I snicker.

Cooper snickers.

Brooks snickers.

Robinson snickers.

Trevor doesn’t snicker, because he’s an old man and he went home to sleep and isn’t here, so he doesn’t know about Cooper’s glowing balls and Brooks’s singing balls, which sucks for him.

“Rawk! Keep your pants on! Rawk!”

Brooks bends over and moons the bird, so we all follow suit.

Jesus, this feels good.

And it’s not the buzz coming off my first couple beers in months either. It’s being with the guys. Having fun. Not thinking about the season coming up.

Fuck.

No, no, no. Do not think about the season.

“Thousand bucks says I can sink this in one shot,” Brooks announces.

“Your dog can sink it in one shot,” Robinson replies.

“Fuck yeah. My dog is awesome. My dog can eat your dog for breakfast.”

“That’s because Robby’s dog is imaginary.” Cooper bends over and puts his glow-in-the-dark ball on the mat at the first hole. “Your dog can eat his dog for breakfast and both dogs can still exist.”

I frown.

Brooks and Robinson look at each other.

“Whoa,” we all mutter.

“That’s deep, man.” Brooks slaps Cooper on the shoulder as Cooper swings his club, making Cooper’s first shot bounce off the spinning pirate wheel blocking the entrance to the little pirate tavern that the ball needs to get through.

Cooper shoves Brooks. “Foul!”

“There’s no foul balls in golf.”

“There’s foul balls in Scuttle Putt. House rules. You take three extra strokes.”

“Three strokes is all he needs,” I mutter to Robinson, who cracks up.

Brooks turns and stares me down. “For the record, I can last five.”

Cooper trips over his own two feet.

Brooks cracks up.

And then Robinson and I both go down too.

Fuck, I miss this. All of the guys. The whole team.

“You remember when you all dragged me and Rossi into that curse-breaking ritual in spring training?” Brooks says.

“What happens at the shack stays at the shack, dumbass. Don’t go talking shit and break the un-cursing.”

“I’m glad it was with you guys.”

“Is he getting sappy now that he’s getting laid on the regular?” Robinson whispers.

“Happens, man. Look at Rossi too.”

“Huh.” He reaches into his jacket and pulls a beer can out of an inner pocket. “I could go for a chick that would make me sappy like that.”

“Are we golfing with our glow-in-the-dark balls, or are we sapping it up?” Cooper asks. “Not that I mind either way. I just wanna know before I pull out all my tricks to start my game over without interference.”

“That’s your cue, rookie,” I mutter to Robinson. “Go blow in his ear next time he tries to take a shot.”

“I heard that, Gnome Man,” Cooper says. “Elliott. You go next. And I got a grand on you taking at least five strokes to sink this one.”

Brooks snorts with laughter. “You’re so on.”

Brooks misses. Robinson misses. I miss. Cooper misses again.

“Fuck this, man.” Robby picks up his ball. “Let’s play hole three. I like hole three. It has wenches.”

“Oh, sweet, are we picking holes?” Brooks asks. “Dibs on the cannon hole.”

I trip over the edge of another miniature golf hole’s green, and I go down with a snort. “What’s a cannon hole, man?”

“They are seriously toasted, aren’t they?” a new voice says.

It’s women.

There are women on our golf course.

“Off with you, wenches,” Cooper calls.

“Yeah,” Brooks agrees. “We’re taken. Us and our glow-balls.”

“Sweetie, I think you’re the only taken one in the bunch,” Mackenzie says. “Unless I missed something. Robinson? You dating someone? Max, who’s your special lady friend?”

“No way,” Robinson says.

“I only sleep around,” I call.

“I’m single, Mackenzie,” Cooper says.

“The entire country is aware, Stinky Booty,” another woman replies.

My balls perk up—and I don’t mean the glow-in-the-dark balls—and I mentally slap myself with a raw steak before I remember that Tillie Jean is my sister now.

“TJ! My sister-girl!”

Eighty-four sets of eyeballs swivel in my direction.

Or maybe just like six or seven. Plus the parrot.

What was in that beer?

“Sister-girl?” Tillie Jean repeats.

Clearly I need to learn a little about being a brother. Like what to call the woman I’m now claiming as my sister. I step around Mackenzie to swing an arm around Tillie Jean’s shoulders. “Yep. Congratulations. You hung your picture on my shower curtain. That makes us related.”

She did.

It matches the picture of her on her towels.

And I’m not talking to you about the heart attack I didn’t have when I walked into my bathroom a few hours ago.

Or about how that’s what drove me to drink.

Heh. Just kidding.

I think.

But now that I’m here, and happy, and with friends, and with my sister, life is fucking awesome.

Cooper eyes me like I’ve lost my marbles. And my balls. “Tillie Jean. Did you break into Max’s house?”

“That’s what sisters do, right?” I interject.

Tillie Jean peers up at me, the moonlight catching her bright eyes and the shadows making her lips look even fuller. “Have you been drinking?”

Don’t kiss your sister, Max. Don’t kiss your sister. I grin, then boop her nose. “Yes, but I’m fine.”

“Yeah, you are, baby.” She winks.

My dick springs to life. He’s forgotten that we’re sisters. Brothers.

Brosters and sibyl-ings.

Huh.

I’m funny in my brain too when I’m tipsy.

But not drunk.

Never drunk.

Cooper wrenches us apart. “TJ. Quit flirting. Jesus. Max, dude, you okay?”

“I always wanted a normal family.” Good god. Who am I? Did I just say that out loud?

“Are you cracking?” he mutters to me.

Am I? Probably. “You—” I poke him in the shoulder with a finger, or maybe two fingers “—are my broster. And that makes your sither my sither.”

He tilts his head. “Is this like that time in San Francisco when you did two shots and demonstrated that you have the tolerance of a thirteen-year-old girl?”

“I wouldn’t challenge some of the thirteen-year-old girls I know,” Tillie Jean mutters.

I giggle. “I challenge you.”

What’s a cat that prowls good in the moonlight? That’s what TJ is. She’s like a cat. A sexy, sleek, prowly cat who’s sneaking up on my good intentions with that amused smile that makes her look like one of those super porny drawings of women in short skirts with big boobs and open blouses.

Tillie Jean—my sister by way of making my dick behave—crosses her arms. “I accept. Coffee-drinking challenge, coming right up.”

“To a hole.”