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She laughs at me, already eating another bundle of fries. I think she only eats them two-by-two. “Don’t like them? Too bad, so sad for you, and more for me,” she taunts with a mouthful. “Let’s go to the club. I have an idea.”
Her idea sounds like it’s going to break a whole lot more rules, but I press the gas pedal anyway as I rush to the club, excited to see what she’s got stirring in that dirty, sexy, beautiful mind of hers.
* * *
Making our way into the club, I turn the alarm off and let Samantha lead me through the building. She grabs two big towels from the locker room shelves and then walks out the back door to the yard where the guys play basketball. It’s not regulation size—real estate is too expensive for that—but it’s close enough that the guys enjoy games out here, and we did a pretty extensive renovation to make it top-notch.
We’re alone, the magic of the stars and dark sky above us and the quiet of the night surrounding us.
“Are we playing a pick-up game?” I ask, gesturing toward a net.
Samantha laughs and kicks out a leg. “Not in these heels.”
She keeps walking to the far side of the yard where there’s an area of foam-cushioned artificial turf. The guys use it for soccer drills and CrossFit style workouts, but in the moonlight, it looks like a beautiful patch of grass. Samantha flicks her hands to spread out both towels, side by side, and then holds them out wide. “Ta-daaa! It’s a picnic!” she explains.
She eases to the towel and takes off her heels. Legs outstretched and leaning back on her hands, she looks up to where I’m still standing like an idiot, looming over her. “You joining me or not? Just know, I’m getting that burger either way.” She reaches one arm up with a grabby hand toward the bag I’m holding.
“Oh. Here you go,” I tell her, handing it over. I kick my shoes off and lower myself to the towels beside her, not staying on my own but getting right in the middle to be closer to her.
She hands me one of the burgers, already unwrapped to show the top half, and smiles as she clinks hers and mine together like champagne glasses. “To new things. I ate literal ocean and dirt for you. Now, it’s your turn to eat processed semi-food for me. I expect you to be just as polite as I was about it, too,” she warns with a twinkle in her eye.
I feign preemptive disgust, thinking it can’t be that bad but acting like she’s feeding me the most horrifying thing on the planet, even going so far as holding my nose. I take a bite and chew.
It takes like... plastic? Or food-flavored plastic?
I wrinkle my nose and frown hard. “That’s downright gross,” I proclaim. Meanwhile, Samantha is chowing down like it’s the most delicious thing she’s ever had.
“The tiny, baby onions? They dehydrate them to ship and then rehydrate them in big buckets of water.Locally rehydrated,” she tells me with a smart-ass grin, and I realize she’s teasing me about my whole speech aboutMacrosine’ssupply chain.
“Not sure that’s the same pedigree to brag about,” I joke back deadpan, and she laughs.
She eats, and I rewrap my burger, knowing I’m not going to force down another bite. I must be staring out over the basketball court because Samantha asks me, “Do you play?”
“No, not really,” I answer, shaking my head. “We had a hoop at home, but Cameron and Carter played more than I did. I tried, mostly as a way to connect with them, but it didn’t work out that well.” I shrug at the memories flooding back.
Cameron and Carter playing keep-away with the ball.
Carter bouncing the ball off my head.
Playing two-on-two with them as a team and me and Cole as the opponents, as if that was remotely fair with our age differences.
“I have a decent three-pointer, that’s about it,” I confess. “Mostly because if I could get the ball away from them outside, I was less likely to get fouled.”
“Sounds like you and your brothers were always competing?” she asks, shooting a three-pointer of her own as she tosses the wadded-up burger wrapper into the bag.
I huff sardonically. “Some of us. Others basically never gave a shit, like Cole and Kyle. I wish I knew how they did it.”
“Luna told me...” She pauses as if unsure she should share what her friend divulged. Hesitantly, she continues, “That you were kinda the odd man out for a while when you turned your back on the family business. Maybe Cole and Kyle learned from your example to not give a shit?”
It’s a sweet, kind angle, though it’s a bit of a twisted point of view.
“I don’t know. They always did their own thing, so I won’t take any credit or blame for their actions. Kyle was hell on wheels from when he was a toddler. My earliest memories of him are of Mom running after him, shouting ‘no’ on the daily.” I smile, able to picture it perfectly in my mind. “And Cole? He was family, but not at the same time. I think by the time Mom had Cole and Kayla, Dad was already checked out of hands-on parenting. Kayla got attention because she was a girl, but Cole? I think he felt like an afterthought.”
“Do you talk to them?”
“Kayla, for sure. She’s the most reasonable of all of us, knows how to use the family name when it suits her—to open doors or shut people down—but also has a solid head on her shoulders in her own right. She stays on the fringes, working with Dad, but at a healthy distance where he can’t control her. Hell, I don’t think he even knows what she does. But people assume she’s there for nepotistic reasons, underestimating her... until she ramrods right over them with a smile. Professionally speaking, of course.”
Samantha grins. “I think I’d like your sister.”
