“Love it.”
“Nice enthusiasm, Wren.”
To cover my lack there-of, I take his hand and start walking with him to the ticket booth. “I’m just surprised. You didn’t tell me you were going to.”
He stops. “Do I need permission?”
Quieting my voice and hoping he will, too, I reassure him, “No, that’s not what I meant. But it’s fun…so it just seems like you might want to share things like that.” Sighing I glance away and back to him. “Is it just me, Peter, or are things weird between us?”
“What? No!” He takes my face in his hands and plants a proper kiss on me, murmuring, “Maybe I wanted to surprise you. Ever thought of that?”
I slip my arms around his neck, happy for the attention. “I love the streaks.”
“Yeah?”
“Mmhmm.”
“Cool. You smell good.” He gives me one last kiss and takes my hand. But instead tugs me in the opposite direction toward Piedmont Park, its border ending here at the Botanical Gardens. And it’s free. “Thought we’d just hang out in the park since I don’t have that much time today.”
My heart plunges into my feet. “But I said I’d never been here—”
“The park is really beautiful, too.”
“Yeah, we’ve gone there a bunch of times. And that’s why today we were here, to finally see inside the—”
“Wren, why are you making a big deal out of this?” Since I’m speechless, he softens a little and offers, “We’ll go another day when I have more time.”
“What came up?”
“Work. One of the baristas didn’t show. Can you believe it? I told them I’d come as soon as I could. I knew you were waiting so let’s just make the most of this time, have fun, okay? I’ve got like forty-five minutes, tops. And that’s stretching it.”
“Oh.”
I let him lead me away from the pretty gift shop with colorful crafts, books on flora and fauna, seeds with easy how-to instructions, hand-made bird houses by a local artist, large glass dragonflies for your yard, and countless other things I won’t see now. I glance behind me, sad I hadn’t browsed while I waited for Peter to arrive. I was saving it for after, a kind of frosting on the cake of a lovely day I dreamt of having.
God, listen to yourself Wren.
Suck it up.
Stop being such ‘a girl.’
But…but…
“You’re quiet,” he says as we stroll hand-in-hand down stone steps that date back to 1895. To the right is what used to be a horse racetrack, and it’s now where runners like to get their miles in.
“I’m just tired I guess,” I lie as a grey squirrel dashes up the grassy hill to our left. “Why didn’t you say that you had to cut our day short when you texted me?”
“Too long to type all that.”
“Oh.”
As we silently choose the path that will take us to the pond, he adds, “Besides, I really want to get my credit cards down, so I told them I need extra shifts.”
Frowning I blink at him. “Wait, so you asked for this shift, or they called you?
“Hey,” Peter says, lighting up and pointing with his chin. “Isn’t that the quarterback for the Falcons?”
My head turns like someone shot a gun by my ear. Shocked, I lock eyes with Eric as he slows his jog to a stroll, loose tank top blowing in the breeze over running shorts that showcase his legs. His face and neck are beaded with perspiration, hair matted to his temples. And he’s not alone. A man equally as handsome slows down, too, his hair slightly lighter and longer on top. Their skin is the same golden glow, and the glint in their eyes, plus similar bone structure and height, makes me guess they must be related.
“Wren, hey!” Eric smiles, just as surprised to see me but his hazel eyes flicker to Peter’s and my entwined fingers. Like he’s trying to split that up, he extends his palm to my boyfriend, brandishing that charming smile as he says, “Eric Cocker.”
“I know! I’m a huge fan! The game in Miami last week, you were fantastic, man. You scored two touchdowns all on your own.”
Eric’s smile is colored with his undisguised inspection of Peter’s hair, then to the two tats on his right arm. Blinking back to the present moment, he mutters, “Right, thanks. Never on my own, though. It’s a team effort.” Eric glances to me and holds my eyes a second too long. “This is my brother, Ethan.”
“Nice to meet you…” Ethan says, his manner easy and friendly, but his eyes are so sharp it’s like he’s suspicious of Peter and not just asking, “What’d you say your name was?”
“Pete! Sorry, didn’t say that did I?”
