Page 21

Twenty

Rosalie sits next to me in my old Honda Civic. She said Paul could take the back, and while that sounded a little rude, I’m sure Paul would want to be chivalrous. He seems like the damsel-saving, chivalrous type.

Paul doesn’t seem to mind when he slides into the back seat. “How far is Lake Tesoro again?”

“You’ve never been?” Rosalie says, peering back at him.

“Never. I’ve only been in Reno a year.”

“It’s a little less than an hour away.” I glance back at him in the rearview mirror.

“And we’re meeting up with the soccer player?” he asks, a pleased grin on his face.

“We are.”

“Nice. Okay, I’ve got a story for you, and it’s going to take a while.”

Paul does not exaggerate. We’re pulling into a local tackle shop—the shop Cal sent me directions to—when Paul is just wrapping up his story .

Rosalie gives me a side eye that tells me she might kill me later. It’s not unwarranted. That was an incredibly long, detailed story about Paul relocating a hive of bees from inside a used station wagon without harming any of the bees.

Callum stands in the parking lot, a grin on his face. Next to him is tall, red-headed Zev. He said his friend might come. Zev stands inches taller than Cal, and next to him stands a petite red-headed woman. Their babies would be gingers, all the way.

“Wait, he’s here?” Rosalie says, her eyes on the broad shoulders of Callum’s bestie. “What was his name again?”

“That’s Zev and his date.”

“His date?” She wrinkles her nose, her eyes still on Zev as she mutters under her breath, “This setup is seriously unfair.”

“What do you mean? Callum will be a great date,” I tell her.

“Sure, he will,” Paul agrees. “Besides, you’ll be with us, Rosanne.”

I peer back at him in the rear of the car. “It’s Rosalie,” I say. My bestie literally has the most beautiful name on the planet—how could he forget it?

“Right.” Paul shakes his head, and it’s like I’m watching her name fall right out of his brain once more.

“You’re right, Fran. I could have it much worse,” Rosalie says. She smiles, but it’s wide and false, and her blue eyes dart to Paul robotically before hopping back over to me.

“Much worse.” Paul pats the headrest of Rosalie’s seat and opens his door, ready for the day’s adventure. He’s outside and waiting before either Rosalie or I have opened our doors .

“Fran, this guy?—”

“He’s not perfect.” I lift one shoulder. “Neither am I.”

“I just think?—”

“Rose, second dates, third dates, we both know they are a rare occasion in my world. Let’s just see how this plays out. Besides, I’ve got a plan.” I waggle my brows, and while I expect Rosalie to waggle hers back, she just stares at me.

“Tell me it’s not Titanic again.”

“Let’s go,” I say, beaming at her. I am ready for this date to begin.

“Fran!” she calls, but I’m out of the car, ready for my first triple date.

I jog up to Paul on the pebbled ground to greet my friend. “Hi, guys,” I say, tugging on the sleeve of my flannel shirt. The sun is bright, but the air is cool.

“Hey, Franny,” Zev says, his broad smile growing as we approach.

Callum doesn’t correct him; he watches me, one of his brows quirking in the air.

I clench my jaw, but the truth is I don’t hate “Franny” like I should, not when a Red Tail is saying it. “Zevvy,” I tease. But these athletes don’t care about silly nicknames.

Callum moves beside me and wraps one arm around my shoulders. “Embrace it,” he whispers. “Believe me, from the guys, it’s a term of endearment.”

I bite my inner cheek. I don’t respond. I’m too busy thinking about his words, about his tone, about his arm draped around me.

“I thought your date’s name was Rose,” the small woman says.

“Oh.” Callum drops his arm from around me. “It is. Rosalie’s my date.” He points to my friend just making it out of the car. She’s throwing a sweatshirt over her head. I’m certain the small breeze has already turned her to ice. Rosalie doesn’t do cold well.

“This is Franny,” Zev tells her.

“Fran,” I say, but I can’t help but smile at Zev’s term of endearment for me. It’s like I’m one of the Red Tails, nickname and all. I hold out a hand in greeting, and we shake.

“I’m Mira.”

“Pretty name,” I tell her.

Paul clears his throat, and I am silently chastised.

“I’m so sorry! This is Paul. He’s my date.

I’m with him, and Rosalie’s with Callum.

Yep, Rose gets Cal.” I clear my throat. I’m rambling, and I’m not even sure why.

When Callum suggested we double, then triple, it sounded like fun.

And yet, Callum and Rose on a date is tripping me up a little.

She doesn’t even want to be his date—so why is it tripping me up?

I know what Cal and I are. He’s made it very clear.

He hasn’t abused me in any form. Friendship with a capital F. I inwardly sigh.

Paul holds out a hand, bringing me out of my dazed state. “Paul Fender. Silver State Rides. I can get you any car on the lot with two percent off the ticket price.”

Mira nods once emphatically. She’s got it—he doesn’t need to explain more.

“Fran, did you know I sold two cars last week to people who came in because they’d seen our video?” He chuckles and my stomach turns.

“I didn’t. That’s?—”

“Can I ask what you drive?” Paul asks Mira.

But before she can answer, Callum calls out, “Hey, Rosalie!” He waves to my friend who is still next to the car .

Rosalie tugs her jacket on over her sweatshirt and grunts in response.

“Rose doesn’t like the cold,” I tell him.

“It’s seventy-eight degrees,” Zev says, an amused wrinkle forming between his eyes.

I shrug. “She’s from Southern California.”

“It’s always cooler by the water,” Rosalie says, walking up to us.

“Are you good?” Zev asks her.

She nods, but I see that twinkle in her eye. I don’t blame her. Zev is a cutie.

“Is everybody ready?” Zev asks. “We all have enough layers?” He smiles humorously at Rosalie.

“How did you guys meet?” Mira asks me. I’m not sure if she’s referring to Paul or Cal. But I don’t get the chance to decide which story to tell?—

“I saved Fran’s life,” Paul says. “She hasn’t told you?” He tilts to the side slightly, glowering at me.

Mira shakes her head.

“I just met her,” I say. “When would I have told her?”

The scowl disappears from his face, and Paul chuckles as if I’ve told a joke. But I would love for him to answer that question. “Let me set the scene.”

Zev leads the way to the boat. Clearly, he’s done this before.

Paul animatedly tells Mira about me almost getting crushed by a Ford F150—how is that story so entertaining? I slow my walk until I’m next to Rosalie and Cal in the rear.

Callum’s eyes are on the back of Paul’s head. He wrinkles his forehead as pieces of that very entertaining story make their way back to us. Rosalie peers over at me and bounces her brows once. It isn’t playful. No, she is questioning my life choices—again.

It’s a question I am struggling to answer at the moment. But I’ve got a plan—and while I can’t say that my plans never fail me, I can say that my plans are always good ones, and I’m sticking to this plan. Like fresh Velcro stuck to a wool sweater.

I’m nothing if not persistent.