The Lucky One (Carolina Connections Book 3) Page 5

Later that evening, the door to my bedroom swung open and Mark barreled in, uninvited—his bulk making the room half the size it had been.

  “Uh, can I help you?”

  “No, shithead. The question is, can I help you?” he said with a grin as he stretched his neck from side to side. He’d clearly just come from the gym.

  I was lying on my old twin bed, poring through job applications for my new venture. I’d be using some of Jax’s guys, but we had to hire additional crew with experience in the types of installations we’d be doing.

  “You can help me by getting out of my room and letting me get back to work, dickwad,” I told him as I returned my attention to the paperwork. What can I say? When it comes to brothers, insults and physical assault are often the only forms of affection we understand.

  “Hey,” he fake-punched my arm. “It’s my room too. Speaking of which, isn’t it about time you moved out?” He looked around with an air of disgust. What an ass.

  “I’m working on it,” I told him. “What do you need?”

  He cocked his head and the grin returned. “Like I said, it’s not what I need. It’s what you need.”

  “Cut the cryptic bullshit and spit it out, for the love of God.” I scowled at him and finally closed my laptop, setting it and the papers on the bed beside me.

  “I need you to go over to Laney and Nate’s place tomorrow.”

  “Uh, how exactly is this helping me?”

  He went for the punch again but this time I blocked him and got in a hit to his ribs. He just laughed it off.

  God, he was so damn jolly these days it was making me ill.

  “Come on, big brother. You’re not fooling me. You’ve got a thing for Bailey. My guess is you got rejected when you went to see her the other day, so I’m giving you an opening to get back in there.”

  “How did you know I went over there?” I hadn’t told a soul.

  He shrugged. “Eh, word gets around. The kid has a big mouth.”

  Damn.

  “And what would make you think I have a thing for Bailey, anyway?” I tried for nonchalance, not quite achieving it.

  He just cocked his dumb head again and gave me his best “don’t even try it” look. “Uh, because you had your tongue down her throat and your hand up her dress at the wedding reception. How’s that?” His grin could have blown Jax’s out of the water in the shit-eating department.

  Double damn. I didn’t think he’d seen that much.

  Mark put his hands up in defense.

  “Look, Bailey claims nothing happened beyond that, and I’m gonna choose to respect your privacy on that one. But I’m actually trying to help you. I think you two would be good together.”

  Who was this sappy dude and what had he done with my brother?

  I feigned disinterest. Little did he know, he was right on the money with his guess that I’d been shut down.

  “To be honest, it wasn’t until I saw you two going at it that I knew for sure Bailey was straight.” He barked out a laugh.

  Huh?

  “What does that mean?”

  “Well, you know. She’s kind of a mess.”

  “No, I don’t. What the hell are you talking about?”

  “Oh shit,” he suddenly covered his mouth. “The wedding was the first time you met her, wasn’t it?”

  “Yeah, so?” Why did I feel like he deserved to be punched right then?

  He laughed. “I hate to break it to you, man, but Bailey is basically a dude with tits.”

  WTF?

  “But at least they’re real—I think—so that’s something.”

  Yup, I’d definitely have to punch him.

  Three days after my first attempt, I found myself standing once again on this particular porch in a renewed effort to get this girl to date me.

  Maybe.

  I still didn’t understand what Mark had meant with his bizarre statement about Bailey being a dude, but I had extensive evidence to the contrary. I chose to ignore him and chalk it up to him being love-drunk and a general idiot. I also knew he and Bailey were thick as thieves, so it was probably some inside joke or something.

  I used the key Mark had given me and let myself in. Rocco’s bus was scheduled to arrive in fifteen minutes so I had time to spare.

  Evidently, Bailey had asked Mark to get Rocco off the bus today because she had a previously scheduled meeting she couldn’t get out of. Mark, in turn, had decided to play matchmaker and sent me in his place. We’d see how Bailey chose to take that little surprise.

