Unwritten (Woodlands 5)

I shake my head regretfully. “We better not. Threat Alert

’s on stage. We need to support them.”

Davis throws an arm around her shoulder. “You love their song.”

“But not more than ours, right?” Rudd says, taking up the spot on her other side.

I fall in behind them, content to stare at her ass.

“Your music is the best music in the entire world,” she proclaims.

“That sounds sincere,” Davis replies dryly.

“I’ll take it,” Rudd announces. “What other music do you like? You look like a goth chic.”

“How so? I love color.”

“You’re serious, so I think you’d like mysterious, meaningful lyrics.”

“Instead of ones about dogs?” she teases.

“That dog ruined my life. I can’t have a pet now,” Rudd complains.

We reach the booth, and when Davis turns to look for a waitress, I push Landry onto the bench and slide in next to her. Ignoring Ian’s glare of exasperation, I ask Davis to get me a beer.

“Want anything?” Davis asks his sister.

“Whiskey sour.” She turns to Rudd. “No goth chic likes whiskey sours.”

“Not true. I knew a girl once who wore all black, even down to her underwear. All her drinks were green.”

“Absinthe is often green.”

“Oh. Didn’t know that.” Rudd sits back, momentarily nonplussed. “Think she lied about being goth like those two girls lied about being sisters?”

Ian puts his head in his arms while Landry presses her lips together to stifle a laugh. My chest tightens. Her kindness is one of the traits I find so attractive.

“Tell me the story behind the lyrics,” she says to change the subject.

“Sure.” He’s always happiest talking about himself. “When I was a wee lad of fifteen, I got a pizza delivery job. At the end of Mulberry Street was this big white house with a ginormous lawn—” He spreads his arms wide, almost knocking the drink glasses out of Davis’s grasp.

I get up and help Davis distribute the drinks while Rudd regales Landry.

“They always ordered ham pizza with extra pineapple. Anyway, Paulette Conrad lived there and would mow the lawn wearing a teensy tiny white bikini.” Rudd bites his fist. “Fifteen years later, and I still can’t look at white on a girl without thinking of her big—”

“Rudd,” Davis threatens.

“—lawn mower,” Rudd finishes with feigned innocence.

He winks at Landry, who giggles.

“And she had a dog?” Landry guesses.

“Nah, the neighbor did, but Paulette loved that little shit. Only he wasn’t little. He was huge and ugly and wore a studded collar. I practically soiled myself every time I had to get out of the car. I could’ve let some other delivery guy take the order, but—”

“Then you wouldn’t see Paulette,” she finishes.

“Exactly. So I’m there, delivering the same ham with extra pine when I hear this growling right behind me. I tell myself that the dog is still tied up and force myself to keep walking. But then I hear it again.” Rudd growls in a bad imitation of the Rottie.