Two
SMITH
“Smitty! What’s going on, man?”
Parker, my cousin, business partner, and off-and-on roommate, waves at me from his seat at the end of the bar. I pull out the stool next to him, motioning at the bartender for a beer on tap.
“Finished up the tile repairs over at the Landry house this afternoon. What about you?”
“Still managing the roofing job on 4th Street. Looks like it’ll be done in the next day or two, assuming the rain holds out.
Did you see this?” He slams the local paper down in front of me, pointing.
“Ginny Bennett passed. What do you think’s gonna happen to her house?
I don’t know of any relatives. Think it’ll go to auction? ”
I stroke the stubble on my jaw, thinking. “Don’t know. Why? You wanna buy it?”
Parker shrugs, one brow raised. “Maybe. Could be a good investment, and we’d do the work ourselves. Maybe go in fifty-fifty, then rent it out. Real estate is always a good play and we’d have year-round income—snowbirds in the winter, family beach trips in the summer.”
“Insurance on the coast, though. Major profit killer.”
“True. No way could I swing this on my own.” He locks eyes with me, takes a swig of his drink. “Just think about it.”
“Okay.” I nod, even as my mind swirls with possibilities. “How are we going to figure out if it’s even for sale?”
“Easy, man,” Parker says, sliding his cell out of his pocket. “Remember Kayla?”
I scrub the back of my neck, drawing a blank.
“Two girlfriends ago.”
“And she’s still taking your calls?” I joke, elbowing him. At this point, Parker’s slept with most every eligible woman in town, and is working hard on the next town over.
“Yeah, water under the bridge. Anyway, Kayla’s a realtor, so she’ll have the inside track.” He taps out a text, then stares at the screen.
“It may be a few minutes before she gets back to you, Parks. It’s possible she’s actually working.”
“Nah. Women always text me back immediately.”
Buzz, buzz.
Damn. Hate it when he’s right.
“Hmm…” Parker stares at the text.
“What’d she say?” I peer over his shoulder, but I’m too far away to read it.
“The property’s not listed, and she hasn’t heard anything about it yet. Weird. And she wants to get drinks this weekend. That part’s not weird.” He smiles wide, the same goofy, lopsided grin he’s had since the second grade.
“Sure, dude.” I roll my eyes, then freeze.
“Smitty — you okay?” Parker shakes my shoulder, but it barely registers because I’m busy staring at the door.
More accurately, at the petite brunette standing in it, in frayed denim shorts, a white V-neck tee, and leather sandals, her curves framed in the fading spring sunlight. I’ve never seen her before — I definitely would’ve remembered.
“You know her?” Parker leans back, assessing the stranger.
“Nope.”
The woman glides to the bar, pushing her designer sunglasses on top of her head, and both Parker and I try to play it cool, ignoring her.
A difficult task, seeing as how it’s barely five o’clock and the bar’s pretty much empty except for the two of us, the bartender, and a pair of retirees huddled in the corner talking about their daily golf game.
“Excuse me?” She flags down the bartender.
“What can I get ya?” The bartender — some punk-ass college kid — leers at her, his eyes trained on her ample breasts.
“Help with an address. My GPS got confused as soon as I crossed the bridge and keeps trying to route me into the ocean.” She points at the map on her phone and the bartender loses interest. Parker very helpfully leans over and fills in.
“I can help you. Name’s Parker.” He thrusts his hand in her direction and she shakes it awkwardly, licking her bottom lip.
Shit. Why am I staring at her full, pink lips?
“Thanks. I’m Elise.”
She smiles at us and now my cock’s at attention. I shove a hand in my pocket to detract from the situation below deck while studying her. Wide hazel eyes, a sun-kissed complexion, thick, full lashes. Probably early thirties, if I had to wager a guess.
“Smitty?” Parker nudges me, pointing at Elise’s phone. “This is Ginny Bennett’s place, right? You’re almost there, keep going another half-mile or so and take a right on Surfside Avenue.”
I clear my throat, which is now dry as toast. “Yeah. That’s right.”
Awesome. Really clever line there, Smith.
“Thanks so much. I appreciate it.” She takes her phone back from Parker, shoots us a quick wave, and sashays out the door before I can even think to make a move.
“Dude.” Parker’s eyes follow her all the way out the door. “Hot new woman in town. I should have scored her digits.”
“There goes your plan for the Bennett house, though,” I say, barreling past his comment. “Looks like it’s already spoken for.”
“There has to be more to the story. Ginny Bennett was unmarried with no kids, as far as I know. So who was that?”
I shake my head. “No idea.”
But I fully intend to find out.