Chapter 32
The Magic of Her
EVERLY
My brother, West, is dragging, dragging, me to see Field of Dreams with him and Nellie tonight.
The real reason I said yes is because West agreed to buy me drinks.
Margaritas specifically, my favorite. And because Beau isn’t home tonight; some kind of work thing or something.
I fully admit I wasn’t listening when he said where he’d be.
All I heard was “I have plans so I’m not around to hang out.
” So when West texted, I agreed. I don’t love Field of Dreams, but shh, don’t tell West since it’s like his favorite movie of all time.
But Walt’s going to be there too, and for a college kid, he’s kinda cool.
It’s the thirtieth anniversary of the film so a local organization here in Oregon decided to go all out with an outdoor extravaganza—movie projected on a huge, outdoor screen, food trucks, some sort of kids’ play area.
Again, I don’t understand quite why, but it’s not my place to question it.
Nellie, West’s girlfriend, smartly decided to leave her daughter home with her parents, so at least West can thoroughly enjoy the movie.
Oh, and Nellie too. Because it’s apparently her favorite movie of all time as well.
God, could they be any more compatible?
It’s not until I pull my truck into the spot next to theirs I notice another person who’ll be joining us.
Jackson, Nellie’s uber-hot older brother.
I should have assumed he was coming. Not because it’s his favorite movie or anything—that would be For the Love of the Game—but because he likes to hang around with West. I’d be upset about it, except he’s kinda fun to be around, and he makes me laugh, at least when he’s not irritating the heck out of me.
I check myself in the rearview mirror before exiting the truck, the ball cap sitting tightly on my head, my ponytail sticking out the back.
The hat was required. By West. I wasn’t “allowed to show up without one; that would be sacrilegious.” God, when did he get so demanding?
Or when did I allow myself to cave to his every whim?
Either way, I made sure I had a hat—one from the high school where West coaches.
I debated for a few minutes whether to wear a Mariners one or this one.
This one matches my shirt better so it won.
“Hey.” Jackson’s husky voice startles me, making me jump a few inches. Putting my hand over my chest, a gasp escapes. “Oh, sorry, didn’t mean to scare you.”
As I turn his way, I find his forearms leaning on the wide-open window, the veins bulging with the slight pressure.
I shake off his apology, how he did scare me. “Hey yourself.” I venture one quick glance at him, not allowing my eyes to linger too long at his face, his eyes, hidden away behind his black sunglasses.
Before I can stop myself, I blurt out, “Where’s your cap?
West said they were mandatory.” I gesture toward his empty head of tousled hair.
For one brief second, I wonder whose fingers ran through it to give it that just fucked look.
Then I scold myself for caring. Mainly because my phone chirps with a text.
BEAU. My boyfriend.
I look down at the phone, opening up Messages.
Hope you’re enjoying the movie. If you’re not too drunk later, come to my house. Spend the night even. **wink wink**
“Um.”
My fingers hover over the keys, my mind not knowing what to type as a response.
I want to say I will be, because I am hoping to get kinda drunk tonight and he doesn’t really approve of my drinking to the point of tipsy.
Except I have to drive myself home later, so I can’t drink too much.
No matter how much alcohol I consume, I’m not going to his house.
He lives kinda far out of the way to attempt the drive after any drinks. He’ll have to wait until tomorrow.
The phone is ripped from my fingers before I make up my mind on how to respond. I forgot Jackson was standing there and before I can say anything, he types out some text, hits send, and pockets my phone.
Jackson Smith at his finest: irritating as fuck.
“Not nice. Give me back my phone.” The words tumble from my lips, the whiny tone I’ve worked hard not to let Jackson see escaping with my surprise at his actions.
I hold my hand out to him, wanting my phone.
Exasperation boils up inside as he stands there, a smug look sitting happily on his handsome face.
A face I still can’t pull my eyes away from, even when I scold myself to do so.
“Why’s he not here tonight, Evs? He’s too much of a douche to even enjoy baseball? Or movies? Or the outdoors?”
Jackson—and West—has no qualms in making their distaste known about Beau.
I don’t see what they see though. I may not want to spend every waking hour with the guy, but he’s good to me.
He treats me nice. He puts up with my quirks.
Well, mostly. I’m glad he doesn’t have any say over the way I spend my money because that would not end well.
