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“Ah, shit,” Rick murmured and Tucker couldn’t help but grin.
“Who’s your partner?” Tucker asked as he too got to his feet and moved back a few inches so that Abby could follow suit.
Rick’s eyes followed Abby, and, irritated, Tucker’s voice was maybe a tad too loud. But he couldn’t help it. He hadn’t brought Abby all the way to Florida so his cousin could get all up in her business. Ogle her like she was a piece of meat or something.
“Maverick?” he goaded, knowing Rick hated his full name.
But there was no hating going on in Rick’s world. Nope. With his eyes still on Abby, drifting low to that round, sexy butt, he grinned. “I’m golfing with Cooper.”
Tucker heard Beau muffle a laugh and the irritation inside him pretty much tripled.
Jesus. H. Christ. How in the hell was he going to survive this day?
“Let’s go,” he said to Abby, placing his hand on the small of her back so that he could guide her toward the pro-shop and out to the greens.
Cooper Simon was Rick’s younger brother and like just Rick, Cooper was a pain in the ass.
But he was a pain in the ass who just happened to be the biggest man-whore this side of the Mason-Dixie line. Cooper was as pretty as Beau, but when it came to the ladies, he had no heart. He’d always had a callous disregard for women and had a fondness for brunettes, or blondes or redheads—hell, he’d take anyone for that matter—especially when they belonged to someone else.
Cooper would be all over Abby.
Just fucking lovely.
Chapter Six
By the sixth hole Abby was somewhat relaxed—or as relaxed as she was ever going to get, for the time being. It was hard to keep things even-keel when all she could think about was how Tucker had dismissed their relationship as…as less than casual. As if she was nothing more than a body to accompany him to a wedding so he wasn’t the pathetic loser there by himself.
“She’s not hot.” Ouch.
She couldn’t lie. It hurt like hell to hear him say that.
And as if that wasn’t bad enough, “She’s just a girl who works in a bar all right? Nothing more. I barely know her.”
That comment pissed her off. Barely knew her. Barely knew her?
They’d seen each other at least twice a week for the entire last year. Spent hours talking about nothing and everything. Tucker knew that she secretly loved country music, even though her brothers were bona fide rockers and her parents were still trapped in the 80’s with a love of Bon Jovi and Motely Crue. He knew that she hated peas, loved carrots and that she had a stash of books she’d never returned to the library.
God, she’d even told him about Jason Bentley and the god awful crush that had led directly to her losing her virginity in the stockroom of the family bar.
It had been a mess. Her oldest brother, Mick, had forced his way in after the momentous event, and she’d been left with the imprint of a case of Guinness on her ass and Jason’s scared face as he’d run out the back, barely getting his jeans on.
Jason Bentley had called her a few times after that but didn’t have the balls to face her brother again. End of story.
As Abby settled in to T-off, she glanced up and caught sight of Tucker watching her. He stood a few feet back with his brother Beau, and Betty Jo. All three of them watched her, expectant looks on their faces.
Tucker offered a smile.
She narrowed her eyes, lingered just long enough for him to know she was still pissed, and then looked down at the ball.
He sighed.
She glanced back up at him.
He shoved his hands into his pockets and grimaced as Betty Jo said something that Abby was too far away to hear.
Abby relaxed her wrists and focused on her pretty neon pink golf ball. She stared at it for a few seconds, inhaled, then swung her driver back, nice and easy like—as if she was opening a door—and drove the ball over two hundred yards down the middle of the fairway.
“Wow! Great shot, Abby,” Beau said with a wide grin. “Man, you whacked that ball harder than most guys I know.”