I reach out to touch his back and as I do, I notice Eric’s eyes flick to the action. “Peter and I are both huge fans of the team. I told him I’d met you and he really hoped he’d have a chance, so this is…very cool.”
Very awkward.
Very much needs to end.
Ethan crosses his arms, legs hip-width apart. “And your name is Wren? How do you know my brother?”
“I bartend where the team hangs out.”
“Ah,” he nods.
Eric asks, “You guys come down from the gardens?” He motions to what I’m wearing. “Pretty dress, not something you wear to the park. Figured it has to be a special occasion.”
“Turns out I have to go into work early.”
Eric’s eyes flicker from my boyfriend back to me. “You’ve been though, right? I know you were raised right around the corner.”
“When I was younger I was more into being a tom boy,” I smile.
Peter says. “I’m from here, too. Never been to the gardens though. Not my thing.”
Glancing back toward the entrance, which I can’t see from here, but nevertheless there’s longing in my eyes as I remember aloud, “My mom tried to take me all the time, but I fought her on it. So stupid.”
Eric hits his brother’s chest with the back of his hand. “We’re members.”
“All our life,” Ethan beams before they exchange an amused look and he laughs, “Mom makes sure of that!”
“We should probably start paying for the membership ourselves soon, huh?”
Ethan makes a face. “And rob her of her greatest joy in life?”
“That’s why I haven’t done it.”
“Bet Emma feels the same way.”
“Dunno. Never asked her, but I would bet money, too.”
“You bet too often. You’ve gotta be smarter with your money, like me.”
Eric’s eyebrows rise. “You installed a bowling alley in your house.”
“Pfft. Yeah, wouldn’t you?”
“You’re a hypocrite. But can you imagine Mom’s face if we bought our own cards?”
“So disappointed,” Ethan agrees.
“You guys all have ‘E’ names?”
The brothers glance to me, both nodding, both crossing their arms. Two sweaty hunks with shining eyes and loads of love for each other.
Eric explains, “My dad’s one of six brothers, all ‘J’ names. So Dad did the lame thing and named the three of us all with the same first letter, too. A sucker for sentiment.”
“I don’t think it’s lame,” I say, feeling self-conscious because Eric has been staring at me in a pretty obvious way. I don’t know if Peter can tell because he’s so starstruck. But I don’t want to chance it. “We have to go. Don’t get to see each other too often.”
Peter glances to me. “Yeah we do.”
I stare at him. “No, we don’t.”
“We just hung out three nights ago.”
Surprised I blurt, “Yeah, but we used to see each other every day.”
Instantly I want to suck those words back into my mouth and not sound so needy and hurt.
My boyfriend’s lips go thin.
Eric saves us both by grinning that famous smile, “Pete, you take care of this girl. She’s a special one. Wren, say hey to Mike next time you’re working. Friday right?”
I hesitate because it feels like he’s
checking so he knows when to show up. He’s been doing that a lot lately. I’ve begun to look forward to it, without meaning to, so I wish he would stop. “Um, I don’t remember my schedule. But I’ll tell him you said hi. Nice to meet you, Ethan.”
“You too, Wren. Have a good one.”
They jog off and we hear Eric challenge, “Beat you to the parking lot?”
Ethan shrugs, “Fuck no,” then shouts, “Go!” They explode into sprints with Eric taking the lead pretty quickly. “Oh right! How good are you behind a computer?!”
Eric laughs, “What’s a computer?” He spins around, running backwards. Seeing me watching, he gives a head nod that seems to have meaning behind it. Not just a see-you-around tip-up, but more like he just figured something out.
Peter mutters, checking his phone for the time, “Oh shit, I have to go soon. Can’t believe we ran into him. What a lucky day.”
Chewing on my tongue is the only thing that stops me from heavy sarcasm.
CHAPTER 16
ERIC
Up the old stone staircase I run and don’t slow until I hit the entrance for the Botanical Gardens. Families, tourists and couples dressed in nice, casual clothing mill about, either leaving the shop after a day here or purchasing tickets, excited to see the beauty.
