Chapter 5

LYNN

"Where are you off to all dressed up?"

"I'm not speaking to you." I frown at Cash where he stands in the entryway to the den. He and Carter are both on my shit list for the stunt they pulled last night. In fact, I'm taking advantage of the Arrows' upcoming away games to get out of town and avoid those pea-brains altogether. The beach is calling, and I am fucking going. "What are you doing here anyway?" Cash practically lives at Hollis's place these days. They're like one big happy family of two humans and three ridiculously cute dogs.

"I thought you weren't speaking to me."

"I'm not. Bye." I turn to the front door, eager to get on my way.

"Wait! I'm sorry, okay."

"And what is it we're sorry for?" Mama steps into the hall from the kitchen, and I cross my arms in preparation to throw my brother under the bus.

"The usual. Nosing into my business and acting like a complete Neanderthal. Humiliating me in public. You know the routine."

Mama's head whips my brother's way, her riot of brown curls swishing. "Cash Brooks, your sister is a grown woman who can take care of herself."

Cash scowls and perches his stupid hands on his stupid hips. "Jeremy was practically professing his love for her in my taproom. What was I supposed to do? Besides, Cart started it."

Mama looks down her nose at him like a proper boarding school nun, and I think I can actually see his balls shriveling in his jeans. Good.

He's not wrong about one thing, though. Carter did start it. That idiot actually grabbed Jeremy by the collar with his meat hands and threatened to end his life if he didn't explain himself to my brother's satisfaction.

Not being as big of a moron as my brother, Jeremy wisely backtracked and explained that our family has welcomed him so thoroughly that he feels like he's one of us—and has a responsibility to look out for all the Brooks crew. I've gotten the sense he didn't grow up in the best family, so he's welcome to ours as far as I'm concerned.

But honestly, what was he thinking in the first place telling me he "cares" about me? I mean, what is that? He doesn't even know me. It's clear I either need another Words with Friends opponent or he needs to get a girlfriend.

By the time Cash crashed the party, Carter had released Jeremy, but he hadn't finished cussing him out—or drawing the attention of half the taproom. I was beyond relieved to find out Joey had already taken off and hadn't witnessed the whole thing. Especially the part where Cash offered to hold Jeremy down while Carter publicly castrated him right there on the barroom table. Talk about wholesome family fun.

"Lynnie is about as interested in Jeremy as Mango is, and he doesn't even own testicles anymore," Mama declares while I cross my fingers that her words penetrate Cash's thick skull. As if needing to put in his two cents at the mention of his name, Mama's pet skunk wanders into the hall and stomps his feet on the wood floor. I grin, despite my lingering anger at Cash.

Mama continues her lecture. "Your dad wouldn't have disrespected your sister like this, so I don't know why you boys continue to do this when she's an adult just like you."

Cash inexplicably laughs at that, and when we both glare at him, he proclaims, "Dad one hundred percent would have been right there with us, carving knife sharpened to take Jeremy apart, and you know it!"

When Mama doesn't contradict him, I glance over to see a few traces of guilt in her expression. "Mama!" Would Dad really have been this protective over me when it came to guys? I'll never know since he died before I reached the stage where I saw boys as anything more than annoying farting machines. I always make a concerted effort not to focus on the time I missed out on with my dad, but it hits hard out of nowhere sometimes.

If it meant I got to have him back, I'd let him chase away the entire male species if that's what he wanted to do to show his love for me—as warped as that is. But it's hard to give my brothers the same grace.

"I'm gonna be late," I say, preferring to explore my feelings in the privacy of Priscilla, my ancient beater of a car.

"Have fun!" Mama shouts to my back as I close the front door behind me. I notice Cash doesn't echo her good wishes.

* * *

How isit possible he's even better looking than I remembered? I try not to audibly sigh as Joey approaches the high top where I've been sitting for only a few minutes. The early bird gets the worm, after all. Although I hope it's far bigger than a worm in this case.

