7. Devlin
DEVLIN
M y neighborly neighbor showed up on my deck Saturday at two o’clock squishing her forehead against the glass of the door and knocking.
I’d seen a lot of her this week. She’d tackled the work on her list with gusto, fitting me in around other work projects.
I would have been flattered that she was prioritizing my tasks, but I knew that Scarlett Bodine was keeping an eye on me.
“I’m fine, Mom,” I said into the phone for the sixth time as I pulled the door open for Scarlett.
“Your father and I just want to make sure that you’re staying focused.”
The McCallisters were nothing if not focused. By the time I was in third grade, I knew I’d follow my father’s steps into politics. I’d never bothered to wonder if it was what I wanted.
“I’m fine. I’m focused.”
Scarlett ducked inside and danced on the balls of her feet.
“Good because we’re going to have to work to undo the negative press before next year’s session begins. And it’s an election year. I hope this hasn’t set us back too far.”
I could hear the clink of china as she set her afternoon cappuccino down on its saucer.
My mother was the perfect politician’s wife.
A lifelong volunteer, the perfect hostess, a natural social butterfly.
She was the perfect supportive partner to my father’s career.
I thought I’d made the same choice in Johanna.
“I’m prepared to do the work,” I promised.
“I’m glad to hear it. For now, we feel it’s best if you continue to stay off everyone’s radar for a few more weeks. Hopefully someone else will give them something to talk about this summer.”
Scarlett hopped from foot to foot looking like a kid on Christmas morning in front of a mound of unopened presents.
“I’m sure some scandal will arise,” I promised my mother.
“Just make sure it’s not your own. If you and Johanna can’t work this out, you’re going to have to make sure everyone knows it’s an amicable split.”
There was zero chance of us working it out and also no chance for the divorce to be an amicable one. But I didn’t feel now was the right time to explain that to my mother.
“I’ve got to go mom. My neighbor is here.”
“Ugh, I can only imagine. Are they wearing overalls?”
My mother hated the fact that her mother loved Bootleg.
My grandmother invited Mom to Bootleg when she first moved here, and after one weekend in town, my mother vowed to never return.
“Those people eat roadkill,” she insisted at dinner parties when it was appropriate to paint her mother as a charming eccentric.
“I’ll call you later, Mom,” I said dryly.
I disconnected and tossed the phone on the coffee table. “Why are you dancing around my living room?” I asked, surprised that I was actually looking forward to the reason.
“Grab some flip flops and let’s go! ”
I looked down. I was dressed for a workout in shorts and a tank top.
The weather had warmed considerably, taking it into the mid-seventies.
With the aid of the sunshine and buzz of spring life, I’d actually made it a mile at a slow jog and had managed a few sets of push-ups and sit-ups today.
A small step forward but certainly not the kind of attire I usually left the house in.
“I don’t own flip-flops.”
She goggled at me like I’d just confessed to hating babies. “Fine. Old sneakers then.”
“Don’t own those either.”
“You’re a deprived man, Dev. Bare feet are fine. Just don’t whine about mud.” She started dragging me toward the door.
I dug my heels into the living room rug. “Where are we going?” I asked.
Scarlett had an interesting habit of dragging me where I didn’t want to go.
“Deck party. It’s the perfect day for it. I’ve got a cooler of sandwiches, beers, water. And I’m not takin’ no for an answer. So get your fine ass moving.”
I wasn’t exactly sure where to start. What was a deck party? And did she really think I had a fine ass? Or was that more a statement about the whole package? Because I was feeling as far from my normal self as I ever had.
“Stop overthinking and come with me,” she ordered.
I grabbed my phone from the table. “Fine, but if this turns out to be some kind of Bootleg initiation where you take me cow tipping and leave me in the middle of a corn field, I’m going to hire a different contractor.”
She rolled her eyes, and this time when she tugged my hand, I let her drag me out the door.
“A. There’s no such thing as tipping cows. Urban myth. B. If I left you in a corn field right now, you’d be just fine seein’ as how it doesn’t hit knee high until the Fourth of July.”
She kept a hold of my hand and pulled me through the woods in the direction of her house.
I tried to remember the last woman who so freely held my hand.
Dating Johanna had been more like a job interview.
We both had specific goals. I was looking for the right partner for my career.
She was looking for a husband who would provide financial security and the ability to pursue her volunteerism.
Looking back it seemed a bit… archaic. Sterile?
Scarlett glanced over her shoulder at me and grinned, and I felt… something.
She beamed up at me, and I felt… tall, interesting, stirred. I was by no means in any position for a spring or summer fling. But this bubbly brunette with a sweet southern drawl was starting to paint pictures in my head.
We peeled away from her cottage and headed down the wooden dock over the dark lake waters.
“Who’s ready to party?” Scarlett crowed.
The end of the dock erupted in hoots and hollers. It was a twelve-by-twelve floating deck with an outboard motor, railings with built-in cup holders, and folding camp chairs. Her brothers were there, all three of them, and two women close to Scarlett’s age.
“Cass, this is my friend Devlin. Dev, this is my BFF Cassidy. She’s deputy sheriff here in Bootleg.”
Cassidy peered at me over her sunglasses and offered a wave. She had dirty blonde hair cut in short layers. Her green eyes considered me impishly.
“A pleasure,” I said.
Cassidy raised an eyebrow. “Well, he’s a hell of a lot more polite than your last ‘friend,’” Cassidy said .
Scarlett flipped her the bird and cheerfully continued her introductions.
“This tall drink of water here is Cassidy’s sister June. June, this is Devlin.”
June was tall with stick-straight hair a shade or two darker than her sister’s. They both had the same upturned nose.
“Are you two having sexual intercourse?” June asked. Her face remained impassive as if she didn’t really care if we were or not but was merely making small talk.
