Sugar's Twice as Sweet: Sugar, Georgia: Book 1 Page 21

  And honestly, right now, he didn’t think he would be able to say no any longer. Not when their kissing turned gentle and neither of them was ripping at the other like that night in the bar. This time there was more: more feeling, more heat—more connection.

  He would be content to kiss her all night. The way she melted into him, languidly stroking his tongue with hers, told him she was feeling it, too. He was getting to her. Which was a good thing, because she had gotten so far under his skin, she was there to stay.

  “Brett,” she whispered between kisses.

  “Hmmm?” He took her mouth again, only to slant his head and go in for another taste.

  “Your phone,” she breathed. “It’s ringing.”

  “They’ll call back.”

  Which, after several more heated exchanges, they did. He tried to ignore the phone, tried not to focus on how he was going to destroy the son of a bitch who was on the other end, but Joie pulled back, resting her forehead on his. “It could be an emergency.”

  With a sigh he dug the phone out of his back pocket and looked at the screen. He dropped his head back and released a deep breath. Joie was flushed, her hair disheveled from his fingers, her lips swollen and, like his, most likely numb from kissing so long. And she was about the sexiest thing he’d ever seen, so it nearly killed him to say, “I need to get this.”

  “Of course,” she offered, climbing off his lap and looking anywhere but at him. “I should probably—”

  “Yeah,” he breathed, noticing how he could still taste her lips on his.

  “Okay, then, um…” She collected their lunch dishes and quickly disappeared into the kitchen, her sexy swing making him regret taking the damn call. But nothing would make him regret those kisses.

  Brett stood, biting back a groan when gravity hit, and paced painfully to the window. “Afternoon, Bill,” Brett said, his voice harsher than he expected.

  “Got your message,” Bill said, and Brett could hear him struggle between professional and overeager. “As it worked out, I’ve got a clear morning tomorrow, figured I’d call the club and get us a 7:00 a.m. tee time if that works for you. We can tee off and then talk.”

  Brett took in the missing sheetrock, shoddy electrical, and then took a deep breath. Letting it out he said, “Seven is perfect.”

  * * *

  “Loosen your little finger, just a bit.” Brett hooked his pointer finger around Tribble Vander’s little one and shook it, earning a grin from the boy. A hard task, since the kid was scared that his mama had forgotten him.

  “Like this?” Tribble asked, his hands now loose but his shoulder still too tense.

  Tribble was one of the local campers. Smart kid, small for his age, and couldn’t drive worth a damn. But he had heart and was having a hard time adjusting to his parents’ divorce. Which was why, when Brett came out of the locker room and found all the campers gone for the day, except Tribble, Brett called Joie and told her to start lunch without him.

  They’d been hitting balls for over an hour, waiting for him to be picked up.

  “Now drop your shoulders, relax into it…there you go. Now swing.”

  He stood back and watched the boy whack the ball. Brett let out an appreciative whistle when it went a whopping ten yards farther than the last one, and most of that was on the roll.

  “Did you see that?” Tribble said, his eyes wide with surprise.

  “I sure did,” a sultry voice came from behind. “Maybe you’ll grow up to be a golf pro just like Mr. McGraw.”

  “Really?” Tribble grinned to his ears.

  Brett ruffled his hair. “Sure, practice hard enough and you can be anything you want. Now, go grab your stuff. You need to rest up for tomorrow. We’re working on distance.”

  “I am so sorry I was late.” Darleen looked primped and relaxed, as if she didn’t have a care in the world. And that pissed Brett off. “But I can’t say I am disappointed that I get to see you.”

  He waited until Tribble was out of ear range. “If you’re going to be late, you might want to give the front desk a call. That way Tribble won’t get scared. He thought maybe you got confused on whose day it was to pick him up.”

  “Please forgive me if I put you out. I had a last-minute rush on an account at work and lost track of time. I did try your cell phone, several times, as a matter of fact, but it went to voicemail. However…” Darleen said as Tribble came back, placing her hand on her son’s shoulders, “to apologize for any inconvenience I may have caused, why don’t you come to our place for dinner. My friends say I make the best pot roast in three counties. But you already know that.”

