Chapter 2
CHAPTER
TWO
Markie
“Dad, meet my new friend, Markie,” Gus says, winking at me like we’re as thick as thieves. I lift a brow, which only seems to amuse him even more. “Markie, this is my dad, Jory Plath.”
Why does that name ring a bell? It tugs at something in the back of my mind, and if Jory and Gus weren’t so entertaining—and Jory so damn attractive—I might be able to figure out why.
Jory slides his hands off Gus’s shoulders, his lips twisting into a smirk reminiscent of his son’s. “Seems that my son inherited more than my green eyes.”
“I sense a really cheesy line on its way …” I say, trying not to smile.
Jory’s laugh is warm and easy. “I was about to say that he has a knack for finding the prettiest woman in a room, but I guess I’ll keep that to myself. I’d hate to be cheesy.”
“Come on, Dad.” Gus sighs. “You can do better than this. Don’t embarrass me.”
I bite my lip, but a giggle escapes anyway.
Gus steps to the side so he can see both of us at once. “I’ve spent the past four minutes buttering her up. I crafted a perfect opening for you, and you come in with that? It’s no wonder you’re single.”
“I think you both have some work to do,” I say to Gus.
He flinches, as if suggesting he isn’t a brilliant matchmaker is ludicrous.
“Your dad’s line might’ve fallen flat on its face—”
“Hey!” Jory protests.
“But your attempt at crafting a perfect opening wasn’t exactly a success,” I say, ignoring the drip of sweat falling into the hollow at the base of Jory’s throat. “I told you that I wasn’t available.”
Gus rolls his eyes. “You were playing hard to get. It’s fine. But now that you’ve seen him, I’ll give you a moment to reconsider.”
My gaze slides to Jory’s, and suddenly every cell in my body reminds me that I am, in fact, available.
Very, very available.
A crooked grin. Arms and shoulders that are built, not sculpted, as if he uses them to do competent man things on a daily basis. He looks like the kind of man who changes your oil without being asked and coaches kids’ sports teams on the weekends.
The kind of man who does the nastiest, hottest things to you on Saturday night and then gets up for church on Sunday.
I get it, Gus. I’d reconsider if I didn’t know exactly how this story ends.
Jory scrubs the top of Gus’s head. “Do you have any money left, kid?”
“Yeah,” he says, ducking out from under his dad’s reach. “Why?”
“Go grab a milkshake from inside the barn.”
“I’m not thirsty.”
Jory’s eyes narrow playfully. “Then get thirsty.”
“Ooh,” Gus says, nodding. “I see.” He turns to me as he backs away with a smile stretched across his face. “I’m parched. You two crazy kids behave while I’m gone.”
I watch as he disappears inside the building.
“You have one heck of a wingman,” I say, laughing once Gus is out of sight. “I don’t know if you’ve trained him to do that or if he’s just naturally that ornery, but I know grown men with far less game than your son.”
“His charm is genetic. He gets it from me. Clearly.”
I try not to smile. “Clearly.”
Jory moves aside, making room for another customer to purchase a jar of jam. My attempt at small talk isn’t my best work because my attention keeps slipping to the man whose presence fiddles with my ovaries.
I watch him out of the corner of my eye as a woman from the next stall turns too quickly, bumping into Jory and sending a spray of lemonade across the front of his shirt.
“I’m so sorry,” she says, horror flashing across her face. “I didn’t see you.”
“It’s not a problem.” He looks down at the splotches on his chest before giving her an easy smile. “I have to wash it anyway.”
Her relief makes the corner of my mouth twitch as I return to my customer.
I wrap up the sale, somehow convincing the nice lady visiting Sugar Creek from out of town to add the final jar of cherry to her order, and then turn to find Jory still there.
He moves closer, the air carrying a hint of his cologne—something rich and masculine but with a brightness that evokes curiosity.
I have the irrational urge to lean in and inhale him.
Once he stops in front of me, I catch the logo on the front of his shirt.
