“Come on,” he says, holding his middle. “It was so fake. Rattlesnakes don’t coil like that at night when it’s cold. They don’t have the energy. If he was real, he’d slink off somewhere and hide.”
“Like I’m supposed to know that!”
“Now you’ll never forget it. I’m helpful like that.”
I pick up his stupid fake snake and fling it in his direction. Then I gather my empty cup and storm back inside.
Quinn is waiting with another drink.
“Now do you see why I can’t stand him?” I take a long gulp of my margarita. It’s zesty and perfectly sweetened, the bite from the tequila speaking directly to the headache brewing at the base of my skull.
“He’s still hot as blazes.”
“He’s still a jackass.”
“So this was payback for deflating his basketballs?” she asks, unable to keep a straight face.
“Probably,” I grumble.
Two margaritas later, I call us a cab.
“Remember, tonight is about you being a free woman,” Quinn says as we touch up our lipstick in the guest bathroom. “Whatever your little heart desires, you take it, okay?”
“I’m not bringing home a cowboy.”
She gives me a saucy wink.
Outside my front window, the cab pulls into the driveway so we snatch up our purses and head out the door.
“Who’s playing tonight?” Quinn asks.
“Boxcar Doves,” I reply as we climb into the backseat of the cab. From Linden’s driveway comes the steady dribbling of his basketball. Maybe that means he’ll be done by the time we get home.One can only hope.
“Local?”
“Yeah, actually. Two sisters. Charlotte and Morgan Hannah. There was a whole write up on them in the Journal.” I roll down my window to let in the fragrant evening breeze. It’s one of the things I love about Finn River. What I missed most. How rich and earthy it smells here. In the spring, I swear I can smell the snowmelt and the flowers pushing through the tough mountain soil. “According to Annaleise, they’re really good.”
“Too bad she can’t make it tonight,” Quinn says with a pout.
“Might be better for Finn River that it’s just us.” I bump her shoulder, and she laughs. Annaleise is the one friend I’ve stayed in touch with since Dad and I moved away from Finn River when I was twelve. She’s a reporter for the Finn River Journal and lives for adventure like Quinn, a quality that made them instant friendsat my bachelorette party—and got us kicked out of two bars that weekend.
We reach the top of my driveway just as Linden fires off a shot to his basketball hoop. In the bright outdoor lighting, with his arms arched overhead, it’s like catching him in the flash of a photographer’s bulb. He’s changed into a pair of mesh athletic shorts and a sleeveless t-shirt that gives me an eyeful of his shoulder and forearm muscles and his tattoos. His face is a little sweaty, and his dark eyes are fixed on the hoop.
Next to me, Quinn gives an appreciative hum.
I ignore her. What kind of person plants a fake rattlesnake certain to scare the shit out of their neighbor? Did he relish my scream of terror?
The ball drops through the hoop with a softswish, but Linden’s not watching it anymore. His dark eyes are on me.
My cheeks heat and the knot at the base of my spine twists a little tighter.
Linden gives me a cocky arch of his brow before I can force myself to turn away.
Chapter Three
“How’s yourdad’s retirement party planning going?” Quinn links her arm with mine as we walk toward The Limelight. The low thump of music from inside the bar blends with the steady creak of the door swinging on its hinges.
“I finally found a caterer Darienne approved of.” I swallow the fluttery tickle in my chest. I’ve been working hard to make Dad’s night perfect. So what if my stepmother has made collaborating more like a game of tug of war. So what if Russel will be there. I can suck it up for Dad.
