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Blake groaned. He wasn’t going to use his leg to pick up chicks. He’d rather just get to the point where it wasn’t a big deal anymore. When the scars faded and he had a state championship under his belt, maybe people would think about something else.
“So, how’d it go with you two?”
“Excuse me?”
“I mean, how’d it go with your leg,” Grant clarified. “Please don’t give me details about anything else.”
“It was fine. It held up much better than the last time, so I can see an improvement. We were able to go several rounds without a problem. I paid for it in the morning, though. I woke up hurting, even after taking a couple of pills before falling asleep. And after I took her home that afternoon, I spent the rest of the day alternating between the whirlpool and sitting on the couch icing my knee.”
“Sounds pretty rough, but congratulations on going all night with a rock star. Next time, maybe she can be on top and make it easier on you,” Grant suggested with a devious wiggle of his brow.
“You’re a pervert.”
“I’m practical. Again, there is a difference.”
“Thanks for the tip.” Blake focused on his breakfast. He needed to finish and get to the high school. A reporter from the Birmingham newspaper was calling to interview him about the fund-raiser before first period.
“Hey,” Grant said as their plates were cleared from the counter, “did you figure out whatever happened at the parade?”
Blake sighed. He’d let that worry slip from his mind with everything else going on. “I did, although I can’t prove it.”
“Who was it?”
Looking around again and making sure Ruth was in the kitchen, Blake leaned into his brother. “It was Lydia. I confronted her after you took Ivy home.”
“She admitted to it?” Grant asked, his eyes large and disbelieving.
“No. But I saw the guilt on her face. She wants me, and Ivy is in the way.” He shrugged. “I don’t think she intended for anyone to get hurt. Just embarrassed, maybe.”
“But you can’t prove it?”
Blake slipped off his stool and threw some money onto the counter. “I don’t think so.”
“You know, with all those reporters in town, I bet they took a million photos that day.” Grant tugged on his jacket and shed his wallet out of his back pocket. “Maybe one of them caught Lydia in the act.”
That was a thought. He didn’t relish the idea of working with the camera-toting leeches, but Grant was right. Maybe they could actually prove useful. “And if they did,” Blake asked, “what do I do with the evidence? Turn it over to the police?”
Grant gave a wry chuckle. “If Lydia were stalking me, I’d use it as blackmail to get her to leave me the hell alone.”
Chapter 16
“Okay, that house is like something straight out of an old Civil War movie.”
Ivy walked out onto the porch, where Malcolm was standing and looking across the lake at the Chamberlain mansion. “Yes, well, the sets in Civil War movies were based on actual antebellum homes, of which that is one.”
“The architecture is amazing. Have you ever been inside?”
“Yes. I was there the other day for a tea party. It’s beautiful inside. They really should give tours, but the family is extremely private. My high school boyfriend’s family still lives there.”
“It’s Blake’s old house, huh? Amazing. Even from here, I can see the detail work in the columns.” Malcolm turned to her. “Is your parents’ home anything like that?”
At that, Ivy chuckled. “Not even close. The rest of us live in smaller, respectable but not very exciting homes.”
“That’s a shame.” He took his first sip of the mint julep he’d begged Ivy to make and winced. “That is awful.” Malcolm set the glass down on the little table and turned back to the Chamberlain mansion. “You should buy that house,” he added, almost as an afterthought.
Ivy flopped down into one of the rocking chairs and laughed. “Even if I wanted to buy it, it’s not for sale. The entire Chamberlain family would have to be wiped out in a freak accident for such a travesty to occur.”
“Then build a replica of it in Malibu.”