“The Tennessee Royals?” I ask, pointing at his chest. “I have a friend who plays for them.”
“That’s funny. I play for them, too.”
My brows pull together in suspicion. Men will lie about the dumbest things to get attention, but it tracks. He’s tall, capable of tossing me over his shoulder and running a few miles, and those legs? Tree trunks. Just like Gray’s.
“You know Gray Adler?” I ask.
“Hell, yeah, I know him. He’s a good guy. Great teammate.”
I grin. “He’s kind of grumpy and can be an ass, if we’re being honest. But, yeah, he’s a pretty good guy.”
Jory laughs. “Couldn’t have said it better myself.”
“What about you?” I ask, curiosity getting the best of me. “Where are you from?”
“California. The Bay Area, specifically.”
“How did you wind up in Sugar Creek?” I take money from a customer and hand them a peach jam. “Gus said he was new to town like you moved here, but people don’t just move to Sugar Creek for no reason.”
“Long story. The short version of it is that I have Gus for the summer. I usually just bounce around until the season starts, but I needed a home base until he goes back to his mom in August.”
“Makes sense.”
He picks up a jar and inspects the label. “I know a handful of people from Sugar Creek, and they all say great things about it. One of my friends had a house for rent, and I thought this might be a good place to hang out with Gus for a couple of months.”
He takes out a twenty-dollar bill and gives it to me.
My fingers brush against his rough palm as I drop the change into his hand.
The contact sends a flurry of goose bumps across my skin and for a second, I’m borderline embarrassed.
I’m Markie St. James. I don’t get flustered by guys.
But I haven’t had physical contact with anyone from the opposite sex in four months, and I’m only human.
Besides, I’m sure Jory gets this all the time.
“I think you’ll like it here,” I say, pulling my hand away from his.
“It’s safe. The Sugar Days Festival is next month, and that’s always a blast. And I told Gus that there are always kids his age hanging out at the park.
” I grin. “Since, you know, he might want to hang out with some people his own age.”
There you go, Gus. I threw you a bone.
Jory rolls his eyes, grinning. “I know, I know. But I’ve only had him alone for three days since we visited my mom before coming here, and I wanted to spend a little time together, just the two of us.
I guess that’s over.” He shakes his head.
“You know, there are people out there who pay for meet and greets with me, but somehow, I’m not cool enough for my own kid. ”
“I think that’s just how that works.” I laugh. “Try not to take it personally.”
“Don’t take it personally? It wounds me.
” He laughs, too. “But, yeah, you’re right.
And I knew this would happen. I just thought I might get a week in before he started begging for time apart.
” He shifts his weight from one foot to another.
“You know, he is going to make all these new friends, and I’ll have a lot of free time on my hands. ”
The coy grin on his face is somehow both adorable and sexy.
I get what he’s hinting at, and it’s a much better angle than his original cheesy line—although I didn’t hate that one, either. But on a normal day, I don’t take the bait that easily, and I’m not about to bite now.
“That’s too bad,” I say, just as playfully. “It’s a good thing you know Gray. There are always chores to do on the ranch.”
“I can’t expect Gray to entertain me every day.”
I snicker. “Good luck getting him to entertain you ever. Gray might meet you for a beer or let you hang around for a day or two, but I don’t see Gray entertaining anyone except Astrid.”
“You’re right. You’re absolutely right. So I guess I’d better find someone else to have dinner with on the nights I’m home alone.”
“You should most definitely do that.”
He lifts a brow. I lift mine right back.
A silence settles between us for the first time since we met. It’s comfortable … and expectant, like we’re both standing at the edge of something, waiting to see who jumps first.
“Would you have dinner with me?” he asks.
“No.”
He laughs in surprise as if he really expected me to fold that easily. The challenge in his grin meets the one in mine. This feels strangely less like turning him down and more like the opening round of a competition.
Game on.
“It’s nothing personal,” I say as a bead of sweat trickles down my back. “You seem like a great guy, but I’m not dating right now.”
“Can I ask why?”
