“Eating, hopefully. Should we order more food?”

Across from me, Ty settles in next to Vaughn’s brothers, who watch him with wide eyes and half-open mouths. He’s an impressive figure—just a couple inches below my sixtwo. But he has an air of menace around him that I assume he acquired in the military, where he served ten years before he left to join the bodyguard service. Ty uses it to scare away overzealous groupies and lure the ladies into his bed.

One glance toward Vaughn’s older sister reveals that she’s not immune. She’s pink in the cheeks and keeps sneaking peeks at him while she thinks he doesn’t notice. He notices. But he’s not going to tap anyone on Jim’s payroll because of the whole not-shitting-where-you-eat thing.

“Is this our first date?” Vaughn whispers uncertainly. “I didn’t get any instructions from Claudia.”

I barely manage to keep from rolling my eyes. “Since we’re the ones seeing each other, I think we can make these decisions.”

She nibbles on her lip. Not because she wants me to bite it—which is sorta what I’m thinking about at the moment because her mouth is definitely her best feature—but because she’s worried she’s pissed Claudia off. I don’t mean to be an egotistical ass here, but shouldn’t I be the one she’s worried about pissing off?

A waitress bumps into my side before I can point that out. “Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t realize you were expecting more people. Do you need a different table?”

We all look around at the full restaurant.

“No.” Vaughn sighs as if she’s being asked to negotiate a peace treaty between the Koreans. “I’ll move.”

She scoots over, and I get both cheeks onto the vinyl bench. The waitress sets down new silverware and two glasses of water. I keep my head down. Beside me, Vaughn tenses up.

“I don’t like this,” she protests under her breath as soon as the waitress moves on. “What if someone recognizes you?”

“The waitress didn’t,” I point out.

“You were looking at your feet. Do you plan to eat that way the entire time?”

“Stop worrying.” Vaughn is worse than Jim, I decide. “How do I know when my food is done?”

“It was done five minutes ago,” one of the twins informs me. The other one is taking turns staring at Ty and then me. I’m not sure which one of us is more intriguing to him. I bet it’s Ty. My demographic doesn’t usually include preteen boys.

They look identical, except one’s wearing a plain white T-shirt and the other one is wearing a skate brand. I was paid about a million bucks to roll around on one of their boards a couple of years ago. I still have a half dozen in my garage.

“You like SkateBoiz?” I ask the kid.

He nods and then exchanges a look with his brother. The two have an entire conversation with their eyes before the talky twin turns back. “Yeah. It’s a cool board.”

“I’ve got a stack of them at my house. They need wheels, but you interested?”

His eyes light up. “Yeah, that’d be—” He jerks back, shooting a frown in Vaughn’s direction.

I tilt my head so I can see her better. “Did you just kick your brother?”

“Maybe. So what?” she replies huffily.

“I can’t give my shit away?”

“Don’t say shit,” Paisley interjects.

This time my eye-roll is unpreventable. “How old are they?” I look to the twins. “Twelve? Thirteen?”

“Twelve,” the one in the white shirt says. He nearly vibrates with excitement.

“So, twelve. That means they know more curse words than I can say in one sentence.”

“Maybe, but we don’t use them,” Paisley says.

The boys cover their mouths, and even Vaughn’s mouth takes on a reluctant smile.

“Paisley has a thing about cursing. She’s not a fan,” Vaughn explains. “We have a swear jar and I don’t think Paisley’s had to drop one quarter in it—ever.”

“Whereas you’re losing your shirt to the jar,” Paisley retorts.

“Vaughn has a potty mouth,” one of the twins says.

“I do not,” she protests. “I haven’t had to put anything in the jar for a couple of weeks.”

“A new record for you,” Paisley teases.

“The jar is for a good cause.” Vaughn’s cute nose tips upward. “The twins’ college fund.”

I glance at Ty, who’s stretched a long arm along the back of the booth. He’s wearing a faint grin, the gentle ribbing between the siblings probably reminding him of his own family.

“So back to the skateboard decks,” I say. “I’ve got a bunch of ’em from an old endorsement deal. They’re collecting dust and aren’t even usable because I have no wheels on them. I can give them away to some strangers or…” I spread my hands innocently, leaving the twins to fill in the blanks.

They take the bait. “Yeah, Vaughn. Why can’t he give them to us? They aren’t doing him any good.”

“Fine. What else do you have lying around the house? We could use a new TV. Maybe a car. We only have the one. How many extras do you have?” Vaughn snaps.

“Five, but I don’t think I’ll give you a car until our third or fourth date.”

“You gotta put out for that,” the white-shirt kid says.

“Spencer!” both girls admonish.

They look ready to lay into their brother, but I place a hand in the middle of the table to get everyone’s attention. A scolding from his sisters in front of me? This kid will die.

“Nah. A gift is a gift.” I lean over the table and pin the pipsqueak with a serious stare. “I’m not making you do anything for those skateboards, am I?”

Spencer shrinks back in his chair. “No, sir.”

This kid is trying to show off for me. I get this a lot. Luke does it all the time—trying to appear as bro as bro can be in an effort to make up for whatever he perceives as his own inadequacies. No different than me wearing these stupidass pants, I realize in an uncomfortable moment of clarity.

“It doesn’t matter how big the gift is,” I tell Spencer. “No one does anything to deserve presents. You just give them because you want to make the other person feel good.”

I pluck the forgotten bread out of the cheese pot and stick it into my mouth. Like the other twin said, it was done five minutes ago. I eat it, as terrible as it tastes, and then skewer another piece because I’m hungry and the food’s here and I’m not going anywhere.

11

HER

“So if you’re Spencer, what’s your name?” Oakley asks Shane, and I feel bad when I realize I haven’t even introduced them.

“It’s Shane.” Paisley jumps in before I can. “And Shane, Spence, this is Ty and—” She falters and then lowers her voice to a whisper. “Oakley Ford.”

My brothers don’t even blink. “The singer guy?” Spencer asks.

Oakley grins. “Yeah. The singer guy.”

The twins exchange a look and then shrug, completely indifferent. I don’t think either one of them has ever listened to an Oakley Ford album in their short lives. They’re both into heavy metal, which is probably a good thing because if they were huge Ford fans, they might’ve caused a scene.

“But you can call me Oak,” he says cheerfully, popping some of the bread into his mouth without even dipping it into the cheese pot.

“We’re going to need more food,” I whisper to Paisley.

“I know,” she answers. “I think he might eat as much as both the twins.”

“And what about Ty?” I point out.

She blushes. “Oh, yeah, him, too.”

Oh, my God! Paisley has a crush on Oakley Ford’s bodyguard. I can’t wait to tease her about this tonight. I’m not sure I blame her, though—the guy is hot. He’s a bit too muscular for me, but his face is Hollywood-pretty with cheekbones like cut glass and dark brown eyes that remind me of melted chocolate.

The waitress shows up, delivering our pots of heated oil and the fresh meats. Ty smiles at her. “Can we have two more platters of those things?”