Love Won (Winning at Love book 1) Page 10

  Suddenly, hit with an epiphany, I open my mouth and blurt, “Oh…I get it! It’s a fish-shaped cake because we all call you ‘Coy’. It’s a ‘welcome home, Coy fish’ cake!” I clap my hands, and beam brightly, letting my big brain enjoy the moment.

  “Hey, East?” I barely hear Keaton’s voice through my smugness.

  “Yeah?” I ask, handing out forks, not realizing the room has gone kind of quiet.

  “‘Coy fish’? Really? You do know that koi fish is spelled with a ‘k’, and an ‘i’, right, Teach?” my jackass-of-a-brother says, looking at me like he’s a little concerned by the fact that I’m actually charged with educating our nation’s youth.

  Tilting my head, my words play back and an acute feeling of wanting to die comes on at an overwhelming rate. Deflect and redirect the spotlight was all I could think to do as I tried my hardest not to allow Keaton to embarrass me, more than I had already done myself. “Coy fish, because we call you Coy”? Really, Eastlyn? Really? Out loud? And in front of your new boss?

  Grinning, I shrug. “Yes, you idiot, of course I know that. You do realize our mother has just given your best friend a fish-shaped cake, but my spelling is the part you’re most concerned about? I think you’ve missed the mark here,” I say, giving him a strange look and the universal crazy sign by twirling my index finger in a circular motion beside my ear.

  “I think I might need to speak to Dad about my concern for both of you,” my brother says, glancing at my father, and the table bursts out laughing.

  “You’re only seeing a reason for concern now, son?” my father jokes, causing the guys to laugh again.

  “David!” my mother scolds, giving his shoulder a playful swat.

  “Love you, honey,” he placates, rubbing her arm.

  “Sure, sure,” she says, reaching for the knife and sliding the cake in front of her.

  “Okay, someone please tell me why we’re having a giant goldfish for dessert, please?” I ask again.

  “It’s because I bought a fishing boat yesterday,” McCoy says. “Your dad and Keaton helped me pick it out. We’re planning a fishing trip next Saturday.”

  My eyes meet his stunning ones, noting the shine in his as they meld with mine before drifting blatantly down to my chest, where they linger for a beat, before shifting back up. An image of me standing in front of him naked pops into my mind, and the thought of him regarding my body with that same gumption causes me to clench. I force my knees together under the table to stifle the untimely reaction.

  Cocking my head, I say, my voice a little breathy, “So, my mom made you a goldfish cake because you bought a fishing boat?”

  “Yeah. It’s a nice big one,” he says, and I dart my eyes to his mouth because there’s no way I’d miss seeing the sexy-as-fuck dimple he’s proudly putting on display, be it intentionally for me, or a natural occurrence. Damn him and his lopsided grin and its power to make me go all stupid for him.

  “Pass that to your father,” my mom says, breaking the tension by handing me a large piece of cake.

  “Thanks, sweetheart,” Dad says, extending a hand and digging into the vanilla bean cake immediately.

  “It’s so…moist,” Keaton says around a mouthful, giving me some side-eye, knowing I detest that word. Then McCoy’s voice breaks through the eyedaggers I’m shooting my brother’s way.

  “You should come with us, East,” he says, giving me a slow, lazy smile. I’d been fishing once before with McCoy and my brother, but I thought I’d never be invited again in a million years. But maybe I hadn’t been the only one who’d enjoyed it?

  “No way! Nuh-uh,” my brother chimes in, before I can respond. “Absolutely not.”

  “Keaton, do not exclude your sister,” my father warns, as he has so many times over the years.

  “Remember the last time we took her?” Keaton says, and looks to Coy for support.

  “I do,” McCoy states, matter-of-factly. “It was a great day.” He’s defending me. I gasp from across the table, earning another one of his trademark grins.

  “A ‘great day’?” Keaton repeats, aghast. “It sucked for you; you hardly fished at all.”

  “Hey, I was only sixteen,” I interjected. “And it was the first time you’d caved and finally let me go with you. It’s not like I had a clue what I was doing,” I say, trying to remind Keaton that it had been my first—and only—fishing trip.