Mother magnolia, I need to shut up.

Joey's tousled black hair begs for my slutty fingers again as his strong, denim-covered legs bring him my way. His jeans are paired with a collared dri-fit shirt and cloth slip-on shoes tonight, making me happy I opted for a sundress. The warm smile that stretches his lips when he catches sight of me transforms his face from uber-hot to out-of-this-world-hot.

He looks like the product of a sexy biotechnology experiment where Simu Liu's genes were carefully combined with Chris Pine's in a stroke of genius worthy of a Nobel Prize. And all for me. At least for tonight. A night without any interfering brothers or crappy bosses or weird declarations of "caring."

"Lynn," he says in that deep rumble I'm already becoming addicted to. Without a fraction of hesitation, he goes in for a cheek kiss, not giving me any time to freak out at our proximity. He smells like copper, sandalwood, and fresh-cut grass, and I'm pretty sure I moan a little. Luckily, he's already pulled away, so he doesn't hear.

I could seriously eat this man up with a spoon. I just hope he doesn't turn out to be a caveman like my brothers—or that Paulie buffoon from last night. But he couldn't possibly, could he? God isn't that much of a bitch.

"You probably don't get to watch much of the game while you're working, do you?" he asks after seating himself and asking about my afternoon.

"No, but that's okay. I'm not a baseball fan."

"Really?" His eyebrows spike, and he almost looks like he wants to laugh.

"Nope. What is that look for?"

"Nothing. It's just kind of amusing that you work at a baseball stadium, but you don't like baseball."

"Oh, well, that I can explain. First, I needed a summer job anyway. Second, I really have a passion for nacho sauce." I clutch my heart while he grins at me. After I take a sip of the water the hostess poured, I reveal the truth. "Okay, that's a lie. The director of my program suggested that if I got a job around a sports team, I might be able to get a little one-on-one time with some of the athletics and rehab staff. You know, check out the program, maybe see the treatment spaces and learn about how things operate there."

"Ah, I guess that makes sense." He rests his forearms on the table, and my eyes are caught by the defined veins and muscles. Gotta love a man who works with his hands. "But couldn't you just apply for an internship or something?"

"Ha! Do you know how many students fight for sports team internships? I don't stand a chance, especially at this stage in my education. But I can hustle with the best of them, don't you worry." I plan to finish undergrad in three years instead of four. That way I can start the PhD program sooner.

"I'm sure you can, from what I've seen so far." The look of admiration in his eyes has my heart, brain, and womb all crooning gospel hymns while my clit sings harmony. I hope my thoughts aren't broadcasting themselves too loudly, but just in case, I break our eye contact to check out the taproom.

I've been to this brewery before, and while it's quaint and has a cool vibe, it pales in comparison to Blue Bigfoot. But I'm probably biased. I notice there's only one server in the whole place, but I'm in no hurry. I'm much more interested in the getting-to-know-Joey part of the evening than the drink part.

"Can I ask you a question?" I bring my eyes back to him, suddenly determined to find out all the important things.

"Shoot."

"Do you like Scrabble?"

That's clearly not what he was expecting to hear if his eyebrows are any indication. "The board game?"

"Yeah."

"Why do I feel like this is a loaded question?" He's amused. Good.

"Probably because it is." I add a smile to soften my response. I can still like a guy if he doesn't enjoy word games. I'm not a monster.

He's unfazed, making me like him all the more. "Okay, then, can I ask you a question?"

"Shoot." I echo his earlier response.

He leans across the table, giving me a close-up view of his coffee eyes and those obscene eyelashes. When he speaks, his voice drops an octave and picks up a little gravel. "Did you know oxyphenbutazone is the highest possible scoring word in Scrabble?"

I experience a tiny orgasm on the spot, and I know my face gives me away when my only response is, "Wow."

Joey throws his head back and laughs a deep, hearty chuckle I can feel in my clit. I'm tempted to take my eyes off him to scan the taproom and see if anybody else is witnessing the same miracle of hotness I am, but I'm determined not to miss out on a single second of it.

