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“I grew up around a million guys. I once walked around with a dick drawn on my backpack for a whole day without realizing it,” he admitted. “Came to such blows with my cousin over that one that his dad had to put the hose on us in the front yard to make us stop.”
“Fond memories,” I teased, but he nodded his head like they were.
“All those kids around the same age around, always hanging out, there were bound to be scuffles here and there,” he said, shrugging it off.
“I once got into it with this other girl in a group home over her stealing my clothes,” I admitted, surprising myself how easily it came out. To someone who was barely more than a stranger.
I’d been a bit rougher in those days. My later teens when the foster homes dried up because no one wanted older kids, and I was in group situations instead until I aged out of the system.
I couldn’t really tell you if I had just been tougher then, or if the whole dynamic of the group homes had made me that way.
But it took a lot of careful, purposeful change to soften those rough edges as I got older. I especially paid attention after I’d gotten pregnant. I didn’t want my kids to get caught on those rough edges.
“What?” I asked when his brows pinched as he looked at me.
“Trying to picture it is all,” he said.
And, yeah, in my capris and pink tee, I didn’t exactly look like much of a threat.
“Hey, don’t let my mom-uniform scare you, I could kick some serious ass if I needed to,” I said, trying to keep my tone light, but I knew how much weight there was behind those words.
It was why I was at his range in the first place.
“I don’t doubt it,” he agreed.
“Thanks for the coffee, by the way. And the basketball. Isaac dribbled it so much I almost got a headache.”
“Just had it lying around,” he said, shrugging it off before we said our goodbyes.
And, okay, maybe he did just have it lying around.
But you know what he didn’t just have ‘lying around?’
The basketball hoop that appeared the following day.
Just a couple of feet away from my fixed car.
I didn’t know what they put in the water in Navesink Bank that made these men the way they were, but I was beyond glad that this was the town I’d decided to settle on.
Even if my new neighbor had the annoying—and by ‘annoying,’ I meant incredibly sexually frustrating—habit of walking around without his shirt on…
CHAPTER EIGHT
Seth
“Is this one of those ‘fancy seeing you here’ situations?” I asked as Lana walked in the door for the range wearing the yellow sundress I’d seen her wearing that morning as she pushed the stroller around the backyard, trying to soothe Clara.
Apparently, she was starting to break her first tooth, something all of Lana’s kids started earlier than usual.
“You know, because the universe hates me,” she informed me, heavy-eyed, looking like it was weighing on her.
“Geez, I can’t go anywhere without seeing you, can I?” she shot back, shaking her head at me as she moved to the counter.
“Where are the kids?” I asked.
“Sold. I couldn’t take it anymore,” she said, raising the back of her hand to her mouth to stifle a yawn. “My neighbor at my old apartment will babysit on occasion when I need to do grown-up things. I usually feel so guilty making them stay there. But with Clara teething and the other two at each other’s throats for no good reason, I am having a guilt-free hour. Oh, God,” she said, yawning again.
“You know where the coffee is,” I said, waving toward the station as I grabbed her usual gun and ammo. “How’s the teething going?”
“Slow,” she said, yawning again. “I kind of miss the days when it was acceptable to rub bourbon on their gums,” she said. “It didn’t actually do anything but get the babies drunk, but, hey, a win’s a win,” she said, shooting me a smirk over her shoulder.
“Drunk babies and mom’s who had actual cocaine in their Coke. Those were the days,” I shot back, getting that raspy little laugh out of her as she walked back over toward the counter, exhaling hard.
“So, how’re things going around here? There’s times when the lot seems full when I pass.”
“Those are for the classes or group rentals of the whole place,” I told her. “Those are the bread and butter right now. Which I expected. I don’t expect to recoup my investment for years,” I added. “This isn’t my ‘real’ job anyway.”
“Oh, really?” she asked, brows furrowed. “Where do you work?”
“For the club,” I said, shrugging it off.
“Oh, that’s interesting,” she said. “I didn’t realize there were… employment opportunities there. If you ever need email copy for the club,” she said, pointing at herself.
