Page 13 of The Mr. Right Checklist

“Marsh, you and Fletch need some game with the ladies. You could take some pointers from my students,” Jimmy says, and passes the ball to Chuck.

I intercept it, dribbling toward the basket with Chuck on my heels. “You teach phys ed to elementary school kids. What’re we going to learn? How to pass notes?” I go for the shot, and Chuck knocks the ball out of my hands. “Ass,” I say as Jimmy snags it and dribbles toward the basket, but Marshall is all over him.

“Seriously, though,” Jimmy says, trying to get around Marshall. “The other day the fifth graders were playing volleyball. This one kid has got a big-time crush on a girl in his class. She was afraid of being hit by the ball, so he kept diving in front of her and batting the ball away from her. The little dude earned my respect.”

“The kid’s got a lot to learn,” Chuck says. “Good dates end with the girl’s hand on the ball, not your own.”

Jimmy laughs and takes the shot, but Marshall jumps up just before it reaches the net, knocking it across the court. Chuck and I sprint for it, and just as I get my hands on it, Chuck knocks into me, and the ball flies off the court.

“Come on, man,” I grit out. “That was a dick move.”

“It was an accident,” Chuck claims, and we all give him shit, grabbing our water bottles as he retrieves the ball.

A little while—and several points—later, I’m dribbling down the court. The score is tied, and my brothers are being their mouthy selves. Jimmy hollers as I take a shot. We all watch the ball arc through the air. Go in, go in, go in. It swishes through the net. Marshall and I cheer and gloat as Jimmy and Chuck bitch and moan, and a cheery feminine voice with a Southern drawl cuts through the air.

“Woo-hoo! Nice shot, Fletch!”

What the . . . ? I turn around and see Destiny, wearing pink overall shorts, a white T-shirt, and sneakers, which makes her look awfully young again, and insanely cute. She’s carrying an enormous yellow tote bag over her shoulder. Her hair is loose and a little messy, and she’s grinning from ear to ear. Those enticingly plump lips send my mind sprinting back to that damn kiss.

She waves. “Hey, Fletch. Hi, y’all.”

She’s ridiculously happy, but knowing all that she’s been through gives me a new appreciation for that cheeriness.

The guys say, “Hi,” in unison, looking at me curiously.

“Is that your stage-five clinger?” Chuck asks quietly as she saunters over.

“No. She’s the proposal planner . . . and Molly’s groomer.”

“The bow girl?” Jimmy asks.

“Damn, man,” Chuck says. “Set me up.”

I feel a niggle of jealousy, and it pisses me off. I glower at him.

“I didn’t know you meant you were playing at this park,” Destiny says sweetly. “I got to the coffee shop early and thought I’d take a walk before we met up. Imagine my surprise when I saw y’all playing.” She sets those expressive hazel eyes on me. “Look at you all buff and jockish.” She looked at the others. “You boys are good.” Her gaze lingers on Marshall.

I watch her admiring his tattoos, and her Ken doll / G.I. Joe comment suddenly becomes crystal clear. That niggle of jealousy turns into a spear, and I grit my teeth against it.

“This is the only park in town,” Marshall points out.

Her brow furrows. “Really? That’s a darn shame. Parks are so pretty. I think towns should have loads of them.” She holds out her hand. “I’m Destiny, by the way.”

“Marshall.” He shakes her hand, his jaw tightening. “Did you say Destiny?”

“Sure did. Why? Do I look like someone you know? Everyone says I look like someone they know.”

“No. It was my daughter’s name,” Marshall says.

Damn it. I’m about to cut in, when Destiny touches Marshall’s arm and says, “Was?”

“She’s no longer with us.”

Sadness washes over her features. “I am so sorry for your loss. I lost my daddy last year, and I know how cripplin’ grief can be. But I’m sure your little angel is smiling down on you.”

I notice her drawl thickening, and I have the urge to put my hand on her back and say something to ease that pain. The impulse takes me by surprise, and I try to squash it.

“Thank you. I hope she is.” Marshall’s voice is thick with emotion.