“WAKEY, WAKEY!” POPPY’S head pokes around the corner. “You up yet?”
“Does it look like it?” I groan, pulling the comforter over my head. The sunlight is streaming through the windows thanks to my mistake of not pulling the blinds last night. One of the many perils of red wine. “What time is it?”
“Almost noon. Get your ass up, my friend.”
“I don’t wanna.”
The mattress sinks with her weight as she takes a seat on the edge. “Too much wine last night?”
“Not really. Just tired.”
The blanket is jerked away and her perky face is peering down at me. “What did you do when I went to bed? Anything you want to tell me?” She presses my cheek with the tip of her finger. “You don’t look like you got laid.”
“Because I didn’t,” I laugh. “Get off me.”
“I can see why with that mindset.”
I swat at her until she stands, unable to control my laughter as I see her attire. Cut-off jean shorts, a strapless red tube top with a white bikini beneath that squeezes her boobs together into one huge cleavage show, and gold hoop earrings paint quite a picture, one I’m confident was created for my brother’s benefit.
“What?” she says, fingering a hoop. “Are these too much?”
“You are too much,” I laugh, scooting up against the padded headboard. “Why are you up already?”
“Because I went to bed too early. And because Finn and Branch have been up doing push-ups and wind-sprints across the front lawn for the last hour and I wasn’t about to miss that. And because I wanted to make my super morning smoothie for Finn.”
“You made my brother a smoothie?” I deadpan.
“And he slurped it all up,” she says, wiggling her eyebrows. “Okay. Enough distraction. Tell me.”
“Tell you what?”
“Tell me why your cheeks just turned pink. What happened, Lay?” Her voice turns sassy as a hand falls on her hip. “Spit it out. Or did you swallow?”
“Stop it,” I laugh. “Nothing happened. Branch brought Finn home pretty late and I happened to be up working on my blog. We sat on the porch and I had some wine and he had some lemonade and that was it.”
“No touching?”
“No touching. I promise. I’d tell you.” Closing my eyes, the lines of his chiseled torso greet me.
“Let’s put on our bikinis and head to the lake. That should help your cause.”
“First of all, it’s not my cause. He’s worse than Callum!”
“He’s hotter than Callum.”
“Second,” I insist, shooting her a look, “weren’t you just telling me yesterday to stay away from guys like him?”
“I said nothing about wide receivers. That’s a whole different game.” She looks at me like I’m crazy for not following along. “Think about it. Their job is to hold on to the ball at all costs. They’ll take a hit, get pushed out of bounds, but what do they not do? They don’t fumble. They score, and baby, when he scores, you better give me every little detail.”
“Oh, my God,” I groan, swinging my legs out of bed. “It’s way, way too early for this.”
“But,” she sing-songs, “you’re out of bed. That’s a win.”
“You better have coffee made.”
After a pit stop in the bathroom, I make my way into the kitchen. Branch is sitting at the island, laughing at something Finn said. My brother is standing in the kitchen next to Poppy, coffee mugs in all of their hands.
“Well, good morning,” Finn says. “I was starting to think you were avoiding us.”
“I was up late working,” I say, pointedly not looking at Branch while I make a cup of coffee for myself.
“How’s the blog?” Finn asks.
“Good, more or less. I’m a little behind from being sick last week, but once I get these last couple of posts made, I’ll be caught up. I was hoping to sit on the beach today and see if I can bang them out.”
Branch begins to choke, causing us all to jump. When I turn around, he’s sitting at the table, his eyes wide, trying to get himself composed. “Sorry,” he coughs. “Too much creamer.” He glances at me, a shit-eating grin on his face.
“You have a problem with me completing my tasks today?” I ask, pressing my lips together to keep from smiling.
“Nope. I hope you bang them all out.”
Poppy’s laugh beside me catches my attention and makes me realize she and Finn weren’t paying a bit of attention to Branch’s comment. With a shake of my head, I turn to my brother.
“What are you guys doing today?” I ask. “I thought you and Branch might take the boat out or something.”
“We might. But I need to run in and pay my bill at Crave first, and unless Machlan’s machine is running which you know it’s probably not, I’ll have to head to the ATM and get cash.”
“Can you take that much cash from an ATM? Isn’t there a limit?” Branch jokes.