I blow out a hasty breath. “I’m just not. Men have consistently disappointed me over the past … decade, if we’re being honest. Come to think of it, besides my dad and grandpa, I’m not sure a man has ever not disappointed me.”
My heartbeat picks up as a shot of adrenaline fires through my veins. I thought that writing off men would make them less of an issue in my life. But since I vowed not to date anyone, it’s become more of a talking point than anything.
I don’t want to hate men. I want to love them. I want to be a great girlfriend, maybe even an amazing wife someday. And I miss dick so much that I dream about it. But when every relationship ends in failure because of the same problems, there doesn’t seem to be any point in continuing the chaos.
He studies me for a moment, the playful grin slipping from his expression. “I’m sorry that’s been your experience.”
“Me, too. And it’s not like I ask for much, you know? The bare minimum would be more than I expect at this point.”
“The bare minimum is a failure in my books,” he says. “I’m either all in or not in at all.”
My lips twist.
“That wasn’t an innuendo,” he says, chuckling.
I know it wasn’t, but I also love that he knew exactly what I was thinking.
I glance up and find that the crowd has mostly vanished. A few stragglers are moseying through the market, but for the most part, everyone has gone. I expected as much with today’s temperatures… and I’m not mad about it.
“Look, Jory, I have a lot going on, and I need to focus,” I say, stacking the napkins into a neat pile so I can pack them away.
“Do you have anything you’re working on that I could help with? If you’ll recall, I’m about to have a lot of time on my hands.”
“Unfortunately, no, you can’t help me with anything,” I say, pulling boxes from beneath the table so I can load the leftover jam into them.
“I have to find someone I have great chemistry with who can play pickleball on a level that will win the Sugar Days tournament.” I look up at him. “It’s not as easy as it sounds.”
He holds his hands out. “Um, hello?”
“What?”
“I’m a professional athlete, and unless I’m reading this all wrong, we have excellent chemistry.”
I roll my eyes. “Unless I’m reading this all wrong, the chemistry you’re referring to has nothing to do with pickleball.”
His grin deepens.
“Don’t.” I hold up a finger and shake my head. “That wasn’t an invitation.”
“Come on …”
“Since you’re a professional athlete, then you should know that the chemistry between two people in an athletic situation is special. You can’t force it. You either have it, or you don’t.” My hands go to my hips. “This tournament is important to me, and I have to win.”
“I could pretty much guarantee that if I’m your partner.”
I stare at him before pulling my gaze away and continuing to pack the boxes. He makes sense, and I hate that. It would be so much easier if I didn’t feel like we might have some chemistry—and maybe even some outside the bedroom. And that’s exactly why he can’t be my partner.
My focus has to be on the game and not on his probably hot shirtless body working out next to me.
I’ve seen Gray shirtless. There’s zero doubt that Jory’s body is beyond delicious.
Besides, he seems like the kind of man who wants to take control and lead.
Normally, I find that sexy, but on the pickleball court, I’m the alpha.
Something tells me we’d wind up in a battle between ourselves, and I can’t risk being distracted and losing to Jasper.
“Thanks for the offer,” I say. “But I have a guy trying out on Monday evening, and I have a feeling we’ll be a good match.”
I hope. Adam Cartwright emailed me last week about possibly joining me in the tournament.
I did my due diligence and poked around on the internet.
It turns out that he was a standout basketball player a few years ago and played tennis for two years of high school.
It’s not the greatest résumé, but I can absolutely work with it.
“Fine. But when you change your mind later, you’re going to beg.”
I lift my chin, his gaze grabbing mine and holding it tight. “That’s cute.”
“Oh, it’s going to be very cute. I’m looking forward to it.”
“You clearly don’t know me at all,” I say, smiling at him.
“That’s your own fault.” He winks. “I gotta go find my kid. It was nice meeting you, Markie.”
“Tell Gus good try.”
Jory’s chuckle drifts behind him as he walks away, and for some reason, I don’t think this conversation is over.