  I couldn’t resist checking in on the gecko while I waited. The more I looked at him the more I thought the name Rocco had picked was perfect. This thing’s tail looked like a pickle—it really did.

  Growing up, I’d always wanted a snake or any kind of reptilian creature for that matter. I’d figured it would make me look like a bad-ass if I had a snake or something creepy. But there was no way my dad was going to allow that. And, besides, it would have been irresponsible to bring any living thing I cared about around the old man, as he didn’t exactly treat those around him with kindness.

  We did have a dog, Daisy, who’d wandered onto our property one day and decided never to leave. If we’d been able to convince her to find another home, it probably would have been the conscionable thing to do. But that dog was loyal, and at least the old man hadn’t hit her, as far as I knew. But neglect was almost a worse type of abuse. Without my mom to hold things together, we all would have fallen victim to that.

  When I’d left for the Marines, it had somehow made me feel better that Daisy was there for my mom and Mark. Solidarity in numbers, I suppose. But it had just been an easy tool to soothe my conscience.

  Through the bedroom window, I heard the unmistakable rumble of the school bus engine. I headed out to meet Rocco.

  “Can Aiden come play in the Fart Fortress?” was the first thing out of his mouth when he bounded off the bus steps.

  Through a series of phone calls, I’d been added to the non-child-molester list of approved adults to retrieve Rocco from school and/or the bus. Someone had apparently notified the kid that I’d be the one meeting him at the bus stop today because he didn’t blink an eye when he saw it was me and not his aunt waiting for him.

  However, this did not explain the mention of a “Fart Fortress.”

  “Uhhhh…yes?” I asked more than said.

  What did I know?

  “Don’t worry, hun,” said a thickly accented voice from behind me.

  I turned and immediately spotted a pretty, stacked redhead standing there amongst the small group of parents collecting their offspring from the bus. I couldn’t believe I hadn’t noticed her before she’d spoken.

  “He’s talkin’ about his treehouse,” she explained. Then she held her hand out to me. “I’m Charlotte Baker. You must be Jake.”

  I took her hand, curious as to how she had any knowledge of my identity.

  Seeing my confusion, she enlightened me, once again. “I’m Laney’s neighbor and friend. Our sons are good pals.”

  “Oh,” I replied, still coming up to speed. Then, “The Fart Fortress? Really?”

  She laughed. “I know. It’s awful, but probably pretty apt, after all.”

  I returned her laugh. “I suppose so.”

  “How is Fiona doin’?” she asked.

  Was this woman a witch? How did she know everything?

  She giggled again. “You should see the look on your face, hun. Laney’s been textin’ me updates.” She put her hand to the side of her mouth as if divulging a secret. “She wanted me to keep an eye on Bailey in case she needed any help.”

  “Ah, gotcha.” Now it made sense. “Fiona’s on the mend and, well, other than fainting at the sight of a small animal, I think Bailey’s doing pretty well,” I informed Charlotte.

  She looked alarmed, so I quickly followed that up with, “Not to worry—it was just a funny incident.”

  “Okay,” she said, but didn’t look fully convinced. “If you say so.�
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  I figured I’d better head back to the house before I did more damage. “I’m gonna check on the boys in the…farting place,” I finished lamely.

  She pressed her lips together momentarily, attempting not to laugh. “Okay, Jake. It was nice to meet you. And, if you don’t mind, can you send Aiden my way in a bit?”

  “Sure thing,” I said and turned to head up the driveway.

  It wasn’t until I’d closed the front door behind me that I realized I hadn’t even checked the redhead’s ass out as she’d walked away.

  Curious.

  “We need to go to the pet store!” Rocco exclaimed as he and Aiden burst through the patio door twenty minutes later.

  Ha! Like I was falling for that trick—I wasn’t about to make the same rookie mistake Bailey had made.

  “You’re not getting another pet. Tears may have worked on your aunt, but I’m immune,” I informed him.

  “No, seriously,” the Aiden kid interjected. I noticed for the first time that he was wearing some kind of harness that held an assortment of (hopefully) fake weapons. He was nodding his blond head at me and looking deadly serious. Who was this kid?

