Chapter 9
Isla
The Courtside Café is only a few blocks from Brooks’s apartment, so I walk to meet Spencer, Wes, and Thea for lunch, despite the drizzling rain.
I close my umbrella and shake off the excess moisture before stepping inside the restaurant. It’s covered in Palmer City sports memorabilia and art, from a baseball player wearing the Owls uniform to a Wolves player decked out in hockey gear, each of them mid-swing.
I spot Spencer and Thea first, standing in front of the counter, reading the menu.
“Having second thoughts?” The low rumble of Wes’s voice makes me jump.
My head snaps in his direction. Raindrops splatter from the tips of his long hair, barely grazing his collarbone, onto his bare chest left exposed from three undone buttons on his dark plaid button-up shirt. The sleeves are rolled to his elbows, leaving the obscenity of his forearms on display.
I’m close enough to decipher the tattoo on his left forearm, water and trees in black ink. I want to run my fingers over it, to study every inch.
What is going on with me? I need to snap out of this.
“Is this you not speaking to me, or—”
“You startled me,” I finally manage to reply.
The glint in his eyes makes it clear he realizes I’d been admiring him. I motion to his arm, needing to shift the focus off my inappropriate lingering look. “Is that a lake?”
Wes runs a hand over his tattooed forearm. “Yeah, one near where I grew up.”
“What, did you lose your virginity there or something?”
He huffs out a laugh. “How much of a caveman do you think I am?” He holds up a hand. “Don’t answer that.”
“Can’t take the truth?” I needle him.
“Let’s just say, we don’t have the best track record for having conversations in public establishments.”
I let out a sarcastic laugh. “Wow, you really have a problem with a woman speaking her mind.”
Wes drops his head to whisper the words in my ear. “You can speak your mind to me any time you want, Red.”
I suppress the shiver that runs through my body, not wanting him to realize the effect he has on me. My breath catches when he meets my gaze, a cascade of unwanted lust ripping through me at the intensity of his expression.
“Hey, Isla,” Thea calls to me, waving enthusiastically.
Wes and I straighten, turning away from each other. He clears his throat.
“Is she…” I’m suspicious of the eagerness in Thea’s tone.
“You’ve got yourself a fan. Since Spencer told her you’re his new partner, she’s been asking when we were going to see you again. Caught her watching some of your competition videos too.”
I cross my arms over my chest, feeling my lips stretch into a smile. “I’ve gotta say, the annoyance in your voice is really doing it for me.”
A smirk breaks across his face.
“Oh, my God. Not like that, dude. Not like that at all. I like bothering you. That’s it.”
Wes lets out a sigh, running a hand through his hair. I watch helplessly as the strands rise with his hand, then slowly fall. “You bother me more than I can say, Covington. Hopefully that’s enough fuel to help keep up our act for Spencer.”
I walk toward Spencer and Thea, who are placing their orders. “Guess we’ll see,” I say over my shoulder with a sly smile. “I can always recharge.”
“Everything all right with you two?” A skeptical crease forms between Spencer’s eyes.
Wes wanders to his brother’s side, flashing me a comically goading look, daring me to admit the truth. We agreed to pretend in front of Spencer, but that apparently doesn’t mean we’re going to be adults about it.
“I was thanking good ole Wessy for checking on me after he saw me fall on the ice the other day. He sprinted to me, all concerned.” I clutch a hand over my chest. “Such a sweet, concerned gesture.”
Spencer scrutinizes Wes. “But you love watching people fall.” He refocuses on me, explaining, “Videos of people slipping at water parks or falling off their front porch are his favorite content.”
“You’re making me sound like a psychopath.”
Spencer grins. “It is a little fucked up.”
Wes holds up a hand. “For the record, I don’t like people getting hurt. But do I like seeing someone fall out of their chair sometimes? Sure.”
I don’t admit that my dark sense of humor enjoys those videos, too. Bonding with my parking lot terrorist is not on the agenda for today.
Spencer shakes his head. “We’re going to grab a table.”
He guides Thea by the shoulder toward the back of the room. I step forward, taking their place in front of the register.
“You’re laying it on too thick with Spencer,” Wes mutters from beside me.
“You have your methods, and I have mine,” I mutter back, then place my order.
My food comes out moments after Wes finishes placing his order. I take the tray and immediately head over to the corner table Spencer and Thea commandeered, needing a break from Wes’s presence. I take a seat beside Thea and across from Spencer, as far from Wes as I’ll manage at a four-seat table.
