Getting Played - Emma Chase Page 0,61

is loud with family chatter, Jack approaches Dean, wiping his hands on the front of his pants nervously. “Hey. If this goes to shit, do me a favor and just punch me in the face, okay? Knock me out cold.”

“If what goes to shit?” Dean asks.

“You’ll see,” is all Jack replies.

Then he moves back beside Erin and taps on his beer bottle with a butter knife to get everyone’s attention.

Jack clears his throat. “I know I’ve asked before, but it was half-assed and partly just screwing around.” Jack’s face goes soft as he looks my sister in the eyes and lowers down to one knee. “I’m not screwing around anymore.”

Out of his gray suit jacket, he pulls a ring. It’s a huge round diamond that shines as bright as a star in a platinum band.

“I love you, Erin. I’m never going to love anyone as much as I love you—and I’d be a mess without you. Will you marry me?”

Erin covers her mouth with her hand, and tears well in her eyes. For a few seconds, she doesn’t say anything—and you can feel the collective anxiety in the room that she may actually say no.

But then she pulls in a shuddering breath. “I love you too, Jack. You make me happy and you make me laugh, and I want to spend the rest of my life making you happy too. So . . . yes, I’ll marry you.”

Everyone claps, and “awwws” and hugs—and Jack slides the ring on my sister’s finger. Then he stands and plants a massive kiss on her, lifting Erin right off her feet.

Without even thinking about it, I reach for Dean, twining my arm around his and resting my head against his bicep. I feel his kiss against my hair, and when I glance up, he’s gazing at me with a sexy smile and tender eyes.

“Holy shit—I said yes!!” Erin bounces up and down. “We’re getting married!”

Grams lifts her glass of sherry, like the geriatric version of Tiny Tim and his crutch. “Congratulations, every one.”

Then she hiccups.

~ ~ ~

As we’re still basking in Jack and Erin’s post-engagement glow, a horn honks outside. And honks, and honks, and honks again—blaring and obnoxious. I look out the front window and see Chet, the neighborhood guy from hell, standing on our lawn on drunk, unsteady feet, with his lime-green muscle car vibrating in the middle of the street.

“Burrows! Get one of these cars out of my fucking spot!”

Parking spaces are tough to come by in Bayonne—fighting for them is a pretty common thing—especially around the holidays.

My dad steps out the front door onto the stoop—and the whole family squeezes out with him.

“That’s not your spot, jackass!” He points at the line of my family’s cars parked at the curb in front of my parent’s place. “It’s on my side of the property line.”

I feel it when Chet’s attention shifts to me. It’s like a snake slithering over your grave.

“Are you kidding me, Lainey, you’re pregnant again? You gotta learn to keep those legs closed once in a while, babe. Learn to just say no.”

I hate that my neck goes hot with embarrassment. I have nothing to be ashamed of—I know that and the people I love most know it too. But to hear him say those things in front of my son, my parents—to know that’s what he thinks of me, even if I don’t care what he thinks—is pretty awful.

My sisters react faster than I do, flipping Chet off, cursing him out—even Brooke, who hardly ever curses tells him to eat shit and die. My own “screw you” is locked and loaded on my lips, but before the words are out, another voice cuts through the clatter of outrage.

“What the fuck did you just say?”

Everyone goes quiet. Because there’s both fury and authority in Dean’s voice—like he owns the right to defend me. That tone snaps in the air like a whip and demands to be listened to.

I follow behind him as he heads down the steps to the walkway.

“Dean, it’s fine.”

“Nope, not fine. Not even a little.”

I grab his arm.

“He’s not worth it.”

Dean stops and turns around, his eyes blazing. Then he holds my chin.

“No, he’s not. But you are.”

And I’m pretty sure my heart faints.

My sisters, up on the porch, concur.

“Ooh, I’m starting to like him,” Brooke says softly.

“He’s slowly winning me over. Like salt and vinegar chips,” Judith adds.

“It was a good line.” Erin shrugs. “We’ll see.”

Linda takes a pencil out of her hair. “I’m