Page 62 of No More Secrets
“Thanks for inviting me. It’s been years since I’ve had a poker night.”
“Running a restaurant probably doesn’t leave a lot of spare time in your day,” Beckett said, looking pointedly at Jax.
“Well, neither did raising three daughters. But I’d do both all over again if I could.”
“That’s good to hear,” Jax said, shooting Beckett a sneer.
Beckett stalked into the great room.
Carter made the introductions, which in Blue Moon were purely perfunctory since everyone already knew everyone else by sight if not by name.
“You want a beer, Franklin?” Jax offered.
“I wouldn’t say no.”
Jax grabbed one out of the fridge and handed it over.
“Fitz, these aren’t the special brownies like last time are they?” Donovan demanded, frowning at the aluminum tray on the island.
“I told you a million times, man, I got the labels confused. It won’t happen again.” Fitz waited until Donovan took a brownie with him into the great room before picking up the tray and checking the bottom. He gave Carter a relieved thumbs up.
“Table’s in there, gentlemen. Let’s get some food and lose some money,” Carter announced.
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Joey pulled into the gravel lot of Shorty’s Sports Bar. “Is here okay?” she asked, shutting off the engine.
“Sure,” Summer shrugged. With its stone and wood exterior, it reminded her of the Vermont ski lodge that her parents had taken her to one winter.
Joey hadn’t been particularly talkative on the drive over, so Summer followed suit. She could deal with silence sometimes easier than she could a Chatty Cathy.
They took seats at the bar where the bartender greeted them both by name.
“Summer, this is Ed Avila.”
“Nice to meet you, Summer. You can call me Shorty.”
“Ed’s the runt of the family,” Joey explained.
Summer estimated his height to be at least six-feet four-inches. “My brothers are six-five and six-six,” he explained. “What can I get you ladies to drink?”
Summer revised her martini order to a glass of wine when Joey ordered a beer.
“Aren’t you going to ask me why we’re here?” Joey said, after Ed delivered their drinks.
“I figured you’d tell me in your own good time,” Summer said, taking a sip of her house red.
“I guess it was a better option than me spending the evening alone and you spending it with a houseful of men whining about beards and chips.”
“I’ll drink to that,” Summer nodded.
“You really like him, don’t you?”
“Carter? I really do. What’s not to like?”
“I’m just saying, you’d better really like him. He deserves good things, and if you’re not one of them, you’d better move along.”
“Point made. You two are close,” Summer said. It was a statement of fact, not a question.
