Page 24 of Something Reckless

EASTON

“ A re we going out tonight? I thought we were going out tonight.” Oliver skids into the doorway to the living room, all dressed up in a black button down shirt, ironed black pants and his best dress shoes.

His jaw is freshly shaven and his hair is all gelled back and there’s an urgent look on his face.

“Sort of in the mood to stay in, actually,” Lincoln mumbles, barely looking up from where he’s stretched out on the couch, lazily doom-scrolling on his phone.

Rocco steals the remote from where it’s laying on the couch by Lincoln’s head. “Same.” He flings one leg over the arm of the loveseat he’s sitting in and scratches his belly. “The last thing I want to do is put on real pants right now,” he says with a yawn as he changes the channel.

My family is back in Fairy Bush for the weekend, and I’m glad to have them around. At least when I’m not in the house all by myself, I have a distraction from sitting around and wishing I were spending time with Jagger and Alba.

So, yeah. I’m glad to have my family around.

And it’s comforting to know that I get to kick them all out and ship them off to the guesthouse the minute they inevitably start getting on my nerves. Bonus points for that.

Right now, we’re lounging around the living room as some historical documentary now plays on the TV. But from the urgency on Oliver’s face, I can tell that we won’t be lounging around for much longer.

“Come on. Get up. Let’s go.” Oliver marches across the carpeted floor, plucks the remote from Rocco’s dangling hand and turns off the television with a definitive click . “It’s Friday night. Let’s go out. Get some air,” he says, giving Rocco’s knee a hard shove.

I chuckle to myself, seeing my youngest brother so worked up. I know exactly what he’s getting at. “What do you have in mind, Oli ? A night at The Whiskey Barrel maybe?”

He gives a vigorous nod. “Yeah. The Whiskey Barrel sounds good…or whatever.” Then he frowns and flings a couch cushion at me. “And don’t fucking call me ‘Oli’ . ”

I start cackling, and Lincoln and Rocco quickly join in.

“Oli-Oli-Oli!” Rocco sings.

Our youngest brother growls, stomping on Rocco’s foot.

Just then, Mom ambles past, humming contentedly to herself. She’s dressed in a fluffy bathrobe and house slippers, with her hair wrapped up in a towel and a basket of girly shit in her arms.

Oliver grasps her by the shoulders, gently steering her into the living room. “Mom, tell these losers to get off their lazy butts. We need to go outside.”

Without even asking a question, Mom is on Oliver’s side. As usual.

Her eyes scan over Lincoln, Rocco and me. “Yes, you boys should go out. Catch up with old friends while you’re in town. ”

We groan and protest, letting it be known that we’d rather just stay home.

But Mom shoos us away with her long-handled back scrubber brush.

“Go, go, go! All of you. I’m about to pour myself a big glass of wine and take a soak in the tub.

You guys are going to regret being in the house once I start blasting my Sabrina Carpenter albums.” She starts singing Espresso and wiggling her shoulders in time with her off-pitch tune.

My brothers and I all groan, because we know how quickly Mom’s party sessions tend to escalate. None of us wants to stick around for that.

We all hustle to our respective rooms and throw on some clothes before Oliver hustles us out the front door. He hops behind the wheel and drives us directly to The Whiskey Barrel.

So damn predictable.

Chloe catches sight of us the minute we step inside. She abandons the customer she’s chatting with at the bar and runs straight into Oliver’s arms.

“Oli!” she shrieks, grabbing his face and planting a kiss on his cheek. Then she gives him a tight squeeze, tucking herself against his chest. “Oh my gosh! My Oli! It’s so good to see you!” She eases back, blatantly checking him out. “And, ooh! You look so gooood !”

Red splotches spread across my youngest brother’s cheeks like a nasty rash as the entire bar watches the reunion. “Dammit, Chloe. Dramatic much?”

I know Oliver. He’s trying to act nonchalant. But he’s absolutely loving this reunion with his childhood friend.

She slaps his shoulder. “My prodigal bestie’s back in town after a million years. This is a big deal.”

“Chloe! You were in the middle of something,” a stern voice booms from behind the bar. The big, bearded bartender doesn’t seem to be pleased to be deserted by his helper.

She loops an arm through Oliver’s and calls out over her shoulder.

“Sorry, Boss. The peanut butter to my jelly just walked into the building. I quit.” She turns to Oliver, grabbing his arm, her eyes alight with amusement.

“Oh shit, Oli. Remember that marriage pact we made when we were 15? Please tell me you’re here to whisk me off my feet and marry me. Because this job sucks.”

Her long, braided hair cascades around her bronzed shoulders when she throws her head back, giggling. She giggles so hard, like marrying my brother is the silliest idea in the world.

Meanwhile, Oliver watches her in fascination, his jaw clenching tight. My guess is, he’s trying to restrain a ‘will you marry me?’ from shooting right out of his mouth.

The bar owner shakes his head as he fills a pint glass for Chloe’s neglected customer. “Your break is fifteen minutes, Chloe. Not a second longer. I’m gonna fire you this time. I mean it.”

She rolls her eyes, shoulders dropping. “Got it, Dad. Fifteen minutes. Promise.” And then she drags Oliver to the farthest end of the counter, chatting with excitement.

I chuckle as I follow Lincoln and Rocco to a row of empty stools. The tavern is relatively crowded tonight, and there’s a baseball game on the flat screen above the bar again.

Beside me, Chloe is talking Oliver’s ear off, asking him questions and catching him up on everything he’s missed over the years.

When I try to join the conversation, Oliver gives me a dirty look over his shoulder, telepathically warning me to back off.

