He cackles, poking my chest. “I’m not scared of you, big brother, and I’m definitely more fun than you. Not all of us want to live our lives celibate with our collar buttoned up to our eyeballs.”
My blood was boiling, sending hurricane waves crashing in my ears, and I had to bite my fingernails into my palms to stop from snapping his head back with a good sucker punch.
Instead, I grabbed his elbow and pulled him across the bar, past Gerry, who calls out as I’m about to push the door open into the sunny street outside.
“You need to do something about that, Keaton. Sooner or later, he’s going to kill himself. Or someone else.”
His tone hits a nerve in me, and I turn with my hand still wrapped around my brother’s elbow so he can’t bolt for the door. “You’re the one who served him until the early hours of the morning!”
Gerry shrugs. “It’s a business, Nash. I’m a bartender, not a nurse or his mama.”
That snaps my patience. “Don’t tell me how to take care of my family, Gerry. You raised a daughter who left behind a good life, both with me and with you. Don’t act like you know how to influence or control someone any better than I can. As I recall, you asked her to reconsider her choice, and she still left. So don’t tell me how to handle my business.”
The man’s face falls, but his upper-lip stiffens. “Boy, if you don’t realize by now that she did you a favor, you’re a moron. You weren’t right for each other, we all saw it. Get your romantic head out of your ass and get over it. And get out of my bar. I don’t want to see your brother in here again.”
My gut burns as I push out of the bar, the sun forcing me to squint. Just an hour ago, I’d relished taking in the early morning rays, and the fresh smell of the day.
“Don’t bring me home. Mom can’t know. Please, Keat,” Fletcher begs me, and a part of me sympathizes with him.
Somewhere in my brain, I know he can’t help the way he is. And I also don’t want to subject our poor mother to this.
“I’ll bring you to Bowen’s, but just know he’s going to kick your ass when he gets home.”
Now, with my sick, broken brother leaning on my shoulder at eight a.m., I can’t wait for this shit day to be over already.
8
Keaton
“Stir that caramel. And don’t give me that look, asshole. You’re silent today, remember?”
Bowen’s voice is clipped as he orders Fletcher around, but I’m too damn hot to notice. It has to be about a thousand degrees in this tent, and I wonder for the tenth year in a row, why we allow Mom to force us into manning the caramel corn booth at the Summer Kickoff Carnival.
It’s a Nash tradition! That’s what she says to us every year, and her hopeful expression and wistful tone of voice ropes us all in with an extra side serving of guilt.
I bag a fresh batch of popcorn; the steam rising from the bowl I’m scooping from sends sweat dripping down every part of my body. And I mean every part … my balls are chafing so bad that I want to dunk them in one of those industrial ice machines right now.
“How come Forrest doesn’t have to do any of the manual labor?” Fletcher whines.
Forrest answers, speaking in the third person. “Because Forrest is the only one who knows how to operate the credit card app on his cell phone. And Mom trusts me with the money. Now be quiet, you dick. You landed yourself in caramel hell.”
Bowen and I shoot each other a somber look. After the incident with Fletcher the other morning, the question of an intervention or rehab is no longer something we have to answer. Time is running out, and we are meeting with Forrest in a few days to plan exactly how we are going to get our brother help.
“Hey, Bowie, did you end up going out with that chick the other night?” Forrest asks, tinkering around with the makeshift cash register he’s set up.
My middle brother growls at the use of the nickname, but answers, “If you mean by go out, did I go over to her place and have her moaning my name? Then yes.”
I crack up because what else would Bowen have done. He didn’t date and was the crudest out of all of us.
Forrest high fives him. “Bro, help me out. The last girl I went out with friend-zoned me after I took her out on three dates and paid!”
“You should pay. Every time.” I roll my eyes at him. “And just because you take a girl out doesn’t mean she’s going to sleep with you.”
I felt like his father, lecturing him on treating a woman right.