Since it’s my money to do as I please, he learned early on to keep his opinions to himself.
As do I about all the poker he plays, the nights out with the guys he partakes in, and his never-ending “work events.” Our compromise seems to be working so far in our still newish relationship.
“He’s not a douche,” I proclaim a little too loudly and with not enough conviction, evidenced by the way Jackson raises an eyebrow at me.
“He’s just…” I trail off, because I don’t have a comeback.
More importantly, I don’t need to justify my relationship with Beau to Jackson of all people.
West, maybe, but certainly not Jackson. He’s just my brother’s girlfriend’s older brother.
“If you can’t even convince yourself, why should I believe you?” He has my door open, holding his hand out for something. What, I’m not sure. Instead of calling him out on his truth, bringing more attention to myself, I slap his hand, attempting a casual high five. With a smirk of my own. “Keys.”
One word.
He speaks one word, and I fall under his stupid charm because of how he says the word.
It’s not an invite—rather, a demand. One I find myself complying with, handing over my keys with only the slightest indignation.
As my fingers graze his palm, a shiver passes through my body, a spark attempting to ignite a long putout flame I extinguished long ago for a plethora of reasons.
Shaking away the thrill, I can’t focus on the way a casual graze affects me. It wouldn’t be fair to Beau.
With the keys in his hand, he scoots me off the seat, pushing me out of his way as if it was his truck and not mine. He turns it back on, assesses something on the dash, puts up the windows, and turns it back off, pocketing the keys as he hops down off the bench.
“Full tank I see. He actually filled it for you this time?” His expression gives nothing away as to how he feels about the implication of Beau filling my truck with gas.
The lie is on the tip of my tongue, but as usual, I keep it inside. Instead, Jackson gets my truth. “Daddy did it this morning when I stopped by to help Mama bake dessert for tonight.”
Okay, so maybe I added the last part as a distraction.
As if on cue, the minute he hears “dessert,” he stops listening to anything else I’m saying and peers over me into the truck, even going so far as to push me out of his way—again—unlock the door and reach inside for the box of goodies on the passenger seat.
Carefully balancing the box in one hand, he lifts the lid, sneaking a hand inside.
Fortunately, they are just cookies so the intrusion won’t mess them up too badly.
Bringing out two cookies, he hands me the box, stuffing one in his mouth.
Ever the gentleman, he waits until he’s finished swallowing to speak.
“Damn, these are good. The walnuts are an added touch. It’s like you remembered I love them.”
I’m not ashamed at how I stare at the way his tongue darts out of his mouth, licking up the little dab of chocolate left on his bottom lip. However, I am ashamed at how fast my body reacts to a little lip licking by this man who’s off-limits to me.
I debate with myself for a few moments whether to tell him I added the walnuts for him, wanting him to know I did it for him, but not in the mood for it to go to his head.
I’m not given the chance to voice anything before Nellie and West join us, Nellie wearing a jersey from the local high school where West coaches.
Her ball cap is turned backward, as is West’s.
“Yo, Smith. Where’s your hat?” I point to my head, making sure he doesn’t miss my implication.
Swiping the back of his hand against his mouth, he reaches behind him, procuring a very worn-in baseball cap, immediately situating it on his head. My enthusiasm deflates a few notches as he hides his disheveled hair away from view.
“Dude, share the wealth of the cookies.” West grabs the box from my hand and with an exasperated shrug, I let him take them.
“Did they start selling margaritas yet? I’m thirsty and in need of a drink.”
“Yeah, what she said,” Nellie agrees, reaching out for a high five. “But I’m only allowed two. ‘Responsible mom’ and all.” Her smile falters for the briefest of seconds before it returns when West hands her a cookie. “Sweet.” She shovels it in her mouth, giving me a thumbs-up.
“That’s our only dessert. Save some for the movie.
” I wait for their reactions, knowing full well there’s a box of truffles under the seat.
Not one of them seems to mind the lack of dessert, at least for the time being, but I do notice West puts the lid back on the box, efficiently cutting them off.
“Are we waiting for Walt or is he meeting us on the lawn?”
“He said he’d come find us since he wasn’t sure what time he’d get here. Let’s go set up our spot, grab some food and drinks, and get settled. We don’t have a lot of time.”