bold and courageous.â Eamon laughed. âYouâre psychoanalyzing me based on the kind of drink I like?â âLaugh if you wanna, but all bartenders know that itâs an art as well as a science.â âYou always did look at things differently.â âNo. I think Iâm on to something with this,â Quentin said, reaching for the bottle of vodka. âAsk any bartender and they will tell you the same thing I am. You can tell more about a man by what he drinks than the clothes he wears.â âIs that right?â âThat is a fact,â Quentin boasted confidently. âWhat any man or woman wears is for show. Itâs to proclaim a certain lifestyle or status, whether itâs real or not is irrelevant. It has nothing to do with whatâs on the inside. But a drink is a little more intimate. I should know. I have drowned my sorrows in more than a few bottles.â Amen. âSo whatâs your drink?â Eamon asked. âWhiskey sour.â Quentin winked. âI let you figure that one out on your own.â Eamon laughed. He had to hand it to his cousin. He was definitely a charming guy. âHere you go,â Quentin announced. âOne Kamikaze.â He set the drink on the bar. âThank you.â Quentin corked up a brow. âWhat? No tip?â Eamon twisted his face. âAdd it to my tab.â âIâll tell you. No one ever appreciates a good bartender.â They shared a laugh while Quentin made himself a whiskey sour. âSo how long are you planning to hide out here?â âHide out? Thatâs an interesting choice of words,â Quentin said. âIs that what Xavier told you? He thinks Iâm hiding?â Briefly Eamon wondered if he said something that he shouldnât have, but he went ahead down this rocky road since his brothers had left him with very little to go on. âHow would you describe it?â âI would say that I was celebrating.â His smile stretched a little wider. âCelebrating?â Quentin nodded as he turned up his drink. Once the contents were gone he immediately started to pour himself another. âIâm celebrating life, women and a hell of a lot of money that my father gave me.â âIt must be nice,â Eamon mumbled. Quentin frowned. âThe last time I checked youâre not exactly destitute, cuz.â âNo. But Iâm not exactly a trust-fund baby, either.Some people actually have to work for a living.â That only seemed to amuse Quentin more. âIs that the thorn in your paw between me and you? You donât like my carefree lifestyle?â âI have a problem with a man who doesnât make his own way in the world.â Their eyes locked, but Eamon continued. âYouâre a spoiled little rich kid who has never taken anything in life too seriously.â âAnd why would I want to do that?â Quentin challenged. âWho in their right mind would want to jump on some hamster wheel chasing after some vague definition of success? Is success money? I have money. Is success happiness? Five days out of seven Iâm pretty happy. Maybe with love and family?â He shrugged his shoulders. âBelieve it or not, I have those, too.â âWhat about starting your own family?â Eamon asked. âSaid one bachelor to the other.â Q smiled. âUnless youâre going to tell me that you have some little woman clubbed and cooking in your kitchen at home that you forgot to tell anyone about.â Eamon didnât know how he walked into that trap all willy-nilly. âOkay, you got me with that one.â Quentin laughed as he started in on his second drink. âPeople in glass housesâ¦â âGotcha. You made your point.â Q floated for a minute, but then he seemed like he had discovered a riddle that he wanted or needed an answer to. âSo why havenât you