“Hi,” I greet him, offering my hand. “I should probably introduce myself before I beat your ass.”
He grins, looking like the perfect candidate to distract me from a certain someone I want to banish from my mind. A pinch of guilt spreads in my chest as I check out the stranger, but I shove it away. I don’t need to be loyal to Theo. I don’t owe him anything except maybe a dead leg for all the shit he’s put me through.
Besides, I’m here to turn over a new leaf. Meaning I should not be pining over someone who looks at me like I’m a little kid, thank you very much. And who better to distract me than the man in front of me?
The stranger chuckles and takes my offered hand. “Hey. I’m Burrows. Shawn,” he clarifies. “But everyone calls me Burrows.”
“Blakely,” I return. “Most people call me Blake. Nice to meet you.”
His eyes are curious as they slide down my body. The inspection doesn’t leave me feeling skeevy or anything. Only…curious.
“You too,” he replies. “You ready to play?”
“Yup.” I grab the Ping-Pong ball from Burrows’ grasp and toss it a few inches into the air. But as it comes back down, it misses my hand entirely and bounces off the ground, pulling a chuckle from the guy beside me.
“Are you usually this uncoordinated or have you already had a few drinks tonight?” Burrows asks.
My lips pull into a thin line. “No comment.”
His chuckle is warm and inviting as he grabs another Ping-Pong ball from the table, tosses it into the air, and successfully catches it. “Do you know the rules?”
“Yup.” Okay, I most definitely don’t, but it can’t be too hard, can it? “I bounce the ball, and if it falls into a cup, you have to drink it, right?”
“Yup. Pretty much sums it up.” He motions to the table. “But we’re gonna play on the same side of the table.”
“Why?”
“‘Cause I’m afraid you might fall over after a round or two. Gotta keep you within arm’s length so I can catch you in case you pass out.”
I laugh. “You’re that confident you’re gonna win?”
He turns to me again, the same boyish grin turning my insides into melted butter as his eyes crinkle in the corners. “Yeah, Blake. I’m that confident.”
“Care to make it interesting?” I ask. I can’t help it. Even when the ground is spinning, I’m a competitive person, and he’s thrown down the gauntlet.
Burrows leans closer, balancing on his good leg while sidling up next to me. “Maybe. What’re the stakes?”
“If I win––”
“Blake!” Colt calls from the open French doors. My neck snaps in his direction, and I paste on a smile. “Yes?”
“You good out here?”
My grin widens. “Yup!”
He points his finger at Burrows. “She’s my little sister, man. Keep that in mind, all right?”
Burrows dips his chin. “Yeah, Colt. I got you.”
With a slow nod, Colt turns back to me, adds, “Don’t puke,” and disappears into the house.
A bout of silence rolls over us while Burrows realizes my not-so-well-hidden secret. His interested gaze makes me twitchy as he looks at me again, this time with a new wave of curiosity. I keep my head held high and quirk my brow, as if to say, Is there a problem?
I shouldn’t be surprised. I’ve grown up in Colt’s shadow for as long as I can remember. Between him and my two other brothers, Knox and Garrett, people have always looked at me this way. Like they’re curious what the youngest Thorne can bring to the table or if her vagina makes her weaker and less significant.
Fun fact: It doesn’t.
Being taken seriously or looked at like I’m my own person, however, has definitely been a challenge. But I don’t see it changing anytime soon, especially not with the guy in front of me.
“So, you’re Colt’s little sister?” Burrows confirms, continuing his examination of me with his head cocked to one side. He’s probably searching for any resemblance between Colt and me, though I doubt he’ll find it. I have red hair, freckles over every inch of skin, and am basically a walking stick while Colt has dark hair, olive-ish skin, and muscles. The only things we have in common are our potty mouths and obsession with sports.
That same sugary-sweet smile spreads across my face as I fake curtsy. “The one and only. Now where were we? Oh, yes. I believe we were discussing the terms of our bet. When I win, you can buy me dinner.”
“When?” he challenges, hobbling closer to me.
I tilt my head up but don’t back away from him. “Did I stutter?”
He snorts. “All right, I’ll take the bait. And if I win?”
I shrug one shoulder. “What do you want?”
“A date with you.”
“So I…still get dinner?” I verify.
“Apparently.”
My eyes light up. “Deal.”
“Deal,” he agrees, handing me another Ping-Pong ball. “First to five?”
“Five?” I question. I realize how stupid I must sound right now, but I’m also drunk off my ass thanks to the Crush and vodka, so it’s not exactly my fault.
“First to land five balls in the cups wins,” he explains.
“Oh. Deal.”
He nods. “Ladies first.”
I blink slowly, attempting to concentrate and toss the small white ball onto the table. It bounces once but misses the cups by a long shot and lands on the ground, pulling a dark chuckle from the man beside me. Following suit, he grabs a second ball and bounces it onto the table. With a wet plop, it lands in a cup, and the crowd around us cheers.
“Drink up, Blake,” he urges, his mouth tilting up while his triumph rolls off him in waves.
I laugh and drink the warm beer. My nose wrinkles as it spreads across my tongue.
Gross.
Once I’ve gagged it down, I grab the still-wet ball from my cup and bounce it off the table toward my targets.
It misses. Again.
“This is gonna be a quick game,” Burrows jokes, landing another ball into the row of cups across from us.
I groan and swallow more stale beer back. “How are you so good at this?”
“‘Cause I start the game sober. Leaves me a little more wiggle room than my opponents,” he informs me and waves his hand toward the table. “Your turn.”
My vision is blurry at best, and my tongue feels swollen in my mouth as I take the ball from Burrows’ fingers and attempt to throw it at the table. I swear the ground is moving beneath my feet. As the Ping-Pong ball slips from my fingers, I lose my balance and stumble into Burrows’ rock hard chest.
Oops.
His hand slides around my waist, keeping me from face-planting on the concrete when a low voice barks, “Blake!”
I flinch and turn toward the familiar voice, but the backyard continues spinning.
Aaaand it’s official. I’ve had too much to drink.
A pair of hands wrenches me away from Burrows, and before I can even register what’s happening, I’m plastered against a solid chest. It’s warmer than Burrows’. More familiar, though I’d never admit it out loud. It takes everything inside of me to stop myself from snuggling against it, but I keep my spine straight and my muscles from melting into Theo’s grasp.