Chapter 2 — Under The Table
Under The Table
The next afternoon, I walked to the Bishop house instead of driving.
Three properties down wasn't far, not on the Waverly Lake path.
Five minutes of gravel, pine shade, and glimpses of water through the trees.
I had made that walk hundreds of times, usually with a bottle in one hand or a cooler under one arm, usually thinking about boats or food or which family had decided to turn a casual weekend into an event with twelve extra chairs.
That day, I carried a bottle of tequila and the absolute lie that I was going to act normal.
The Bishop place came into view through the trees, bright and loud and already halfway out of control.
Pool water glittered turquoise in the sun.
Music bounced off the patio. Coolers sat open under the shade, their lids flipped back and their contents already raided by people who had been there since noon.
The grill smoked near the outdoor kitchen, laying ribs and charcoal over the air.
Towels hung over chair backs. Someone hit the pool hard enough to send water over the stone edge, and Cooper Bishop shouted approval like he was running an Olympic event.
The whole place looked exactly like a Bishop summer afternoon should have looked.
Which was supposed to help.
It didn't.
I stopped near the gate, took one breath, and reminded myself that yesterday had been a warning shot.
A strange one, sure. Six beautiful women, six carefully timed moments, and Kiki Bishop pressing herself against me long enough to make my body betray me in the middle of her parents' patio.
But today was different. Today there were more people.
Parents, siblings, friends, college-age men, too many witnesses for anything dangerous to happen.
Today I was Luke Whitaker. Lake Luke. Trusted neighbor. Thirty-eight-year-old bachelor with a good dock, a good house, and enough sense not to lose his mind over a twenty-one-year-old beauty whose family trusted me without question.
Mark Bishop spotted me from the grill and lifted his tongs. "Whitaker! Perfect timing. Ribs are about twenty minutes out."
"Brought backup," I said, raising the tequila.
"Smart man." He grinned and pointed the tongs toward the outdoor bar. "Put it over there before Caroline sees the label and decides we're making margaritas for everyone."
"Too late," Caroline called from the patio table without looking up. She was arranging plates with Paige beside her, both of them moving in that mother-daughter rhythm that made the whole event look less chaotic than it was. "I heard that, Mark."
Paige waved at me with a stack of napkins in one hand. "Hey, Luke. Towels are by the pool if you need one."
"Thanks, Paige."
She smiled and went back to helping her mother. Normal. Safe. Ordinary Bishop-house motion.
Then I noticed the rest of them.
Tatum Bell was near the deep end, red hair twisted up, laughing while three guys her age tried to talk her into judging a cannonball contest she had clearly started.
Reese Madden sat on the arm of a lounge chair by the towels, glossy brown hair over one shoulder, honey-brown eyes bright while some clean-cut guy in swim trunks hovered beside her with a drink she had not asked for.
Shay Hollis had claimed a chair like she owned the patio, dark hair loose, vivid blue eyes amused, a pair of guys orbiting her and looking grateful for the privilege.
Penny Rourke stood under an umbrella in big sunglasses, platinum hair shining, green-eyed and glamorous enough that every male head within twenty feet kept turning her way.
Eden Archer leaned near the outdoor kitchen with her phone in one hand, dark hair glossy, hazel eyes moving over the patio like she was keeping score.
Of course they had attention. Women like that didn't walk into a sunny backyard without changing the weather. The younger guys drifted toward them as if the whole patio had tilted in their direction, all hopeful smiles and bad timing.
What they didn't do was come at me.
That should have made me feel better. It didn't. Tatum gave me one quick grin, then turned back to the pool.
Reese lifted her fingers in a tiny wave and let the guy beside her keep talking.
Shay raised her drink at me like she knew a joke I had not heard yet.
Penny looked me over once, slow enough to land, then went back to laughing with someone else.
Eden glanced down at her phone, typed something, and smiled.
They were holding back.
Giving Kiki room.
Then I saw Kiki.
She was near the pool steps, laughing at something Owen Kerr had said, golden-blonde hair loose over her shoulders and shining in the sun.
She wore a white bikini under a thin blue cover-up that might have looked innocent from across the yard if a man had no eyes, no blood, and no memory of the way she had rolled her hips against him yesterday.