  “That would be awesome,” Tribble said.

  Brett was at a loss. He always made sure Tribble was at his dad’s when he stayed with Darleen. Messing with kids, unless you were planning on committing, was not cool. And Darleen, up until today, had seemed to share his sentiments.

  So why was she changing the rules? And why did she think this tactic would work?

  Brett ran a hand through his hair, unsure how to get out of this with Tribble as a witness. Which was what, based on the calculated pout of her lips, Darleen was counting on.

  He didn’t doubt that she loved her son, but her using Tribble’s relationship with Brett to get him back in her bed made Brett feel like exactly the kind of man the press accused him of being. And for the first time he was ashamed, because he had been raised better. His parents, his grandmother, and Cal made sure of that.

  “Sounds great, but I already have plans tonight, partner. Maybe tomorrow you and I can share morning snack time.”

  “Yeah, all right.” Tribble looked disappointed about dinner, but the blow was softened with the idea of spending time with his coach tomorrow.

  Brett remembered the first time Cletus had shared a meal with him, and he had worn the same look of wonder that Tribble did right then.

  “Maybe another time, then,” Darleen said, invitation clear in her tone.

  Brett tipped the bill of his cap respectfully. “Thanks for the offer, but I’ll be leaving soon.”

  Darleen’s lips thinned, but she quickly recovered with a smile. “I noticed your truck’s been parked out front of the Fairchild place the past few weeks.”

  “Just helping the new neighbor with some remodeling.” His tone was final, offering no further discussion on the topic. The last thing Joie needed was Darleen digging up gossip for the Peaches’ weekly newsletter.

  Twenty minutes later, Brett pulled into Joie’s driveway. He wanted nothing more than to swing hammers side by side with his stubborn roommate. He also wanted to take her to bed, but sadly that would have to wait. They hadn’t locked lips since the other afternoon in the dining room, but she was caving on the no-date stance. He could see it in the way she watched him when she didn’t think he was looking, how she unconsciously touched him while talking, and how she hesitated before turning him down.

  In fact, earlier that morning, over a full stack of her cracked-oat pancakes with ginger-apple glaze, he’d suggested that they end their week with a cool drink and a twirl around the Saddle Rack’s floor. She opened her mouth and startled the crap out of both of them when nothing came out. After another failed attempt, she cleared the table and hustled out of the kitchen, claiming she needed to shower.

  He put the car in Park and smiled. It wasn’t a Yes, Brett I’d love to go out with you. But it was a lot closer than her usual Not going to happen, Playboy.

  A little extra swagger in his step, Brett slammed the truck door and did a double-take. Barreling out the front door was a frazzled Joie, wearing a conservative hair style, a sleek power suit, and—he noticed with a smile—a delicate chain snaked around her ankle with dangling silver fairies. Even when she tried to look tough, her whimsical side came through.

  Before he could ask what she was doing all dressed up, she bounded down the stairs and launched herself into his arms. He buried his face in her hair, loving how she smelled. He also loved how she molded herself
up against him, radiating so much excitement she was bouncing on her toes.

  * * *

  “I’m so glad you made it home before I left. I had to tell you, but I didn’t want to call and interrupt if you were still with one of your students.”

  Josephina pulled back to look at him. She was still in shock, so it took a minute to gather her thoughts. Telling Brett was almost as exciting as her news.

  “Mr. Ryan called me today. And guess what? They decided that Sugar is in need of an inn. And since Fairchild House is listed as a historical property, they reevaluated their previous decision and I got the loan.”

  Brett didn’t look surprised, he looked pleased, as if he had known all along that her idea was sound. He opened his mouth, but she was so excited she cut him off. “But the best part is, I did it all by myself. No Dad. No Wilson. Just me. Can you believe it?”

  He didn’t speak, but kept smiling—really big.

  “Did you hear me?”

  “I never had any doubt.” He pulled her into his arms and whispered against her hair, “I’m proud of you, Joie.”

