Page 12 of A False Start
I offer a wave. “Hi, everyone.” And then I walk into the kitchen, desperate for a drink to fix my dry mouth.
“Hi.” My brother Stefan peeks up at me with a smirk while he dices fresh rosemary into tiny pieces. The man could have been a chef if he wanted to. It’s the thing I miss the most about living with him. The gourmet cooking was hard to let go of when I moved out. “A date, huh?”
He keeps his focus down on the cutting board, but I’m not stupid enough to think he’s not having a good chuckle right now.
“Apparently.” I rip the fridge open and reach for my go-to flavored sparkling water. Pineapple.
“Come on, babe. Have a beer.” Tommy reaches over me and straight into the fridge like he owns the place.
I sneak a peek back at my brother and instantly want to wipe the amusement off his face when he silently mouths, “Babe?”
Head shaking, I turn back to Tommy. “I’m good. I don’t drink, remember?”
Beer in hand, he scoffs and leans against the island behind himself, blocking everyone else out of our conversation. “Still? I figured you’d have outgrown that phase by now.” His thick fingers crack open the can of beer, and he holds it up to me. “Come on. One little sip won’t hurt. Maybe I can whip you up something sweet instead. Margarita?”
My heart grows heavy, the hammering of it stretching out and pounding in my ears. I hate being put on the spot like this. There’s always this tiny voice in my head—a negative voice—that tells me other people know better than I do. Maybe Tommy is right, and I need to lighten up a bit.
Learning myself outside the confines of the house I grew up in is a constant struggle. I don’t trust other people easily, and what’s worse is I often don’t even trust myself.
“She said no.” A rusty voice caresses the back of my neck, and even if he’s barely ever spoken to me, it sounds familiar.
“Joking around, man. I’m Tommy.”
I turn just enough to see both men. Griffin doesn’t look like he finds the joke all that amusing. A muscle ticks in his jaw. In fact, if looks could kill, I think Tommy might keel over on the spot.
Where Tommy is bulky, broader, Griffin is powerful, muscles bulging only where it’s natural. Strength lines his limbs without appearing overwrought. He’s not in the gym bench pressing and doing deadlifts until his body shakes. He’s tossing hay bales and pounding fence posts, and that’s really working for him.
Tommy’s features are soft. Griffin’s are hard. Tommy is day. Griffin is night.
The two men could not be more opposite if they tried.
The older man tugs the yellow can out of my hand, cracks it open, and hands it back to me. All without saying a word. Then he shoves past Tommy and opens the fridge door in search of something for himself, effectively blocking us out.
I want to peek around the edge, get a better view of Griffin. He looks different tonight. No cap, inky hair styled, beard smoothed, white collared shirt rolled up just enough to show the black tattoos that adorn his forearms.
The man is an amusement park for my eyes.
“Who’s the asshole?” Tommy whispers.
My forehead wrinkles.Ithink Griffin is an asshole, but I have good reason. It bugs me that Tommy thinks he does. But I don’t go there. “Griffin. My brother’s best friend,” is all I mumble back.
“Griffin Sinclaire?” Tommy’s head whips around, seeking out the older man, brow furrowing in concentration.
“Yeah.” I shrug, confused about how he might know him.
“Like…theGriffin Sinclaire?”
“Uh, I don’t know what that means.” I sip my drink, sneaking a peek over at the big, brooding ball of muscle at the table.
“Like the famous quarterback who grew up in this town? And then got injured and disappeared?”
I raise an eyebrow at Tommy. Because the truth is, I know nothing about the man. And where I grew up, football is soccer. So, it’s not like I’d know. Plus, no one has mentioned it.
“Okay!” I jump at my brother’s loud clap. “Everyone at the table. Dinner is ready.”
Tommy’s hand lands on my back, and I force myself not to flinch.Tommy will be good for me.My eyes shift over my shoulder, sneaking one last peek at Griffin. My stomach flops when I see his eyes fixed on where Tommy is touching me.
I move to the beautifully set table, feeling nervous under his unwavering gaze. With its raw wood edge, the dining table has an industrial vibe that’s warmed up by bright white plates and brass-tone flatware. I search the modern black chairs and grab a spot beside Tommy. Easy, bright, sunshiny, Tommy. I need more bright days in my life.
