Flirting with the Frenemy

by Grant, Pippa

  Monica’s hazel eyes are so wide under her feathered pirate wench hat that she’s in danger of losing an eyeball. “Well, yeah, I mean, I always suspected as much, but…oh my god, Ellie! I’m so fuc—freaking happy for you!”

  She tackles me in a hug, babbling about needing all the details while I reel a little, because what the hell does I always suspected as much mean?

  “Monica, seriously, this is your week. Wyatt and I are just…we’re taking it slow. He doesn’t really care if Grady comes to dinner with us.”

  Wyatt’s grip—yep, he’s still holding on, despite Monica trying to strangle me with a hug too—tightens so hard that if my shoulders were walnuts, they’d be walnut butter. “Yes, I do.”

  “DAD, THAT’S COOPER ROCK!” Tucker hollers.

  Cooper, who no longer has any shot of anonymity, steps out from behind his brother to offer Tucker a fist bump. “Give it up, little buddy. You like the Fireballs?”

  Tucker nods solemnly while he looks at his fist. “Dad says loyalty’s important, even in the face of great loss.”

  Cooper pounds his heart twice with his fist. “Dang straight. Your dad’s a smart guy.”

  “You’ll get ‘em this year,” Tucker declares.

  Cooper winces. Grady winces. Half the street winces.

  Since Chicago won the World Series a few years ago, Copper Valley’s pro baseball team has taken over as the sport’s most lovable losers.

  And they’re embracing the title with gusto this year.

  “They will, won’t they, Tucker?” I say.

  “They really will.” He beams at me like we’re going to be best friends, and I think he could be right.

  Monica’s frowning. “I don’t know if Crusty Nut can fit two more people at our table.”

  “It’s okay,” I tell her quickly. “Tucker will love the parade so much more from right here. He can’t catch as much booty if he’s up on the balcony with us. Wyatt’s okay with this, aren’t you, honey?”

  I lift my eyes to his, and that’s a mistake.

  Because he’s promising me a lot of retribution in that colorful gray gaze. And if you think gray can’t be colorful, you’ve never pissed off a gray-eyed man.

  “Looks like I have to be,” he replies.

  “But you have to join us for lunch tomorrow,” Monica announces. She squeezes my hand. “Oh my god, Ellie, I always thought this might happen.” She throws herself around Wyatt too, and the parrot wobbling on her shoulder, stitched to her pirate captain costume, pecks Tucker’s bare calf. “You better be good to her, or I’ll slice your nuts off with my pirate sword and tie a cannonball to your ankles and shoot you over the mountains.”

  Tucker gasps.

  “She’s teasing,” Wyatt tells him quickly.

  Monica smiles.

  It’s an ugly smile.

  I like it.

  Wyatt smiles back.

  It’s a tight smile.

  My life is going to be hell as soon as I get back to Beck’s place tonight.

  “Can you drive me home?” I ask Monica. “Tucker has an early bedtime.”

  “Of course!” she squeals.

  Patrick’s still glaring.

  And since Patrick’s glaring, Sloane the wonder nurse is also glaring.

  Only Jason, Monica’s laid-back fiancé who’s been watching all of this with an amused smile, is still blissfully unaware of all the weirdness.

  It’s remarkable that Patrick and Jason share genes, because that’s the only thing they have in common.

  “You’ll drive safely,” Wyatt informs Monica.

  She rolls her eyes at him. “First one to the hospital. I got it.”

  He finally releases his grip on me.

  “Go on, get that spot,” I tell him. “Tucker, you’re going to love the parade.”

  “Can we all have a bubble bath tonight?” he asks.

  “No,” Wyatt and I answer together.

  The adults lining the parade route all chuckle with Grady, Cooper, Monica, and Jason. “You are adorable,” Monica informs Tucker. “We’re going to be good friends this week.”

  She’s not going to see them at all this week if I have any say in it.

  Far better to have a boyfriend who’s an amazing single dad from afar than to have to put on a show for my friend and my ex-boyfriend anyway.

  Maybe this will work out after all.

  “Enjoy the parade,” I tell Wyatt. “I’ll see you back at the house.”