Forrest shoots me a scowl. “I know that, thanks, old man. And I’m not saying she had to, I would never force a woman …”
“He’s just saying he doesn’t have enough game to complete the pass.” Fletcher chuckles from where he stands stirring the caramel.
“Shut the fuck up!” Forrest yells at his twin.
Bowen walks over to Forrest, rubbing his shoulders and smirking. “Aw, baby bro, do you need tips on how to satisfy a woman?”
“Get away from me.” Forrest shrugs him off, and we all laugh.
“When you’re ready to learn tips from the master, I’ll be here.” Bowen flexes his hips suggestively.
“Bowen Nash, behave!” Mom walks into the tent, and we all straighten up like we’ve just been caught.
“Sorry, Ma.” Bowen ducks his head and gets back to work, helping me bag.
We work quietly as the tinker of carnival music sings in the background, and customers come in droves to buy the Nash’s caramel corn.
Our family has manned this booth for more than twenty years, and way before my brothers and I were ever the ones doing the work. The Summer Kickoff Carnival is also a Fawn Hill institution, taking place in Bloomsbury Park and running for a whole week. There are rides, games, raffles, food booths set up by all the local restaurants and concerts on the weekend nights.
“Oh, Presley, how nice to see you!” My mom’s voice brings me out of my popcorn making concentration.
“Eliza, this smells amazing!”
I turn slowly, trying not to seem too eager. She stands in front of our booth, checking out the operation, and waves slightly when our eyes connect. She’s in Daisy Duke jean shorts, scuffed sneakers and a plain white V-neck tee that has me trying to peer down into her cleavage. Her scarlet hair is down in loose curls, and I wonder what it might be like to lick some of our homemade caramel off of her … lips.
“Hey.” I nod.
My brothers all look at me at once, and I want to punch them all in the bicep. Real subtle, guys.
“These are my sons. I think you’ve met Keaton. This is Bowen, and my twins, Forrest and Fletcher.” My mom motions to us like we’re plates she pulls out for special occasions.
My brothers wave or say hi, but I can see the interest in their eyes. They think she’s hot, and I guess I can’t blame them. But I still make a sound in the back of my throat without even meaning to, and Bowen’s amused eyes hold a question as he looks at me.
“Wow. I didn’t realize the hot vet had more hot brothers.” She laughs.
Did she just call me hot?
“Oh, I’m sure Keaton didn’t tell you how fun the rest of us are. He’s the boring one. How are you doing on this fine day?” Fletcher saunters over to the front table in the tent, giving Presley his Cheshire smile.
But before she can answer, Bowen physically turns him back toward the large boiling pots of caramel and shoves the ladle back into his hand.
Her green eyes twinkle with amusement.
“Are you here with anyone?” My mom asks.
“Just my grandma, but she wandered off to talk to the high school vice principal.” She shrugs as Bowen hands her a bag of caramel corn, and she tastes a piece. “Wow, this is so good!”
“Well, since you have a free minute, maybe you could accompany Keaton on the Ferris wheel. He was just saying how he wanted to go on it.”
Forrest snorts as my stomach drops. My meddling, manipulative mother … the Ferris wheel of all things. Is she purposely trying to embarrass me?
Pre
sley must catch on to my mother’s setup because she smirks at me. “Is that so? Well, you all look kind of busy …”
“Oh, I insist. He’s been working so hard all day, and I’m sure he’d love the company of a beautiful woman such as yourself.”
“Mom, stop, she’s clearly doing other things and I have to help here.”
If I didn’t respect and fear my mother so much, I’d wring her neck right now. I should have told her that the woman shot me down not more than a week ago. Being in any kind of confined space after that rejection was going to be humiliating to say the least.
“Okay. Let’s go.” Presley winks at me as Mom turns her head to beam in my direction.
I blow out a breath. Well, this was going to be awkward.
My brothers wolf whistle as I shed the apron I was wearing and wipe the sweat off my forehead, then leave the booth trailing Presley.