  “Okay, what now?”

  “You need worms,” Aiden informed me.

  Both boys nodded enthusiastically.

  Say what?

  “Worms?” I asked, still sure I was being duped somehow.

  “Totally,” said the armed one. “Pickles needs mealworms and probably some roaches, but I don’t think the pet store will have those.”

  I was suddenly not so sad that I hadn’t gotten a pet reptile as a child.

  I gave them both a look that said I didn’t trust them as far as I could throw them, but I did pull out my phone. “We’ll see about that.”

  Aiden crossed his arms over his stockpile of weapons and Rocco mimicked him while I consulted the internet.

  “Huh. Well, it looks like I owe you boys an apology. I guess we’re going to the pet store.”

  They both high-fived.

  “You’re going home, kid. Rocco and I are going to the pet store.”

  I’d never had the pleasure of being called a “party-pooper” until that moment.

  Chapter Seven

  Irish

  BAILEY

  Now, where in the hell were they?

  I’d just gotten “home” from my afternoon meeting with a new architect on an upcoming project. I had not gotten a good vibe from the guy and was dreading working with him on this build. There was something about his demeanor that didn’t sit right with me, but I couldn’t put my finger on it. Or maybe it was just me and my cloudy mood lately.

  I’d been so distracted when I pulled into the driveway I missed the fact that Mark’s truck was absent. I was fairly confident I would have gotten a call if something had happened, but I checked my phone just in case. Nothing.

  Maybe they’d gone out to eat. That would save me from making dinner, so I was counting it as a win. I grabbed a soda from the fridge and plunked my ass down on the recliner just as I heard Mark’s truck pull into the drive.

  The front door opened and I yelled out, “You better have brought me leftovers or dessert! I’m starving!”

  Rocco’s little head poked around the corner to the living room. He had wide eyes and a big smile. He really was all kinds of cute—no wonder he got away with murder. “Wanna watch Pickles eat some worms?”

  My appetite suddenly left me altogether. Did I say “cute”?

  “Um, no.”

  “I’m afraid the only food we brought home is not going to be all that palatable to you, Irish,” came a deep voice that did not belong to Mark.

  Goddamn—shit—mother…

  How did he keep doing this to me?

  I felt my face light on fire as Jake rounded the corner and descended the two steps to the living room. Despite my best efforts, other parts of me also warmed at the sight of him.

  “Wh…What are you doing here?” I practically accused. He’d thrown me with the “Irish” moniker—that brought up some memories I’d been trying and failing to purge from all parts of my psyche.

  He shrugged and put his hands in his pockets. “Mark asked me to come.”

  I was going to murder Mark in his sleep. It didn’t matter that I was fond of Fiona—she’d get over it eventually.

  “I’ll bet he did, the asshole,” I mused aloud.

  Jake cocked his head to the side, feigning innocence. Those two were in on this together. I was sure of it.

  “I thought we were going to be friends.”

  Ugh. I sighed and concentrated on returning my face to its original color.

  “Right,” I finally said. “Um, I’m gonna change out of my work clothes. Be right back.”

  I escaped to the hall and made my way to the guest room. I had to pass by Rocco’s room on the way.

  “Eat those suckers, Pickles!” was the comment that caused me to sprint the last few feet to the guest room. I was now sharing a house with a child, a lizard, a box of crickets, and some worms. Terrific. I’d finally achieved my life goals.

  I peeled off my company polo and looked down at my sensible cotton bra. I had a momentary pang of regret that I had nothing the least bit sexy or girly to change into. Then I mentally slapped myself.

  Don’t even think about him! This is not going to happen!

  But one stubborn part of my brain couldn’t help but remind me that, once upon a time, it had.

  After practically choking to death on my champagne—and my embarrassment—I’d wandered around the reception hall saying hello to some of our relatives and then stopped to chat with my parents.

  My mother wrapped me up in a big hug. She was on some kind of contact high from Nate and Laney, and she’d been flitting around like a drunk person, telling everyone she ran into how much she loved them. It was hilarious.

