Page 33 of Bluffed By the Offense

Her eyes flit toward mine. Our gazes lock. One of her brows rises and she thins her lips as if she’s pondering my score.

I want to look away, but everyone knows dropping your gaze in a stare-off is admitting defeat. Somehow, I get the impression I’m defeated either way here. She has me pinned with that brown-eyed stare. So, I drop my fork to my plate and lean back, crossing my arms over my chest. It’s a stance that says Bring it. I have never in my life, not even with my younger siblings, been this riled up by someone. She’s constantly challenging me.

But I’m a competitor. I don’t shy away from a contest.

Cass gets this amused grin on her face. Her eyes practically sparkle. She runs her hand along her jawline like a man does when he’s rubbing his whiskers.

“Cass!” Winona says, “Be nice.”

“I’m always nice,” she says in a tone that says she’s not even in the neighborhood of nice.

Her eyes are still on me like a boa on a field mouse. I eye her back like a poisonous dart frog. We’re locked in a battle that’s apparently suited for the Nature Channel.

“Cass,” Winona pleads.

“Let’s go with …” Cass says, completely ignoring her sister. “A six point five.”

Treyvon busts up, slapping his leg and hooting so loudly the rest of the tables turn to look at ours. The other guys at our table crack up too.

Winona’s busy saying, “Cass, the artichoke dip wasn’t his fault.”

Artichoke dip?

“Six point five, huh?” I answer Cass.

We’re basically the only two people at the table. Yes, we have witnesses, but it’s always like this with her. A wild west showdown. People might come out of the town saloon to watch, but only two people are armed and taking paces.

“Yeah. The point five was for the peonies,” she says, eyes still on me. “I should give that half point to my sister and Declan, though. They were the ones who told you to get the flowers, right?”

She’s not wrong.

“I bought them,” I say, causing another round of hysterics to erupt around the table.

Treyvon is still gasping for air when he says, “Cass, if you want a date with a real man, give me your number. I’ll take you somewhere memorable. And I promise not to fight over the check.”

How did he find out about the check? Is that on the internet too?

“I’m good, Trey,” Cass says, using his nickname.

How did she get nickname status with my guys?

“Well, if you change your mind,” Trey says, all southern charm and warmth. “I’m a Mississippi boy too. I know how to treat a woman.”

“Season’s starting,” I tell my oldest friend in the world. “Focus on the short routes. You don’t need any distractions.”

Cass’s eyes catch on mine again. “So, I’m a distraction.”

“Sure are, sugar,” Trey says in an exaggerated drawl.

She laughs. I pick up my fork.

Six point five my foot.

Though, to be fair, she didn’t see me on a real date.

I mutter, “Extenuating circumstances,” into my next bite of salmon.

“What was that?” Trey asks. “Something to share with the class, Cold Turkey?”