Flirting with the Frenemy

by Grant, Pippa

I let go of Tucker’s ears, but he’s stopped and is staring in the bakery window. “Those tattoos, Dad,” he says.

  Oh. Right.

  The temporary tattoos that are in baskets all over town. “Oh. Yes.”

  We grab a handful inside, and Tucker tells Grady he makes the best donuts in the universe, and I end up getting both of us a plain glazed donut for fuel for the dig, though I’m eyeballing the banana pudding donuts. “Banana flavoring?” I ask Grady.

  He shudders. “Vanilla pudding with real bananas. They’re new. Want one?”

  “Ellie will.”

  That earns me a knowing grin. He glances down at Tucker then back to me, and mouths, padded headboards.

  I give him a glare that usually makes lieutenants quake, but he just grins bigger.

  “Tucker, say thank you for the tattoos,” I instruct.

  “Aahnk oo,” he says around a mouthful of donut.

  We make it to the crowded town square just in time to see Pop in full pirate regalia making a speech about the pirate Thorny Rock on the makeshift stage in the center of the square. Tucker tugs my hand, and I follow, thinking we’re heading for a better view, or to get closer to what looks to be the line.

  But nope.

  He’s pulling us over to gawk at a group in full costume.

  The men are dressed as pirates, but the women are a dog, a monkey, and a parrot.

  “Do you think that one uses bad words?” Tucker asks me while he points.

  The parrot turns our way, and—oh, fuck.

  It’s Monica.

  She waves and gestures us over while the crowd applauds Pop.

  “I love your feathers,” Tucker tells her, reaching out to pet her stomach.

  “Whoa, bud, we ask before we touch,” I tell him.

  Monica offers an arm instead while I nod to Ellie, who’s decked out in the monkey costume. The inside corners of both her eyes are swollen and purply-red, stretching halfway across her lids, and there’s no mistaking that she took a hit to the face.

  Just like there’s no mistaking I took a hit to my right eye, though my bruise is smaller.

  She’s ridiculously adorable in the costume though.

  “That thing hot?” I ask her.

  “Not yet, but it will be soon.” She casts a glance at the rising sun in the clear blue sky, and I swallow a smile.

  “Don’t even think about it,” she says when I reach for my pocket, like I’m going for my phone to take her picture, but there’s an easy smile that she usually doesn’t have for me, and seeing the friendliness lifts a weight off my chest I didn’t realize I was carrying.

  So we can be friends.

  “Mr. and Mrs. Dixon, have you met Ellie’s boyfriend?” Monica asks, turning to an older couple I hadn’t realized was with the group, since they’re not also in costume. “This is Wyatt and his son, Tucker.”

  I stifle a wince, because Tucker heard that. Does a seven-year-old understand the difference between girlfriend and girl friend?

  Doesn’t matter, I decide. Ellie’s my best friend’s sister, so odds are, Tucker will see her again. It’s okay for him to know grown-ups he can trust, even if he doesn’t see them often.

  Mr. Dixon—tall, white-haired, and stuffy—barely spares me a glance, but his wife—slender, in pearls and a pantsuit—looks me up and down. A haughty smirk makes her thin face even less attractive. “Dear god, what happened to your face?”

  “He accidentally got hit with a log when he was saving a baby from a wolf,” Ellie says.

  The woman looks at her, and her lip curls as she leaps to the conclusion everyone else apparently has this morning. She turns back to me. “And what do you do?”

  “My dad’s a superhero,” Tucker announces.

  “An actor, hm? I suppose that shouldn’t surprise me, given the circles Ellie’s close to.”

  “I’m in the Air Force,” I correct.

  “Oh. A working man.”

  “He has a really cool job testing airplanes,” the Blond Caveman’s girlfriend says, surprising me.

  Surprising the Blond Caveman too, by the looks of the what the hell? look he sends her way.

  “How do you know what he does?” the caveman asks.

  “Ellie told us about it at dinner the other night. Remember?” She smiles at me. “My brother’s a commercial pilot. So thank you.”

  “I, ah, work on military jets,” I tell her.

  “An airplane’s an airplane in my world, and I like knowing my brother’s safe when he’s in the air.”