  His lips twitch, because Wyatt and I don’t do see you later.

  We never have.

  As kids, we’d part on me shouting shut up and let me do it my way to his fine, do it your way and lose, you crazy buttwipe. As adults, there’s less shouting, but generally more eye-rolling.

  Until that last time.

  Over Christmas.

  He bends down and kisses my cheek. “I’ll miss you, schmoopsy-poo.” Quieter, he adds, “And we’re discussing this later.”

  “I’ll miss you too,” I say breathlessly.

  Monica loops her arm around mine and tugs gently, prodding me into falling into step beside her.

  Well, limp.

  These shoes were a terrible idea.

  I give Grady a quick, “Sorry about that,” over my shoulder, but he just grins and waves me off.

  “Good to see you happy, Ellie.”

  I don’t look at Wyatt.

  I can’t.

  “Why didn’t you ever tell me he was hot?” Monica asks, because she came into my life after Wyatt was already gone in the military, and I realize with a start that she’s never actually met him.

  “Most of my life, I didn’t look at him that way,” I answer honestly.

  “I’m gonna need this bubble bath story.”

  “I’m sure it’s nothing you’ve never done yourself,” I reply.

  “Your leg hurts, doesn’t it?”

  “What’s pain when I look like a million Spanish galleons?”

  She rolls her eyes, then glances back.

  I look back too, and spot Wyatt buying a foam sword for Tucker from a passing street vendor.

  Except he’s not buying just one.

  He’s buying two.

  He swings Tucker down, squats and holds his sword in the ready position, and then staggers in mock pain as Tucker gets him in the gut.

  “Right,” Monica murmurs, fanning herself. “Not hot at all.”

  That’s right.

  He’s not hot at all.

  I just have to pretend he is.

  It’s only four days. And barely a few little lies.

  It’ll all be just fine.

  Six

  Wyatt

  I don’t like leaving Ellie in Shipwreck, but she’s a grown-up, she’s with friends, and one of the guys from the bakery—Cooper? Fuck, I haven’t kept up with the Fireballs this year—came out to chat for a while during the parade, and while I won’t admit it to Ellie, he passed my gut test.

  Seems like a decent guy.

  So does his brother, Grady, who apologized again for the mix-up and told me I was a lucky guy.

  So she has good people looking out for her in a safe small town, and she’ll be okay.

  But after I read six bedtime stories with Tucker, promise we’ll go miniature golfing and try to dig up pirate treasure and look for the hidden peg leg that’s supposed to come with a treasure of its own tomorrow, and hug him tight because it’s so damn good to be able to hug him—video chat and phone calls aren’t the same, and now that he’s starting soccer and baseball, there’s less time to talk—I head to the living room to wait for Ellie to get back.

  It’s possible she won’t come back tonight.

  Cooper wasn’t shy with information, and while Tucker raked in candy, pirate rings, fake gemstones, and more from the floats passing by, I found out Ellie’s in town for her best friend’s wedding. Most of the wedding party is staying at the Shipwreck Inn. Her ex-boyfriend—I thought the Blond Caveman looked familiar—is the best man and
brought the woman he dumped her for just before her accident. Ellie’s been in town a lot the last six months—especially while she was recovering at first—and Cooper’s glad Beck sent someone to keep an eye on her while she’s feeling so lost.

  That last part is what has me dialing my buddy, even though I think he’s somewhere in Europe on a photo shoot and it’s probably two in the morning at the earliest wherever he is.

  Hell, I don’t even know if his cell number works in Europe.

  But, because he’s Beck, he answers on the second ring.

  “Wyatt, my man, what’s up? How’s the house?” Beck says in my ear.

  I glance at the mess in the kitchen, and I shove up to tackle it, because it’s annoying me. “Occupied.”

  Beck laughs. “If you’re there, it must be.”

  “Ellie’s here.”

  There’s silence, and for half a second, I think he’s going to pull the Connection’s breaking up card, but then he simply says, “Huh.”

  Not like he’s surprised.

  Not like he’s not either.

