Getting His Way: Sapphire Falls Book Seven (19 page)

Of course, the players were the same every year. As were the spectators. The Lawn Yawn was not for the faint of heart. It required a comfortable place to sit, a full cooler and some good sunscreen.

And a sense of humor.

There was a bracket for the teams and everything.

But the most entertaining part was watching the old guys argue. Something that happened every five minutes. Rather than betting on the brackets, most of the people who showed up bet on which of the men would lose his cool and storm off first, which would use the most F-bombs, and who would pretend to strain something first. There was also always an under-the-table drinking game going. Everyone drank whenever Frank blamed a poor shot on his bad rotator cuff—which switched sides every year it seemed. Everyone drank whenever Conrad claimed that Larry was cheating—and about ninety percent of the time he was right. Everyone drank whenever Albert told the story about winning ten bucks playing cornhole when he was only eight years old at the county fair. And so on and so forth.

No one ever remembered who won the tournament, but many people remembered their own Lawn Yawn hangovers from years gone by. For Bryan, the granddaddy had been in 2013.

This morning, Bryan was listening to them, flashing back to that horrible morning-after, and wondering how in the hell he’d ended up in Dottie’s
meeting
with these guys about the tournament.

Oh, yeah. Tessa.

He’d gone to her house last night after finishing
Erotic Research
, but she hadn’t answered the door. Or her phone. So he’d called TJ to find out where she was supposed to be first thing this morning. He’d thought about camping out on her front porch, but he could admit that he was thinking maybe he didn’t know her as well as he’d thought. Before the last few days, he would have guessed that he was far more stubborn than she was and he could easily outwait her on the front porch.

Now he wasn’t so sure.

If the romantic, starry-eyed girl he’d known all his life had really read
Erotic Research
eight times, then he didn’t know her very well at all.

And he was thrilled.

Not that she was more stubborn than he’d thought, but that she was interested in some—or all—of the naughtiness in that book.

It was one of his favorites now too.

He needed to get this meeting over with.

“How about beer pong?” he asked.

It was something new. That’s what this needed. Something no one had won before. Time to shake up the routine—and, yes, he did realize that the same would be applied to him and Tessa.

“Beer what?” Frank asked.

“Beer pong. You set up ten cups in a triangle shape on both ends of a long table. There are two teams. You take turns trying to bounce a Ping-Pong ball into a cup on the other end of the table. If your ball lands in a cup, your opponent has to drink that cup. Then it’s removed. You play until one team eliminates all of the other team’s cups. But,” he said, thinking fast, “we do it bigger. We use buckets, or even trashcans, and big rubber playground balls.”

“We’re going to drink an entire trashcan full of beer?” Albert asked.

“No, you’ll just drink from a cup, but it’s a bigger game this way,” Bryan said.

“I don’t know if I can throw with my bad rotator cuff,” Frank said.

“It’s underhanded,” Bryan said. “More tossing than throwing. Just like horseshoes or cornhole.”

“Can we drink whatever we want?” Conrad asked.

“Well, if you drink iced tea and we’re drinking beer, you have an advantage, don’t you think?” Larry asked.

“I’ll drink beer,” Conrad told him. “I was just wondering.”

“You were just wondering about something that doesn’t make a damned difference to you?” Larry asked.

“This is why we never get anything done,” Albert declared.

“Guys,” Bryan said loudly. “How about we pick a number.”

Frank looked over at him. “Pick a number for what?”

“I’ll think of a number. You all pick. Whoever gets closest gets to pick the game.” This had to be what kindergarten teachers went through.

“Fine,” Frank said. “A number between what and what?”

Bryan had no idea. “One and fifty,” he threw out.

“Eight,” Frank said.

“What if I was going to say eight?” Albert asked. “Who says you get to go first?”

“Were you going to say eight?” Frank asked.

“No,” Albert told him. “I always pick thirty. But that’s not the point.”

“Okay,” Frank said. “You go first.”

“Thirty,” Albert said.

Jesus. Bryan rubbed a hand over his face.

“Why should he get to go first?” Larry asked.

Oh, for fuck’s sake. “What would Tessa do?” Bryan asked loudly over the bickering.

The men all looked at him, then each other.

“She’d probably have us all write down our vote and then put them in a hat and pull one out,” Conrad said.

“Then let’s do that,” Bryan told them. Whatever got this over with. So he could go find Tessa and find out why she’d ditched the meeting.

And why she was avoiding him.

The men all grabbed napkins and wrote down their votes, while Bryan contemplated his life choices. This was Sapphire Falls. These were the pillars of the community—arguing over lawn games and having to be supervised like five-year-olds. But he couldn’t help but grin as the men wadded the napkins up, threw them into Frank’s cap, and held it out to Bryan.

He loved this crazy place and he was staying—for better or worse.

Bryan reached in and pulled out a napkin. He smoothed it out and read, “Beer pong it is!”

All but Albert cheered.

Bryan tucked the napkins into his pocket and rose from his chair.

“Okay, gentlemen, I’m out of here.”

“Who’s going to do the bracket?” Larry asked.

Bryan looked at him. “Does Tess usually do the bracket?”

They all nodded. Of course she did. Tessa did everything that kept things running smoothly around here.

He and she were so alike in so many ways. He loved the behind-the-scenes stuff. He’d never begrudged Ty or the other athletes the spotlight. Bryan could have trained and competed like they did. But it wasn’t in his nature. He competed against himself—improving his times and distances—but he’d always been out for the pleasure of the activity, to absorb and appreciate the moment. He was a great motivator because he helped people focus on their goals and motivations and making themselves better before they worked on being better than someone else. He loved watching other people accomplish things.