  “I like being safe in the air too,” Jason announces.

  I start to explain that I’m more engineer than pilot, but Ellie jumps in before I can, tugging my arm like the good girlfriend she’s playing today. “Guys, don’t embarrass him. How much you want to bet Monica finds the most pirate gold?”

  “I’m gonna find all the pirate gold!” Tucker announces.

  “He has a son, Ellie?” Mrs. Dixon says with a nose lift.

  “No, that’s a random kid he kidnapped with candy and donuts yesterday, but he’s cute, so we’re making him an official pirate with us.”

  Monica coughs. Her fiancé clears his throat and swipes a hand over his grin. The Blond Caveman glowers. Ellie slips her hand lower until our fingers are intertwined, and fuck me, I could do this all day. “Come on. Are we digging for gold or what?”

  “Mom, Dad, you go first,” Jason says.

  “I can’t believe I’ve lived an hour from here my entire life and never knew I could come here to dig for pirate gold,” the Blond Caveman’s girlfriend says, falling into line.

  “Dad, can we get two shovels?” Tucker asks.

  “How about you help me?” Ellie says to him.

  “Yeah! I’ll dig for you, Miss Captain Ellie. Does your leg hurt today?”

  “Not too bad. Thank you for asking.”

  “Me and Dad got donuts, but we ate them already.”

  “The banana pudding kind?”

  Tucker wrinkles his nose. “No, plain. But Dad said he’d get you one of those pudding ones later. Can I get another donut later too?”

  “Absolutely,” Ellie says at the same time I say, “One’s enough for the day.”

  Ellie bends down. “I’ll sneak you one when he’s not looking,” she whispers.

  Tucker giggles.

  And I shake my head at both of them.

  “Is she bringing him to your wedding, Jason? He’s rather…plebian,” Mrs. Dixon murmurs loudly in front of us.

  “So am I, Mom,” Jason replies.

  “Honestly, I don’t know why you let Monica have a maid of honor who broke your brother’s heart. Not that he can’t do better, but it’s still rude.”

  “So is talking about people behind their backs, Mrs. Dixon,” Ellie says cheerfully.

  The Blond Caveman sends Ellie a murderous look.

  She smiles back.

  “I like you having other enemies besides me,” I tell her softly, and she snorts.

  “Speaking of,” she replies, just as soft, “we can’t have sex anymore. It’s too dangerous.”

  That’s a challenge if I ever heard one. “We’ll discuss this in bed tonight.”

  “We will not,” she whispers.

  “Bathtub works too.”

  She gives me the old Ellie Ryder you’re pissing me off glare, and I don’t even try to tuck in a grin at how easy it still is to get her.

  She huffs as she obviously realizes what I’m doing.

  “Or maybe over strip ping-pong?” she murmurs.

  Dammit.

  There I go, popping a boner in public with my kid with me again.

  She doesn’t look down, but she smiles triumphantly like she knows she won this round.

  And honestly?

  I’ll give it to her.

  Because I like that smile.

  She works hard. She’s dressed in a monkey costume in eighty-degree weather to make her best friend happy. And when I went snooping on her social media pages last night,
I discovered post after post of shared help find this pet a home messages.

  The last time she posted a personal picture was before Christmas.

  Nothing about her accident.

  Nothing about recovery.

  The only pictures of her were posted by her parents or her friends.

  So seeing her smile?

  It’s like watching her come back to life.

  Beck might’ve been pulling her leg about me having a problem, but he wasn’t lying about Ellie’s accident affecting her.

  Monica’s grinning widely as she hands me a shovel. “Get to work, Wyatt. This gold won’t dig itself up. Show me those muscles.”

  The Blond Caveman yanks a shovel out of the pile and stalks off. “C’mon, Sloane, I’ll show you how a real man digs for treasure,” he says.

  Monica and Ellie share a look. Tucker looks up at both of them, and says, “C’mon, Miss Captain Ellie. I’m gonna be a real man too,” and even the Blond Caveman’s girlfriend cracks up.

  “Dad, I’m going to beat you,” Tucker adds.