Ethan runs up to me, way sweatier than I am, sneakers stomping the pavement as he tries to stop. “I hate you,” he gasps, grabbing his knees and looking like he might puke.
I pat his hunched back. “Probably shouldn’t spend so much time behind a computer, smart guy.”
He smacks my shin. “You be the jock, I’ll be the rich genius with the hot wife and gorgeous daughter.” Rising up, he presses the heels of his hands into his lower back and groans, “I fuckin’ hate you.”
People are watching us, trying not to be obvious. My face is pretty hard to hide. Seems like it’s everywhere this time of year. Bars have me and my high-profile teammates posted in their windows or by their TV sets. I’m sponsored by a couple athletic products so there are life sized cut-outs of me in stores throughout Lennox Mall and probably the one in Roswell, too. Haven’t been up there in a while. Nice place—but now that I live in the Highlands the farthest I go up is Buckhead for my family. Especially since this fuck and my sister are now neighbors.
“Ya hear that? My own brother hates me!” I call out to the interested spectators. “Can you believe it?”
The people smile, happy I’m not an asshole. You never know with celebrities. I met a stand-up comic once at a party with a lot of other big names, went up to the guy and introduced myself as a fan. Fuckin’ dick shined me on like I was foot fungus. He had a really big opinion of himself and I wanted to knock it down to size. Promised I wouldn’t let the notoriety get to me as my career progressed, like it did him. So I opt for making people laugh.
Ethan’s grinning and shaking his head, calling out in his defense to anyone listening, “Did you see that ninety-nine yard touchdown my brother scored in Miami? Wasn’t that insane? And then you know what he does?” Comedic pause before his finger jabs at me. “He challenges me to a race! Sir, sir, hear me out, do you have any brothers or sisters?”
The man nods with a knowing smile, holding his son’s hand, the boy gaping at me in recognition. “Sure do, three of ‘em.”
“You can’t turn down a challenge like that, can you?”
“No you cannot!” he laughs while his son gapes at me with recognition.
I shake hands with his dad first. “I’m Eric.”
“Oh I know who you are. Mickey Jones, nice to meet you.”
Squatting, I smile at his boy who can’t be more than nine years old. “I’m Eric Cocker.” I extend my hand. “What’s your name?”
Star-struck he slides his dark fingers onto my golden ones, dwarfed by the size of my grip. “Gabe.”
“Oh yeah? We’ve got a cousin named Gabriel, don’t we, Ethan?”
My brother nods, red faced as he crosses his arms. “Is your full name Gabriel?”
The boy shakes his head.
I ask him, “You like sports?”
“Yes!”
“What’s your favorite?”
“Golf.”
My eyebrows shoot up and I exchange an amused glance with his father, rising up. “And here I thought he recognized me.”
“Oh he did, but he plays golf. Football isn’t real to him yet.”
“Ah, makes sense. You any good, Gabe?”
His head bobs like crazy. “I got a hole in one once!”
“I’ve never done that, so kudos to you my friend.” I offer him a high five and he smacks my hand, grinning with pride. Seeing kids high-five is the cutest fucking thing.
“It was nice meeting you,” Mickey grins as he leads his son to the ticket booth. Gabe waves at me, his whole arm engaged in the action.
Now that it’s just Ethan and I again, he runs a hand through his hair and asks, “You have to do that everywhere you go, huh?”
“Have to? I love that shit.”
“Yeah?”
As we walk into the parking lot, roof level with the sun beating down on us, I tell him, “Fuck yeah. The fans are what it’s all about. We’re out there playin’ on the field and they’re taking hours out of their lives to cheer for us. When we fail, they try to boost us up. When we win they win. It’s loyalty of the best kind. They wear the jerseys, show their pride, shout in the stands, or from their couches, or at the bars like O’Neal’s where Wren works. She was nice, huh?” Distracted I glance to the blinding asphalt and add, “I love my fans. This is me here.”
Ethan mutters, “I know what Jeep is yours, dipshit. I didn’t know you felt that way about it all—that’s pretty amazing when you put it like that.”