We wait on line for the Ferris wheel without talking, and as the attendant straps the metal bar down over our laps, I’m fully aware of my side pressing right into her side. Sneakers touch sneakers, knees kiss, and her smooth bare arms rub up against mine.
Being this close to her as we ride up, up, up makes me want to do crazy things. The tight control I always have on myself and my life seems to tilt on its axis when this woman is around.
“So, if I ask you out again, are you going to give me a non-answer?”
Presley chuckles. “Look at you, doc, being so direct.”
I shrug as our car crests to the top of the wheel again. “I don’t really play games, Presley. And you should know, I usually don’t date. But I want to date you.”
There. It was out there now, and I was being a grown man about this finally. Sure, I was scared shitless, and it was probably a horrible idea to date someone with my past, but from what I’d seen so far, I liked the woman.
Presley’s eyes are fixed on mine. “I usually don’t date either. I’m not exactly uncomplicated, Keaton.”
“No one said I don’t have my baggage. But I’m not asking for anything other than a nice night out with you.”
Her red mane flutters in the warm night air as she turns away for a second, looking over the town from our aerial position.
“Okay. One date.” She slowly swings her face back to me, a small smile gracing her full lips.
Internally, I high five myself. “It was the caramel corn, wasn’t it?”
She throws her head back in a laugh. “Honestly, it was probably your mother. I never want to disappoint that woman, she’s so wonderful.”
I’d have to thank my mom later for scoring me a date with this beautiful woman. “Would Saturday night work?”
The Ferris wheel brings us down and back up again, stopping while we’re about halfway up.
“Tomorrow is Saturday,” she deadpans.
I nod. “Yep. I don’t want you to change your mind. Plus, I’m not getting any younger. I’ll pick you up at seven? You’re staying with Hattie, right?”
She looks a little bulldozed, which I kind of like. Presley seems like the kind of girl who usually calls the shots when it comes to her love life, and I want to unbalance her a little. I’ve never had the urge to be spontaneous or cavalier, but with her, I’m starting to realize that my usual straitlaced rules don’t apply.
“Yeah, I’m at Hattie’s. How old are you, anyway? And what’s your middle name? I should at least know the basics before I go on a date with you. You could be a serial killer.”
Her expression is sarcastic, and I grin. “Wouldn’t that be a twist? The town veterinarian is actually a real-life Dexter? I’m thirty, and my middle name is William.”
Presley nods as if analyzing the two short tidbits of information I’ve given her. “Hmm, an older man. I don’t know how we’ll find anything in common with this three-year age gap.”
This woman is a ballbuster, and it’s interesting to find that her humor is growing on me. I’ve normally dated quiet, sweet girls.
“Oh, I think we can probably find some common ground.” I lean in a little closer and watch her gaze drop to my lips.
She pulls away a little, catching herself.
“Don’t worry, Presley. I’m not going to kiss you on this Ferris wheel. You’re not a cliché moment kind of girl, that much I can tell. And we haven’t even gone on a date yet. You should know I’m a gentleman. A gentleman who doesn’t play games. When I kiss you, we’ll both be ready for it.”
9
Presley
As usual, there were fourteen discarded outfits on my bed, two hair tools heating on my dresser, and enough makeup to fill a tractor trailer, spilling from the drawers of my nightstand.
And to think, the male on the other end of this date probably took a shower, brushed a piece of hair off his forehead, threw on jeans and a shirt and called it a day.
The absolute madness of being a female and getting ready for a first date was both exciting and extremely awful. My stomach was in knots, I couldn’t get my eyeliner to wing the right way, and I was between two outfits that I didn’t even really like.
My phone chimed on my rumpled comforter, and I snatched it up.
Ryan: Wear the blue skirt with the lacy white tank, and a simple, flat sandal. Cute but casual, and if he takes you cow wrangling, you’ll have decent footwear.
Presley: Cow wrangling? Really?
I let out a nervous giggle.
Ryan: *shrug emoji* I don’t know, I’m just trying to envision what small-town dating looks like.
