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“She’s just a what?” Rick prompted.
“You know,” Tucker said. “She’s just…”
God, he wanted to smack that look off Betty’s face. The girl was a shit disturber if he’d ever seen one. How the hell did Beau put up with that crap?
“She’s hot,” Betty piped in, as if reading his mind.
Tucker glared at her now. “She’s not hot. She’s just a girl who works in a bar all right? Nothing more. I barely know her.”
Betty’s eyes went wide as she looked behind him, and the hairs on the back of his neck told him that he’d crossed a line. Hell, if he was reading the situation right, he’d more than crossed a line—he’d fucking jumped over it.
“Tucker’s right. We’re just casual friends. Nothing more.”
Fuck. Me .
There was a tone in Abby’s voice, and it was one he recognized. It was the same tone she used for the losers in the bar when they got a little too familiar and pissed her off.
Abby paused a few inches away and damn if his heart didn’t start to race at the sight of her. The clothes he’d had Betty grab in the pro-shop fit her like a glove—a cream sleeveless top tucked into black shorts that showed off those fine legs of hers. Her hair was pulled back into a loose ponytail, the color was high on her cheeks and her mouth was glossy and wet looking.
Her eyes though, they told a different story. God, he hadn’t finished breakfast yet and already he was in trouble. That had to be some kind of record, even for Tucker.
“Well he sure as hell is wrong about one thing,” Rick said with a smile as he stood and glanced down at Abby. “You’re definitely hot.”
“Think so?” Abby replied without missing a beat. Which made sense. The girl was used to dealing with flirty types every single shift at the bar. Tucker had watched her in action for the last year.
“Damn right I do,” Maverick replied with a wink.
Rick motioned for her to take the seat he’d just vacated, an
d Tucker glared at Betty Jo while Abby slid in beside him.
“I’m Maverick Simon, but everyone calls me Rick, you know, cuz Maverick is a mouthful.”
“Maverick? That’s a different name.” Abby poured herself a glass of orange juice and turned slightly so that she faced Rick and not Tucker.
“You can thank his mother for that one,” Beau said with a grin. “She’s had a lifelong obsession with Tom Cruise and fighter pilots ever since Top Gun. I’m Beau, by the way, and I guess you’ve already met Betty.”
Abby had to turn back in order to look at Beau properly, and Tucker watched as the blush in her cheeks deepened. “It’s nice to meet you,” she said softly.
God, here we go. The Beau Simon effect is what he called it. His brother smiled and their panties got all knotted up and twisted. Normally it didn’t bother him, he knew it was the whole celebrity thing—the celebrity thing that was over and above just being a Simon. But right now? It pissed him off.
“So, what time are we teeing off?” Tucker asked, pushing his chair back. He wasn’t in the mood to eat and he sure as hell wasn’t in the mood to watch Rick salivate over Abby or Abby get all gun-shy around his brother.
What he wanted to do was to get Abby alone so he could explain why he was being such a dick. He needed to make her understand that the stupid shit coming out of his mouth was just…stupid crap that didn’t mean anything. So he wasn’t exactly sure why he was being such an asshole—he was quick on the draw—he’d figure it out.
“Man, we gotta go,” Rick said, glancing at his watch. “I’m teeing off in twenty minutes, and you guys are right behind us.”
“Who’re you buddying up with?” Tucker asked.
Rick got to his feet. “Your brother Jack and...” He scratched his chin, eyebrows raised. “Chloe?”
“No,” Beau replied. “Chloe’s like three months ago.”
“Huh, I missed that crash and burn. Who’s he seeing these days?” Rick asked.
“Monique Patterson,” Beau and Tucker said together. Monique—or Mo as Tuck and Beau liked to call her mostly because she didn’t like it—was the heir to a massive communications company. She was born and bred in the Hamptons, came from a lot of money and spent most of her time working on various committees and charities. A spitting image of her French mother, she was educated, beautiful in a cool, reserved kind of way, more than halfway snobbish and perfect for an up-and-coming politician.
She was also boring as hell, and Tucker was glad he wasn’t in their foursome.
