Page 42 of Between Brothers

“Why are you so pretty, but so prickly?”

I flubbed my lips and side eyed him, “We gotta work on your wooing game, bud.”

“Wooing?” He squinted at me, his lips finding the back of my wrist.

“Yes. Wooing. You know, picking up chicks?”

His eyes flickered around the nothingness of the car, as if he were in search of something unseen. “I wasn’t aware I had a problem scoring ass.”

A bark of laughter shot from me, and I pinned him with a gaze that took us to the edge of our lane.

“Watch yourself.” He laughed, shooting a finger out toward the road.

I sniffed and returned my attention to the wheel.

“You’re right. I stand corrected. You have no problem scoring low-rent coochie. Forgive me for not specifying. You have no conversational skills, because you’ve never interacted with a woman that talks back. You have no idea how to approach anything that isn’t a natural born cock monger without insulting her first. And your idea of romance is–”

“Turn here.” He motioned toward the cemetery entrance and I stomped the brake.

“Are you shitting me right now?” I laughed, waiting on the punchline.

When it didn’t come, I called his bluff and turned onto the lane.

“Your idea of romance is a cemetery. You see… Low rent.”

He flashed a guilty smile, but denied nothing.

We left the car near a tree line.

I was more amused than anything when I stepped out of the car. He took my hand, and made a throaty-feral sound as he tugged me close and moved along the tree line toward the back of the property.

“You women always bitch and say that us men plan nothing. I go all out, and now look at ya,” he teased.

The rocky cliff overlooking the lake was a popular drinking spot when we were younger, but no one really hung out there anymore.

I hadn’t been in years. I followed him along the rocky cliffside and was surprised to find a set of stairs installed.

“How long have these been here?” I marveled.

“Couple years.” He shrugged, as we continued down to a discreet dock that rested in a cove.

The boards creaked under our weight, but otherwise, save for the occasional splash of a fish, or the distant chuckle from a campfire on the other side of the lake, we were in a quiet sanctuary of sorts.

“What is this?” I quietly asked, not having expected a night under the stars.

Not from him.

“You like an audience, sugar. Well, you’ll never find a better one.”

I raised a brow and shifted, glancing over the peaceful, empty water. I took in the distant shore of the state park. There was a tent here or there and a camper a way off.

“Audience?”

“Mhm. Not tonight, but on the fourth, when they shoot the fireworks over the lake… The water is full of boats.”

I stared at him for a moment, then tore my gaze away when I heard a gentle hum of a motor boat. I barely made out the shape of it on the other side of the lake.

“What makes you think I like an audience?” I laughed, only to grow quiet, when his arm slid around my waist and snugged me against him in a backward hold.