Flirting with the Frenemy (Bro Code #1)(23)

She doesn’t answer, but she doesn’t have to.

I’m getting her goat.

I can feel it.

Plus, I’ve been practicing since I realized I annoyed her when I was about thirteen.

I know how to shoot a basketball, Wyatt. I don’t need you to show me how.

Damn if I didn’t have some fun telling her she was doing it wrong just to see her face light up in independent indignation for the rest of high school. It was almost as good as having my own little sister.

Until it wasn’t.

Because Ellie Ryder grew up, and she grew up stronger and faster and better at every sport she tried, and maybe it’s ego, but I swear she wouldn’t have been half as good if I hadn’t goaded her.

And I noticed. Believe me, I noticed. Even when I knew I shouldn’t, I did.

I yank the plug, and the fan inside the machine whirs to a stop. After counting to three, I plug it in again, then straighten to watch the screen.

Ellie’s rubbing her thigh, and I wonder if it’s aching this morning.

Not that she’d tell me if it was. She doesn’t admit weakness.

Not if she can help it.

The game flickers to life, the screen back in normal operating mode, and I breathe a sigh of relief while Ellie sags next to me.

Close enough that she’s almost sagging into me, matter of fact.

“Oh, shit,” she whispers.

Tucker giggles.

“Watch your mouth,” I mutter, but I realize she’s gone pale. “What?”

She points to the screen.

To the top. Where it’s supposed to say HI-SCORE 701,400, but instead says HI-SCORE 0.

“No, no, no,” she groans. “Do you know what this means?”

“Beck’s gonna kill you,” I offer. Fuck, I’ve got sweat gathering at my collar, because Beck’s gonna kill us.

Dating his sister might be okay—not that I have time in my life for that even if I’d let myself imagine it—but killing his Frogger score?

We’re both dead.

But I can’t say that to Ellie, because now I have to annoy her. It might be the only thing I do right for my buddy this week.

He spent hours. Hours. And we killed his high score. On his favorite game. Fuck, we all pitched in, egging him on, bringing him pizza. Levi even wiped his chin a few times so he didn’t have to break from playing.

It’s just a game.

This is stupid.

Except it’s the memories. And the glory. And Beck’s favorite game.

Tucker giggles again. “Daddy, what’s a ball chain?”

“What’s a what?”

“A ball—”

Before he can answer, Ellie’s shrieking again. She leaps off the stool, almost goes down to her knees, but doesn’t stop as she dives for the notebook in his hands. “Ohmygod, that’s not for you!”

She snatches the notebook, but not before I see—a drawing of a short penis? And two boulders?

“I like Dick and his Nuts,” Tucker says. “They’re funny.”

Her face is a cherry tomato with eyebrows and flashing blue eyes. “Please don’t open random notebooks and sketchpads in this house. You don’t know what you’re going to find, and my brother has some very adult things that you shouldn’t see.”

Beck doesn’t have notebooks and sketchpads.

Beck plays video games when he’s here. Sometimes poker.

But he’s never doodled or written stuff a day in his life.

Ellie, on the other hand…

“Not one word.” She lifts her palm to me and hobbles out of the room, but not before grabbing the donut bag too. “Not a single word.”

“Hey, you’ve got some Frogger to catch up on,” I call after her. “Seven hundred thousand points worth.”

She glances back at me, sees Tucker isn’t watching, and lifts a middle finger.

I stifle a grin, because that attitude?

That’s pure, classic Ellie Ryder.

And seeing her coming back in full force is more relief than I can ever admit to anyone.

Especially her brother.





Nine





Wyatt



Tucker and I are on the eighteenth hole, after having survived leaving the house with Ellie insisting she didn’t need a ride anywhere and that she’ll make sure none of Beck’s notebooks get left out again.

I smirked at her, letting her know I didn’t believe her, and she flipped me another bird when Tucker’s back was turned.

On the miniature golf course, we’ve made it past the English cannon attack hole, the mermaid hole, the hurricane hole, and more, to finally reach the Kraken hole. It seems wrong that we’ve come this far just to lose our balls to one of the sea monster’s mouths—or possibly his eye sockets—but I guess that’s the life of a pirate.

“Dad! Dad, I got it in his nose! Did you see?”

“You gave him a golf ball booger. Good job.”

Tucker throws his arms around my waist. “I’m so glad you’re my dad.”

My sinuses get heavy and I blink a couple times before I hoist him up for a hug. Most days, I feel like I get more wrong than I get right, and I don’t have a fucking clue what he’ll think of me when he grows up—I’m supposed to be there for him every day, not just calling him at bedtime from Gellings Air Force Base five hundred miles away in Georgia—but he still seems to think I’m good at the dad job for now.