  “Oh, you think so?”

  “He’s totally going to beat you,” Ellie says.

  He grins at me behind his glasses, and fuck, how am I going to survive having to give him back to Lydia at the end of the summer?

  I shove away the panic, because that’s a problem for another day.

  For now, I have pirate treasure to dig.

  With my fake girlfriend.

  Who just might be turning out to be more than I ever thought she could be.

  Yep. Saving that problem for another day too.

  Sixteen

  Ellie

  My brain is broken.

  It’s like the How we feel about Wyatt switch got flipped overnight, and now, instead of annoying as a gnat, he’s at hot as fuck.

  Or possibly I’m overheating in this monkey costume.

  But watching him shovel dirt in the town square is making me horny in ways I can’t ever remember being horny.

  He hasn’t even taken his shirt off, and he’s still smokin’ hot.

  “No, Miss Ellie, let me do that for you,” Tucker says.

  He’s skin and bones, but he’s putting his all into thrusting the short shovel into the soft earth, shrieking with glee every time he finds a plastic pirate coin.

  I should really talk to Pop about getting some biodegradable pirate coins.

  Yes.

  That.

  I should concentrate on how I can help make the Pirate Festival more earth-friendly.

  Not on the way Wyatt just wiped his face with his T-shirt, exposing half of his six-pack and making ten women around us drop their shovels, including a pirate wench who just murmured, “I’d tap that.”

  “He’s taken,” Monica tells her.

  “Lucky woman.”

  My cheeks burn, but I don’t disagree. “I can dig a few shovels,” I tell Tucker. “I’m not helpless.”

  “I’m being shrivelpuss,” he informs me.

  “Chivalrous,” Wyatt corrects with a grin.

  “That means helping people because I’m a gentleman,” Tucker explains.

  “And you’re doing a fantastic job,” Wyatt agrees. “But if Miss Ellie wants to dig some, you can let her have fun too.”

  “But she’ll get her monkey fur all dirty.”

  Such a sweet kid. “You’re the most chivalrous pirate I’ve ever met,” I tell him.

  “Oh! Look! I found a pearl necklace!” Sloane exclaims.

  All of the Dixons whip their heads around to look as she pulls a string of Mardi Gras beads from the ground.

  “Those are fake,” Mrs. Dixon sniffs.

  Sloane drapes them over her neck. She’s not sweating at all in her dog costume, nor does she seem at all the least bit offended that she had to play the dog. “They’re a fabulous addition to my collar, aren’t they, Patrick?”

  He rolls his eyes. “Sure.”

  “Are we nearly done?” Mrs. Dixon asks Jason.

  “No way,” he replies. “We could dig for days and not find all the treasure they hid here.”

  His mother goes pale. She takes a step and her heels twist in the dirt. “This is a safety hazard.”

  “That’s why there are signs everywhere to wear boots,” Jason tells her.

  “Big eyesore the rest of the year, isn’t it?” Mr. Dixon says.

  “They’ll plant flowers in half of it and sod the rest when the week’s over,” Wyatt tells him.

  I shoot him a look.

  “I read the festival website,” he says. “You hot? Want a break?”

  “Oh my god, Ellie, you’re so red you’re purple. Go sit down,” Monica orders.

  “I’m fine,” I tell her.

  It is really fucking hot in this costume.

  “Wyatt, do you know the most important thing about a wedding?” Monica asks.

  “The bride’s always right?”

  “Correct. Now go make sure Ellie sits down and has something to drink.”

  Tucker looks wide-eyed between all the adults.

  “You can stay with me, because you’re a good pirate treasure digger,” Monica tells him.

  I squint my eyes at her, because is she trying to get me to strip for Wyatt?

  She doesn’t bat a lash of acknowledgment.

  “Can I, Dad? Please?”

  “We’ll be right here,” Monica tells him. “And Jason knows CPR, and he always carries a first aid kit.”

  That’s such baloney, and judging by the way Wyatt’s lips twist and his eyes narrow, he knows it.

  “If she dies of heat stroke, it’s on you,” Monica tells him. “Are you a good boyfriend or not?”

