10. Ford
FORD
“You’re lucky it’s a dry winter, and there isn’t any snow,” Roman grumbles.
He rubs his hands up and down his arms. We came to the beach early to set everything up.
The stage. The speakers. The fire. The coolers.
The snacks. Yes, there are snacks. Everyone knows a good party requires good snacks.
Hot dogs, buns, marshmallows, graham crackers, and a small pack of sunflower seeds just for me. It’s the whole shebang.
Tossing a handful of sunflower seeds into my mouth, I chew slowly in hopes of stopping myself from calling Roman a big baby. Sure, it’s a little chilly, but the guy needs to grow a pair. “Technically, it’s still fall,” I point out.
Roman glares at me.
“The alcohol and bonfire will warm everyone up quickly,” Jagger states, defending the impromptu Harden Night. It’s not our fault we had to throw this together at the drop of a hat. Considering our lack of options and time, I actually feel like it’s a pretty decent idea, thank you very much.
“No bets, though,” Roman says.
“No bets,” Jagger confirms. “Not tonight.”
“Tonight, we remind people why Harden Nights are the best,” I explain. “Free booze. Pretty girls. Good music. That’s it.”
“Until we find the tape, anyway,” Hawke mutters beside me with his hands tucked in his pockets.
Damn straight.
We each look around the beachline, taking in our handiwork.
It’s only eight o’clock. The invites say the party starts at nine.
And the fact that everyone’s here early instead of showing up an hour late like some eighties numbskull decided was proper etiquette?
If that isn’t the definition of success, I don’t know what is.
My chest puffs up with pride as my attention lands on our uncle, a half a football field away.
The makeshift stage Judge set up is complete with drums, a mic, a couple of amps, a guitar, and all the other music equipment a seasoned rock band could ever need.
“Still can’t believe you convinced Judge to play for us, though,” Hawke grumbles.
I can’t believe it, either. Judge willingly attending a Harden Night.
Scratch that. He would’ve been plenty willing before now.
This is just the first time we’ve actually extended an invite instead of keeping the man in the dark like we usually do.
I still can’t decide whether or not it was a good idea to solicit his help.
Uncle Judge rubs the back of his shaved head as he chats with the guitarist, Paxton Turner, though his stage name is Paxton Six.
A few months ago, Paxton purchased a home in Harden Heights that used to belong to our family.
Still not sure how Judge managed to convince my dad to let it go to a non-Harden.
For all I know, it was a bribe to keep Judge under Daddy Dearest’s thumb.
It wouldn’t surprise me. My father’s the master of manipulation, though Jagger insists our uncle is less under his thumb than we like to give him credit for.
Personally, I think Jagger’s smoking something.
The lead singer, Dodger Anders, is MIA, and has been for months, though Judge assured us Paxton could hold down the fort and perform vocals for the night.
Beside them is Tuke, the bassist. Now, Tuke is a man after my own heart.
He takes a drag of weed and blows it out, letting the smoke swirl with the salty sea air.
The man just finished a cameo role in a movie before flying out at Judge’s request. He’ll probably find an island to hunker down on until Judge decides he’s ready to tour again.
Wish I could disappear to an island for an undetermined amount of time. My eyes drift to Judge once more.
What does Titas have on you? Why are you still here?
“You sure he’s not still spying on us for Daddy Dearest?” I ask Jagger while eyeing our uncle from across the beach.
After our father found out we were throwing parties in Drift territory—and making friends with some of the less-than-savory people from the wrong side of town, including Gus Toro—our father asked Judge to come back from tour, so he could talk some sense into us.
I’m still not sure why our father thought Judge would be able to do anything, but he owed my sperm donor a favor, and when Daddy Dearest calls, people come running, even if it makes them look like a little bitch.
“Judge isn’t as bad as you think he is,” Jagger says, defending our uncle just like he did with this party a minute ago. “Besides, even if he was, we’re in Harden territory tonight, and we aren’t taking any bets.”
“Which means, we should be free and clear,” Hawke adds.
Roman’s head bobs in approval. “Smart.”
“It was my idea,” I remind them. “Of course, it’s smart.”
With a low chuckle, Roman shakes his head but doesn’t bother calling me a smart-ass, even if we all know he’s thinking it. Hell, they’re all thinking it. Even I am.
“Any sight of Morgan?” Jagger prods.
Hawke glances at Roman, then answers for both of them, “Not yet.”
“You think he’ll come?” I ask.
With a subtle lift of his shoulders, Hawke continues his perusal of the long beachfront when his eyes thin. “Well, would you look at who's here.”
