“He’s good,” Leah said.
“Thank you,” Mark said, and meant it. “And speaking of being apart…” They shared a look, and she gave him the go-ahead. “Hey, Brooke…,” he said, “what do you think about spending the night with me?”
Her eyes widened, part in surprise, but with a hint of guilt and uncertainty. She glanced at Christy, who nodded reassurance. Then she looked to Leah.
“It was sort of my idea.”
“We thought we’d mix it up,” Mark said. “You and Leah. Just for tonight,” he added quickly, “if everyone’s okay with it.”
“Please.” Leah chewed her lip, nervous instead of thoughtful.
Brooke hesitated. Then she glanced at Mark, who waggled his eyebrows at her. She blushed and lowered her eyes demurely.
“Go on,” Christy told her, “you know you want to.”
Brooke nodded.
“What d’you think?” Mark asked me.
I looked at Christy, and she nearly flattened me with a wave of enthusiastic mind control.
“Wow!” Mark laughed. “Even I heard that!”
“Yep,” I said. “She’s small, not subtle.”
Chapter 42
Everyone was in the mood for a relaxing evening instead of more sex and games, so Wren mixed a pitcher of white peach sangria and Mark made one of Alabama Slammers. Trip poured himself a Jack and Coke, while I opened a wine cooler.
“You drink like a girl,” he said.
I shrugged, unperturbed.
“Yeah, I guess someone has to. The girls all drink like guys. Well, except Leah.”
“Yep.”
He couldn’t get a rise out of me, so he stewed for a moment and then tried a different approach.
“You mind if I listen to the game while we fire up the grill?”
“Go for it.”
“Pirates-Braves,” he added.
“Mmm.” I resisted the urge to ask if they were going to the Super Bowl.
He retrieved his boom box from inside. Then he set it on the table, plugged it into the outlet, and made a production about the earphone and its cord. It wouldn’t reach to the grill, even if he perched the boom box on the edge of the table. Translation: I could return his little radio any time now.
“Have a seat,” I told him. “Enjoy the game. I’ll cook.” Translation: It’ll be a cold day in hell before I do. You could’ve killed me with that damn backhoe. Besides, work is more important than a stupid game.
I pasted on a fake smile to make sure he understood. Then I filled the grill with charcoal, doused it with lighter fluid, and tossed a match. The fire whooshed to life, and a wave of heat washed over me. I waited for the flames to settle before I sank into the chair next to Trip’s. His attitude gradually mellowed as he listened to the pregame show and the alcohol worked through his system.
Sports and liquor, I snorted silently, two pillars of manhood.
I kept my eye on the fire and my thoughts to myself until the coals were ready to cook. Wren appeared as if summoned. She held out a platter of hamburgers for us carnivorous types and a smaller plate with a couple of portobello mushrooms for Christy.
“Here you go,” she said. “Medium-rare for the burgers, please. About the same for the mushrooms. You can’t really overcook ’em, but she prefers al dente.”
“Yes, chef.”
Wren glowed with a smile, and I was struck by how pretty she was when she was happy. She rose on tiptoe and kissed my cheek. Her expression changed completely when she glanced at Trip. She was annoyed with him, which explained his mood from earlier.
He smiled an apology, and the tension in her shoulders disappeared. She bent to give him a kiss as well. Then she whispered something in his ear. He perked up immediately.
“For real?”
“If you play your cards right,” she said.
“Cool! Yeah! Awesome!”
“Okay. Help Paul with the burgers.”
“You got it, babe.”
She gave me another smile and disappeared into the clubhouse. Trip took out his earphone and joined me at the grill. He knew better than to try to take over, especially after I’d done all the work. He gestured at the fire instead.
“Good job. Nice coals.”
“Thanks.”
“Hot work, though. I’m ready for a refill. You want another ‘man’ cooler?” It was a peace offering.
“Sure, thanks.”
“Back in a sec.”
He returned with a full cup and a cold bottle. I drained half of mine in a single swig. We fell silent and enjoyed two more pillars of manhood, meat and fire. Trip sipped his drink quietly at first, but I could feel him working up to something.
“D’you think Christy’s so small ’cause she doesn’t eat meat?” he said at last.
“I doubt it. Her mother’s small too. Her grandmother’s even smaller. Besides, she eats twice as much as the rest of us.”
“No kidding.”
I smirked. “Including my meat.”
“Ha! Yours and everyone else’s. Whoa! Lemme rephrase—”
“It’s okay,” I chuckled. “I know what you meant.”
“Thank God. Thought I’d stuck my foot in my mouth again.”
“Nah, we’re cool.”
He cleared his throat. “Sorry about earlier. I… um… was in a pissy mood.”
“I could tell,” I said without inflection.
“Sometimes I wish I had your personality.”
I snorted.
“I’m serious. Nothing gets you riled up.”
I had a lifetime of experience that said otherwise.
“Well, maybe Granville,” he admitted. “And me. When I try to kill you with the backhoe.”
“I was thinking the same thing.”
“Earlier? Yeah, I could tell.” He sipped his drink. “At least I know when to apologize.”
“You do. Thanks.”
“And now you’re going to tell me I wouldn’t have to if I wasn’t such a butthead.”
“Do I need to?” I teased.
“No, I think I got it.”
Wren emerged from the clubhouse behind us and carried several plates to the table. She said something to the group. Mark stood and returned to the clubhouse with her.
Trip glanced at the table with the four remaining women. They were too far away to overhear, but he still pitched his voice low.
“So, about tonight…,” he said to me. “I know you aren’t the jealous type, or the protective older brother…”
“What? About Erin? No, she’s a grown-up. She can take care of herself.”
“Yeah, that’s what she said. But still… I don’t want you to think I’m taking advantage or anything.”
“No.”
“Cool. That’s what I thought, but… you know. Anyway, I think she’s gonna spend the night with us.”
“Sounds fun.”
“Yeah, we had a good time this afternoon. Besides, she’s a little sick of you-know-who.”
“Leah?”
“No, Mark.”
My eyebrows rose.
“Yeah, I know,” Trip said. “I think he’s fine, a really cool guy…” He shrugged. “Women. Who knows what they’re really thinking?”
I swallowed a couple of snarky but useless replies. Trip was Trip. He wasn’t going to change his attitude and become enlightened all of a sudden, especially if I mocked him.
“Erin’s pretty straightforward,” I said instead, “especially her emotions.”
“Yeah, that’s true. She’s almost like a guy.”
“Almost,” I agreed blandly.
“Good thing she’s not. I mean, that’d be disgusting.”
My smile was brittle.
“Anyway,” he continued, clueless, “I just wanted to let you know what’s going on. She isn’t your woman or anything, but—”
“None of them are.”
“You know what I mean,” he said. “She’s a free agent. Although… I think I’ll sign her for the season. She’s a helluva catcher. Good with the bat, too.”
I couldn’t mock him for being a chauvinist, but the baseball metaphors were a different story. And a dig about a national championship would’ve been too subtle by half.