Presley: We’re not living in an eighties western movie. This isn’t Footloose. They have Wi-Fi here.
Ryan: Whatever. Go get ready, and text me all the dirty details later. That is, if you’re not knocking boots with the sexy vet.
Presley: *eye roll emoji*
There definitely would be no knocking boots with Keaton Nash. For one, I wasn’t even sure I wanted to go on this date …
Okay, I definitely wanted to go on this date. So much so that my palms are sweating as I wait for him on Grandma’s front porch. But I also don’t want to go at the same time.
In the city, I went on dates. They usually ended in one-night stands, or the guy never calling me again. I didn’t form attachments because I was too busy for a boyfriend, and my life is always up in the air as it is, so why add another complication to the mix? There wasn’t really a tragic breakup in my past or something like a daddy issue that made me chase bad men. No … I just had never really wanted a long-term thing, and now that I was older, I almost didn’t know how to have a boyfriend.
Keaton’s charm was silent but deadly; the whole good boy, being direct thing had thrown me for a loop and now here I was, about to get in his car for a night of … romance? That sounded so cheesy. But he was someone I could actually see myself having a nice time with, so there would be no knocking boots. I was going to be a grown-up about this, even if I had no grown-up job, a bunch of debt, and didn’t even own my own car.
Plus, in a town like Fawn Hill, I’m sure half the town would know about my sexcapade before I have my morning coffee tomorrow.
A newer model Toyota truck pulls into Grandma’s driveway, and Keaton’s long limbs climb out of the driver’s seat. He’s in a fitted T-shirt and jeans, a much more casual look than I’d seen him in previously. The man still looked gorgeous even in street clothes, with his dirty blond hair slightly gelled back, and his chocolate-colored eyes smiling right along with those full lips. There was some five-o’clock shadow on his jaw, and damn if that didn’t make him even more attractive than when he was clean-shaven.
“Hi.” He leaned in when he reached my spot on the front steps. “You look amazing.”
Those full lips were warm where they pecked quickly at my cheek in greeting. I caught a whiff of his cologne, something earthy with a little citrus that added unexpected spice.
“Thank you. You look … different.” My stupid mouth was failing me already.
Keaton chuckled. “You’ve seen the boring doctor side. I thought I�
��d show you how I really am. No wait … I am kind of a boring doctor.”
We both laugh, nervous tinkling filling the air between us.
“But, I thought that tonight, I could show you that I can relax and have fun, too.”
My smile is shy. “That sounds good. Should we go?”
He hesitates. “Does Hattie expect me to come in first? Wouldn’t want to have your grandmother disapprove of me on the first date.”
I roll my eyes. “She said that if you brought her flowers, she’d bash you over the head with them. Told me you were way too good of a catch, and don’t screw anything up.”
Keaton laughs, and I watch as his biceps, torso, and thighs tense with the motion. It’s … sexy.
And again, I’m reminded of how this man is one giant oxymoron.
“Glad to know she’s on my side. Let me get your door.”
He walks me to the passenger side and helps me in like a true gentleman. Of all the dates I’ve been on, this one is off to the best start. Which is sad that it’s taken me twenty-seven years to be treated well.
But, I’m hoping, that tonight will change my outlook on a lot of things.
* * *
“So, should we get the basics out of the way?” Keaton hands the menus to our waiter and smiles at me.
The man wastes no time, which is oddly refreshing.
A candle flickers between us, and I have a feeling this is the nicest restaurant in Fawn Hill. It’s clean and smartly decorated, like an old Italian joint with exposed brick and red checkered tablecloths … but this kind of place wouldn’t even make rent in New York City. That was the first snobbish thought that had gone through my head when we walked in. My second was to wonder why he’d brought us somewhere that so many people knew him. Practically every table had waved or greeted Keaton when we walked in, and the owner slash maître d’ had hugged him.
Fleeting: The Nash Brothers, Book One Page 4
