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“But if it’s the sister, you do?” Northmore looks at him.
“I mean… is she single?” Garner grins. “I don’t mind sharing.”
“Fucking hell. Let the man speak,” Ramsey grouches.
“So?” Northmore asks.
“Neither. My brother’s ex.” I shrug but I feel like every thought I’ve ever had about her is showing on my face given the way they react.
“That’s not better. That’s…” Ramsey raises his eyebrows with a look of admonishment.
“I didn’t fuck her. I just said I ran into her. Damn.” I give them all a shut-the-fuck-up look.
“We’re just fucking with you.” Northmore gives me his own what-the-fuck look and returns to his story about the fish they caught until we’re surrounded by the married men on our team, living vicariously through Northmore’s very obviously exaggerated tale of the rest of his evening at sea.
“Less of the fucking, maybe? We got kids here.” One of the other guys who’s just joined says, and I decide to wander off on my own and let the guys do their off-season humble bragging without me.
I check on Lizzy, who’s still outside half playing something on her phone and half invested in a conversation happening with some other kids her age. It’s really not fair to call her a kid anymore. She’s getting so grown up, and by the end of the summer, I wonder if I’ll recognize her anymore. Her mom’s already told me she’s planning some sort of pre-high school makeover with her friends, which is a lot to stomach on its own because my girl has always been a tomboy at heart—all messy hair, stomping through creeks, playing video games in oversized T-shirts and baggy jeans. But recently, she’s mentioned boys names she knows and talked about them in hushed tones in the back seat of my car with her friends in a way that says she sees them as more than video game buddies, and I am one hundred percent not ready for that.
When I turn the corner, our tight end, Easton Westfield’s standing there looking disgruntled as he sips a drink and glances back out across the room. I raise a brow at him in question.
“The Undergroves continue to annoy me,” he gripes, referring to our new coach and his nephew, our new quarterback, Quentin Undergrove.
“Sorry?” I shrug, only partially committed to the apology. “I don’t think Quentin’s half bad now that I’ve had more of a chance to know him.”
I already struck up a friendship with him, and I honestly like the guy. He seems like a straight shooter and, for all the talk about him being a grumpy asshole with a chip on his shoulder, he’s been laid-back and friendly enough when we’ve gone out for dinner after practice. Plus, he played with my brother back in Pittsburgh. If Quentin could get along with Rob, I imagine he could get along with most of the guys here. Because my brother is a self-assured, self-centered prick when he wants to be, especially when he’s in a locker room after a win. Easton’s easygoing as fuck in comparison, so the two of them not getting along is a little surprising, even with the bitter family history between the Undergroves and Westfields.
“Not trying to fuck your sister, is he?” Easton grumbles.
“No. But your sister’s grown. I think she can make those decisions for herself, can’t she?”
“Course she fuckin’ can, but doesn’t mean I don’t worry about her. She takes on a lot, and her trying to make him the city’s darling lover boy is asking too much. Even with her PR skills.”
I imagine that’s why Trix is here. Easton’s sister, Madison, has called in reinforcements, and Trix has her own sent of PR skills that saved my brother more than once.
“From what I’ve heard, they’re already making some progress.” Quentin couldn’t say enough good things about Madison, and for her part, she was working hard to make him a household name here.
East shoots me a look, and I give him another shrug in return.
“The two of you would get along,” he says sarcastically. I know the Undergrove presence here has him on edge and that the history between those families is long and bitter, but I also know Easton can roll with the punches when he has to.
“Like I said, set your family shit aside… You might like him.”
“We’ll see. We’re stuck with him one way or the other, so he better at least be able to throw a decent ball.”
“You know he can.”
“He’s not a top three,” Easton argues.
“No. But that doesn’t mean shit if we’ve got the right guys playing and moving the ball.”
East’s mouth flatlines, and he chugs the rest of his drink, tossing the container into the recycling bin.
“Like I said. We’ll see,” he repeats. “Gonna look for Wren. See if she needs anything or if she’ll at least get off her feet for a minute. I’ll catch up with you later.” He gives me a half smile and a nod, and then he’s off to find his pregnant wife.
A short while later, I find myself in the buffet line with Lizzy while she grabs the food she wants, and I help hold a plate of desserts for her. The girl has a mean sweet tooth just like I do, and I love her for it because it’s meant she’s always been game for late-night trips to get ice cream or eating donuts for breakfast all weekend. Things her mother overlooks in the name of positive coparenting.
“Oh, and they have s’mores outside!” She whirls around with her plate and grins at me. “Do you think Trix is around here? I want her to sit with us. I can’t believe she’s seriously here.” Lizzy’s eyes dart around the room, and they must catch on her because she grins even brighter.
