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There’s something magical about entering a room with a Sweeney brother, even if he’s in the “just a friend” category like Fletcher. Mrs. Sweeney blessed our tiny town with seven attractive men all over six feet tall and blessed with the ability to talk the pants off anyone. The Sweeney brothers arehot.
Even the cursed ones have the Sweeney height, the thick crop of delicious golden hair and blue eyes that could make any woman swoon.
Getting pulled over for a ticket by Fletcher Sweeney would be considered a treat for most of the women in town, because it would be the only chance you got to flirt with him. Everyone knows him, but Fletcher doesn’t let anyone get close except my dad. He grew up one of the middle kids in a big family, used to being overlooked and ignored. He feels uncomfortable with all the attention.
It’s a town rumor that he hasn’t been with another woman in the past four years and everyone his age wants a shot with him. He could pick any single woman in this town and have her, but he doesn’t seem to give a crap. Weird.
It seems like it’s a damn shame for men like Fletcher to go without having kids. That’s what the women in church talk about when they should listen to the sermon. (And I listen in on their conversations when I should listen to the sermon.) All anyone talks about being birth announcements, wedding announcements and divorce announcements is single Fletcher Sweeney and how he needs to settle down and how it would be such a waste if he didn’t.
He’s a dork. He isn’t interested in dating women. I’ve known him for my entire life and all Fletcher cares about is going to the gym with my dad, working to protect this small town from petty criminals and his German Shepherd, Pistol.
Fletcher puts his hand protectively on my shoulder as we walk into the bowling alley. Carrie Underwood’sBefore He Cheatsblares on the radio and party lights swivel around the room. There are three groups on the lanes already and four more open lanes that will probably fill up quickly. Even if there’s loud music and no one should be able to detect our entry, it’s Fletcher Sweeney, so every eye in the place swivels to watch us walk in.
“See?” Fletcher grumbles. “This is how rumors start.”
“Chill. Everyone knows you’re looking out for me because of my dad.”
Fletcher only looks more uncomfortable. He acts like the idea of dating me would be totally gross and weird. I guess he’s not wrong since he’s thirty-five and I’m twenty. But he’s a decade younger than my dad and somehow, it’s not weird that they’re friends. Hm.
As everyone pretends that they totally weren’t staring, I scan the room for my entire reason for leaving my house tonight. Rob. Fletcher might be handsome, but he’s totally unattainable, way too old for me and apparently dedicated to staying a bachelor. Rob on the other hand…
I spot him in the third lane surrounded by four of his friends and his annoying so-called girlfriend. He tosses the ball, and it rolls off into the gutter hitting none of the pins. Fletcher stifles a snort. He is so annoying.
“Let’s get a lane,” Fletcher says, his voice tightening with barely obscured frustration. I can tell he wants to give me a warning about Rob Wheeler, but he just gives Rob a dirty look and strides up to the counter with all the confidence of a well-respected small town cop. The woman behind the counter grins when she sees Rob. Every old white lady in this town flirts with him the second he opens his mouth. She twirls her curly gray hair around her finger as she asks how he’s doing, asks about his father, asks about his niece and nephew and then finally gets us bowling shoes and a lane.
“I hate these stupid shoes,” I grumble as Fletcher hands me my pair.
“Right,” he replies sarcastically. “Wouldn’t want to ruin your perfect outfit.”
“Exactly,” I huff, ignoring his sarcasm. Fletcher is just jealous that he doesn’t have any romance in his life. I slip on my bowling shoes and Fletcher does the same. When he bends over to tie the shoes, his biceps flex and woah. He must hit the gym without my dad these days because his muscles keep getting bigger.
Poor daddy. I don’t want to prepare for the worst, but I know there’s a chance the worst could happen and I could lose the only man who has been there for me my entire life.
“You go first,” Fletcher says, handing me the bowling ball and brushing blond hair out of his face. I glance over at Rob, who has his arm around his girlfriend as she laughs hysterically. I bet Rob said something hilarious. Fletcher clears his throat.
“What are you waiting for?”
“I’m warming up,” I tease him. “Getting ready to kick your ass.”
I get all but two pins. Fletcher clears all of them. Naturally. I forgot that he’s great at bowling and I suck at it. He’s the one who taught me how to play. Fletcher rolls his eyes and waits for me to make my first move. I can feel him standing behind me and worse, I can feel Fletcher’s eyes on me, scrutinizing me and probably waiting for me to fuck up.
I hear Rob laughing across the room as I roll the ball into the lane. I won’t screw up this time… I get all the pins except one and I groan. That was so close. Fletcher laughs and waits for the lane to clear and the pins to reset.
“You were close, kid. But no cigar.”
“I’m not a kid. Friendly reminder.”
I glance over at Rob and he’s staring at me. Ugh. Now that he sees me out with Fletcher, he gives a crap? It means my plan is working. Rob waves at me, acknowledging my presence in the bowling alley for the first time. Fletcher winds up and I try saying dumb things to distract him.
“I hate the Buffalo Bills!” I heckle him. Fletcher, like 99% of guys around here, considers this blasphemy.
When that doesn’t work, I try something else. “Josh Allen has the most mediocre butt in the NFL.”
It’s a complete lie, obviously. But it has to get under Fletcher’s skin. He lets the ball go and knocks down all but two pins. Yes. I cheer and start doing a victory dance, which only makes Fletcher roll his eyes even more.
“Uh huh uh huh uh huh,” I sing as I do my victory dance around Fletcher, who keeps trying to act like he’s not super competitive and legitimately upset he didn’t make the shot. He’s fiesty.
“You’re Harry’s kid alright,” he grumbles. I’m too busy with my victory dance to care what he means and my victory dance has the intended effect on all the right people. Fletcher mutters something under his breath about getting us drinks and when he heads over to the concessions counter to place his order, Rob Wheeler strolls right up to me with a cocky and annoyingly triumphant smile on his face.