“Did you get the cookie sandwich?” Thea asks. She locks her phone and puts it on the table face down.
“As if I could turn down a recommendation for the best cookie ever.”
She unpacks the cookie quickly and shoves it into her mouth, taking a large bite. “So good,” she mumbles.
“I’ve never been here before,” I say.
“It’s not your scene,” Wes chips in from behind me, startling me again. He needs to stop catching me off guard. I focus on my grilled cheese sandwich to keep my traitorous eyes from straying to him.
“Why, because I’m a Covington?”
Wes takes his seat, diagonal from me, and gives me a sidelong look. “Am I wrong?”
I wish I could say he was, but my parents never brought us to an establishment like this. They preferred their meals with a side of pretentiousness. “Don’t pretend that you know anything about me, Wes.”
“Your life has been a lot different than ours,” he says, gesturing to Spencer beside him.
I hate when people judge me based on my family. I didn’t choose them, or their lifestyle, and have done my best to distance myself from it since I became an adult.
“Not that it’s any of your business, but I haven’t taken a dime of my parents’ money since I was in college. And when I divorced my husband, I didn’t take anything from him either—only what I had when we married.”
“Let’s not—” Spencer starts, but I cut him off when I see a group of men enter the café in the mirror behind Wes and Spencer.
“Shit.” I duck beneath the table and say a silent prayer that neither my ex-husband nor my father spotted me.
Wes
Isla darts underneath the table after a group of men in crisp business suits walks into the restaurant.
“What are you doing?” Thea asks, looking beneath the table, not playing it cool at all.
Isla makes a hushing sound. “Pretend I’m not here. Talk normally.”
“You want us to tell you when they’re gone?” I ask, keeping my voice low and turning toward Spence so anyone looking our way wouldn’t think twice.
“Yes, please,” she whispers.
It takes about ten minutes for the businessmen to order at the counter and for their food to be brought out, but it’s not in to-go containers. They settle into the table at the window, where sunshine comes through the glass, all traces of the rainstorm long gone.
“We’ve got a problem,” Spence says.
“They’re not leaving,” I add.
“Fuck,” Isla hisses. “So much for your theory that my family wouldn’t eat in a place like this.”
“You’re hiding from your family?” Thea jumps in.
“My dad,” Isla replies. “And my ex-husband. They don’t know I’m in town, and I want to keep it that way.”
I stare over at the group, wondering which one Isla married.
They all look like the polar opposite of me—clean-cut, stuffy, spoiled.
Custom-tailored suits, watches, and haircuts that cost light-years beyond what I could afford.
Not that I’d want to. I played hockey with enough guys like this, from families like theirs, to know that I don’t want these people in my life.
Apparently, one of them was once Isla Covington’s type. It confirms what I’d thought from that first night we met fourteen years ago—that I’d never belong in her world or be enough for her.
Knowing that doesn’t stop me from wanting to help her.
“I’ve got an idea,” I tell her. “But you’re going to have to trust me.”
Isla scoffs. “Really.”
“He’s got his serious face on,” Spence says. “You can trust him.”
“Does he have another face?” she quips.
Thea covers her mouth while she chews a bite of her sandwich. “I haven’t seen it.”
“Do you want to get out of here or not?” I ask.
Isla lets out a long sigh. “Fine. It could be a while. They like their leisurely lunches.”
“Okay, this is what we’re going to do,” I say.
“Spence, grab to-go containers from the counter and pack up our food. Also, snag one of the baseball caps to hide Isla’s hair.
Thea, I need you to play a song on the jukebox, something to distract them.
And Isla, you’ll crawl out from under the table and climb onto my back so I can carry you out of here. ”
“I’m sorry, what?” Isla’s voice cracks. “Absolutely not.”
“You’re welcome to walk out instead. Your call.”
Another groan. “Fine, but your hands better not roam anywhere they shouldn’t be.”
“Don’t flatter yourself, Red. I’m doing you a favor, not scheming to cop a feel. I’m not one of the sleazes you’re hiding from.”
Spencer returns and begins packing our meals, as Isla climbs through to my side of the table. I place the baseball cap onto her head, her hands swatting mine away from her. She tucks her hair into the cap, adjusting it until she’s comfortable with the fit.
“Ready?” I ask.
Her fiery gaze meets mine. “I hate this plan.”
“I’m not thrilled with it either.” I tilt my body to the side, legs spilling into the aisle between our table and the next one. “Hop on.”