“Never heard of it,” Kevin drawls, and I want to wipe that smug expression off his face by telling him who I am, but I haven’t name-dropped my father in years and am not about to start now.

Still. It’s chapping my ass that he’s being such a…such a…

“Don’t be a dick, Louis,” Buzz tells him, coming to my side and bringing his arm around my waist. Pulls me in and gives me the usual sniff before loudly whispering, “He reads at a fourth grade level, that’s why he hasn’t heard of it.”

“Shut the fuck up, Wallace.”

“Please—everyone has read As I Die Slowly, even my brother.”

I gaze up at him. “Okay, that’s a bit much.”

“It’s true.” He sips on the beer in his hand. “We’re in a book club with our mom and that was the selection in November.”

“A book club? Stop it.”

He holds the beer can and raises a few fingers in the air. “Swear to god. It’s called…” He racks his brain. “Something lame like the Bellmont Readers and it’s mostly grandmas and shit, plus me and my brother. Google them—they’re on Facebook. Bet you find my picture.”

Noah Harding pulls his phone from his back pocket and swipes the screen open, tapping away. Laughs and holds it out only a few moments later. “He’s not kidding.”

I lean in as Harding holds the phone in front of my face, my eyes taking in the sight of Trace Wallace, six feet something of prime man, a head or two above a room full of old ladies, his brother Tripp off to the side holding a copy of Love’s Addiction. The caption below the picture says, February edition of books about love ends with Love’s Addiction, unanimously chosen by the Bellmont Retirement Home Readers for our Valentine’s Day meeting. Karen brought artichoke dip, the Wallace brothers brought salad fixings, and Doreen and Blanche delighted with their famous peanut butter brittle and lemon bars, respectively. The March selection will be an old favorite, The Thorn Birds, with special guest Sister Lyra Mitchell from the Franciscan Convent of Maryville.

Buzz points to his brother with the tip of his finger before Noah retracts his phone. “Dipshit there only read half the book.”

“Half of Love’s Addiction, you mean?” I laugh.

“Yes. He claims the author was pandering, there were too many plot devices, and the first kissing scene was blah. His words, not mine. I for one thought it was just romantic enough to be believable, but with enough twists to leave me guessing.”

Buzz takes a casual sip of his beer, as if he didn’t just summarize a romance novel, and not a very good one, according to the critics. I’ve seen this book—haven’t read it—but hear it’s atrocious.

Who is this person?

Matchmaking? One of the only male members of a book club?

Correction: a book club whose members are primarily old women?

“Why are you in a book club with the Golden Girls?” another guy wants to know after the phone is passed around.

“Because my mom volunteers at the retirement home. They have a book club, she likes us to go and it gives us something to do together.” Sip, sip. “Duh.”

He goes to a book club full of old ladies because his mom wants him to?

My girl parts begin that familiar tingling sensation, now on high alert. Drool!

No. No, no, no, Hollis—you are not going to let this one little tidbit of information sway you to the dark side! This man is no good for you! This man is a player—women fall all over him!

“It doesn’t surprise me in the least—you’re a romantic.” Miranda is grinning in my direction. “Have you set any of those women up with dates at all?”

Buzz quietly sips his beverage, eyes averted.

“Oh come on, admit it!” The blonde nudges him. “Tell us who you set up.”

“Fine.” He sighs loudly, as if we’re burdening him by asking for info. “Yes. When Harriet’s husband died, she was really lonely, so I introduced her to Walt in accounting at headquarters.”

Noah’s face scrunches up. “How the hell do you know a guy named Walt in accounting?”

Another shrug. “He came down to the field once when we were practicing and I went over to say hello.” The ‘duh’ is implied by his tone. Everyone stares as if seeing him for the first time. “Don’t you ever go say hello to the people coming to watch us? Rude.”

“How did I not know this?” Noah wants to know. “You’re always up my ass—when do you have time to do all this matchmaking and reading and shit?”

“You find time for the shit you care about.” Duh.

For real—who is this guy?

The entire day, my mind reels as I watch him laugh and joke around with his friends at the party. Our host and hostess seem to love him—er, Miranda does; I’m still not sure about Noah. He seems to tolerate Buzz more than he likes him. I’m trying to figure that relationship out.