Flirting with the Frenemy (Bro Code #1)(25)

Easier to blame him the more I decide he’s a turdnugget.

“How was the parade?” Monica asks Tucker.

“Where’s Ellie?” Blond Caveman asks me while Tucker tells Monica he liked the parade.

I know his name, but I prefer to call him Asswipe. Since I can’t do that in front of my kid, Blond Caveman it is.

“She’s getting fitted for a peg leg,” I tell him.

“Seriously, Patrick, I just told you,” Monica says with a sigh. “She’s parking her car and fighting with Grady about accepting a ride in a golf cart.”

“You didn’t drive her?” Blond Caveman says.

“She wanted to not share the rest of her donuts, since Cooper Rock delivered them,” Tucker announces. “He signed my pirate sword. I wonder if he signed one for Miss Captain Ellie too?”

“Cooper’s signed tons of things for Ellie,” Monica tells him. “But she doesn’t usually keep them. She donates them to auctions for pet shelters.”

“Like for dogs and cats?”

“And sometimes goats and snakes and hedgehogs.”

Tucker frowns, like he’s pondering a shelter for goats and snakes and hedgehogs.

“I told you I could walk,” says a familiar voice that sets Dr Pepper buzzing through my veins.

We all turn as Ellie gives an exasperated sigh, then leans over to hug the Rock guy who was supposed to be her date last night. He’s driving the golf cart that she’s climbing out of. “But thank you.”

“It’s worth it just to watch you have to take help,” he tells her with a flirty grin, and I consider how much more attractive he’d be with a broken face.

I scowl at him.

He catches my gaze and winks. “Got a live one there, bro. Lucky man.”

“What is with all the men in my life being ass—uming blockheads?” she finishes as her gaze lands on Tucker.

“Hi, Miss Ellie!” Tucker calls. “Did you bring more donuts?”

“Not unless we’re having pizza donuts for lunch,” she replies. “Did you beat your dad in golf?”

“No.”

“There’s always next time. High five for trying.” Her gait is stiff, but she’s smiling at Tucker like she can feel no pain and she bends over to high-five him.

“Could you beat my dad in golf?” Tucker asks.

“Every time,” she tells him.

“Because I let her,” I add.

With a smile.

Like our relationship thrives on one-upmanship.

“And isn’t that the sweetest?” she says tightly with a smile of her own.

“Miss Captain Ellie, I want a llama someday,” Tucker declares.

Ellie gasps. “No way. Me too! Aren’t they so cute?”

“I’m going to name mine Llama Llama Ding Dong because my teacher plays that song all the time.”

“You—I—do you know you’re freaking adorable?”

“Yeah.”

He grins. She ruffles his hair, then moves in to greet Monica with a hug. When she’s done, just to piss her off—and to watch the Blond Caveman fume too—I wrap an arm around her shoulders and kiss her flowery-scented hair.

I have a role to play.

I’ll explain it to Tucker later. Shouldn’t be too hard. We’re old friends.

Not sure how I’m going to explain to my dick that we’re not doing this for real again, but it’ll live.

“Enjoy your ride?” I ask.

“Quit trying to help me walk. I can do it myself.”

“I can help you walk, Miss Ellie,” Tucker offers.

“Aww, that’s so sweet of you, but I have to eat with—”

“All of us,” I interrupt.

“We get to have lunch together!” Tucker says. “Captain Monica says so. Can you teach me to draw a—”

“Pirate?” Ellie exclaims desperately. “Yes. I can teach you to draw a pirate. Or a parrot.”

“The golf man’s parrot said a dirty word.”

“Aw, Pop Rock’s working at Scuttle Putt today? His parrot usually does say dirty words. He’s a very salty bird.”

Our table is called, and we head inside with Tucker proudly holding Ellie’s hand. “Be careful, there’s a chair,” he tells her, steering her around one of the thick wood tables in the treasure-themed dining room.

“Thank you so much, gallant sir,” she replies, then adds under her breath to me, “Why are you here?”

“Serendipitous timing. And fate, of course. I sensed you’d be here, and I missed you.”

She looks at me closer, and there’s a gleam in her eyes like she’s gearing up to top me in the lovey-dovey new relationship game.

Which shouldn’t be a big surprise. She’s always been bright.

“Here, Miss Ellie. You sit on the end so you can put your foot up if you need to.”

Tucker helps her gracefully into a chair—as gracefully as a seven-year-old who barely hits four feet tall can—and gives her a funny look when she replies, “Thank you, kind sir, you may kiss my hand.”

“It’s what gentlemen used to do for ladies,” I whisper to him.

He wrinkles his nose at me like I’m asking him to hug an eel. “Dad, I like her, but I don’t want to kiss her.”