Page 57 of Fighting

“Of course he’s impressed by the interloper.” Liam throws his head back and barks out a laugh.

Mostly because of my nerves, I find myself joining in.

“Be nice,” James chides, though his lips twitch a little, like he’s resisting the urge to chuckle. “That’s your brother.” Turning to face me, he says, “Who cashes the checks each month isn’t what’s important here. It’s who holds the deed.”

I frown as I decipher the comment. “The deed isn’t in Grant’s name?” Grant, who thinks he’s selling an entire block on main street, has been courting my rival and the mayor, who may have no power in the sale whatsoever. This is exactly what I came to James for. I tuck this information away for later.

“It’s the kind of information I would want before investing too much time courting someone for a sale, that’s for sure.” He nods. “Glenn Morgan is a good friend of mine. If you need helpgetting a meeting on the books, give me a call. However…” He stretches his legs out. “Why are you wasting your time with us? Didn’t you bring your girlfriend out to do something else?”

“Like impress her with his hometown hero best friend,” Liam says, giving a wide smile.

Rising, James gives us a stern look. “No doing donuts in my fields in the carts, gentleman. Understood?”

“That happened one time, and we weresixteen,” Liam protests.

I clear my throat to camouflage a chuckle. “Yes, sir. Let’s go grab the apples for your Gran,” I tell Liam.

As if on cue, Nessa appears, all bouncing curls and wide eyes.

twenty-three

Nessa

“Learn anything interesting in there?”Liam asks with a smirk as he and I stand. Together, we head toward the pair of golf carts parked behind the house.

“Yeah, Bill-I-am. I learned that you are ‘woefully’ single.” I lower my voice. “Hasn’t Gran met Christian? Like, many times?”

Liam rolls his eyes. “My ‘roommate’ who shares a bedroom with me? Of course she’s met him. She loves him. She seems to think being bisexual means it should be easy to move on from this phase and ‘find a nice girl and settle down like a good Catholic.’After going to Confession, of course.”

I exhale and keep my expression open, holding space for him.

He grunts. “Don’t be a therapist right now, Nessa.”

I shake my head and say, “Shit, sorry. That sucks.”

Because I work in human sexuality, people assume I’ll always know what to say in moments like this. But I typically steer clear of inserting myself into queer issues. When the victim assistance intake work at the hospital indicates a patient may need support in that area, I pass the forms along to therapists with specialties that will be more helpful. I end up with a caseload full of women in their teens and twenties, generally from the colleges in the area, before they transition to private practices.

Liam makes his way into the driver’s seat. Before I can climb in next to him, Mateo grabs my hand, and in one move, he slides into the passenger seat and pulls me onto his lap. Wrapping his arm around my middle, he whisper-begs, “You have to say something nice about me in public or act like you like me. Your rules, gorgeous.”

I slide off his lap, squeezing between him and the safety bar. Mateo and I are so close I can feel the heat from his thigh against my own. I lace my fingers with his and turn to take in his face. Our eyes lock and hold long enough for a flicker of warmth to take hold.

“Maybe,” I say.

His focus drifts to my mouth, and on instinct, my tongue slides over my bottom lip. I think he’s thinking of kissing me?—

“Time to go, lovebirds,” Liam calls from behind the wheel.

Then he does just that, jostling me to the side toward the safety bar. Mateo recovers quickly, pulling me back into his arms. The thick, corded muscles beneath the soft cotton of his waffle-knit shirt press into my side, causing goosebumps to erupt on my skin.

“Easy does it, Ness. Let’s not toss you from the cart just yet,” Liam says.

With a huff, I steady myself. Then, determined to ignore the heat emanating from Mateo, I force my attention fully to the scenery.

Liam provides us a tour so polished it must be part of his routine here. While holding the steering wheel with one hand, he waves toward a tiny cluster of trees mixed with beautiful yellow and blue-violet bell flowers that seem out of place.

“What’s the tiny grove with flowers?”

Mateo relaxes, holding my waist and brushing his lips to my temple. This is just for us. Like so much of the actual intimacy we’ve shared, it’s blurring the lines I’m trying to draw for myself.

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