Before Jamaica Lane (On Dublin Street, #3)(66)

We all stared at Jo as she fumbled around in the backseat, then hauled out a massive duffel bag. She glanced over her shoulder at us. ‘What? I didn’t know what the weather would be like, so I had to bring clothing choices.’

‘Tell that to my ass.’

Nate snorted at me and guided me to the trunk of the car. ‘Did I mention I appreciate how light you pack?’ He grinned at me as he lifted my backpack out of the car.

‘It’s two nights.’ I leaned around the car to see Cam helping Jo with her bag. ‘Did you hear that? Two nights.’

She scowled at me. ‘Look, Uncle Mick increased my wages and I may have gone a wee bit nuts buying some new clothes. I got a little overexcited about what to bring.’ She eyed Cam a little apologetically. ‘Sorry.’

He kissed the apology right off her lips. ‘Don’t apologize to me, baby. I could give a shit. Bring what you want.’ He grinned teasingly at me. ‘I’m not the one crammed in the back of the car with you.’

‘Shotgun!’ I shouted, perhaps more loudly than I needed to.

They all gazed at me like I was crazy.

‘Shotgun,’ I reiterated. ‘On the drive home, I call shotgun.’ When I got no answer, I huffed, ‘The rule is, the first person to say “shotgun” gets to ride in the front passenger seat.’

Cam frowned. ‘Oh, that rule doesn’t translate here. Sorry.’

I narrowed my eyes at him. ‘But apparently some misogynistic silent rule that the eldest men in the group get to ride in front does?’

Cam slanted a teasing look at Jo. ‘You had to make friends with a feminist?’

Jo grunted. ‘You’re the one who tracked her down on Facebook.’

‘Nice. I’m feeling the love, guys, I’m feeling the love.’ I brushed past them and shoved at Cam. ‘I’m riding shotgun.’

‘No. You are not.’

‘Oh, yeah?’ I stopped and turned back to look at Nate, who had gotten all the bags out of the trunk and was locking up. ‘Nate?’

He glanced up at me casually but stilled at the smug little smirk on my lips. ‘Yes?’ he asked warily.

‘Who is riding shotgun with you on the trip home? Cam … or me?’ If you don’t say me I will forget you even have a penis.

He got the message and threw Cam an apologetic look as he walked past us toward the house. ‘Sorry, mate. She called shotgun.’

Triumphant, I followed Nate to the house and as he let the two of us in he whispered in my ear, ‘Sexual manipulation … pick that up on your own time, did you?’

I gave him a wide-eyed look of mock innocence as I wandered inside. ‘I have no idea what you’re talking about.’

He slapped my ass playfully and I turned, giggling up into his face as he grinned down into mine. A throat clearing pulled us up short and we glanced sharply over my shoulder to see Peetie and Lyn standing in the doorway to the sitting room. Lyn’s curious gaze shifted between me and Nate, while Peetie’s stone-faced expression was focused solely on his best friend.

Cursing myself to hell for not being more circumspect, I pretended the intimate moment between me and Nate was nothing and hurried forward to give Peetie and Lyn a hug.

Cole, Jo, and Cam followed us inside the house, and the ‘incident’ was thankfully forgotten as we looked around the cozy rental and chose our rooms. There were four bedrooms, so Jo and Cam, Lyn and Peetie each took a double room, Nate and Cole took the double twin room, and I took the small twin room. Cole disappeared into their room to dump his bag while Nate pointedly looked between their room and mine and pouted comically.

‘No sex for you,’ I mouthed.

‘Aye, well, that means no sex for you either.’ He did not mouth it; he just said it out loud.

My eyes bugged out as he laughed and darted into his room to escape my wrath.

Was he trying to get us caught?

The pub on the main street of Longniddry was typical – exposed brickwork, massive open central fireplace, solid wood tables that had seen many a year, matching chairs, and wooden benches trimmed in red fabric hugging the perimeter of the room. Seated around one of the larger tables, with a Tudor-style window behind us, I found myself happily situated between Nate and Cole on a bench. At the head of the table was Nate’s dad, Nathan. Nathan was an older version of Nate – same thick, unruly hair, once dark, now salt and pepper, same twinkling dark eyes, same olive skin, same dimples, same build. Same overall charm and masculine beauty. Across the table from Nate sat his mother, Sylvie. I could tell Sylvie must have been a knockout when she was my age because she was still very pretty. She had dark hair that she kept long, bright blue eyes, and soft features. She was small in stature and slender.

Nate’s behavior with his parents somehow surprised me. When we walked into the pub and they stood up to greet us, Nate threw his arms around his mom and lifted her off her feet. Once he was done with her, he and his dad hugged each other hard, grinning happily into each other’s face as they pulled back. Nate introduced us, and Cam introduced us to his parents, Helena and Anderson, before Peetie introduced us to his aunt and uncle, Rose and Jim – they’d raised him when their too young niece had decided to give him over in adoption.

Once we were seated, it became clear to me that Nate was incredibly close to his parents. This was something I hadn’t known. I knew he loved them. I knew there were no problems there, but considering he rarely went home to see them … well, I didn’t know what I thought. I just didn’t think they were best friends. Clearly I was wrong.