When he finally gets his wits about him again, he says, "So I take it you're a Scrabble fan."

It takes everything in me to adopt a fake bored expression and shrug. "I can take it or leave it."

His grin goes lopsided again. "We should connect on Words with Friends. I play it to wind down at night."

Be still my heart. He is the perfect man. I could be in real trouble here.

"Absolutely. My handle is lynnqqueen. 'Cause I'm the queen of q words."

His finger slides absently across the condensation on the outside of his water glass, and I swear it gives me goose bumps. "Mine's boring. It's just my initials and zip code—jmm28801."

I know I'm grinning stupidly at him, but I can't help it. Although picturing him bare-chested in bed as he drops words on the board will in no way help me sleep at night, I'm willing to make the sacrifice.

"Game on," I respond before switching tack. I need to know more about this perfect man. "So, do you work for Ardent Park year-round?" I have no idea what goes on at the stadium outside the summer months.

"No," he replies, but instead of expanding on that as I expect, he takes a sip of his water and changes the subject. "What kind of music do you like?"

Hmm. I decide to let him off the hook and answer his question. "I'm a genre-free music fan. As long as I can dance to it or sway to it, I'm in. Bonus points if it has killer lyrics. Double bonus if it's from the nineties. What about you?"

"I pretty much stick to rock. I grew up in Canada, so the alternative rock scene was stellar."

"Oh my gosh, I'm so jealous." I lean forward. "Where in Canada? Not that I've ever been." Our family isn't exactly loaded, meaning childhood vacations tended to involve camping somewhere within driving distance of Asheville.

"Montreal. I think everyone has a love-hate relationship with their hometown, though, right?"

I nod. "Agreed. Even though I only go to school an hour from here, it's still nice to get out of my hometown. I've heard Montreal is beautiful."

He leans forward again, and we're close enough that I can make out the subtle differences in the shades of brown in his irises. "It is. And the food is fantastic. I'm convinced you have to speak French to make a decent crepe."

I laugh at that and ask, "Parlez-vous fran?ais?" It's the extent of my French.

"Oui, mon premier mot était en fran?ais," he responds, making my jaw drop.

"I was kidding! You actually speak French?"

He shrugs like it's no big thing. "I grew up with it. I also speak Mandarin."

"You're a polyglot. Or a linguaphile? Both?" I wave a dismissive hand between us. "No wonder you like Scrabble!" I'm so in like with this guy. "I took Spanish in high school, but all I remember is how to tell you that Juan and Carlos went to the beach."

"Well, it's important to keep tabs on those two." He's adorable.

"I was always better at science and lit. But it would be cool to be fluent in another language."

"Sorry about that." The frazzled waitress appears at our side, a pen tucked behind her ear and another in her hand. "What can I get you?"

Joey gestures for me to go first like the gentleman he clearly is, and I order a Cheerwine. Joey grins and orders himself a lager before the waitress bustles away.

"You know there's no actual wine in Cheerwine, right?" he asks with not a hint of condescension.

"Duh. But I wouldn't be a proper North Carolina native if I didn't order our state's signature soda. I'll worry about the diabetes later." It really is sort of disgusting, but I still love it.

This might be my best date ever, not that I date all that much. I was very good at getting into harmless trouble in high school, making out with lots of boys in backseats and generally having fun—something that drove Cash absolutely batty. But I've never technically had a boyfriend. My first time having sex was in my first semester at college with a visiting student from Spain named Joaquin. He was cute, super smart, and—most importantly—not an asshole. The way he said my name with his accent—Leen—made my knees a little weak. I'm afraid I might have broken his heart a little when I told him I only wanted to be friends, but that was better than pretending just so I didn't hurt his feelings. Besides, I'm too busy chasing my career dreams to have a boyfriend.

But sharing some fun dates with the perfect man? That, I can do.