In the Weeds (Lovelight #2)(55)

Nova nods proudly. “All of them—my first when I was sixteen.” She taps the inside of her wrist where I know Beckett has a small leaf. “I was having trouble finding clients and Beckett volunteered. He kept volunteering,” she laughs.

I think about the art that covers every square inch of his arms, from the backs of his hands to the strong line of his shoulders. I picture a much younger Beckett sitting with his arm outstretched, allowing his little sister to carve her mark on his skin and my heart swells in my chest.

“The galaxy one,” I answer her question and rub my finger along my tricep. “The one right here. The coloring is gorgeous.”

It hides under his t-shirt most of the time, a bright blue streak poking through when his sleeves are slightly rolled or when he’s reaching for something above his head. A rich cobalt with streaks of purple, the ink so smooth it’s like someone pressed their thumb and dragged it across his skin. Tiny, delicate stars outlined in crisp white.

Nova beams, pleased. “I gave him that for his birthday a couple of years ago. It’s my favorite, too.”

“What’s your favorite?” Beckett’s deep voice rumbles against my back as a big hand appears over my shoulder and lifts the beer out of my grip. I tilt my head back and watch as he takes a long pull, the strong column of his throat working.

“Hi.”

I want to lean my head back until it rests against his hip. I want to tell him I’ve been thinking about him all day.

He looks tired, a little frustrated. But a small smile quirks his lips when he glances down at me with a raised eyebrow. “Hey. My sisters getting you drunk?”

“Not yet,” his mom smiles softly and accepts the kiss he leans over to press to her cheek. “But we’ve got time. Now sit down and put your flower crown on. Trivia starts in three minutes.”

Beckett drops into the seat next to me and dutifully puts on his flower crown without complaint. It dips over one eye and I push it back on his head until the blooms are resting in his hair. He looks like something out of Greek mythology, unfairly beautiful.

“Damn,” Harper pouts. “I was hoping you’d look ridiculous.”

Beckett’s eyes slant towards her, sitting cross legged at the end of the table with a piña colada in front of her. “Glad to see you could make it.”

She shrugs. “Can’t participate,” she gestures towards her fair blonde hair, twisted back in a braid, unadorned with a flower crown. “Didn’t dress up.”

Beckett reaches for the leaves on his head. “You can have—“

“Oh, hey Jenny! Hold on a sec, I’ll be right—”

She stands up without finishing her sentence, disappearing into the crowd that surrounds the bar. Beckett releases a defeated sigh and finishes the rest of my beer.

“You okay?” I ask.

“It’s loud,” he says with a wince. He reaches for the pitcher in the center of the table and almost topples it when Gus climbs up on the bar top with a megaphone, announcing the start of the games. He shakes his head slightly, a short, reactionary movement like he’s flicking off a fly or shaking water out of his ear. He secures the pitcher and pours himself another glass. “It’ll be fine.”





CHAPTER THIRTEEN





EVELYN





It is not fine.

He barely finishes his beer before a dramatic rise of music begins to pump through the bar. It sounds like something from Harry Potter or maybe … Battlestar Galactica? I have no idea. Whatever it is, Gus slowly rises to the beat from his crouched position on top of the bar, megaphone in hand.

“LET’S GET READY TO TRIVIA,” he shouts into his speaker, dragging out the last word until he can’t breathe. The crowd erupts into raucous cheers.

“Jesus Christ,” Beckett sighs next to me.

“Alright, everyone. You know the rules. Each team has one runner. You’ll write down your answers and at the end of each round, your runner will bring your submissions to Monty.” He points down at the bar where Monty sits with an official looking hat and a wide grin. “The sheriff would also like me to remind everyone that the term runner does not mean you have to run, and if anyone starts tackling again, that’s an immediate end to the night.” Gus narrows his eyes and searches the crowd. “You hear that Mabel, baby? No violence tonight.”

“I’ve never seen trivia like this before,” I say in the general direction of the table.

Nova slaps down a sheet of paper that looks like it’s embossed at the bottom, a sharpie between her teeth. “And you never will again. Let’s kill these motherfuckers.”

Beckett drags his entire hand down his face.

“The first category—” Gus pauses dramatically. The entire bar waits with bated breath. “—is botany.”

“Not fair!” Someone shouts from the back. “The Porter family has generations of agricultural knowledge on their team!”

Nessa shoots up from her seat next to Nova. “No one questioned you last month about how you know so much about the Spice Girls, Sam. Sit down.”

There’s a grumble from the opposite end of the room. No one else says a word.

“First question. What type of vascular plant possesses neither seeds nor flowers?”