  “I love you too, Mom,” I told her for the third time while patting her blond head.

  “Oh, Bailey, I can’t wait to do this all over again when it’s your turn. Isn’t it wonderful?”

  It took all my inner strength to keep the smile plastered on my face.

  My turn? I wasn’t holding my breath.

  My dad cut in, grabbing me for his own hug. “Leave the poor girl alone, Erin. Nobody is good enough for my girl!”

  Oh God—this was almost worse.

  He held me to his chest as he often did. “Ah, no man ever wore a scarf as warm as his daughter’s arms around his neck.” Another of my dad’s famous Irish sayings. I was usually a sucker for them but could hardly bear it tonight. I squeezed him one more time and extracted myself from the hug, insisting I had a need for the ladies’ room.

  My turbulent musings were temporarily abated by the sight of Laney and Fiona performing some ridiculously funny dance that had them getting down and dirty. It looked like Mark was about to pop an artery as he delivered death glares to every male in the room who dared hoot or holler at the pair. I was finally starting to relax and enjoy myself.

  I made my way to the stage where the band was playing. Seeing Mark go all caveman reminded me that I wanted to request a song for him as an inside joke. He was going to love this, and I congratulated myself for not being a complete asshole to him, for once.

  Having completed my duties as an awesome friend, I threw caution to the wind and grab another glass of champagne from the bar. It was my brother’s wedding after all. My consolation drink and I settled at a high-top table away from my meddling relatives and any other people who might want to talk to me about love. My ass took its place on a stool and planned to remain there for the duration.

  My little private bubble remained intact until Mark’s song started playing and I got to see the look on his face. Aww. He met my eye and pulled Fiona in for a dance. Even I had to admit the two of them looked utterly adorable. Who would have thought?

  I sighed for the gazillionth time of the evening.

  “Why so sullen?” a deep rumble sounded from my right.
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  Startled, I turned quickly in the direction of the voice and was met by the intense, sexy, hazel eyes of none other than Mr. Tall, Dark, and Smartass.

  Before I could think to keep my freaking mouth shut, I blurted, “Hot damn.”

  He laughed as I wished for one of those infamous sinkholes to suddenly appear beneath the hotel. “I was just thinking the same thing,” he said, extending his hand. “I’m Jake.”

  My jaw dropped. “As in, Beckett?”

  This was Mark’s brother?

  “The very same.” One side of his mouth quirked up in a very naughty grin.

  I’d been so shocked to discover his identity that it was just now registering that he’d basically called me hot! This guy—the one with the cheekbones.

  It appeared Fiona had more than outdone herself that morning and had somehow miraculously transformed me into Bailey 2.0 (a.k.a. The Hot Bridesmaid). I probably owed her my first born.

  Jake moved his hand a bit and I realized I still hadn’t accepted his handshake. Ugh. He leaned in a bit too close for a stranger and whispered, “This is the part where you tell me your name.”

  I snatched his hand—there was really no other way to describe it—and shook it enthusiastically like some fan-girl.

  Kill me now.

  “Bailey Murphy,” I answered and then dropped his hand like it had burned me.

  It was official. I was not fit for human interaction.

  He continued to grin. “I thought that might be who you were…Bailey Murphy.” He seemed to be tasting my name on his tongue. I felt everything in me clench in response. I was in deep trouble.

  Then he tilted his head to the side and said, “So nice to meet you, Irish.”

  It was a wonder I didn’t fall off my stool in a dead faint.

  I shook my head, banishing the memory. I took another look down at my cotton bra and granny panties and sighed. Well, there was no point in putting lipstick on a pig, so I donned my UNC t-shirt and a pair of gym shorts and went to rejoin Jake in the kitchen. He was peering into the fridge and mumbling to himself.

  “Um, I’m pretty sure Fiona left some dinners in the freezer. All you’ll find in there are eggs and some leftover pizza.” I put my hands in my pockets, not knowing what else to do with them.