I cleared my throat. “No. We’re not.” I noticed that the Bodine brothers relaxed visibly, and I realized I might have narrowly avoided a physical altercation.
“We’re all here,” Scarlett announced, not the slightest bit perturbed by the sex question or the fact that her brothers looked like they would have cheerfully beaten me to death and dumped my body in the lake. “Let’s cast off.”
Bowie fired up the motor while Cassidy untied the lines. Jameson gave the deck a shove away from Scarlett’s dock, and we were underway. June queued up a playlist, and something country and upbeat poured out of the railing-mounted Bluetooth speaker.
“What do you think?” Scarlett asked, plopping a straw cowgirl hat over her dark hair.
She looked like she belonged on the cover of a country album in her short, shredded denim cutoffs and her I Heart America white tank.
Her blue flip-flops showed off pink toenails.
And was that a peek of a red bikini I was seeing?
God help me, it was. And I was trapped on a tiny barge with her three brothers.
I didn’t feel like now was a good time to share exactly what I was thinking. Instead I stated the obvious. “Your deck is floating.”
“There’s a sandbar in the middle of the lake. On warm days, everyone heads there. ”
“To do what?”
She looked up at me from under the brim of her hat like she felt sorry for me. “To have fun, Dev. When’s the last time you had any of that?” She laid a palm against my chest, and while I really liked how it felt there, I heard Gibson clear his throat.
Message received.
I took a step back, and Jameson helpfully shoved a cold beer into my chest. “Maybe this will help you cool off.”
“Thanks,” I said weakly.
We motored out around the boulders that jutted into the lake and into open water.
Geographically, the lake was huge. I could barely make out the opposite shore which, if Scarlett’s tall tales were correct, was Maryland.
We were heading away from town, and I noticed the lakefront homes grew sparser, replaced by rocky ledges and thick copses of pine trees.
There wasn’t much civilization on this end of the lake, and had I been alone, I might have enjoyed it.
I shouldn’t have come. I wasn’t prepared to socialize, especially not with an entirely different culture.
Someone behind me hooted. There in the center of the lake was a long strip of sand and a half-dozen other floating decks. I’d spent summer days on the Potomac on the deck of a sailboat, but I’d never seen anything quite like this.
With the expertise of a riverboat captain, Scarlett piloted us up to the sandbar, beaching the deck gently. Gibson flipped open a section of the railing and tied it to the neighboring deck, effectively lashing us to them and creating a doorway.
Greetings were exchanged, music stations synched, and inner tubes were launched into the dark lake waters.
“Isn’t it a little cold for that?” I asked Scarlett.
“Hot springs, remember?” She leaned down and scooped up a handful of water, splashing me in the face. It wasn’t the icy bath I’d anticipated.
She laughed, and I mopped my face with the hem of my t-shirt. Was it my imagination, or had her gaze locked on to my abs? It made me wish I hadn’t given up on working out. A few months ago, she would have had something to stare at.
I dropped my shirt back in place, and she gave me a friendly grin. “Now, you just sit right down and enjoy yourself,” she said and danced over to the neighboring deck.
In our flotilla, there were 20-somethings shotgunning beers, parents sunscreening little kids, and even a deck full of senior citizens in floppy hats playing Bunco.
I sat on the edge of the deck with my bare feet in the water and wondered how my life had come to a screeching halt and dumped me here. And why I wasn’t more upset.
“Flippin’ contest!” someone shouted.
The Bootleg population represented on the lake cheered, and the chant started. “Flip! Flip! Flip!”
The Bodine brothers shared a look and rose as one. Cheers erupted.
“You’re going to need to move back for ballast,” June said, appearing at my elbow. June, Cassidy, and I lined up on the edge of the deck closest to the sandbar while the brothers made a show of peeling off their shirts and stretching.
“Wait for me, y’all!” Scarlett barreled over from the next-door deck.
She stripped off her tank top, and I swear I went deaf for a second or two.
I’ve seen people move in slow motion in movies, but I’d never experienced it in real life.
She shucked her cutoffs, and they hit me square in the chest. With a grin, she stood before me in a cherry red bikini that made it very clear exactly how sexy she was.
When she followed her brothers and climbed up on the top rail of the deck, I felt my heart stop .
The swimmers in their inner tubes cleared the water. “Get it, Bodines!”
“Shake your tail feathers!”
I didn’t know what that meant, but I sure as hell wasn’t prepared for what happened next.
Starting with Bowie on the right, they turned their backs on the lake one by one and executed perfect back flips into the water.
“Holy sh?—”
I didn’t even get the words out when Scarlett jumped, tucking her knees to her chest and spinning backward.
“Wooooooo!” Cassidy shrieked in my ear.
“Excellent form,” June commented.
They surfaced, one at a time, the family resemblance evident in the matching ear-to-ear grins. Scarlett bobbed in the water and splashed Gibson. He dunked her and swam over to an empty tube.
“Water me, McCallister,” he ordered.
Still stunned by Scarlett’s ball-of-fire body and precision gymnastics, I dug through the cooler and tossed him a bottle of water.
Scarlett hauled herself aboard and caught the towel Cassidy threw at her. “How’s the water, dare devil?” Cassidy asked.
“Warmer than the air,” Scarlett said, bending at the waist and flipping her head upside down to towel dry her hair. Was I the only one staring at her ass in that tiny scrap of fabric?
A quick scan of the nearby decks told me I was not the only one. Every male who wasn’t related to Scarlett was avidly enjoying the view.
I crossed to her, blocking everyone else’s view, and handed her a beer .
“Thanks, Dev. Stick around here long enough, and we’ll have you back-flippin’ in no time.”
I couldn’t imagine anything less likely.