turpentine to clean the brush. He shrugged. “Sometimes I watch Dr. Phil while I’m eating lunch.”
He dropped the brush into a can of paint thinner then fetched a beer for himself. After sprawling himself in a ragged easy chair across from the sofa, he took a long drink of the cold beer.
“The way I see it, women are like peanuts,” Ian declared, breaking the silence.
Dec laughed. “All right, ya daft wanker, I’ll bite. How are women like peanuts?”
He held up the jar, then tipped some peanuts into his hand and popped them into his mouth. “The first handful is great,” he said as he chewed. “The best thing you ever tasted. But then you keep eating them and eating them and they don’t taste that special. After all, they are just peanuts, right? But then, you don’t have them for a week or two and they’re good again.”
“And by not having them, you understand the nuts? You gain insight into their behavior?” Declan asked.
“It’s not the best metaphor,” Marcus said, jumping into his role as peacemaker between his two older brothers.
“How did we even get on the subject of women?” Ian asked.
Dec grabbed the peanuts and poured a measure into his hand. “Women spend most of their time together talking about men. If we spent more time talking about them, even objectively observing them, we’d be better off. And in order to do that, we need to stop sleeping with them. And stop socializing with them. Everything, full stop.”
“No women? For how long?” The scowl on Ian’s face was enough to tell that he wasn’t in favor of the plan.
“As long as it takes,” Dec said.
“My social life is crap anyway,” Ian finally replied. “Since I moved back to Bonnett Harbor, I can’t sneeze without half the town knitting me a bleedin’ afghan. If I started dating, there’d be all sorts of gossip.”
Dec looked over at Marcus. “What about you?”
“He barely dates as it is,” Ian said. “This shouldn’t be any problem for Marky.”
“I date,” Marcus said. “I just don’t talk about it with you tossers.”
“It shouldn’t be a problem for him,” Dec said. “He’s stuck out in Newport on a boat for the rest of the summer.”
“Just you and your tools?” Ian asked.
Marcus nodded. “Dec got me a job with Trevor Ross.”
Dec held up his hands. “I got you in the door. You got the job.”
Dec had provided security at a number of Ross’s corporate events and parties and also advised his corporate office on a variety of matters. A passing conversation about Ross’s sailing yacht and Marcus’s talents had landed Marcus a new commission and a potential business partner with limitless capital.
“After I showed him my work, we got to talking, and he’s interested in bankrolling the expansion of my business. I’ve got to find a bigger place, where I can build bigger boats. Maybe hire some new workers. Ross could throw a lot of business my way.”
“What’s his boat like?” Ian asked.
A grin curled the corners of Marcus’s mouth. “You should see her. She’s a beauty. Built in 1923. Eighty-foot wood ketch. It’s all set up so you can sail it with a crew of two. He had the cabin completely refurbished but he wants more detailing, so I’m adding some vintage carvings and I’m replicating the original figurehead. I plan to live on the boat while I work. He’s got it anchored off his place on Price’s Neck. I start the day after I put this one in the water,” Marcus said, nodding toward the wooden sloop sitting in the timber cradle.
Ian chuckled, shaking his head. “Now the man has something to say. Sometimes, Marky, I think you prefer boats to women.”
“Back to the deal, then,” Dec said.
“This has become a deal?” Ian asked.
Dec nodded. “We stay away from women. No flirting, no fondling, no nothing. Every week we get together to discuss our observations. After three months, we see where we are.”
“No sex for three months,” Ian stated.
“No women for three months,” Declan said. “Complete celibacy.”
“What about … you know …?” Ian raised his eyebrow and shook his closed fist up and down.
“Masturbation?” Dec asked. “Are you askin’ about self-gratification, Ian Quinn? Well, you know what the church says about that. It’s a sin. And besides that, it’ll give you warts, pimples and, if you do it too much, your willy will dry up and fall off and you’ll be turned into a wee girl.”
“I’m not going completely cold turkey,” Ian said.
Dec glanced over at Marcus, then back to Ian. “Well, I suppose we can make one exception to the rule.”
Ian gave his brothers a satisfied nod. “And if I’m going to do this, there better be something worthwhile at the end.”
“A naked woman in your bed isn’t enough?” Dec asked.
“I’m talking money. Let’s put a bet down. We all toss in a thousand bucks. The person who lasts longest after the three months takes the pot.”
“And if you don’t last three months?” Marcus asked.
“Then you throw another thousand in before you’re allowed to break the pact,” Ian said.
Marcus weighed the odds. Hell, he had the best chance of the three of them. And he could use the money. He’d gotten only a small advance from Ross to tide him over until the job was done. And he’d already spent the money he’d gotten for the sloop. “I’m in,” he said. “I can’t afford to lose, so that’s incentive enough.”
“I’m in,” Ian said. “And I intend on winning this bet. I can easily do without women for three months.”
“Game’s on,” Declan said.
He glanced at Marcus, and Marcus reached into his pocket and pulled out his key chain. Dangling from it was the old medallion they’d found in the stable on their grandmother’s estate. It had become like a sacred relic to the three of them. Whenever one of the brothers needed good luck or a charm to swear upon, Marcus brought out the medallion.
“The minute one of us breaks the pact, we call the other two and confess,” Dec said. “The money goes in the pot and the game continues until there’s just one guy left.”
Marcus spit in his hand, then clutched the medallion tight. Ian did the same, then clasped his brother’s hand. Dec followed suit and slapped his hand on top of theirs.
“We meet once a week and we discuss what we’ve learned from our observations,” Ian suggested. “Here’s topic number one just to get us started. Why do women like shoes so much? And given the choice, would a woman prefer a new pair of shoes over a night in bed with