  I stack up plates, cups, mugs—someone likes tea, it seems—silverware and dirty napkins from the dining room and carry them into the kitchen.

  I don’t have room to call Beck on any bullshit—it’s my fault his sister was in a car accident that put her in the hospital for a month and still has her limping—but if he wants something from me, he damn well needs to come out and ask before I fuck this up.

  Again.

  “Ryder…”

  “You remember that year we played Trivial Pursuit over Christmas break and you and Ellie ended up having a ranch dressing fight in the snow?”

  “She called me a cheater.”

  “Bro, you did cheat.”

  “I did not.”

  “You memorized the cards.”

  “There was nothing else to read.”

  “Whatever. The point is, think of all the good memories. How about that time she went apeshit because you were using her art projects for target practice?”

  “You brought them out and didn’t mention they were—”

  “Good times, good times.” He sighs happily. “Man, I wish I could be there with you guys. Wonder if you’d wrestle me over Frogger again like that time—”

  “What the fuck are you smoking?”

  “Fresh air, man. The best fresh night air Spain has to offer. You ever been to Spain? It’s fucking gorgeous.”

  Fucker’s avoiding my questions.

  He knew Ellie would be here. And he knows we can’t stand each other. I stifle a growl of frustration while I plug the sink, squirt soap in, and flip on the faucet.

  “I found her in the bathtub,” I grit out. I can tell him I found her in the bathroom, but I will not confess to my best friend that we’ve gone a lot farther than that.

  Being friends with Beck Ryder saved my life, and it doesn’t matter if we go a few months without talking, that will never change.

  Nor will I ever do anything to potentially fuck it up again.

  I keep waiting for Ellie to tell him, for him to turn on me, but apparently she either doesn’t remember or doesn’t want him to know.

  So I’m not going to tell him either.

  “You found her in the bathtub? Doing Jell-O shots or something?”

  Beck might play the egotistical, idiot underwear model, but I’ve known him for too many years for me to fall for this bullshit. “Naked.”

  “Ah. Yeah, that makes more sense. Were you naked too?”

  “Christ on a butter knife, you jackass. Who asks that?”

  “Wyatt. You’re my bro. You think we’d be friends if I didn’t think you were good enough for my sister? Nah, man. I’ve seen how you two look at each other. Far be it from me to interfere.”

  I’m momentarily speechless, because I didn’t think that was how the bro code worked. And Beck and a few other guys we grew up with made a name for themselves as the band Bro Code for a lot of years.

  So don’t tell me the bro code isn’t important to him.

  It’s everything.

  He’s gotta be fucking with me, so I go with the easy response. “She looks at me like she’d like to slice out my kidneys and roast them over a campfire.”

  “Young love, man. Young love is beautiful.”

  “Ryder.”

  “Dude. It ever occur to you that maybe it would mean a lot to me if one of my best buddies could finally just suck it up and get along with my sister? Is that too much to ask?”

  I briefly consider Levi or Davis or one of the Rivers brothers asking Ellie on a date, and I decide it doesn’t matter that they, too, are like brothers to me, I’d smash all their faces in.

  “What the fuck’s actually going on?” I ask.

  I wash six glasses while I wait for him to answer, and when he finally does, I wish I hadn’t asked.

  “You know that accident Ellie was in?”

  The pit of my stomach drops just like it did when I got his text the day after I fucked up. “We all know about Ellie’s accident, man.”

  “She’s been…reserved since then.”

  “She wasn’t fucking reserved when she punched me for trying to save her from drowning and then dunked me in the tub,” I say dryly.

  “Really? That’s great!”

  I swipe a hand over my face, because I’m getting annoyed. Beck’s always lived in his own world, but this is extreme, even for him. “She dropped her phone in the tub, so it might be a while before she calls to bitch you out.”

  “Even better,” he says cheerfully.

  “Push comes to shove, she tells me to leave, you know I’m gone.”

  “Whoa, whoa, hold up.” Beck’s suddenly serious as banana pudding, which is pretty fucking serious in these parts. “Okay, okay. Yes, I knew Ellie was going to be there. That’s why I kept talking up the pirate festival for Tucker. She…needs you.”

