Page 31 of Love Everlasting

The edge of his mouth flickered with a near smile despite his narrow gaze. “You’re a bigger bully than old Mrs. Cranston in the third grade, O’Bryen, you know that? And she was the meanest teacher I ever had.”

“Yeah?” Shannon grabbed the lobe of his ear. “Well, ol’ Mrs. C.’s gonna look like a field trip when I’m done with you, Dr. Love, so buck up or back out.” She gave his ear a hard tweak. “I want you to promise me right now, buster, that you will keep your mitts off of Jasmine whether she comes on to you or not.”

“Ouch!” He slapped her hand away, broiling her with a mock glare. “I think I prefer the stilettos.”

“It can be arranged, bucko, if you even think about crossing me, so I want your word now—hands off the ex, got it?”

“Hands?” He splayed a palm to his heart, a devious smile sprouting on his lips. “Consider it done.”

She nabbed his chin again, holding it tight. “Hands, lips, nose, body, and every other trick you have in the little black book of yours, Doc, capiche? No moves whatsoever.” She let him go, shoulders squaring with a firm fold of arms. “Unless, of course,” she said with a measured smile, “that’s too difficult for you?”

He swallowed the dare like a carp on dog food. “Bring-it,” he bit out.

“Good.” She swiveled forward to watch the game, the progress they’d made making her hungry. “Then you can thank me with another hot dog and DP. And don’t skimp on the relish this time.”

He rose with a chuckle, swiping up the trash on his way. “Sure thing, Mrs. O.,” he said, staring down with a slack of his hip. “Anything else?”

“Yeah.” She peered up with a tilt of her head, shading her eyes with her hand. “One final tip. If you ever play mini-golf with Jazz …” She battled a grin that just itched to break free, already plotting chapter sixteen in her mind. “For the love of all that’s humble and sweet, Doc,” she said with a wry twist of her lips, “for once in your do-or-die life—let the poor woman win.”

Chapter Seventeen

Crash!

Sam jolted at his desk when his closed door banged hard against the wall in an office where he’d thought everyone had gone home.

“So help me, Cunningham, I will take you out right now if you’re hitting on my sister.” Jack stormed in with fire in his eyes, slamming the door behind him with another bang that jangled Sam’s nerves. He strode forward and yanked one of the chairs in front of Sam’s desk out of the way with a clatter while Sam shot to his feet, hand raised to quell Jack’s temper.

“Calm down, Jack, Shannon and I are only friends, I swear.”

“Don’t give me that garbage,” Jack hissed, palms flat on the front of Sam’s desk as he leaned in, the tic in his temple keeping time with the rapid thud of Sam’s heart. “That’s classic ‘Cunningham 101: Friends with Benefits,’ you slime ball, and I ought to tear you limb from limb for even glancing at my sister.”

“Hey, man, it’s your fault in the first place,” Sam said, standing his ground with his own searing glare. “You’re the one who had her drive me home from the fundraiser, O’Bryen, so can I help it if Shannon’s an amazing listener? One who parses a problem down to size with some of the most honest, real advice anyone has ever given me?”

The tic slowed as Jack’s eyes narrowed to slits. “Like take a flying leap off a tall building?”

Uh, yeah. Or from the front seat of a car ... Sam’s eyes softened as he absently rubbed the center of his chest, the memory of Shannon’s stilettos tugging a sheepish smile to his lips. “As a matter of fact, Jack, yes—among a few other choice barbs, so trust me, I got the point.

Permanently tattooed on my chest.

Jack rose to his full height, a twitter in his cheek confirming that his anger still simmered dangerously close to the surface. “I want the truth, Ham—did you hit on Shannon?”

The fire in Jack’s eyes was apparently catching because Sam felt it whoosh up the back of his neck. Nope, more like the other way around …

Smile fading, Sam sucked in a deep draw of air, figuring he owed Jack the truth. He cuffed the back of his neck, slowly taking his seat. “I won’t lie to you, Jack—I did kiss Shannon out of appreciation for taking me home, making me breakfast, and talking some sense into me, but I swear, it was nothing more than an innocent kiss.” The heat from his neck crawled up into his face at how close he’d come to way more if Shannon had been willing.

Jack slanted in again, hands knuckle-white on Sam’s desk. “Then why does your face look like the backside of a baboon?” he said in a slow, deadly voice, rife with warning.

Avoiding Jack’s burning gaze, Sam swallowed a knot of nerves, his Adam’s apple chugging so many times, he thought it was broke. “Because it was a” —gulp—“really nice kiss,” Sam said with a croak, “that made me want more, but I assure you Shannon nipped that in the bud right away when she pummeled my chest with her stilettos and kicked me out of her car.” He swallowed hard. “Literally. Right on my baboon butt.”

Jack blinked, a smile twitching at the corners of his mouth as he quietly straightened. “No kidding?”

Sam grunted, a sheepish grin sliding across his face. “Yeah, man, with divots that would make a nine iron proud. So trust me, Jack—I ain’t going down that road ever again.”

“Trust you?” Jack said with a flash of teeth, apparently satisfied enough to drop into Sam’s chair with hands braced to the back of his neck. “Not in a million years, Ham, but I will admit it’s awfully good to hear that Shan can take care of herself.”

“And then some, I assure you.” Sam reached into his mini-fridge under his desk to grab two Red Bulls and sat down, closing his computer before tossing one at Jack, who caught it handily. “So, when I say Shannon and I are only friends, man, I mean it. And to be honest?” He popped the tab. “Shannon’s too important of a friend now to risk screwing that up, especially since she’s a genius when it comes to coaching me on how to get Jazz back.” Smiling, he raised a toast. “You wouldn’t believe the strides I’m making with Jazz, and all because of your brilliant sister.”

Jack toasted him back and took a healthy swig, throat glugging as he watched Sam over the rim of the can. “Man, that hits the spot—thanks.” He rested his arms on the chair, bracing the can while he relaxed his head on the back. “So I don’t need to break your legs?”