I was put on cornhole duty, and honestly, I was grateful for the task. Maggie set me up at a table with a list and an envelope for money. People were buying in for doubles tournament play for five bucks each. The winnings would go to the top two teams. Pairs would be chosen at random, and a bracket would be made by Maggie herself. I was just supposed to sit there and take the money and write down the names.
Fifteen minutes into my appointment, Patty, Mac’s mom, brought me a huge plate of food. “Sorry you got put to work, Brady. I can take over for you if you’d like.”
I smiled, genuinely this time. Patty was a sweet one—must be where Bonnie got it from. “No, ma’am. I like staying busy. It keeps me out of trouble.”
She patted my shoulder. “I’ll be back with dessert for you.”
Before I could stop her, off she went.
As I sat alone at the table with my clipboard, I didn’t catch sight of Mac again.
Eventually, Maggie made her way back to me. “Oh, shoot,” she said, eyeing the sign-up list. “We have an odd number. You’ll play, won’t you, Brady?”
Damn it, I did not want to play cornhole. I was hoping Candace and Mark were ready to go. But when I did a quick search of the area, I found my sister over at the beer pong table chugging away.
Resisting a pained groan, I replied, “Uh, sure. I can do that.”
Maggie smiled at me and patted my cheek. “Thanks, sweet pea. I owe you one.”
Well, it turned out Maggie Clark owed me more than one. She owed me an explanation for the knife in my back, because when she announced the pairsfor the cornhole tournament ten minutes later, my name was right next to Mac’s.
I stood staring at the neat lettering on the chalkboard and tried to figure out how the hell I was going to get out of this.
“Maggie,” I said.
She gave me a distracted “Hmm?” from where she sat, handing out beanbags and organizing the chaos.
The giant Jenga blocks and the bocce- and ladder-ball equipment on the side lawn had been moved to make room for the eight pairs of wooden boards facing one another with some twenty-odd feet in between.
“Maggie,” I tried again. “I don’t think this is a good idea. I don’t think I can play after all. Can you find a replacement for me?”
She checked off something on her clipboard before smiling sweetly at me. “No.”
I blinked in surprise.
She was already back to handing out beanbags as people shuffled in and around me.
I opened my mouth to respond, sure I’d misunderstood her, when a voice came from behind me.
“What’s the matter, Judd? Afraid you don’t have what it takes?”
My jaw clenched, and I turned to find Mac casually tossing a red beanbag in one hand. Her grin was all challenge, and, for the life of me, I couldn’t figure out why she wasn’t trying to get out of this forced partnership too.
“No,” I said reflexively. Old habits die hard, apparently.
“Good. Because I always make it to the final. Let’s do this.” She threw the bag and spun on her heel.
I probably would have caught the damn thing if I hadn’t been staring at her ass in those shorts. Instead, it bounced off my chest and hit the ground.
Sighing, I retrieved the bag and followed her to our assigned lane, dread and misgiving keeping me company.
How could she be fine with this? Did she really think we could go back to the way we were? I didn’t want to bicker and fight. Hell, it was hard enough to look at her. I figured if I tried to carry on a conversation, or God forbid, trash-talk, then I’d probably lose all my resolve and beg her to give me another chance.
Our opponents were already waiting for us.
“Hi, honey!” My mom waved from beside the far board facing the lake.
I approached, and she gave me a tight hug around the waist. “Mom, have you ever even played cornhole?”