  “I can’t stop thinking that this is a big step. There’s no going back. If I sign and something goes wrong—”

  Brett stepped back and clasped her hands, which had been worrying the hem of his shirt. “Joie, this loan is a great thing. You would have made it regardless, but the money will make it a little easier.”

  “Thank you.”

  She waited for the panic to subside, for her heart to slow to a more normal pace, and when it did she froze.

  Josephina had been waiting for his approval, for him to reassure her that she could do this. She had put off signing the papers on her dream, telling Mr. Ryan that she wanted to look them over. In reality, she wanted Brett to look them over, because his support would give her the courage to sign on the dotted line.

  “Let’s go inside and talk about what this all means,” Brett said, tugging her toward the porch.

  “I can’t.” She pulled him to a stop, because in that moment she realized she might just follow him anywhere. “I am supposed to meet Mr. Ryan to sign the papers in twenty minutes.”

  Her appointment was for tomorrow, but suddenly she didn’t want to wait.

  “Then dinner. You and me. Tonight. To celebrate.” He looked so hopeful, and she wasn’t surprised that she wanted to say yes. She’d been wanting to say yes since the day he’d shown up on her front porch, tool belt on, ready to get to work. But she couldn’t.

  “I have plans with Spenser and Charlotte.” Plans that she’d agreed to that morning. Part of her wanted to cancel so she could spend the evening celebrating with Brett. The other part—the part that remembered how many times she’d done that for Wilson, had her saying, “I’m sorry.”

  And she was. But she was also never going to be the kind of person who blew off friends, commitments, or her dreams for a man ever again.

  “Don’t be sorry.” Brett cupped her cheek. “It’s your night to celebrate. Go. Have fun. Plus, Cal called earlier asking if I would come over. Apparently he’s imprisoned Payton for the duration of the summer for smiling at some punk at the market and he’s in desperate need of estrogen-free company.”

  Her heart fluttered right up into her throat. He was going to cancel on his brother for her? Wilson would have never done that.

  “But, Joie,” he looked her dead in the eye, “we will have our dinner.”

  Chapter 16

  The Saddle Rack was already packed with locals, and a few fans who obviously followed Hattie’s tweets. Brett was used to the stares. It happened everywhere he went. What he wasn’t used to was the whole reason he’d agreed to come into town when Cal offered to buy him a drink.

  Wearing a top that was barely legal, a cream skirt that had ridden up to show off those amazing legs, and that little charm around her ankle that made him hard, Joie sat three tables away. Feigning a deep interest in Spenser’s and Charlotte’s conversation, she was smiling prettily and doing everything to avoid looking his way.

  “Are you going to do it or not? Either way I need an answer.” Jackson waved a hand in front of Brett’s face. “Jesus, you didn’t even hear a word I said.”

  “He was too busy staring at Joie’s fuck-me pumps.” Cal slapped Brett on the back.

  “Screw you.” He was looking at her ankle, wondering why he was crammed in a booth between Cal and Jackson instead of over at the table celebrating with Joie. Although crashing girls’ night would have looked even more pathetic than showing up here with his buddies. “And I heard what you said, JD. Count me in.”

  “Ah, hell. Remind me to eat before I come.” Cal grimaced. “Last time you manned the grill my pancakes were about as appetizing as a short stack of skeets. And the bacon was overcooked.”

  “People don’t care if the bacon is charred black, they come to see the famous Brett McGraw in a stupid-ass hat and apron.” Brett cringed at Jackson’s reminder. “Skeets or not, that year we doubled our ticket sales. And since this year’s money is going toward that new wing at the Medical Center, the Sheriff’s Department is hoping to quadruple the turnout.”

  “And Brett’s ugly mug on the tickets is just the thing your team needs, right?” Cal said, amusement gone.

  “I’m not going to lie, so yeah. When the guys asked if Brett would do it, I said I didn’t see why not, so they put him down as the cook.” Jackson looked at Brett. “Then my dad started advertising that you were the celebrity host for his golf tournament on the same day.”

  Brett groaned. He’d only agreed to the mayor’s tournament because the money went to help the new wing at the Medical Center.