  “Still no.” Keaton is adamant. “Guys only this trip, Coy.”

  “All right. No need to get your panties in a wad, Keat,” McCoy concedes, laughing.

  Ha! If he only knew…

  “I’ll take you out another time, Sprinkles,” Coy offers. “Just you and me. That way we won’t have this guy on our case.”

  I nod, the sting of my brother’s rejection melting away with McCoy’s much improved offer. A dangerous one, but still an option I can’t wait to experience.

  Dreaming about that trip and reflecting over tonight’s dinner (and how smoothly we’d slipped into easy conversation and laughter), any residual anger against McCoy that I was holding onto slips away, and my remaining resistance crumbles.

  There’s apparently no way I’ll ever get over this man. Well, until the jerky parts come back, anyway…

  16

  Not a Problem

  August 2007

  Walking along the wooden planks, my feet still wet from the morning dew, I take in the serenity of Guelph Lake as Keaton, Coy, and I set up three chairs along the edge of the rickety dock. It’s barely six o’clock in the morning, and I’m slightly regretting begging the guys to let me join in on their last fishing trip of the summer (one I’d promised I wouldn’t be a “needy girl” on, as Keaton had so kindly called me).

  Surprisingly, it had been McCoy who’d said I could tag along, making my brother all pissy. Keaton had relented but said, “Fine, McCoy, but she’s your problem.” To which Coy had simply nodded in agreement, mumbling something I could’ve sworn sounded like “She’s never a problem”, but I couldn’t be sure because—let’s face it—my brain is totally biased and would want to lead my heart to believe that whatever McCoy said had been in my favour.

  That’s how I got here, in the middle of a “guys’” fishing trip at the crack of dawn, eyeing a slimy worm that my brother is egging me to hook on my line.

  “I told you, I’m not helping you, East. I’ve shown you how to do it; you’re on your own now. You wanted to fish, so fish.” He nods towards my Styrofoam cup, filled with dirt and squirming bait, before walking to the end of the dock and casting out his line.

  Shaking my head, I bite my tongue, trying desperately to not whine like Keaton has been expecting. Instead, I ignore the urge to pout, deciding I can do this, I’ll show him, as I reach down and dig a worm out of the cup.

  “I’m sorry, little guy,” I say, looking at the poor thing I was surely about to torture with my inexperienced hands. Then I feel Coy slouching down beside me.

  “You won’t hurt him if you’re quick about it, Sprinkles,” McCoy chuckles. “He won’t hold it against you, I promise.” I lift my head so my eyes meet his. Nodding appreciatively, I take a deep breath and reach for my hook.

  “Keat’s right. I shouldn’t have come. I’m not sure I can do this,” I admit.

  “Sure you can. We’ll do it together,” he says, placing his hand over mine, his gentle touch sending a shiver down my spine.

  McCoy was changing. Over the summer, he started transitioning from the cute, handsome boy I’d crushed on into the stronger, more manly version I feel so close to me now. Broader shoulders are becoming more apparent through the way his T-shirts are moulding around his chest and arms, fitting a little more tightly than in the months before. Traces of dark facial hair line his jaw, creating what I’d always heard described as a five o’clock shadow, just visible in the early morning light. And there’s a hue of velvet that can be heard in his voice now when he speaks, one I’m positive will only sound sexier as time goes on.

 
“I’d like that,” I reply, looking into his glacier-coloured eyes. They hold mine with the same intensity.

  “Great! Let’s do this, then,” he says. He tells me to stand, and I do. I hold my rod in front of us, preparing to sacrifice my first worm when Coy looks to the left to make sure Keaton isn’t watching. Then, to my surprise, he baits my line.

  “Shhh,” he says, covering his smile with his finger.

  Speechless, I nod, managing to mouth a soft “Thank you.”

  “Come on, East. Let me show you how to cast,” he winks, then reaches for my free hand, taking it in his before leading us side by side to the edge of the dock, where I spend the better part of the morning casting my line out into the lake with him close behind me.