Jagger follows his gaze, and his expression ignites.
“Hey, Little Thief.” He strides closer, tugs Violet into him, and kisses the top of her head.
Beside her is a gorgeous-as-ever June Withers.
Her dark, wavy hair is a little frizzier than usual.
I blame the salty sea air. Scratch that.
I have the salty sea air to thank for the view.
Ever since our impromptu tutoring session, I haven’t been able to stop thinking about her.
I’ve been telling myself it’s because her sourdough has been the star of my dreams ever since tasting it, but the truth is, a certain someone else has been haunting me, too.
I wait for her to look at me. To acknowledge my existence. Instead, she crosses her arms and digs her bare toes into the sand while avoiding me completely. Kind of strange, considering the fact that she showed up on my doorstep a couple of days ago.
Should I be offended?
Peeking up at Jagger, Violet grins. “Hey, Jag.”
“How was the drive?” he asks.
“It was good. We actually carpooled with June’s date—”
“You brought a date?” I interject.
No wonder she’s avoiding me. I’ve seen it a hundred times. The guy’s probably some overbearing asshole who won’t let her have friends of the opposite sex. Is it the fireman? I wonder if she’s touched his firehose yet. Doesn’t matter. Whoever her date is, he’s a dick.
June’s attention shifts to me, though she doesn’t answer. The silence only gives me more time to build up steam in my vendetta against the unnamed asshole.
Keeping herself plastered to my brother, Violet answers for June. “Mm-hmm. He’s parking now.”
I make sure to keep my tone light and with just the right amount of snark so none of this can be used as evidence that I actually have a heart. “June, June, June,” I tisk. “You tryin’ to make me jealous?”
She rolls her eyes. “Whatever.”
“I think it’s working,” Jagger murmurs to Violet.
“Of course, it is,” I announce. “June Bug knows she’s the only one for me.”
June rolls her eyes again. “Says the player.”
“Says my June Bug,” I repeat, loving the way she squirms when I give her my full attention. Call me an assuming prick, but I think she’s so used to blending in and flying under the radar that anytime I actually address her, the girl turns into a cherry tomato, and damn, do I love tomatoes.
With a half-hearted scowl, she tosses back at me, “I’m sure you can find someone else to entertain you tonight.”
“Can? Yes.” I move closer to her and breathe in deep. The girl smells like bread, beer, and sugar all wrapped up in one. Add in the salty air and crackling bonfire, and my mouth waters. I lick my bottom lip. “Want to? Not so much.”
She peeks up at me, her breathing stilted and uneven.
“Give her a break,” Violet teases.
She’s right. My little June Bug might actually combust if I push her too far. Then again, I might, too.
Giving her space, I step back with a smirk, when my attention catches on someone behind us. It’s the guy from the coffee shop. Two dates now? Is this guy for real?
Yeah, I don’t love it. Not gonna lie.
Following my line of sight, June waves, calling out, “We’re over here!”
When he sees her, the guy lights up like the Fourth of July just as Jagger did when he saw Violet. I don’t like it. I repeat, is this guy for real?
Reaching for his hand, June tugs the guy into our little half-circle. “How was parking?”
“It was fine.” He plops the coat in his hand onto her shoulders. “Here. Found it in the trunk.”
“Thanks.” With a shy smile, she tugs the thick coat drowning her a little tighter around herself.
Fuck. It must belong to him. I’d been so distracted by her pretty smile when she first approached that I hadn’t even noticed she was cold.
If that doesn’t make me feel like a dick, I don’t know what does.
I scan her up and down. The fireman crest peeks from between the creased fabric, confirming my suspicion. It is. It’s his coat.
She’s wearing his coat.
And why do I fucking care?
“Everyone, this is Bryan,” June says, introducing him.
He takes turns shaking hands. First Rome, then Jagger and Violet, even though he drove her here.
What a fucker.
Finally, he stretches out his hand to me. “Hey, man. Nice to meet you.”
Meet me? Meet me? He doesn’t remember me from the coffee shop? All right, I’m officially offended.
Looking him up and down, I say, “Look at that, we meet again, Fireman Bryan.”
“Just Bryan’s fine.”
“All right, Just Bryan.” I smirk and shake his hand. “Name’s Ford.”
“Nice to meet you.”
“We met at the coffee shop,” I repeat. “Though I get why you might not remember. June has a way of consuming our thoughts, am I right?”
I ignore the daggers June throws at me, giving her new boy-toy my full attention.
He tilts his head in confusion. As if the bastard doesn’t remember. What. An. Ass.