.”