Need You for Keeps (Heroes of St. Helena, #1)(39)

Jonah watched as Adam dug into the bag of chips, raining little crumbs all over his leather couch. He held up the squirt bottle and Adam obediently cupped his hand under his mouth as he finished chewing.

“So you came here?”

“Snuck in the back. Figured if we stuck together we stood a better chance.”

Their sister didn’t have kids, she had alpacas. A family of them, with their own luxury habitat complete with a playroom, splashing pool, and library. Frankie was also a straight-up ballbuster—with impeccable aim and a mean streak as wide as the valley. And when it came to her newest baby, Blanket, she could get a little intense. Which was saying a lot for a woman who had kneed her own husband in the nuts twice before getting around to telling him she loved him.

“I’m good,” Jonah said. “I sent a present and a card last week on Blanket’s actual birthday, so you can leave and face Frankie alone.”

“Aunt Lucinda sent that present. Picked it out, too.” Adam smiled, slow and smug, because he knew what Jonah knew. Frankie was a master BS detector. She had to be, growing up with three older brothers who dragged her into their schemes, then left her holding the bag.

If she thought for a second that Jonah didn’t pick out Blanket’s present, which he did not, and passed it off as his idea, which he had, then he’d better start wearing a steel cup when he left the house.

“Total Dad move by the way,” Adam said, and Jonah wasn’t sure how he felt about that. “He used to have Aunt Luce pick out all of Phoebe’s presents.”

After Jonah’s mom passed away, his dad quickly remarried the free-spirited Phoebe, hoping to fill the void in his own life as well as his sons’. Phoebe was fun, whimsical, and a much-needed breath of fresh air for Jonah and his brothers.

His dad, not ready to let go of the anger of losing his true love, never accepted Phoebe’s passion for life or forgave her for it. David wasn’t a bad guy, just misdirected, and normally Jonah didn’t mind the comparison, but in this case he did.

“I’ll send her something else.” Maybe he’d even stop by her house and visit. Frankie’d like that. Ever since she married into the largest Italian family in town, she was all about sibling bonding, throwing BBQs, and all the things that made Jonah’s eye twitch.

“Let me know how that works out for you,” Adam said, then pulled out his cell and started swiping.

A few seconds later he flipped it around and there was a picture of Frankie with Blanket. They were standing in front of a HAPPY BIRTHDAY banner. The alpaca was making mincemeat out of the book Jonah had gifted the weed-eater, and his sister was wearing a black T-shirt and the finger.

Jonah grabbed the phone to get a better look. The finger was a no-brainer, Frankie was just saying hi in her own special way. The shirt, however, looked like it had—

Jonah sat up. “What the hell is she wearing?”

“A WARREN’S GOT BOOTY tank top,” Adam said, flipping back to the baseball game. “They’re all the rage. Saw two ladies jogging in WARREN’S GOT BOOTY shorts on my way here.”

“Look, I don’t care about who the women of St. Helena have on their butts,” he said. He just cared who Shay wore on her butt, and wondered if she was voting for Warren like she’d said a few weeks back.

“You better check Facebook before you say that.”

“I’m not on Facebook.”

Adam froze, his expression going completely serious. “Don’t admit that, man, it makes you sound old. What’s your personal e-mail account again?”

“Why?”

“I’m making you a Facebook account. Never mind, I remember it,” Adam said, picking up his phone, his fingers flying over the screen. “I will even friend you, but don’t go posting pictures of your cat on my wall. It’s not cool.”

“It’s not my cat.”

“Whatever you need to tell yourself.” Adam looked over the screen of his phone, long and hard. “And cat pictures are never cool, got it?”

Jonah gave him the whatever the f*ck you need to hear, bro shrug.

“Your password is BarneyFife82, as in how old you pretend to be.” He hit a final button and smiled. “As for what women have on their butts, you should always care. Especially if you want to win the election.”

“People aren’t going to vote for Warren because he looks good in a calendar.”

A few swipes to the phone later and Jonah actually cared who women had on their butts. Because lots and lots of women were sporting WARREN’S GOT BOOTY merchandise, and what had looked like a sheriff’s race slam-dunk for Jonah seemed to be shifting—in Warren’s favor. Not enough to make Jonah scared, but enough to have him taking notice.

“What’s that?” He pointed to a link on Nora’s timeline that read “Which Sexy Candidate Fills Out the Uniform Best?”

“A Facebook poll that Nora is hosting. Oh, and in case you’re wondering, yes, the guys at my station are going to give you so much shit when they see you next.” Adam laughed and then scrolled down. “You have the Boy Scout and Quick Draw categories in the bag, but Warren is smoking you in the Does Boot Size Matter?, Best Booty, and Where’s the Beefcake? categories.”

“Where’s the Beefcake?” Jonah sat back in his recliner, no longer concerned. They couldn’t be serious.