Page 10 of The Wrong Game

I pretended to be annoyed, but the truth was I never could be — not with Doc. He was a member of my family just as much as the blood relatives sitting at the same table, and every Saturday evening, without fail, we all sat together and ragged on each other in equal measure.

It was just my turn first, tonight.

“Is she a sweet girl? What’s her name?” Mom asked.

“Is she hot?” Micah chimed in, waggling his brows.

Mom thumped him with her still-rolled napkin.

“It’s not a date,” I said, earning me a somewhat-saddened look from Mom. Then, I smirked at my little brother, leaning over the table to whisper, though I knew everyone else would be able to hear, too. “And she’ssmokin’.”

Micah high-fived me as Mom rolled her eyes, splaying her napkin on her lap.

“Sure sounded like a date when you told me about it,” Doc argued, piling his fork up with a stack of green beans. “And you haven’t asked for a night off in… well, ever.”

“You think every interaction I have with a girl at the bar is a date,” I volleyed. “Including anytime old Mrs. Rudder asks me for a refill on her merlot just so she can watch me bend down to retrieve the bottle from the bottom shelf.”

“That old woman would marry you in a heartbeat.”

“She’d do the same with you, if you’d ever actually do more than grump at her.”

Doc humphed at that, the same way he humphed at pretty much anything that anyone said at the bar. He was the owner — had been since the doors opened back in 1976 — and though he loved the new clientele my ideas had brought in over the years, he still didn’t know how to handle a bar that was actuallybusyand not just sprinkled with his regulars.

Almost twelve years now I’d worked in his bar — all because he took a chance on a kid who needed him.

“You know my heart is taken,” he said.

“Right. By the little honey down in St. Croix, right?” I shook my head. “I’m still not convinced she’s a real person and not a figment of your imagination.”

“You don’t have to be convinced of anything.Iknow. And that’s all that matters.”

Doc’s smile was more genuine when he took his next bite, eyes all lost in wonder as he thought about the woman he’d been pen pals with for almost ten years now. I never understood that — essentially dating with so much distance between them. They’d only seen each other a handful of times, every time Doc would let me force him to take a little vacation to go down there.

He’d never shown me a photo of her, though.

“Also,” I said, addressing his comment about me being a workaholic. “Idotake days off — every Saturday, same as you.”

“Only because I make you,” Doc said. “I swear you’d sleep at that bar if I put a cot in the back.”

I grinned. “A couch would do.”

“You got a pic of her?” Micah asked, pulling the subject back to mynotdate.

“Oh,” Doc chimed in at that. His brows rose all the way into his hairline. “I didn’t even think to ask about that.”

“No, you perv, I don’t have a picture.” I tossed a bread roll at Micah. “And even if I did, I wouldn’t show you. We all know your spank bank is plenty full.”

“I do not need to hear about my sixteen-year-old son’sspank bank,” Mom said, holding up her hands with a disgusted face. “New topic. Now.”

Micah and I laughed.

My mom and Micah looked exactly alike, other than Mom’s hair being longer. Micah had the same soft features as she did, whereas mine were darker, edgier — favoring my father’s strong bone structure. Still, just one look at the four of us together and anyone could see we were a family.

“Sorry, Mom. I swear, I’m still your little baby boy. Zach doesn’t know what he’s talking about. I’m an angel.”

Micah circled the crown of his head like a halo, clasping both hands in front of himself in mock prayer.

Mom rolled her eyes. “Right.”