Tess was like that. Behind the scenes, making things work, making things great and letting others enjoy and shine.

“Then I’ll be sure she gets that bracket done,” he told the men. “I’ll see you all later.”

“But what about—”

“Dottie?” Bryan called out. “A round of coffee and cinnamon rolls for the boys, on me.”

That quieted them down—just like snack time in a kindergarten classroom—and Bryan said a final quick goodbye and escaped.

He pulled the wadded napkins from his pocket and looked them over. Sure enough—they all said beer pong but one. The one he’d chosen. He ripped them all up and tossed them into the trashcan by the streetlight in front of the diner on his way to his truck. He didn’t want to be caught with that one-off vote that read LAWN DARTS.

There was no way he was letting those guys play with lawn darts. It was his public service of the day.

* * *

Tessa knew she shouldn’t be surprised to see Bryan on her front porch steps, but she was.

What she wasn’t surprised by, at all, was the way her heart leapt when she saw him.

Damn. Old habits really died hard.

Of course, it wasn’t an
old
habit to flash to the memory of being on Bryan’s lap with his hands and mouth all over her body. No, that one was definitely newer.

Tessa swallowed hard as her body flushed. Which was amazing, considering her body was already hot and flushed from her run.

And then there was the memory where she’d told him that she thought he should find another girl.

Yeah, definitely new.

“Hi,” she said as she approached, aware that she was sweaty and dressed in fitted workout clothes.

Then again, it seemed whenever Bryan was around, she was very aware of things her body was doing.

“’Morning,” he said, his eyes tracking over her from head to toe.

“Everything okay?” she asked, lifting a shoulder to her temple to wipe a trickle of sweat.

Typically, she liked the feeling of being sweaty and hot and out of breath. It meant she’d worked hard and pushed herself. She liked the feeling of energy that pumped through her and the feeling of accomplishment. She could distinctly remember the first weeks and months after she’d decided to start running. She’d hated it. She’d hated the sore muscles, the blisters on her feet and the gasping for breath, the sweat, the realization that she couldn’t even make it a mile. But it was the end of the run that kept her going back out. The way she felt standing under the shower spray after she’d finished, after she’d refused to quit no matter how much she’d wanted to, had kept her putting those shoes on.

She also remembered the feeling the first time she’d doubled her distance. Then the day she’d beat her personal time. Then the time she’d gotten brave enough to sign up for a 5k. And she’d not only finished, but finished in the top ten for her age.

Yes, typically, she liked how she felt after a run.

But today, with Bryan’s eyes on her, taking in every detail—from her tomato-red face to the hair escaping her ponytail to her bright pink socks that didn’t go with her bright blue running tights—she felt self-conscious and gross.

“No, Tess, everything is
not
okay,” he finally said.

It was probably the socks.

“What are you doing here?” It was just after eight in the morning. She knew Bryan was more of a night owl—one of the very few reasons the bartending gig made sense—and that he tended to not see daylight before about ten. She also knew he’d worked last night.

It seemed she knew details about him without even meaning to. Once a stalker, always a stalker. Even if it was unintentional now.

He was sitting with his forearms resting on his thighs, the picture of casual and laidback. But she sensed a strange tension in him.

“You missed our meeting this morning. Thought I’d stop by and fill you in on the details.”

Meeting? She thought quickly. Ah, the Lawn Yawn. “You went to the meeting at the diner?” she asked, unable to fight the smile. She’d been to exactly one meeting with that group. That had been more than enough. For the last few years, she’d left them to all the decision making, and bickering, and simply drawn up their bracket after they were done.

“I did. TJ said that was on your agenda this morning, and I’m here to help you.”

“That meeting is completely pointless, even for the men involved. They make the same arguments every year even though they all have a great time no matter what game they play, and no one shows up—including
them
—because of the game. I gave up meeting with them four years ago or so.”

“Smart girl. So you probably don’t need a rundown about the change to beer pong then.”

“Beer pong? Seriously?”

“My suggestion.”

“Really.”

“They were bickering about everything else. I thought maybe changing things up a little would be good.” He looked at her directly. “You know how sometimes you take things for granted until something shakes you out of the routine?”

Tess shifted uncomfortably. They weren’t taking about beer pong. “Yeah. Change can be good. Give you perspective.”

He nodded. “Change can make you really appreciate what you had before too.”

She cleared her throat. “So you think changing to beer pong will help them appreciate cornhole?”

“I think seeing you naked and giving you an orgasm has made me appreciate having a long history of friendship with you.”

Naked. Orgasm. Words like that from Bryan’s lips hit her hard—and low. Her body responded as if he
had
said fuck and suck.

Naked wasn’t a dirty word. Orgasm wasn’t exactly naughty. But from him, they had the same effect on her. Interesting.

And very inconvenient, considering she was trying to avoid all of this.

“A long history?” she asked. “How is the other night related to our history?”

“You really don’t know?” he asked. “You don’t realize that whether you want romance and sweetness or not, our history as friends and your crush made that orgasm even better?”

She sucked air in through her nose. She did kind of know that actually. But that didn’t mean she didn’t want the dirty stuff.

“So because of our history as friends, you getting me off with just your fingers on my couch is as good as if you’d bent me over and fucked me?” she asked, purposefully being blunt and graphic.

He was making her face the other night? Fine. He’d face it from her perspective too.