The Hot Mess and the Heartthrob(7)

Tripp was a widower trying to find his own purpose beyond being a dad to two little kids a year ago when fate brought Lila and the Fireballs baseball team into his life, and now they’re planning a small wedding at Thanksgiving.

Wyatt married Beck’s sister, Ellie, who’d hated him most of their lives until a car accident brought them together, and now, she’s six months pregnant with their baby and being an equal partner in raising his older son.

Half of my best friends—my brothers from childhood—have settled down.

I’m thirty-six.

I’ve been touring as a musician since I was eighteen. I have more money than God, or at least more than I’d need in a hundred lifetimes. I’ve seen the world twice over. I’ve acted some. I quietly co-own an organic farm-to-table pizza chain that’s growing across the nation. I have my charities, causes, accolades, and awards.

I’ve also never wanted to get married. I wasn’t even in high school yet when I told my mom I was going to be a single-forever rock star who ate steak and French fries every night for dinner, and that I’d only have a girlfriend when I felt like it, which would probably be never.

And for most of my life, I haven’t wavered, unless you count giving up on French fries being the greatest food on earth and liking girls more once I discovered the fun of sex.

But only when it doesn’t get in the way of my goals.

But lately, I feel like I’m missing something.

Walking into that bookstore today, seeing Ingrid—it was like the world opened up and said, Here you go. This is what you’ve been looking for.

Except nothing is ever that easy.

I toss back the rest of the whiskey in front of me and slam the glass on the table. “Who’s up? Ryder. You stalling?”

Beck grins. “I should take Sarah to the Eiffel Tower.”

“You haven’t yet?” Wyatt asks.

“You haven’t taken Ellie either.”

“She’s not interested. I took her to Venice instead.”

“I was thinking Lila and the kids and I should head somewhere in the Caribbean before the season starts,” Tripp says.

Beck shakes his head. “Leave the kids here. You two go have grown-up time.”

“With you?”

“And Sarah. She loves your kids. And my mom’ll help. So will yours. And your manny.”

The three of them grin.

Yeah, yeah. They’re all happily in love with lives beyond their jobs.

And I’m the single guy who can’t stop picturing Ingrid’s pretty face and her curvy ass and the way she took charge when her kid shoved those marbles up his nose, never once losing her cool, handling everything with the kind of efficiency that shouldn’t be sexy when you’re talking about nostrils but nevertheless has me wanting to know more about her.

When she’s probably happily married, because she should be.

Even if she’s not the woman from my concert, she seemed like a good person, and good people deserve to be happy.

“Poker, dumbasses.” I wave my cards.

“Okay, okay, we’ll take your money.” Tripp grins at me, then downs a shot like he’s not my responsible big brother.

It’s been years since he’s been this happy.

I shouldn’t be an asshole about it.

Three hands later, I’m holding my own with my head almost fully in the game. Tripp’s playing too safe despite that shot to loosen him up, and he’s in the hole. Wyatt, who pretends he doesn’t know we lie to him about the buy-in at every game, is kicking all our asses, whereas Beck’s losing his.

Probably on purpose for Wyatt’s benefit, since Ellie won’t let Beck buy them a new house for when the baby comes. You getting rich and famous for showing your underwear doesn’t mean the rest of us have to live better than we grew up. We grew up fine, and my kids will grow up normal and fine too. By normal people standards, Wyatt and I are more than comfortable. Donate your money somewhere it’ll make a real difference.

I like Ellie.

She used to try to keep up with all of us, though the girls were heavily outnumbered in our neighborhood. Now, she helps keep us all grounded in remembering where we came from.

And I like that Wyatt still shows up for poker night with his fifty bucks despite knowing that the rest of us inflate the value of each chip by a grand.

Wyatt will count his share of the winnings in the morning and send us all a picture of his middle finger when it’s more than he knows should’ve been in the pot.

The rest of us will pool what was leftover of our own buy-in and a charity somewhere in Copper Valley will get a boost before the weekend’s over.

Beck rises and scratches his stomach. “You guys hungry? Sarah made a cheese ball.”

Dude can pack it away. He’s legendary.

“You can’t make your own cheeseball?” I ask.

“It’s the relationship rule. She makes my cheeseballs, and I thank her in ways that would probably make her dad kick my ass if he knew. Plus, I made the cookies that the ladies are enjoying at their girls’ night tonight.”

“And how many did you eat while you were baking?” Tripp asks.

“Only like eight. Or eighteen. It was a big batch. Lots of small cookies.”

“You give Sarah small cookies?” I smirk. “Dude. Ladies like big cookies, if you know what I mean. Just because you’re married now doesn’t mean you can slack off.”