  “Your sister. Eleanor I can do it myself Ryder. She needs me.”

  “Wyatt. She doesn’t know it, but yeah, she needs you. She’s just—she hasn’t been herself since the accident. And that prick Patrick dumping her right at the holidays for his neighbor—she’s always had this life plan, you know? Finish school, take over for Mom and Dad, get married, have three kids, live happily ever after. But it’s all…I mean, work’s good. It’s about all she does anymore. I told you she qualified to run the New York City Marathon this year, didn’t I? Qualified back before the accident. Now she can’t do it. She’s just…it’s like she’s giving up. She puts on the show, but she doesn’t talk about her plans anymore like she used to.”

  I grunt, because yeah, Ellie was always making plans. When I’m in high school, I’m going to be on the soccer team. When I’m in college, I’m going to make the Dean’s list. When I go to work for Mom and Dad, I’m going to convince City Hall to hire us to make the building green. When I get married, I’m going to have two-point-four kids and a dog and a parakeet named Sue.

  “You know what I’m talking about,” Beck says. “And the thing is…you irritate the shit out of her. So maybe…I don’t know. Just give her something normal. Annoy her until she starts planning on annoying you back. And I know she’s there at that wedding with her dickweed ex too. Drop-kick him for me a couple times, would you?”

  I drop a clean plate into the drying rack before it registers that Ellie hasn’t been cleaning her own dishes.

  Ellie doesn’t leave messes. She’s too type A for that.

  Something is wrong. “You know there’s something really fucked up about asking me to irritate your sister.”

  “I wouldn’t trust another soul for this job. Because I know you won’t hurt her. Irritate the fuck out of her, yeah. But hurt her? Not you, man.”

  Fucking damn it.

  I already did that, didn’t I?

  “Are you serious?”

  “Everyone’s treating her with kid gloves. She needs to know she can still do stuff.”

  “She’s down in town in high heel pir
ate boots. I think she knows she can still do stuff.”

  “Yeah, and I’m just a dumbass egomaniac who models underwear.”

  Right. The Ryders know how to put on a face for the world. Doesn’t mean that’s the real story.

  “I’m not going to try to pick fights with your sister to make her feel better.” Especially not when she’s just told the bride that I’m her fucking boyfriend.

  Which I’m still in denial about, because I’m not spending this week confusing my kid.

  But I don’t like how her ex was looking at her.

  I don’t want to let him think she’s easy pickings right now either.

  Beck laughs. “Like you have to try to irritate her. Just be you. It’ll happen.”

  “Why don’t you try to annoy her?”

  “Can’t. She’s my baby sister, and she’s hurt. My instinct is to protect and save.”

  “You just asked me to annoy her.”

  “That’s different. Plus, it was Levi’s idea. Fuck, I thought you two loved each other. I forgot all those times she threw dog poop at you when we were playing volleyball and you tried to help her serve better.”

  I can’t believe I’m smiling over that memory, but here we are. “I was honestly surprised the day I heard she actually graduated college without getting arrested.”

  “Mom says she never found where she fit in. Toss in teenage hormones and having us for role models, and she was basically doomed. But I think Levi’s right. She always hated you the most.”

  “Appreciate that.”

  “She can’t go too hard on you. Not with Tucker around. She loves kids.”

  And I can’t go too hard on her.

  Not with Tucker around.

  Kid needs a good role model, not a fucked-up one. Especially since I know his mother’s dating again.

  But the only thing I learned about being a good role model, I learned from my buddies’ fathers. Not my own.

  “She’s gonna be okay, Beck,” I tell him. “She’s too stubborn not to be.”

  “Thanks, man. I owe you one.”

  “No, you don’t.”

  “Quit being a pain in the ass. And don’t beat my high score on Frogger or I’ll ship you a box of dicks at work.”

  “You coming home anytime this summer?”

  “Sometime.”

  “Swing by Georgia when you do. I need you to show Tucker that all these pillows and cardboard cutouts of you are airbrushed so he doesn’t get body image issues. And bring your baby book. The one with the picture of you swimming in cake with your baby belly hanging over your diaper.”