“Why are you surprised? You know me. Know our family. Loyalty is number one. Why wouldn’t that translate over to how I view my sport?”
My brother and sister both got the same color eyes, warm chestnut. And right now his look lighter, the sun making them glow as he stares into the distance, thoughtful. “Yeah, I guess I just…I dunno.”
After a few seconds of silence I prod him, “You just…what? Didn’t think I’d care as much as I do? Of course I care. Why do you think I work so hard?”
He looks at me. “Truth? You’re my little brother. I always think of you as this goofy kid who followed me around everywhere. Hearing you just now, I don’t know. You’re all grown up, Eric.”
“Thanks, Ethan. I really appreciate that.”
We stare at each other a second. He smacks my arm and brings me in. “Come here.”
“Sweatiest hug you’ll ever get,” I laugh, embracing him. As we pull apart I mutter, “Take that back. You just gave me the sweatiest one. Gross.” I pull out my keys. As he heads away I stop him. “Hey, what’d you think of Wren?”
CHAPTER 17
ERIC
Ethan flips on his heel and cocks his head. “The one with the goofy boyfriend?”
“I wanted to like him.”
“No you fuckin’ didn’t.”
Frowning at the sky I mutter, “Nah, I really didn’t. But I tried to despite hoping I wouldn’t.”
Ethan makes a face. “What?!”
“Didn’t make sense?”
“Barely! You got any water?”
“Yeah, some glass bottles in here.” Unlocking the door I dig around. “You can’t leave plastic in the heat. Chemicals melt into the water. Been known to cause cancer.” Straightening up I catch him staring at me like, dude, you forget my IQ?
Ethan is a genius, literally, a member of Mensa, and he patented an invention that made him a billionaire. Maybe a couple of them by now. I don’t keep up because he doesn’t brag. But he also doesn’t want to be taught anything by me. I hand him the bottle, “I know you’re smart, fucker, but that doesn’t mean you know everything.”
He uncorks it, “It kinda does.” Glugging as much as he can take without throwing up he wipes his lips and grins, “Damn, when you’re really thirsty,
water tastes as good as whiskey. Back to the boyfriend—what was his name?”
“Said it was Pete for our benefit. He goes by Peter normally, I’m pretty sure.”
“Yeah I caught that, too. He’s not into her.”
Opening my own bottle I replay everything I watched down there in the park. “You don’t think so?”
“Nope.”
“How can you tell?”
Ethan shrugs, “You know how Dad looks at Mom?”
“Oh, right,” I mutter, picturing how in love our parents have always been.
“Same way I look at my Charlie, right?”
“Yeah.”
“You think that guy is into her? Think back and picture the scene. Now I know he was excited as hell to meet you in person, but still. He never looked at her. Held himself at a distance. When she touched his back he didn’t react! Barely even knows she’s there.”
“You picked all that up?”
Ethan taps his head. “I can read people spot-on when I want to. Practically know what they’re thinking. And I always find it interesting when a woman that hot is with a guy who doesn’t dig her. Dude isn’t into her but she doesn’t know it.”
“Yeah, I felt that too, but I thought I might be biased.”
“You like her? Who is she?”
“I thought she was a waitress—excuse me, they prefer to be called servers I guess. She works at O’Neal’s, but I never saw her after the first weekend we met. The team and I hang out there after home games. I found out she bartends sporadic weeknight shifts—schedule changes. Inconsistent, which is a bitch, you know? She’s there every Friday and Saturday night though. She’s good, real good, keeps her head on straight even when it’s four deep with drunks. She’s got these great laughing eyes, man. They weren’t that way down there when you met her in the park, probably because of him, but normally they’re all cute and crinkly at the edges. Problem is I can’t stay out late on the weekend nights so I’m always leaving early and I fuckin’ hate it. What? What’s with the face?”
Ethan laughs through his nose as he makes the water disappear, head thrown back. Gasping for air he smirks at me, “Where does she live and what window does she dress in front of?”
Eric Cocker (Cocker Brothers Book 12) Page 7
