Page 89 of My Silver Lining

He walked away, his security team falling in place, and I followed them all as they made their way out the door, making sure Lulu stayed tucked behind me.

“You all right?”

“I am. Thanks for sitting beside me and keeping things calm.”

“You want to tell me about the closet incident?” I asked, my blood boiling at the thought of him doing something to her.

“Maybe later, okay?” She smiled up at me. “It’s still Valentine’s Day, and it happens to be the best one I’ve ever had, so how about we go back to having some fun?”

“You got it. Let’s go see what everyone is doing,” I said, but I was still on edge about what he’d said to her. What he’d done to her.

We spent the next hour laughing our asses off and putting Beckett Bane in our rearview. There’d been no tables flipped. No photographers. No drama.

Lulu had written the end of their story, and I could tell she felt good about it.

She was sitting on my lap, running her fingers through my hair, as Bridger and Clark asked her questions about Paris.

Easton and Henley had gone home a few minutes ago, and the bar would be closing soon.

“French food gives me the shits,” Bridger grumped.

“French fries do not count as French food,” Lulu said over a fit of laughter.

“Good one, Lu.” Clark held his hand up and high-fived her.

I just watched her. The way she interacted with them. The way she fit so well right here.

In this town.

With my family.

With me.

“It’s all the sauces that get me. I’ve got irritable bowels,” Bridger said.

“You’ve got an irritable personality.” Clark slammed the rest of his beer.

“Don’t you have practice tomorrow?” I asked my brother, as he was in the middle of his season.

“Yeah. So, Lulu, you think you can cover me in pickleball until you leave for Paris? We’ve got a ton of games, and I can’tplay at all until the season ends. Henley is supposed to cover me, but Archer hardly makes it anymore.”

She ran her finger over the rim of her wine glass. “Does a bear shit in the woods?”

“What the fuck does that mean? Are you going to shit on the pickleball court?” Bridger asked.

“It means, she can cover for him, dickhead.” I barked out a laugh.

“Ah… she’s a cocky little one, isn’t she?” Clark said. “Buckle up, Sonnet. Easton is no joke about the Chad-six.”

“Well, he’ll have to amend his rules if he wants me to sub. I won’t wear that ridiculous tee. If I’m going to play, I’m going to wear something spectacular.”

“Do you actually know how to play?” Bridger groaned. “Because I can’t deal with his moping if you suck.”

“My best friend has taught me a trick or two. You needn’t worry, boys. I can hold my own on any court.” She turned to me and waggled her brows.

“I don’t doubt that for a minute,” I said, tugging her head down and kissing her.

It wasn’t for show or for a camera to catch us together.

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