  “I can’t believe that the pancake breakfast is the same day as your dad’s tournament.”

  “Same as the Sugar Ladies Summer Concert, Payton’s cheerleader carwash, and some calendar signing for the Peaches,” Cal offered helpfully.

  “Why didn’t he mention that when he brought up the tournament to begin with?”

  Cal laughed. “Man, you really stepped in it, Brett. Everyone in town wants their name on that pediatric center and they figured whoever had you would bring in the most money.”

  “Wait, the center will be named after a person?”

  “Person. Organization. The biggest donor gets to decide.”

  He’d been played. By every person in this damn town.

  “You’re telling me this now?” Brett asked, wondering how, if at all, he was going to pull this off. He was hiding out from the press because he couldn’t keep it in his pants. His niece had grown boobs and twirled her hair when guys were around. And his grandma had blackmailed him into spying on the woman he was living—but not sleeping—with.

  Now he had, by his own stupidity, somehow become the great white hope for Sugar’s new pediatric center, placing himself in the middle of a town feud where they’d set him up to choose, knowing he couldn’t turn a single person down.

  Cal shrugged. “Figured you already knew.”

  “How the hell would I know?”

  “Well, maybe if you didn’t spend all your time eye-fucking Joie, you’d have noticed that a feud was brewing, pitting neighbors against neighbors. And you, brother, are at the center of it.”

  “Hattie’s feud with Joie?”

  Cal shook his head. “The superintendent has staked a claim on you for the same weekend as the golf tournament. Last I heard the local Boy Scouts troop and Future Farmers of America had joined the fight. There’s also a town pool going around on who’s going to win, by how much, and if Judge Holden will finally get his lynching, courtesy of the Peaches.”

  “My money is on your grandma,” Jackson said, and both men starting laughing.

  Brett took another long pull of beer, draining it and setting the empty glass on the table. Where was the pitcher? And the vacation in his vacation? He’d had exactly zero down time. Between his campers, helping out around town, and working at Joie’s, he was exhausted.

  Actually, that wasn’t entirel
y true. His time at Joie’s was as close to perfect as it got. Swinging hammers felt good. Watching her prance around in those cutoffs while ripping up subfloor was even better. Sitting at the kitchen table and sharing a meal with her made him wish for things he shouldn’t be wishing for.

  “You need to get laid,” Jackson said.

  “You’re the one who elected himself town poster boy for celibacy when Sadie walked out.”

  Jackson scowled. “I’ve had women.”

  “Ones on the Internet don’t count.”

  “What crawled up your ass, McGraw?” Jackson snapped.

  “Nothing.”

  “Yeah? `Cuz how I look at it is if I wanted to be nagged about not dating I would have gone to my grandma’s for dinner.” Jackson blinked, then a slow as shit grin spread across his face. “Holy crap. You’ve been sweating it out over at Joie’s place and you haven’t sealed the deal.”

  “Sweating it out?” Cal laughed. “Hell, the moron has moved in. Is renovating her place for free. And he has to sleep in the guest bed.”

  Actually, it was worse than that. Not that he’d tell his brother, but he now slept on the couch, since the only finished room when he’d moved in had been downstairs, right below Joie’s. At night he could hear her moving around, pulling on her pajamas, clicking out the light, sliding into those sheets. It was enough to drive him nuts.

  “We’re taking it slow.”

  Jackson choked. “Four of the pussiest words in the English language. Oh, how the mighty have fallen.”

  Cal rested his elbows on the table and leaned in. “Admit it. You have a thing for Joie that goes beyond one night, and it scares the shit out of you.”

  Brett released a hard breath. He studied Joie, who quickly averted her gaze, but not before color stained her cheeks. Brett opened his mouth just as Glory came over with a pitcher of cold beer, a strained look, and the perfect excuse to change the subject.

  She set the beer on the table, followed by new frosty mugs and kept her gaze solidly on Brett, even when she was dividing up the pitcher and handing Jackson a refill on his soda. Not an uncommon reaction when she was around Jackson. Those two had a past that Brett had made clear he wanted no part of.