  “All right, all right. C’mon, Ellie. Let’s go get you out of this costume and into some air conditioning.”

  “She loves the banana pudding at Crusty Nut,” Monica offers.

  “I know,” he tells her.

  Of course he does.

  He fought me over which one of us got to put the bedspread covered in last night’s banana pudding into the washing machine this morning.

  I let him win, but only because I had a call come in from an employee who needed to take an emergency sick day because her daughter was diagnosed with appendicitis.

  And also because I know he didn’t forget the deal he offered, whereby he’d get to see my doodle pad.

  “I’m not that hot,” I tell him when he stops beside me.

  “Just dead sexy hot,” he replies.

  Heat funnels to my core, and I try to stutter out a response, but before I can, he bends and tosses me over his shoulder.

  I gasp in surprise.

  “That hurt?” he asks quietly.

  “No,” I answer honestly, half-surprised.

  “Good. Tell me if it does. And don’t be a stubborn ass.” He turns, and adds, “Tucker, I’ll be right over there if you need me, okay?”

  “Okay, Dad.”

  He marches across the field, me hanging on with my monkey butt in the air, and while I get the occasional twinge in my leg, it doesn’t hurt.

  I can’t see Tillie Jean’s face when Wyatt marches us into the Crusty Nut, but I can hear her. “Table for two?”

  “By the window if you can,” he tells her.

  “How about the balcony, sugar?”

  “Is it out of the sun?”

  “You bet.”

  “Sounds great.”

  “Sorry about my butt, Tillie Jean,” I offer.

  “Cutest pirate monkey butt we’ve had come in so far this morning,” she replies. “C’mon. I got a table with an umbrella and a great view of the treasure hunt.”

  “You got clothes on under that?” Wyatt asks while he carries me up the stairs.

  I’d argue about this, but I’m tired of arguing with him. “Enough that I can unzip,” I confirm.

  “Hot dog, it’s my lucky day.”

  I shouldn’t be amused, but once again, Wyatt made a joke, and now I’m laughing.

  He finally puts me
down next to a wrought iron patio table and lets me take my own seat under the umbrella Tillie Jean cranks up for us. After standing at the railing a minute, he waves at Tucker across the street, and then takes his own seat.

  “Did Monica just set us up on a date?” I ask him. “I mean, not that she doesn’t believe we’re dating, but…like on a real date. Alone. Is that what this is supposed to be?”

  “That depends. Who’s paying?”

  I toss a sugar packet at him. “Very funny.”

  He smiles at me, and hello, gooey insides. Wyatt Morgan is not supposed to turn me all mushy and sappy.

  But he’s doing an excellent job of it.

  I wave a hand at my hot face, then belatedly realize I can unzip my monkey costume. I pull my arms out, and breathe a sigh of relief when the light summer breeze touches my bare skin.

  Wyatt swallows a smile and glances at the menu Tillie Jean left.

  “Has Beck called you today?” I ask him, because Beck’s a safe topic.

  Kind of.

  He shakes his head.

  “Does that make you nervous?” I ask.

  He frowns slightly, like he’s puzzled, then shakes his head again. “I think he’s trying to set us up.”

  “Look, we can be friends, and it’s nice of you to humor me with claiming to be my boyfriend this week, but we seriously cannot be anything more.”

  He leans back in his chair and watches me while our server delivers water glasses and asks if we need another minute.

  “Yes,” he says at the same time I ask for a basket of gold nuggets—aka fried pickles—and a banana pudding.

  “Hush,” I say to his raised eyebrows. “Patrick’s parents make me nervous, okay?”

  “Make it two, please,” he tells the server, and she scuttles away with a smile.

  Like she, too, thinks we’re on a date, and she, too, thinks we’re cute.

  Not good.

  Because even if Wyatt was relationship material, I’m not.

  Seventeen

  Wyatt

  When our server leaves, Ellie leans into the table. “Why would Beck be trying to set us up?” she half-whispers. She doesn’t look annoyed.

  More like anxious.

  “He’s worried about you,” I tell her.

  “Did you…tell him?” she asks.

  She doesn’t say what, but she doesn’t have to. I shake my head. “You?”