  In the end, McCoy didn’t fish much himself that day. He was too busy baiting my line (when Keaton wasn’t looking), patiently helping me to adjust my stance and techniques, encouraging me, and, best of all, helping me reel in the very first fish I’d ever caught, a striped four-inch perch, with more to follow. It felt like he hadn’t left my side all day, and it was an experience I would never forget. And neither would Keaton, judging from all of his eye-rolling and huffy sighing.

  I had just put all of my fish into our cooler when Keaton hoisted it and started leading us back up the path we’d come down hours earlier. I was tired and sunburnt, but my body was buzzing from the fun I’d had this morning with the guys—more specifically, with Coy.

  “Not sure what you’re grinning about, East. Don’t think I didn’t see you sucker Coy into doing all the dirty work,” my brother had teased, shaking his head as the three of us walked home along the dirt path in the early afternoon sun.

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” I bump Keaton’s shoulder with mine, then turn to give Coy a shy “I think we’ve been busted” smile.

  “It wasn’t a problem at all,” he replied from behind us, and my heart fluttered.

  I’d caught four fish in total, but that wasn’t what had me smiling the rest of the walk home, it was Coy’s comment. I think he had just as good a time as I did.

  McCoy Graves was sure to make one hell of a teacher one day, and today I got to experience that firsthand.

  August 11, 2007

  Dear May,

  I love him, I love him, I love him! And I really think he might feel something, too, or at least I keep wishing, willing, and hoping.

  Who knew fishing would be so much fun? I’ll definitely try it again (as long as I don’t have to kill the worm).

  After fishing, Keaton, Coy, Kami, and I spent the afternoon swimming and playing volleyball in our pool. McCoy and Keaton played against Kam and I, and I swear I caught Coy looking at me a lot. It wasn’t just the sun that made me feel hot today, May, it was Coy checking me out.

  I hope this feeling never goes away!

  TTFN,

  Your super happy friend,

  East

  17

  To Fishbowls!

  “Here we are, ladies,” Sandy—our server at Brass Tapps—says, placing Kami’s and my burger platters in front of us. “Need anything else right now?”

  “No, thanks. We’re all set,” Kami smiles.

  With the end of summer vacation lurking around the corner, Kami and I are making the most of the last bit of freedom we have left. Or at least I am, because once classes are back in session, I go back to being a homebody on school nights—except for trivia night—in spite of Kami’s best efforts to try to make me be social.

  I smile, taking a whiff of the cheese-and-bacon-covered goodness before me.

  “I’m starving. A few more minutes and you would’ve had to deal with my hangry issues,” I laugh, popping a piece of broken fry into my mouth.

  “Thank God. Quickly! Stuff yourself, so there’s no chance I’ll have to suffer,” Kam jokes. I respond by sticking my tongue out at her. “Always so mature and rational,” she admonishes, and I laugh again while reaching for the ketchup bottle.

  “Have you met my family?” I defend, twisting off the cap and pouring a large pool on my plate. “It’s true, though. It’s in the genes. We’ve seen the things my mother does, and I did share all of my Grandma Mildred stories with you.”

  “Speaking of your family…what time did Keaton say he’d get here?” she asks, looking at her phone. He had a late appointment tonight so he hadn’t been able to join us for dinner before trivia like he usually does.

  “Smooth transition, Kam. Kudos,” I grin.

  “Ugh, you have to stop reading Keaton and Kami into everything.”

  “It has a nice ring to it, though, eh? Keaton and Kami…” I roll it around, testing it a few times to push my bestie.

  “You’re such a shit. Sure, all right. I like him, fine, but it’s hard and confusing and you don’t help. But you’ve said it yourself, East. He’s a player, so stop being a brat about it,” she says, a warm blush to her cheeks.

  “Ha! It’s about damn time, Kam. I knew it.”

  “Know what would be really awesome?” she asks, ignoring me as best she can.

  “What?” I ask excitedly, thinking she’s going back to the Kami and Keaton talk.

  “Wouldn’t it be great if he brought Coy along to play with us tonight?” she says around a bite of burger. With it being summer, it gets hard to keep a full team each week between vacations, kids, and sports and other social events, so we each try to invite new people who might want to join in the fun when we can.