“Fuck off,” Finn says, turning his attention to Poppy. “Hey, uh, didn’t you say you needed something from town?”
“Oh, uh, yes,” she says, thinking on the fly. “I do. A lot of things.”
I look at my friend. “What could you possibly need from town?”
“Oh, just some things I couldn’t fit in my suitcase. Essentials, you know.”
“Such as . . .” I goad.
“Diet Coke,” she offers. “Sunscreen. A fucking phone charger, okay? Does it matter?”
Branch and I die laughing as her cheeks turn red.
“You are so full of shit,” I say, catching my breath as she struts out of the room.
“I’d ask you to go,” my brother says to Branch, “but, you know . . .”
“No worries. I’ll stay here and . . . behave.”
“I’m gonna trust you fear me enough to do just that,” Finn says, clasping him on the shoulder. “You good, sis?”
“I’m good. Tell Machlan I said hi. And if Peck’s there, tell that bastard he owes me. He’ll know what for.”
“Peck?” Poppy asks, sticking her head around the corner. “Is that someone’s real name?”
“It’s a nickname,” Finn laughs, guiding her towards the door. “We’ll let you figure out what for.”
MY TOES WIGGLE into the soft, golden sand as I close my notebook. The sun is warm, but not too hot as I sit on the beach and finally get some work done.
The words came fast and easy today. That doesn’t happen often. The ideas I had for blog posts came to life and I mapped out an entire fall series in the last hour.
My chin lifts to the sun and I close my eyes and revel in the satisfaction of feeling my life get back on track. Since my break-up, I’ve spent the last three months in chaos. Moving from Columbus, getting settled, and finding more freelance writing work to support my new digs in Chicago left me exhausted and uninspired.
A new idea pops into my mind and when I open my eyes, I scream. Branch laughs, dropping onto the sand beside me.
“How did you not hear me?” he asks. “I even stepped on some kind of burr back there and shouted some pretty ungentlemanly things.”
“I don’t think anyone has ever accused you of being a gentleman.”
“You don’t know that. My grandma happens to think I’m the sweetest boy she’s ever known.”
“She had how many daughters?”
He laughs, putting his arms back into the sand and stretching his long, lean body out in the sun. Wearing only a pair of white and green swim trunks and a necklace of some sort, he sits only inches away. My eyes refuse to look anywhere but at the lines cut into his abs.
“You’re a smartass, you know that?” he asks.
“It’s been said.” Sitting up, I brush the sand off my hands. “What does your grandma think about her grandson being a football star?”
“I don’t know. She wears my jersey to her card games on Thursday nights and asks me to send her signed pictures for her friends and members of her church. I guess you could say she’s a fan.”
“I bet she is.”
“Hell, to be honest, she’d probably be just as much of a fan if I dug ditches for a living. I’m the only grandson she has from the three daughters she gave birth to,” he says, rolling his eyes that my joke was actually right. “I’m kind of the favorite.”
“And you struggle with accepting that, I see,” I giggle.
“It’s a lot of pressure! I can’t let Gram down.”
We laugh softly, the breeze coming off just cool enough to keep the sweat away. Boats float around, their flags waving brightly against the bright blue sky.
“So, tell me about you,” he says.
“You know Finn and you’ve met my parents.”
“How do you know I’ve met your parents?”
“Let’s just say Mom was impressed,” I shrug.
“Ah. That’s why she sends me baskets of those peanut butter chip brownies when she sends Finn his monthly care packages.”
“She sends you those?” I bark, dropping my jaw. “Those are my favorite and she never sends them to me.”
He looks adorably amused as he strokes a hand down the center of his stomach. “You don’t have the goods, Sunshine.”
Scooping up a handful of sand, I toss it on his legs. “I officially loathe you.”
“Just for that?” he laughs. “It usually takes at least one date before they loathe me.”
The necklace bounces against his chest as he laughs, the little beads sparkling in the light. I reach over and pick up the end, turning it over in my palm. “What’s this?”
“That’s from Gram. It was a graduation gift from high school. My grandfather had one like it, only his beads were yellow and mine are red.”
He watches me examine the intricately carved wooden beads and the shiny red ones. They’re the color of rubies and heavier than I expect.
“This is beautiful, Branch.”
“Thanks. I kind of like it.” His head turns to mine and the soft smile deepens into a smirk. “I kind of like you in that bikini too.”
