That Thing You Do (Crystal Lake 2)

“What about you?” Beck asked, turning the tables, something his older brother had always been good at. “Someone needs to give Mom some grandkids, and it sure as hell isn’t going to be me.”

“What’s this about grandkids?” Their mother walked onto the deck and stared them both down. Nate got to his feet and kissed her on the cheek.

“It’s nothing, Mom. Don’t get excited.”

“If you boys have taught me anything, it’s not to get excited.” Her tone was light and teasing, but Nathan saw the concern when she looked at Beck. “If you’re finished bonding, the Malones are expecting us in less than an hour and”—she scrunched up her nose—“both of you stink to high heaven of fish. I’d suggest a shower.” She looked pointedly at Nathan. “And a shave. Maybe then there’ll be a chance for grandchildren in my future.”

Nathan laughed. “I live in New York City, in case you’ve forgotten.”

His mom stepped back. “Yeah, you do.” Then she winked before heading back inside the house. “But Molly doesn’t.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” But the patio door slid shut behind her, and there was no answer.

Her parting shot earned Nate a slap on the shoulder from Beck. “What it means, brother, is that maybe you need to worry about your own situation before digging into mine.”

“I don’t have a situation.”

Beck got to his feet. “Don’t you?” He shook his head at Nate and made a sound of disgust. “I’m headed home to shower up. I’ll see you at the Malones.”

Nathan was still thinking about his mother’s cryptic comment when he pulled up to the Malones. His parents had left about twenty minutes before him, deciding to walk over, and he pulled his truck alongside Stu’s and parked. He grabbed the cooler from the back of the truck and walked around the house to the backyard, where the party was in full swing. He spied Stan Malone over by the large fryer and hauled the cooler over to his side.

The man was a veritable sous chef when it came to frying up perch. His beat-up old cap was the same one he’d worn since Nathan was a kid, covered in lures of all shapes and sizes, dancing around his head when he moved—or talking. It meant there were a lot of dancing lures, because Stan Malone talked with his hands.

“There you are, Nate. Whatcha got for me?” Stan peeked inside the cooler and grinned. “Your haul is stellar this year.” He nodded behind him. “Grab yourself a beer. The boys are playing cornhole on the other side of the yard.”

Nate had already scoped out the entire yard, and he’d spotted the gang the minute he arrived. Molly and the boys were at it. And so was Link.

Huh.

He’d sent the footballer a text message a few hours earlier, nothing to do with the fish fry and everything to do with the fact that the guy was lying through his teeth. No way did he have a groin pull, and that made Nate wonder why he’d give up most of the season playing for a team that paid him millions. It was a conversation they needed to have sooner rather than later, because if Nate was going to represent him, he needed one hundred percent transparency.

He walked over and watched as Molly tossed a beanbag twenty feet and perfectly hit the hole in the center of the board. Her teammate, Link, gave her a thumbs-up, while the competition, Zach and Jess, groaned.

“That’s it. We won!” Molly jumped up and down.

“You’re late to the party, mate,” Link said with a grin.

“I see that.” Nate kept his tone light, but he was more than a little annoyed. This right here was his and Molly’s thing. They were always partners. It was another example of how things had changed. Another example of something he didn’t particularly care for.

Stu and his wife Amanda had just stepped up to play the winners when Link asked Nate if he’d take his place and partner up with Molly. He grimaced and pointed to his groin area.

“I’ll take your spot,” Nate quipped as he grabbed their beanbags and headed to the board opposite fro

m Molly. “But I’m not buying the groin thing. We’re going to have that talk tomorrow.” Truthfully, at the moment, he didn’t give a rat’s ass about Link’s groin. He had a game to win.

Cornhole was simple. There was a board with a hole in it. You got points for hitting the board and not sliding off, but you got big points for sinking your beanbag into the hole. You played in teams with each partner taking a turn, so you played with two boards, twenty feet apart, with your teammate opposite.

What it meant was that Amanda stood beside Nate at one end, and they tossed their beanbags to the board where their respective teammate stood. It also meant that Nate could look at Molly all day long and no one would know that he was low-key checking her out in a way that was becoming the norm for him.

And it wasn’t a guy checking out his pal and thinking to himself, She looks good. It was a man checking out a woman and realizing he was attracted to her. When she bent over to pick up the beanbags at her feet, he couldn’t help himself, even though he was treading into perv territory. He cocked his head to the side and took a good long look. The shape of her butt and those long, tanned legs was almost too much. He caught Link looking too and then missed the hole by at least six inches when he tossed his bag, earning him a glower from Molly as she picked it up.

“Concentrate, Jacobs,” she said, shaking her head. When it was her turn, she sank all four of her beanbags, and just like that, the game was over.

Amanda threw her hands into the air and said she was done with games, and since the fish was just about ready to serve, they packed it in for the time being.

“Good job,” Nate said as Molly approached. She tossed all the bags aside and smiled.

“Thank God I was on my game. What happened to you?”