Page 41 of Big Dill

Brody serves first. They volley for a while, both playing well, and when Brody scores, he gloats just enough to be annoying.

And… fine.

Adorable.

I watch the game unfold, and they’re both really good. I’d actually love to see them play as a team. Maybe even travel with them. Alberta isn’t that far. I could be their equipment manager. Their stylist. Their personal brand visionary.

Because honestly, they look like they got dressed in the dark at two different garage sales.

The game ends—Brody wins by two—and they meet at the net. Then Jaxon turns and looks straight at me.

Oh no.

“Any questions?” he asks.

Was I really supposed to be paying attention?

I’d been far more focused on their outfits—and my drink. Seriously, how did he get the kale this smooth? Sorcery.

I’ll have to tell my bestie Lauren about this drink. I have to, in fact, tell her a lot of things. We’ve exchanged a few texts but I’ve yet to tell her about Brody. I’m not sure why. Maybe I just want to keep it close to my heart for now.

“Got it all figured out,” I say brightly, giving a dismissive little finger wave. “Some would now consider me an expert.”

Brody smirks. “Come play with us.”

Crap.

I do not want them witnessing the tragic decline of my cardiovascular fitness. Things sort of… slid downhill after Tristan. I glance down at my boobs. Not downhill yet, but gravity is patient. Gravity always wins.

“I would,” I say, scrambling. “But rules say two or four players, and we’re at three. So. Tragic.”

Well done, Jami.

While I congratulate myself on my quick thinking the front doors open and as if right on cue, a woman in her mid-thirties, dressed much like everyone else walks by.

“Hey, Amanda, join us,” Jaxon calls, waving her over. “You and me against my sister and Brody. Let’s show them how it’s done.”

She nods and walks over to Jaxon.

I glare at her.

Fantastic.

Way to ruin my life, Amanda.

10

Brody

Jami closes her laptop and pushes back from the kitchen table. “You do Sunday dinner every Sunday?” she asks, like the concept of families sitting around a table weekly is alien.

“No, sometimes we do it on Saturday.”

“Oh.” She frowns, setting her glass in the dishwasher. I lean against the counter, biting back a grin as I let my words land.

She casts me a fast glance. “Wouldn’t that be Saturday dinner?”

Jaxon and I laugh. He throws an arm around her. “Can’t get anything by you. Right freaking smart, you are.”