The necklace drops to his chest as I squirm away from him. “I thought we were having a moment.”
“Sunshine, I’ll give you as many moments as you want.”
“I don’t want any of those moments with you,” I say, picking up my notepad again. “It would just amp up that ego that’s already out of control.”
“I beg to differ,” he gasps. “My ego is totally in control, thank you very much. I can’t help it I just say what I think and what you want to hear, even if you won’t admit it.”
Finding my pen half-covered with sand, I scribble out a few things that have been lingering in my head. When I look at Branch, he’s grinning.
“What?” I ask.
“I want to ask you a question.”
“Okay.”
“Will you play catch with me?”
“What?” I laugh. “Are you serious?”
“Finn’s not here and I have no one to play with.”
“Branch,” I say, holding up my hands, “football is not my thing.”
“It doesn’t have to be your thing. You just have to catch the ball and then throw it back to me.”
Plopping my stuff back down on the sand, I shake my head. “I know how to play catch. That’s not the point.”
“Then you have no excuse,” he says, hopping to his feet. “Come on.”
He reaches down, extending a large, rough hand. His fingers have obviously been broken a number of times, different digits extruding different ways. It’s kind of gross and kind of sexy, but before I can think about it too much, my hand is in his and he’s yanking me to my feet.
Jogging down the beach, he stops and faces me. I’m half afraid I’m going to stand here and gawk at him and get hit upside the head like in a cheesy romantic comedy. I see how that happens now. It’s a real thing.
He brings his arm to his side, the cuts in his arm muscles on full display as he brings the ball to his ear and launches it my way. It’s fast and hard and I catch it like the professional’s little sister that I am.
“Hell, yeah!” he says, beaming. “You can catch a ball too?”
“Did you forget who I am?” I place my fingers on the laces like Finn taught me when I was ten. Pulling it back to the side of my head, I let it sail back with a flick of my wrist.
I’ve never thrown a more perfect spiral than this pass. Branch stands, arms to his sides, as he watches it spin through the air. Just before it almost hits him in the chest, he swipes it out of the air.
“Color me impressed.” He tucks the ball at his side. “Did Finn teach you that?”
“Of course. Who else?”
He winds the ball back and throws it to me again. “Maybe Callum?”
“Callum didn’t teach me anything,” I say, snapping the ball out of the air. “He was too busy doing other things. And other people.”
I toss it back to him.
“Now you don’t know that,” he jokes. “He might’ve been meeting friends for coffee.”
“Are you trying to piss me off?” I catch his pass. “Because if so, you’re doing a damn good job.”
“Don’t be pissed at me. I’m not the asshole who cheated on you.”
“But you would, wouldn’t you? I mean, don’t you all?”
He snags the pigskin and stands still. “I’m offended you’d lump us all together like that.”
“You are not.”
“Yeah, you’re right,” he chuckles, passing the ball to me again. “I’m not. But, no, I don’t think everyone cheats. A large percentage, probably. But I don’t cheat because I don’t make commitments. See? Problem solved.”
I’m about to tell him what a bullshit answer that is . . . until I think about it.
“You know what? I think you’re right,” I tell him.
“I am?”
“Yeah, I’m as amazed as you.”
He narrows his eyes, but a smile plays on his lips. “It saves you so much time and pain. If they do something stupid, not your problem. If you don’t want to go to the movie to see some crazy shit, who cares? If you want to have your cock sucked by a stripper on the Strip, so be it.”
The ball hits the sand at my feet. I don’t blink, just raise a brow. “For one, that was the shittiest pass I’ve ever seen. For two, I don’t have to worry about getting my cock sucked.”
“Thank God,” he says, jogging towards me. He lifts the ball. “If you have a cock, my weekend plans are fucked.”
“Ha.” I head towards my towel, feeling his gaze burn into my bottoms. “If that’s your plan, you need a backup.”
“That sounds like a challenge.”
“Of course it does,” I say, putting my notepad in my bag. “Isn’t that all you really want? A challenge? A game to conquer?”
He scoffs, but I can tell I’m right. Looking up from my kneeling position, the longest, most confident look crosses his handsome face. “I don’t know what I really want.”
With that line, he surprises me. Leaving me sitting on the sand, ball tucked to his side, he walks back to the cabin.