My hand trembles on the window pane, reminding me that I need to eat something or I might get slammed with another twelve-hundred-dollar EMT bill when I can’t afford the first bill.
That’s one of the reasons this job is so important.
And when my car doesn’t start—again—I’m reminded of another.
Groaning, I swing my bag out of my old Honda and pray I have time to catch the bus.
Thankfully, Rider is back to his side of the street where, lo and behold, a party has broken out. Out of the corner of my eye, I see the telltale red Solo cup parade. Someone has placed the stereo speakers in the window, and AC/DC is blaring Back in Black for the whole neighborhood to appreciate.
I moved here before the Victorian across the street became the Stallion Station, otherwise known as the football fuck-pad and party palace.
I would’ve looked for a new place this summer to get away from these Neanderthals, except the rent prices in Charming have skyrocketed, while my older bungalow still has lowish rent, so I’m loathe to leave it.
As I hoof it to the bus stop and navigate the cracks in the sidewalk in my dress heels, a brand-new Range Rover pulls up beside me. The window rolls down, and I yank my purse to the other side of my body, but before I can pull out my mace—because a girl can’t be too careful—Ben’s serious face pops out.
“Where you going all dressed up?”
That’s my brother. Never a ‘hello’. Never a ‘how you doing?’ or ‘what did you do this summer?’
But his question makes me self-conscious. “I have a job interview. Why? Is this too much?”
I’m wearing a simple black pencil skirt and a white button-up blouse. It’s nothing fancy, but it seems appropriate attire for a secretary. Except thanks to the August heat, I’m already sweating.
“What happened to your job tutoring?”
I adjust my glasses. “I lost it after I got sick last spring. I told you.” May, to be exact. The last time I saw Rider.
Ben frowns. “Sorry. Guess I forgot. It was a busy time of year with mid-terms and spring break.”
It must be a rough life, partying it up in Cabo with his douchey friends. I bite my tongue, not wanting to add more friction to our relationship, and ignore how he’s misremembering the dates.
I’m older by a year, but you’d never know it from looking at us. There’s something about Ben that screams confidence. I may have a big bark from time to time, but Ben commands attention. Never mind that he’s well over six feet and I come in at a whopping five foot four.
“How was camp?” I’m assuming he got here a few weeks ago for football. I ignore the spark of hurt that he never called.
“Ball-busting. As usual.”
The silence grows, and I struggle to think of something to say. That’s when I notice the boxes in his SUV. And is that… a bed frame sticking out the back window?
“Are you moving?” A terrible thought settles into the pit of my stomach. Say it isn’t so! Because if I have to watch my brother’s one-night stands make the walk of shame on the weekends, I’m going to hurl.
Seriously, there’s no judgment on my end toward those girls. They see these beautiful men who shower them with affection. For one night or one weekend. Of course they’re going to lose their minds and undergarments.
But then the party ends.
It always ends.
And those guys always send the girls packing.
I know because I’ve seen them crying on that front lawn. I’ve even made one or two of them breakfast while they waited for their rides. Thankfully, they were never Rider’s hookups, but still. I can extrapolate what he’s been doing.
Ben grins. “Yeah, just up the street, actually. With Rider—”
“—Kingston.” I shake my head, disgust roiling in my stomach. “You know I live across the street from him, right?”
His brow furrows. “I knew you lived here on Pine, but I thought it was closer to the coffee shop.”
“Nope. Right. Across. The. Street.”
Which Ben would know if he ever bothered to visit or hang out with me. He’s probably partied steps away from my house.
That desolate feeling I get whenever I think about how close we used to be as kids settles in my chest, and I step away from his SUV. “I’ve got to go.”
If I’ve learned anything in this life, it’s that I can’t rely on anyone. Not even my own brother.
“Wait.” He frowns, and that brief pause gives me a glimmer of hope. Ben never wants to talk. I hate that I’m so desperate to want a connection with him, but the hope fizzles with his next words. “You’re not going to be checking up on me all the time, are you?”
My gaze hardens. “No worries there, Ben. I’ll never walk into that house.”
And I mean it.
Never.
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Acknowledgments
Thanks for reading Tight Ends & Tiaras! Ben and Sienna stole my heart when I was writing The Varsity Dad Dilemma, and I knew they needed their own story. I hope you enjoyed their book as much as I loved writing it. (And if you did, please consider leaving a review. I try to read all of them!)
I doubt I would’ve given romance writing a shot without the encouragement of my husband Matt. He not only keeps me sane when I’m on a deadline, he gives me endless inspiration. My sweet girls are always so supportive no matter how much I have to work. I love my trio to infinity!
I’m so grateful for my team’s expertise and encouragement. Huge thanks to my agent Kimberly Brower, editor RJ Locksley, proofer Julia Griffis, photographer Lauren Perrywinkle, designer Najla Qamber, and Kylie and Jo from Give Me Books. Y’all are the best!
My beta readers are indispensable! Serena McDonald, Leslie McAdam, Victoria Denault, Amy Vox Libris, Kelly Latham, Kristie White Bivens, and Jan Cassi—thank you for helping me write the best book possible!
I needed a small village of experts to help me iron out the loose ends in this book. Tackle hugs of gratitude and love to my cousin Lisa for helping me with my Spanish. To my aunt Patti for sharing her knowledge about sweat lodges and sage cleansing with me over the years and for taking me to pow wows when I was a kid. To my college roommate Judi, who teaches yoga and made sure Sienna’s moves made sense. And of course to my dad, who always reads my football scenes and shared his great love for Fighting Irish football with me when I was young. Any mistakes in those areas are mine alone.
For some reason, I tend to write stories with terribly antagonistic family members, which is funny because my family is amazing. Speaking of family, I also want to thank my beautiful mom for always cheering me on and my sweet cousins Misty and Amaya for helping me with my first book signing last fall.
Lastly, I want to give a shout out to my ARC team, my Wildcats Facebook group, and all of the bloggers and readers who have picked up my books over the years. I’m so delighted to know you’ve enjoyed them. Thank you letting me share a part of myself with you!
Now who’s ready for Olly and Magnolia’s book? Be sure to check out The Baby Blitz!
Also by Lex Martin