The Off Limits Rule (It Happened in Nashville 1)

He pulls a cooler out from the trunk and grins at me, his eyes a darker blue than mine—almost black—filled with adoring exasperation. “I was hoping you’d get it all out of your system so Johnny Raincloud wouldn’t follow us out on the water.”

“I didn’t have to come today, you know. If you wanted a happy companion, you could have just invited some of those perky girls who love you.”

“I didn’t want to bring perky girls. I wanted to bring you.”

I narrow my eyes and cross my arms. “We’re talking about attitudes, right? ‘Cause I have great boobs.” Lies. These girls lost all their spunk four years ago at the ripe age of twenty-five when my milk came in.

Drew sets the cooler down on the hot pavement. “Breasts have important functions beyond looks, you know.”

I grimace. “Ew. I hate when you go all OB-GYN on me.”

“Can’t help it. It’s my job. If you don’t want to hear it, don’t talk about your boobs with me.” He jerks his head toward the back seat. “Grab the towels and let’s get on the water.”

“One hour,” I say, grabbing the towels and following behind him like a stubborn puppy that doesn’t want to walk on a leash but knows it doesn’t have a choice. “I’m staying for one hour and that’s it. Then, I’m going back to my candy bar babies.”

“So you’re saying you eat babies?” I try to kick him, but he dodges me. “Just get in the boat, Eeyore,” says Drew, fighting a smile as he extends his hand to help me over the railing.

Once in the boat, I run my palms along the bright-white upholstery. It’s hot to the touch, and I can’t help but smile at my brother’s dream come true. He’s always wanted a boat, and he finally made it happen. He’s been working his butt off the past several years, completing medical school and then enduring his residency and whatever else doctors have to go through. Now, he is an OB-GYN in a small private practice, and this was his official “doctor” present to himself.

Other than a partner feeling slightly uncomfortable with him working closely with women’s bodies all day, I can’t help but wonder why he’s still single. He’s good-looking, funny, and outgoing. Women love him, yet he won’t have it. He dates (a lot) but has never been interested in settling down.

Taking my towel, I lay it across the boiling-hot leather before sitting so I don’t sear my butt cheeks. I settle in, begrudgingly feeling like Drew was right; it really does feel good to be outside with the sun tickling my skin. “So, which buddy is coming out with us? Farty Marty or Sweaty Steven?” Oddly, all of Drew’s friends have terrible flaws, so much so that I’m beginning to wonder if he has a beauty complex and refuses to associate with anyone prettier than him.

“Cooper,” he says while shoving the cooler into a little side compartment.

Ah, yes, the recently moved out roommate. I haven’t met this one yet. He moved in with Drew about a year ago, right after I left town, and they apparently became besties right away. Drew won’t let me refer to them as that, though, so I make sure to do it as often as I can.

“Hmm…Cooper Pooper.”

“Don’t do that.”

“I have to. How will I remember his name otherwise?”

Drew doesn’t look at me as he secures the boat canopy. “Repeat it to yourself five times.”

“Cooper Pooper. Cooper Pooper. Cooper Poo—”

“Not what I meant, and you know it,” Drew says, looking over his shoulder with the same look the actors on SNL get when they try not to let the audience see them laugh. He missed me.

I shut my eyes and lean my head back, feeling the sun singe my eyelids and trying to imagine what terrible flaw of Cooper’s I will have to endure all day. Bad B.O.? Snaggleteeth? Greasy hair? Probably a heavy combination of each.

I don’t know, and it doesn’t matter anyway. I’m just going to lean back against the warm leather and sleep the day away. Drew forced me out here, but he can’t force me to smile or pretend I’m enjoying life with Pooper Scooper Cooper. See? I’ll never forget his name now. My method works.

I hear footsteps approaching on the dock, but my eyes feel too heavy to open. Probably all that MSG really settling into my bloodstream and trying to embalm my body.

“Hey, Coop,” says Drew, and I can feel my whole body stiffen with dread. He’s here. What’s it going to be? My money is on the B.O. “Just throw your stuff over there by Luce. Oh, by the way, this is my sister, Lucy.”

I guess that’s my cue to open my eyes and try to act like I don’t see the nasty hair-sprouting mole on the tip of this guy’s nose.

I open my eyes to sudden blinding light and the shape of a man; it’s hard to see him with the sun blaring over his head like he just beamed down from heaven. I lift my hand to shield my eyes and—OH MY GOSH, STOP IT RIGHT NOW! This can’t be one of Drew’s friends. Cooper Pooper is hot. My brain is short-circuiting looking at the miles and miles and miles of lean, tan, toned, tempting muscles. I’m sure I look insane just staring at him, all words drying up and getting stuck in my throat like I’ve never seen a man before. But the truth is, I’ve never seen a man like HIM—not outside of the movies, at least.

His tousled blond hair hangs in styled yet effortlessly beachy waves, just long enough to swoop over one eyebrow and curl up at the nape of his neck like it has to be rebellious. His eyes are bright, kick-you-in-the-stomach, crystal-clear-Tahiti-water blue, and his smile is all blinding-white teeth against bronze tanned skin. Someone give me a piece of glass—I think I could cut it using his ja

w. I’m sorry, but the truth is, this guy makes all other men look like frumpy little boys who should just go home and stop trying.

Maybe I already have sun poisoning and I’m just hallucinating. He’s too gorgeous to be real.

“Nice to finally meet you, Lucy.” The hallucination speaks!