  “And I’m the shit? Low blow, Kam, low blow,” I tsk, shaking my head and wiping my mouth with my napkin before shoving my empty plate away. “I’m so full. I think I ate too fast.”

  “You think? And I’m the one who avoids? Please, you can’t tell me you didn’t just get a little wave of excitement thinking about McCoy showing up here,” Kami says, pushing me right back, as I had her.

  “I’ll nnnever telll,” I say, my voice low.

  “You said yourself, the few times you’ve seen Coy so far over the summer it’s been goo—”

  “No,” I correct, cutting her off. “I said, it’s been okay.”

  “Seriously? It’s the same thing, East.”

  “No, ‘good’ implies all is well in my world where the man is concerned. ‘Okay’ implies that it went better than expected, but was still awkward. Plus, I’m struggling with trying to get over him.”

  “Huh. Is it bad that actually makes sense to me?”

  “See? Best friends,” I gesture, my hand waving between us, and she laughs.

  “Tell me truthfully, then. Have you devised a plan on how to handle seeing Coy every day as our sexy new boss in the fall?”

  Butterflies swarm in my stomach at the thought of getting to see him everyday…in a suit, my brain adds, like the hussy that man makes her be.

  “Yes and no,” I admit. “As I said, the times I’ve seen him so far have gone fine. We’ve more or less managed to play nice, and I enjoyed it. Seeing him those few times has helped put me at ease with the idea of him being home and knowing there’s a good chance I’ll have to see him every day come September. I guess I’ll be able to deal with him as long as things stay easy and I don’t let myself feel anything for him other than friendship.” I shrug. “But this one-sided attraction isn’t healthy anymore. It’s been years of me pining and hoping he might feel something more, but it’s been more than clear he doesn’t. I can’t keep holding out. You know?”

  “I sure do.” She gives me an innocent smile, and I can infer that she does know exactly how I feel, but I don’t dare bring it up again. “Know what I think?” she asks, having finished the last sip of her beer.

  “What do you think?” I ask, placing my now-empty glass beside hers.

  “I still think you should let me hook you up!” She gives me a self-satisfied smirk.

  “You’re a pain in my ass. And no. That’s still—and will always remain—a big fat negative,” I counter, reaching for the drinks menu.

  “Well, if you change your mind…” she tr
ails off, and I laugh.

  “I won’t.”

  “Jeez, no trust.”

  “Got that right. Two words to remind you, Kam: Dutch Oven.” I try not to laugh, but it’s still so crazy, I can’t not.

  “Anyway,” Kami says, moving the conversation along, and I’m thankful, “I hope Keaton found at least one more player for tonight. Lord knows, if it’s just the three of us, we’ll get crushed.” She looks around as most of the teams begin to arrive.

  “He didn’t say. I’m hoping he brings Tristan. That guy is a trivia ringer,” I joke, remembering the last time he joined our team and we came in first place.

  “I tried Marcy, but she has the kids this week,” Kami says.

  “I tried Bev, too, but she had plans.”

  “Well, as long as it’s not only the three of us,” she says, and we both laugh, knowing that just the three of us on a team only ever leads to a whole bunch of blank stares and heated discussions. We need a mediator to monitor our trivia behaviour.

  “I can’t believe we’ve got school next week,” Kami says, deflated. “The summer went by way too quick.”

  “Agreed,” I say. Then, as I make it to the last page of the cocktail menu, I get the best idea. “Know what I think we should do tonight?” I say, glancing up and giving her a sly grin.

  “Besides trivia?” she says, looking around like she’s missed something. I give her my best Cheshire grin. “Uh-oh, I’m not sure I want to know,” she says, immediately hesitant.

  “Look at these,” I say, lifting the menu towards her and pointing to the colourful page and the bold print.

  “‘Fishbowls’?”

  “Yep. And if memory serves me correctly, you cannot say ‘no’, because you owe me big time.”

  “‘Moscato, vodka, blue curaçao, pineapple juice, Sprite, with fruit and Swedish fish as garnish’,” she reads, then gives me a thumbs up and an exuberant, “Oh, yes, please!”

  I clap and look around for Sandy, spying her two tables over.

  “That’s my girl,” I say.