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Julian looked me over. “Yes, you are.”
Brooks cleared his throat. “Did you need to talk to me?”
Julian reached into his pocket and pulled out two tickets. “I just scored some Rangers tickets for this evening. Home plate, brother. You in?”
Brooks stretched his neck from side to side. I could tell he was torn.
“You should go,” I encouraged him. “Those are great seats, and they’re playing the Astros again.”
Julian grinned at me. “You a baseball fan?”
“A big one.”
Brooks flashed me smile. He knew he was to blame for that.
Julian looked between Brooks and me with interest. “I know my sister doesn’t understand the importance of sports, but she’ll get over it. I mean, you might be in the doghouse for a long time, but it will be worth it,” Julian taunted him.
Tom and I looked at each other and rolled our eyes. I knew we were thinking the same thing. Morgan was a controlling wench, and Brooks was an idiot.
Brooks blew out a deep breath. “I have court tomorrow, so I need to prepare. I’m going to pass.”
Tom and I gave a collective sigh.
“If you’re sure.” Julian shoved the tickets back into his pocket before he set his sights on me. “Gracie, I believe I owe you dinner. How would you like to eat it at the ballpark tonight? Say, behind home plate?”
I bit my lip. “Um.”
Brooks shot Julian a look of pure loathing.
Tom’s eyes darted between Brooks, Julian, and me. A big ol’ grin erupted on his unshaven salt-and-pepper face. “I think that s . . . sounds like a g . . . great idea. You should g . . . go, darlin’.”
“Yes, darlin’, you should come with me,” Julian echoed.
I did love baseball. And with Julian I would have no long-term expectations because I already knew he loved himself more than anyone else and had been married way too many times for my comfort. So this would just be for fun, I reasoned. As an added plus, Brooks looked oh so agitated by it. His face was redder than his polo shirt, and he kept tugging on his collar. It was probably evil of me, but I found myself wanting to vex Brooks. “I would love to eat dinner behind home plate. Just so you know, I can eat a lot.”
“That’s my kind of woman. Have Brooks text me your number. I’ll call you later to make plans.”
“Okay.”
“See y’all later.” Julian waved. “I’m off to deliver a baby.”
As soon as Julian closed the door, Brooks started in on me. “You’re not seriously considering going out with him, are you?”
“You just heard me tell him yes. And it’s not my style to agree to go on a date and then back out.”
“Ouch,” Tom whispered.
Yeah, I knew what a kill shot that was, and I should really just get over it, but I couldn’t help myself.
Brooks growled, like actually growled. “We will get into the past later, but going out with him isn’t a good idea.”
“It’s only a baseball game. One you should have gone to.”
He blew a breath out of his nose like a raging bull. “You don’t understand my life.”
“You’re right,” I whispered. I didn’t understand his kowtowing to Morgan and how hardened he had become.
“Just be careful around him.” He stormed off.
“Wow. What was that all about?” I commented after the door slammed.
Tom chuckled. “You don’t know?”
“What’s so funny?”
Tom rested his dry, aged hand on my cheek. “G . . . Gracie girl, I h . . . have a f . . . feeling your life is about to get in . . . interesting.”
“How so?”
“I’m th . . . thinking you’re g . . . going to have some options on who to t . . . take to the reunion.”
“Julian?”
“And Brooks.” He wagged his bushy brows.
“I think the medication they have you on has made you loopy.”
“I d . . . don’t think so, darlin’. B . . . Buckle up. I think you’re in for a wild ride.”
I was thinking more like he was delusional.Chapter FourteenI closed my eyes and leaned my head back, enjoying the light breeze and evening sun through my SPF 150. “It’s perfect baseball weather.”
“It’s almost a shame they’ll be in a climate-controlled stadium next year,” Julian commented.
I flipped down my shades and turned toward him. “Almost, except when it’s a hundred degrees and one hundred percent humidity.”
“True,” he chuckled.
I liked his laugh—it was masculine with a hint of mischief. And he laughed often, if you could judge that from the car ride over. Apparently, I was amusing. Or at least he thought my obsession with Rick Springfield was funny. I may or may not have given him a concert on the way over. I appreciated that he let me put on my playlist in his fancy car. Doctors must make a lot more money than I do. His car had more buttons than a fabric store.
