They discussed a few more of the plans, consulted the sketches, and did some measuring, deciding they could get part of the river dug out and a section of the bank reinforced before dinner.
Mitch, of course, wondered what Paige was doing. When he’d texted her, asking, she’d told him she was fine.
But he was a guy. Who’d heard “fine” from a number of women over the years. Grandmothers, cousins, girlfriends. “Fine” could mean a lot of things.
He’d pressed, and she’d said not to worry. He’d apologized for not being able to get away for lunch, and she’d said it was okay. He’d said he was looking forward to their date-night, and she’d said she was too.
Mitch blew out a breath thinking about it all, even now. Paige wasn’t a texter. He knew that. He’d spent six months frustrated about that. Why did he think that would change now that she was here?
He was far more frustrated that she was only about a mile away, and he still couldn’t see her and didn’t know what she was thinking or feeling.
He’d sensed she was a little nervous this morning about the new job and meeting his family, and… she’d had a right to be. The Landrys were really best dealt with like a shot of homemade moonshine—don’t think about it too hard, take it all in at once to get it over with, and chase it with a beer.
He needed to get the girl a beer. STAT.
“So, you’re really not going to tell us anything about the hot blond?”
Mitch looked at Zeke. His cousin had his long hair tied in a ponytail and a bandana wrapped around his head. His t-shirt was lying somewhere on the hill behind them, and the tattoos that crossed from his chest, to his left arm, then down the left side of his torso, and over his back moved as his muscles bunched.
Mitch and Fletcher gave him and Zander shit about their hair, but Kennedy, Maddie, and the other girls assured them that, while not all guys could pull off the long hair, Zeke and Zander definitely did. The notches in their bedposts absolutely attested to that.
Mitch decided not to pretend to not know what he was talking about. “No, I’m really not going to tell you anything about the hot blond.”
“Been a really long time since a girl slept at your house,” Fletcher said from where he was digging.
It had been never. At least, not in the house he was in now.
He’d inherited the house from his Aunt Sylvie when she’d passed. Most of his family lived in Autre, and most of the family houses had been passed down from older relatives. The Landrys were a founding family and so had been some of the first to build here. There were lots of Landry family houses. He was happy he’d gotten Sylvie’s. It was away from town a bit with lots of space out behind. The land behind his house and the three to the east was Landry land too. But no one was going to ever build on the land. It was going to remain wide open and natural. It was why they’d decided to make it the site of the Boys of the Bayou Gone Wild.
There was plenty of room for the petting zoo animals to roam and for them to put up barns and buildings. Along with a crazy big otter enclosure.
He could see his house from where they were digging right now, in fact.
He couldn’t imagine bringing a one-night stand to that house. It was probably stupid, but that house was… a home. It wasn’t just a place where he was crashing until he settled down. He was settling down there, and that meant… hell, he wasn’t sure what it meant when it came to women exactly. It just hadn’t felt right to bring someone over who wasn’t going to last.
Then, of course, there was the fact that since he’d met Paige, he also hadn’t had any sleepovers with anyone at all.
“I don’t bring women to Sylvie’s house,” he said simply, returning to the dig.
“It’s your house now, man,” Zeke said.
Yeah, it was. He knew that. He just kept digging.
“Why’s this girl different?” Fletcher asked.
At least they were still working while they pried into his personal life.
Which was another indication that Paige was different. These guys were the ones, besides Chase, that Mitch was most likely to talk about women with. The fact that he wasn’t giving them much here probably meant a lot.
“Because I like her outside the bedroom too. She needs me to be a friend. And a place to stay. She just needs a break. I want to give her a place where she can just… be.” That was all true.
“She’s a friend who drives all the way from Iowa to just… be?” Fletcher asked.
Mitch stopped and leaned on his shovel. He pinned Fletcher with a look. “If Jordan just showed up on your doorstep, you wouldn’t let her in and let her just be?”
“’Course I would.”
“Same thing.”
Jordan Benoit was Fletcher’s best friend. She was also a hot blond.
Jordan had been taking care of Fletcher for the past nineteen years. They all loved Jordan. She was part of the family. She was also currently on tour with her rising-country-music-star boyfriend, Jason Young.
“But Jordan would actually just be a friend,” Fletcher added.
“Paige is actually a friend.”
“Paige is single. And you’ve had sex. That makes her different from Jordan in a couple of pretty important ways.”
“It’s your own fucking fault Jordan isn’t single and you haven’t had sex with her,” Zeke said with a snort.
Fletcher sighed. This was not the first time they’d all had this conversation.
“Hell, if you’d had sex with her, you could have made her single pretty easily,” Zeke said. “Jason would have dumped her, and then you’d be together.”
Yep. Exactly this conversation.
“She’s been with Jason since we were fifteen. They’re practically engaged,” Fletcher said. For what had to be the hundredth time in his life.
“That’s because you’re stupid,” Zeke said.
“She’s taken,” Fletcher said. “She’s been taken.”
That’s what he’d been saying since they were seventeen, and he’d realized what every other guy in the parish had realized about a year before—Jordan Benoit was gorgeous.
She’d always been cute. But that summer between fifteen and sixteen she’d developed curves. Though she hadn’t seemed to realize it. Or she hadn’t realized it was a big deal. She’d stayed the same tomboy she’d always been, hanging out in short shorts and tanks, coming down to the swimming hole in swimming suits without cover-ups, wearing short sundresses, because it was fucking hot in Louisiana in summer. She’d dressed the way she always had. But she’d filled all of those clothes out far differently than she had the summer before.
And every guy in the area noticed.
Except Fletcher.
“Yeah, okay,” Mitch said, letting Fletcher off the hook. “It’s a little different. Paige and I have chemistry, and we’re acting on it. But we’re friends first.”
“You’re acting on it, huh?” Fletcher said.
“Yeah. I mean, if we have an itch, we’ll scratch it.” Mitch shrugged, wishing he felt as nonchalant as he sounded. “But she’s here temporarily, and I know it. This is just ’til she’s ready to move on.”