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Jackson Burke’s backyard party is in full swing when Barrett and I arrive. There are about twenty people packed into a small, tidy yard, and a privacy fence makes the space feel even smaller. Barrett had to park about a block away on the car-lined street.
Several partygoers are packed into Jackson’s modern-on-the-inside, traditional-on-the-outside brick home. The remainder are scattered in the yard, either tossing bags at cornhole boards or standing around the bonfire, beers in hand.
Burke recognizes me from the museum last week. I’m given quick introductions to a slew of people. Random names are still bouncing through my head. I’m mentally matching them with faces as I stand off to the side of the backyard.
“Try this.” Barrett hands me a bottle of beer—not a light beer but a hoppy, bitter IPA.
I take a sip and try my hardest not to make a face. I fail miserably. I even cough. “That’s a serious beer.”
“Right? Jackson’s cousin brewed it. Here.” He hands over a different bottle. “This one’s not as harsh.”
“You tasted it for me, I presume?” I tip the bottle to my lips. Citrusy and delicious. Much better.
“Now that we’re dating that’s included in the package. Along with my package,” he adds with a wink.
“Barrett Fox,” calls a warm female voice. A second later, she is standing next to him. Straight, brown shoulder-length hair, large chest, legs poking out of denim shorts so short, the pockets are hanging past the frayed hem.
“Stacie. How are you?” He bends to accommodate her petite frame and hugs her. I make the catty but no less accurate observation that she looks like a girl who should be draped over a motorcycle on a poster hanging in a mechanic’s garage. When he raises to his full height, he introduces me. “Catarina Everhart. Stacie Bates.”
“Brown,” she corrects, waving at me rather than offering a hand. “I’m divorced.”
“Sorry to hear that. Bo and I don’t keep in touch,” he tells her.
They chat a minute longer about old times while I stand and awkwardly hold my beer. I’m trying to be gracious—after all, Barrett had to face North not so long ago—but it’s not easy.
“See you around.” Stacie waves and backs away from us. “Bye, Catrina.”
“Catarina,” I say between clenched teeth after she’s gone.
“Stacie used to date the team,” Barrett tells me.
“All of them?” I ask flatly.
“Pretty much. She and Bo were married after college.”
“Did she date you?”
“Ohh, Kitty Cat.” He grins. “Put those claws in.”
“Don’t be cute.”
“Can’t help it.” He touches the frown line on my forehead. “You’re hot when you’re jealous.”
“Did she?”
“We went out once or twice in high school.”
I roll my eyes, feeling like I’m back in high school.
“Damn!” He’s still grinning when he tucks my hair behind my ear. “I like this side of you.”
“Stop enjoying this.” I swat at him, but he catches my hand.
“Oh, we’re going to enjoy this.” He slides his fingers into my back pocket, grabs my ass, and pulls me flush against him. “Let’s show Stacie what she’s missing.”
I’m not sure what cavewoman wire that comment tripped, but a second later, I’m kissing him for everyone to see. It’s not chaste, or short, and we don’t stop until Jackson interrupts us. Loudly.
“Break it up, lovebirds. I’m not running a brothel.”
