Page 17 of My Three Hometown Hard Hats

Rounding the corner of the house, I see Martha walking up the street like she does every day to go see her best friend Louise.

“Hi there,” she says, smirking at me like she knows exactly what happened against the side of that house.

“Hi, Martha,” I say, climbing into the truck.I guess the seat’s getting wet.

Once Martha is far enough away, I start up the truck and drive toward the softball field. I can’t wipe off the smile that’s plastered on my face.

I haven’t felt this way in a long time. Hadley might be trouble, but she’s right. I know exactly what to do with trouble.

One kiss was far from enough.

I want more.

CHAPTER EIGHT

Conrad

Brooks pullsinto the dirt lot beside the softball field, late as usual, and steps out of the truck, soaking wet from head to toe.

A huge, dopey smile is plastered on his face, though.

“What the hell happened to you?” I ask.

He reaches into the bed of the truck, pulling out his duffle bag. “Nothing,” he says with a smirk.

Nothing never means nothing with my brother. “What did you do?”

He pulls his sopping shirt over his head, tossing it in the truck.

“Nothing you need to worry about.” He pulls his team shirt over his head and pauses. “Well, maybe you do.”

He proceeds to strip down to his boxers right there in the parking lot.

“Do you realize where you’re standing?” I gesture around to the very public space.

He shrugs. “What’s the problem?”

Finally, with a pair of athletic shorts and tennis shoes on, he walks toward me, his bag slung over his shoulder.

Side by side, we make our way into the dugout. “What did you mean it might be something I need to worry about?”

He twists his half-wet hair up into a bun. “I guess if you care, you’ll figure it out. If you don’t, then it doesn't really matter.”

My hands fly out at my sides. “What the hell does that mean?”

“You’re the smart one, Con,” he says, tapping the side of my head. “Figure it out.”

Since when is he so cryptic?

Grayson walks into the dugout with a couple of his buddies from the firehouse, Tucker and Warren, who are also on our team. Warren’s three-year-old son, Jackson, walks in holding his dad’s hand. Grayson’s eyes dart around. “Where’s Austin?”

“He’s picking up Evelyn from dance. He’ll be here soon.”

He nods, getting his gear ready.

“Boo!” Evelyn’s adorable voice rings out as she presses her face to the chain link screen protecting the dugout from the rest of the field.

Brooks leans down, pressing a kiss to her forehead. “Hey there, Evie Girl.”