Flirting with the Frenemy (Bro Code #1)(28)

But the idea of being one-half of a power couple doesn’t appeal to me anymore.

And the more time I spend around Patrick, the more I question everything I ever wanted.

He spent half of lunch checking out his phone. He missed an entire two games of bowling for an important work call. And it wasn’t until Sloane took his phone away at dinner that he finally engaged in a conversation that wasn’t about his travel, clients, or work hours.

Or baiting someone. Like Wyatt at lunch.

The military? That doesn’t pay very well, does it? Oh, that’s right, you’re divorced. I would never let my child go a week without seeing me.

When we were together, I thought he was charmingly cynical. Now, I can see he’s truly an asshole in the way that makes Wyatt look like…not such an asshole.

And Patrick learned it from his parents.

“There’s no way I’m making you face Jason’s parents by yourself. I’ll be there, and if they get snippy, I’ll just mention how many of my other ex-boyfriends sent flowers after my accident.”

Monica sighs. “They’re just so oblivious sometimes.”

I bite my tongue.

My brother is oblivious. The Dixons are just mean.

Except Jason.

Who’s jogging into the parking lot now after stopping to help talk Pop Rock’s cussing parrot off a roof. “Sorry, ladies,” he says as he joins us. “Stubborn bird. How’s the leg, Ellie?”

“Good.” It’s almost the truth, comparatively speaking. “You guys aren’t going to The Grog without me tonight, are you?”

“Nope, we’re saving that for tomorrow after our mothers drive us nuts,” Monica replies happily.

Jason shakes his head, making his curls shake too. “They mean well,” he tells her. He gives me a sheepish grin. “And I told mine to be nice to you.”

“Don’t worry about me. I’ve been through worse. You just enjoy your wedding week.”

“Are you having fun?” Monica asks.

“Of course.”

“Don’t even try that with me. You’re one degree of separation from needing to meet Willie Nelson for a joint. Do I need to talk to Wyatt about your need for backrubs and wine this week?”

“No, he’s got that covered.”

“So what’s with the weird tension between you two at lunch? And don’t tell me you were embarrassed about the dressing, because your brother models underwear for a living. Nothing short of full frontal exposure in public is grounds for you to get embarrassed.”

Oh, fuck, she noticed? I drop my voice and try to come up with a reasonable explanation. “Tucker found my doodle pad this morning.”

When the idea of a seven-year-old looking at Dick and the Nuts doesn’t seem to faze her, I add, “While we were trying to fix Frogger.”

“Holy shit, you broke Beck’s Frogger?”

“Ssshhh! We’re going to get the high score back,” I say quickly. I have no idea how, but we will. “And did you miss the part about my doodle pad?”

“No, I’m trying really, really hard not to laugh at how Wyatt must’ve handled his son getting an eyeful of a penis cartoon. It’s easier to do when I’m concentrating on the threat of your brother banishing you from ever using his weekend house again. Remember the time we snuck up here for my birthday party?”

“Oh my gosh, and all your friends from work?”

“And the poor shaved poodle?”

“And the stripper?” we say in unison, and we both double over laughing, which sends a jolt of pain to my knee, but fuck it, laughing feels too good.

“You had a stripper?” Jason asks mildly.

“A pirate stripper,” I explain.

“A really bad pirate stripper,” Monica adds.

“He tripped over his scabbard and accidentally mooned us trying to turn on his music.”

“He was so cute.”

“In a frat boy out of his element kind of way.”

“We ended up getting him drunk and tutoring him in calculus.”

“He still emails me his grade reports. I think he’s graduating next year.”

Monica’s eyes dance. “He is? We should go to his graduation! Engineering school, right?”

“No, he decided political science was more his speed. His parents are crushed, but he’s riding a 4.0 since he switched majors.”

“We are so going to his graduation.”

“It’s a date.”

“Hey, Ellie, you need a ride home?” Grady Rock calls from the edge of the makeshift parking lot.

“Got my car right here, but thank you,” I call back, patting my white Prius.

“Still happy to give you a ride. My TV’s out. Can’t watch the game.”

“Go crash Cooper’s house.”

“Pop’s there.”

“Go see your grandfather. It’s good for your soul.”

“Not when Nana’s with him. They’re disgusting. Heard she was telling stories at Anchovies about him stripping for her. Would you want to watch that?”

“We’re going with her to make out on the couch,” Monica tells him.

“Fucking hell,” he mutters loud enough to carry. “Next time, then.”