The cover-up hung open enough to show the full curve of her breasts in that white top, the narrow line of her waist, and the golden skin of her stomach broken by pale tan lines that my eyes found before my conscience could stop them.
She looked like the Bishop golden girl. Sweet face, blue eyes, sun-warmed skin, bare feet, and a smile that made parents trust her and men her age forget what they were saying.
She also looked like a centerfold pretending to be harmless.
Owen Kerr was noticing. So was Ryan Pike, who stood on Kiki's other side with sunglasses pushed up in his hair and the kind of cocky grin that came naturally to good-looking men who had not yet learned how badly life could humble them.
Owen was the cleaner type, sandy hair, athletic shoulders, polite enough that Caroline probably liked him.
Ryan had sharper edges, more swagger, and the lazy confidence of a man who expected girls to laugh when he leaned in close.
They were both around Kiki's age.
They were both watching her like any sane man would.
And for one stupid second, I felt relieved.
This was good. This was normal. Kiki had options.
Appropriate options. Men who knew her world, went to the same parties, spoke the same language, and could flirt with her without mentally calculating seventeen years and eleven summers of family trust. If Kiki spent the afternoon laughing with Owen and Ryan, maybe yesterday could stay what I needed it to be: a weird charged moment at the start of summer, not the first crack in a dam.
Owen said something that made her smile. Ryan leaned in with a comment I couldn't hear from the gate, and Kiki laughed, bright and easy, that sweet public laugh that carried across water.
Good.
Then she looked at me.
Just a glance. Quick. Deliberate. Her mouth kept smiling at whatever Ryan had said, but her eyes locked on mine across the patio.
The look wasn't sweet. It wasn't public.
It said she saw me noticing the men around her, saw me trying to use them as an excuse to relax, and found the whole thing adorable.
My relief curdled into something hotter and much less honorable.
Kiki turned back to Owen, touched his arm lightly while she answered him, and my jaw tightened so fast it almost hurt.
I was jealous.
Actually jealous. Not mildly bothered. Not rationally concerned.
Jealous in the ugly physical way that made my chest go tight and my hands want to curl around something.
I wanted to walk across that patio, put my hand low on Kiki's back, and let Owen and Ryan understand that every smile she gave them was the decoy and I was the problem.
Which was insane.
She wasn't mine.
She was Mark and Caroline Bishop's daughter. She was twenty-one. She was surrounded by men her age at a sunny pool gathering where her mother was setting out plates and her little sister was carrying napkins. I had no claim, no right, and no business feeling possessive about where her eyes landed.
Kiki's eyes landed on me again.
This time, she let her gaze drop briefly to the front of my shorts before lifting it back to my face.
Then she smiled at Owen like butter wouldn't melt in her mouth.
I set the tequila on the outdoor bar and went to talk to Mark about ribs because men had been hiding from bad ideas near grills since fire was invented.
For a while, it almost worked. Mark had opinions about dry rub.
Cooper wanted to tell me about a fishing trip where somebody lost a phone, a sandal, and allegedly their dignity, though the order of events kept changing.
Caroline asked if I had eaten lunch, which was Caroline's way of asking whether she needed to start feeding me immediately or in five minutes.
Paige moved in and out of the patio traffic, useful and cheerful, the normal Bishop-family rhythm filling the space around me.
Kiki stayed by the pool with Owen and Ryan.
The others stayed in motion around her, never far enough away to feel accidental.
Tatum splashed one of the guys who had been following her around and laughed when he begged for mercy.
Reese drifted past the towels with Paige, smiling sweetly while a guy trailed after her carrying two sodas like an offering.
Shay sat sideways in her chair, all legs and attitude, letting some poor bastard try to make her laugh while she kept glancing toward me over the rim of her cup.
Penny posed under her umbrella like the whole patio had been built for her, accepting attention with lazy warmth and giving none of it enough weight to matter.
Eden kept moving people with tiny gestures, a point of her finger, a tilt of her head, a look at her phone.
They all had men circling them.
They all knew I was watching.
And still, somehow, all of that attention kept bending back toward Kiki and me.
I kept not looking.
I kept failing.