He scoots his stool away from mine, putting distance between us.

He clearly wants to keep Chloe’s attention all to himself.

I can take a hint.

I’m back to watching the ball game when some woman leans in right next to me to get the barman’s attention. Not wanting to be rude—but also not wanting to be felt up by some stranger—I start to scoot my stool over a few inches.

But then I notice how familiar she looks.

“Jules?” As in Alba’s best friend, Jules?

Her eyes widen when she turns and spots me. But then she gives me a stiff, little wave. “Hey, Easton. Heard you were back in town.”

“We are.” I turn to my brothers. “Hey. You guys remember Jules, right? She graduated in my class.”

Rocco perks up and says hello. Lincoln offers Jules a fleeting nod before his eyes track down to her chest. He does a double-take.

That’s when I notice Jules’s bright red shirt and the words printed across the front: A LITTLE MORNING WOOD MAKES THE MORNING GOOD .

There’s a weird moment between Jules and Lincoln, where they stare each other down for a beat too long. Then Lincoln just rolls his eyes and turns away from her. Probably dismissing her for her ‘inappropriate attire’.

I huff out an amused laugh. Lincoln is annoyingly boring and mature like that.That’s precisely why he hasn’t gotten so much as a handjob since his divorce two years ago.

Jules turns to me with an awkward smile. “Um, I know it’s none of my business, but Alba told me what’s been going on with you and Jagger. Congratulations. Finding out you’re a dad must be…huge.”

A grin erupts across my face. “Life-changing,” I say. “In the best possible way.” I do my best to sound earnest, hoping Jules will relay the interaction to her friend. I’ll earn brownie points with Alba anyway I can get ‘em.

“He’s a great kid.” She lays a hand over her heart. “I’d bet he’s so excited to get to know you.”

“I’m excited to get to know him, too,” I say, meaning it wholeheartedly.

I offer to pay for her drink and we chat a bit more about Jagger. I’m so proud to brag about my son. But I also have so many questions about Alba, and with Jules standing here, I sense an opportunity.

My eyes swing toward the television screen and I try to sound casual. “So, I’m guessing you’ve been playing babysitter for Alba over the years? Whenever she goes on dates and stuff, I mean.” I make the comment lightly. Not like I’m trying to fish for more information about her best friend.

Jules has a reputation for being a bit of a grenade. Being nosy about Alba might blow up in my face.

The woman’s guard instantly goes up. “Um, what?” she asks me suspiciously.

I clear my throat. “I just mean, I bet dating must be a bit difficult for Alba, seeing that she has a kid to think about all the time.”

Julissa lets out a little snort, but she doesn’t look amused. “Sure.”

I go on, even though I’m starting to get a sense that I’m not getting very far.

“With a friend like you around, I’m sure you help Alba out from time to time. So she can go on dates …” I emphasize.

She takes a slow sip of her drink, her eyes filling with amusement. “Mmm.”

I frown. This isn’t the Jules I knew from high school.

The once chatty girl seems very guarded and standoffish now that I’m trying to get the scoop on her bestie.

And judging by the way she quickly changes the subject and easily starts animatedly chatting with Rocco, I’m guessing that Jules is definitely not about to give me the info I’m digging for.

Jules is telling my younger brother all about the T-shirt company that she’s trying to get off the ground.

“Everything is customizable. The text, the shirt colors, the sizing. Though I do prefer bulk orders to help with the overhead,” she is saying, only stopping every few minutes to scowl at Lincoln.

He’s scowling right back at her. Despite the weird vibes they’re giving each other, I think I’m sensing some sexual tension building there. I’d be laughing at Lincoln’s dumb ass if I wasn’t so focused on trying to learn more about Alba.

“Got any bachelor events coming up that need some matching attire?” Jules asks Rocco.

“Nope,” I butt right into the conversation. “We’re all perpetually single here. I’m guessing you make some sweet shirts for bachelorette gigs, though. Did you ever do one for Alba?”

“Alba?” Her thin eyebrow quirks at me, and it’s obvious that I’m being stupidly obvious here for bringing up her friend again.

“Yeah, I just figured you probably did something fancy for her. Where’s she at tonight, anyway?”

With a frown, she shakes her head at me and then goes back to talking to Rocco, diverting the conversation away from Alba once again. “Anyway, how about some T-shirts for your clients? You said you do personal training. Some promotional T-shirts could be great for bringing in new business!”

Well, okay then.

If I’m trying to glean any insight into Alba’s dating history, Jules won’t be the one to give it to me. So I sit here, sulking into my drink and wishing I had the balls to ask Alba about her dating life myself.

The embarrassing truth is, I have a big, ol’ crush on Alba Anderson. At this point, there’s no point in denying it to myself. But I can’t admit it out loud. Ever. That would only confuse Jagger and give Alba the ick.

I just wish there was a dial to turn or a switch to flip to cut these feelings off, or at least to lower the intensity a bit. This freaking sucks.

Jules goes through her whole marketing spiel with Rocco, and they end up exchanging business cards as Lincoln scowls from the sidelines. Rocco promises to reach out if the need for custom T-shirts ever arises.

The sassy business lady says good night to my brothers as she stands from her stool. Just before she slips away, she slides her empty glass across the counter and mumbles under her breath, “If you want to know about my bestie’s love life, maybe you should just”—she pauses dramatically—“ ask her .”

Head snapping in her direction, I glare at her. I’m sitting here, obsessing over Alba and suffering, and this woman thinks it’s funny.

She suppresses a chuckle. “Good night, Easton. And thanks for the drink.”

The annoying woman is wearing the biggest smirk as she struts away through the crowd.