“I can rein in your brother. I’ll just tell him about the bottle of good whiskey I’ve got stashed, and he’ll be down for a quick exit.”
“Eh, let’s go in,” I say. Maybe if I’m surrounded by people I’ll stop thinking about his mouth. And those clever hands. And the heat that pours off his body whenever we touch each other. “Do you like to bet on darts?”
His smile is immediate. “Maybe. Are you a shark, baby girl?”
“You’ll find out, won’t you?” I say, fighting my own smile. I’m pretty good at darts. Grandpa taught me all kinds of games. My dad did, too. Everyone in my family is a life-of-the-party kind of person.
Everyone except me, of course.
I follow Rickie into the Goat. The sound of laughter and conversation rushes at us as we step into the crowded room. But Dylan and Chastity have got a booth, and an empty pitcher of beer.
“You two work fast,” Rickie says, lifting the empty pitcher and giving it a shake.
“Because you’re driving,” my brother says with a chuckle. “You steal my truck, you get to be my chauffeur.”
“I’ll drive home,” I pipe up from behind Rickie. We’ve already established that I can’t handle the potent combination of alcohol and Rickie.
“Yes!” my brother hoots. “Come on, Rick. Let’s get our drink on.”
“You’re welcome,” I grumble as Dylan pulls Rickie toward the bar.
Rickie has the decency to look back at me with apology in his eyes.
“What was that?” Chastity asks, watching them go.
“What was what?” I drag my gaze off Rickie’s ass in those faded jeans and onto Chastity, my brother’s live-in girlfriend.
She looks like a pixie with her blond hair and her apple-cheeked smile. “That look Rickie gave you. Are you two…?” She wiggles a finger between us.
“No,” I say without waiting to hear how that sentence ends. Because whatever she was going to ask, it’s not happening. I’ve got to stay away from that boy, with his dangerous mouth and those eyes that see way too much.
“Okay. That would have been weird, anyway.”
“It would? Why?” I squeak. Maybe I’ve given up men, but I’d rather not be written off as hopeless.
“Because Rickie doesn’t date,” she says. “He doesn’t fool around, either. He doesn’t even let anyone into his bedroom. For any reason.”
Oh. So this isn’t about me at all. “Are you sure? He carries himself like a total player.”
Chastity props her heart-shaped face in her hand and drops her voice to a conspiratorial register. “Well, we talked about it one night when we were sitting up late watching a movie together. It was a Hallmark movie, and the couple just had their big kiss under the mistletoe. And I asked him when he was going to liplock somebody, you know? He always refers to himself as a party boy and a man whore.”
I shrug, as if this topic isn’t fascinating. But it totally is. “And what did he say?”
“He just hasn’t wanted anyone since his accident. He isn’t as comfortable with having people in his bed, or as interested in having people in his pants. That’s a direct quote.” She smiles. “Trust Rickie to try to make a sad thing funny, you know?”
“Yeah,” I agree. Although I’m deeply confused. He seems both comfortable with and interested in me. That kiss in the truck? I’m surprised we didn’t set the front seat on fire.
A whistle pierces the loud social chatter around us, and I look toward the bar. It’s Rickie, his T-shirt straining against his biceps as he gives me a wave. What do you want to drink? he mouths.
“A Coke!” I shout.
He makes his fingers into a gun, shoots me and says, “You got it.”
“That was thoughtful,” Chastity says, her eyes dancing. “Are you sure you two aren’t gonna become a thing?”
“I’m super sure,” I say, as my brother arrives back at the table with a full pitcher of beer and a couple of extra glasses. He sits down next to Chastity, and they smile at each other. They’re in that early stage of love that’s hard to tolerate, with the tender glances and the hand-holding and staring into each other’s eyes 24/7.
Not that I have firsthand experience. But I’ve watched Griffin fall, and then May, and now Dylan. Like a stack of dominoes. If Grandpa and my mother are also out there dating, I really am the last Shipley standing.
Wait—no. I’m relieved to remember my cousin Kyle. He’s permanently single. And he’s older than I am by eight or nine years.