Conception (The Wellingtons #4) - Tessa Teevan Page 0,12

fetching bride—but then I said J.T. was a lucky man and Mom’s pitying glance had me wanting to bite my fist.

Through all of it? I felt nothing.

Actually, that’s not entirely true.

I felt liberation. I felt happy for her and J.T, who would treat her well. And I still do.

Because Gwen was my first—all of my firsts. They were good firsts, remarkable experiences. Now, with nothing to focus on but having a good time? I’m so damn ready to experience more. So much more.

And even though my very presence seemed to irritate her, I know exactly who I want to experience more with.

“Hey, what’dya say we take this party over to that bar? The one Dad used to give us dimes to put into the jukebox. After the drive, I feel like a burger, brews, and maybe to scope out the lady situation.”

Clay gives me a skeptical look.

“Dude, I feel like I’m beating a dead horse at this point. I was serious when I said I was over Gwen. Sure, she’s been a huge part of my life, but that’s behind me. It’s time for me to…sample the other goods I’ve been missin’ out on.”

My brother lifts his beer to me. “Right on. To you finally sowing your wild oats. Still can’t believe you’re twenty-two and you’ve only been with one girl.”

I set my beer down and turn to him. “I can’t believe you’re twenty-one and already plan on being with one girl for the rest of your life.” I expect the words to rattle Clay.

But he surprises me with a shrug as he takes a sip of his beer. “You know what Mom says. When a Wellington man knows, he knows.”

I groan at the reminder of Mom, the romantic—which is probably why it’s still so hard for her to believe I’m coping at the loss of my relationship.

There’s some silly family superstition that she claims goes all the way back to my great-great-great grandfather who escaped the law in Great Britain and made a name for himself in America in the early 19th century. I’ve heard the story so many times I can practically recite it. Supposedly, after a string of bad luck, he found himself on a ship, bound for the newly independent country, at the young age of twenty-two. According to Mom, he met the love of his life shortly after his ship docked and spent the next sixty or so years devoted to her. His son had the same romantic fate, as has every Wellington male in the line of succession after, including my own father. And, apparently, now Clay.

“Whatever, dude. You can buy that mumbo-jumbo all you want. She clearly was wrong about Gwen and me, so while you pine over Maria, I’m spending my summer chasing whatever tail I can.”

Clay rolls his eyes. “Knox, you can barely say that with a straight face. Be honest. You have no idea what you’re doing when it comes to women.”

“Wanna bet?”

An answering grin splits his face. “You’re on, brother. You get a girl’s number tonight at Mickey’s and I’ll tell Mom not to worry about how you’re dealing with Gwen leaving you. You don’t get a girl’s number tonight, I get to take Maria out on your Kawasaki.”

The bike, my pride and joy only second to my 1956 Ford Thunderbird, hasn’t been driven by anyone but me. Gwen, terrified of what she called death traps, refused to take a seat behind me. The thought of Maria being the first honey on the back of my bike isn’t appealing, and Clay knows it. That’s why he made these terms.

If I back down, he’ll think me a coward. At the same time, I’m not so sure that one night will be enough to get into that girl’s good graces. Hell, I don’t even know she’ll be there.

But I want to wipe the smirk off my brother’s face, so despite my best judgment, I hold out my hand to him. “Deal.”

AFTER MRS. MAYFIELD LEAVES WITH promises of bringing by a pitcher of her world-famous lemonade the next day, I head straight to my bedroom for a nap, tired after the nerve-racking drive yet on edge from my conversation with that infuriatingly handsome man. It’s ages before I finally drift off into restless dreams of brown eyes and soft touches from the devastatingly handsome dreamboat whose name I now wish I’d gotten.

Ugh. Not exactly the way I anticipated starting this summer off.

Distraction in the form of a gorgeous summer boy toy wouldn’t