BREE’S POV
Gideon presses a tattooed hand to his chest.
“Deb. You wound me. I’ve told you, I’m starting therapy soon.”
“By therapy, he means brooding at the bottom of a bourbon bottle until the next pretty thing takes her top off,” Deb fires back without missing a beat.
“Actually, Bree might be my idea of therapy.” Gideon winks at me, that lazy, dangerous grin firmly in place. “Bree, darling, how do you feel about turning this heartless playboy into a devoted lover?”
“I’ll pass,” I say dryly.
“Try keeping it in your pants before you scare the poor girl away,” Deb snaps, swatting his boot off the coffee table. She turns fully back to me, her expression softening into something fiercely protective. “And I mean it, Brienna. I love these boys to death, but I wouldn’t be Deb if I didn’t w
