Double Team

indicating she’s not at all angry.

I immediately jump up anyhow, crossing the kitchen to kiss her on the cheek. “No ma’am.”

She swats me on the arm. “Don’t you forget your manners just because you’re rich and famous now.”

I grab my sister’s toast from her hand before she can object and shove half of it in my mouth, jumping backwards when she tries to hit me. “He doesn’t have any manners!” Annie yells.

“I have tons of manners,” I protest, but it comes out more like mmph-mmph-mmph because my mouth is full of bread.

“You’re so gross,” Annie says.

“Your son’s angling to be the rich one,” I say, glancing at Noah, who’s apparently too engrossed with what he’s doing on his tablet to pay attention to us. “I settled for my contract already.”

“He says he settled,” Mama Ashby says, rolling her eyes. She passes me in the kitchen, swatting me on the ass with a wooden spoon. “We should all be as lucky to ‘settle’ for getting paid millions of dollars to do what we love.”

“That did sound spoiled, didn’t it?” I ask, laughing.

“Uh, yeah,” Annie says. “Where’s my birthday present, anyway?”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” I lie.

“You stole my toast and now you’re reneging on my birthday present? Some older brother you are.”

“You’re awful quiet over there, Noah,” Mama Ashby notes. Noah looks up from his tablet and grunts before swiping something on the screen. When I cross the room to grab Annie’s gift from my bag, Noah tosses me a dirty look, obviously still pissy about the whole Grace situation.

I should ignore it, but what can I say? I’m an overgrown child and I like pushing Noah's buttons. “He’s just in a mood lately.”

Now Noah gives me an even angrier look. “No reason I can think of for that.”

“Are you two getting on each other’s nerves being roommates?” Mama Ashby asks absently as she reaches into the cupboard for dinner plates and hands them to Annie. “You’re only staying with him until your renovations are done. Right, Aiden?”

“Yeah, if I don’t kill him first,” Noah growls.

“The two of you have always been so close, but you’ve also always been at each other’s throats,” the woman notes. “Everything is a competition with you boys.”

Noah makes a grunting sound from the sofa. "Nothing's changed," he says bitterly.

Noah and I have known each other our whole lives. Even before the Ashbys took Annie and I in, we were best friends. But our version of friendship has always involved a shitload of competition. It's that competition that drove us to be great at football.

Despite being competitive in sports, Noah and I have never gone after the same girl. We’ve never had a reason to before. I’ve been perfectly happy with the girls I hook up with – mostly hot chicks just looking for a good time and nothing else. It’s not that I’m a player; it’s just that I’ve never much seen any reason to tie myself to one woman. I’d rather keep my options open.

Of course, I’ve never exactly been interested in a girl like Grace Sullivan before, either. She’s way out of my league, that’s for sure – leagues above any of the women I’ve ever hooked up with – smarter, prettier, and just a hell of a lot classier.

Plus, she’s uptight and everyone knows that uptight girls are the wildest in bed. They just need a little push. And I’m the one to give her that push.

Unlike Noah. On the surface, he seems like he’d be more Grace's type – nerdy, smart, and way too damn serious – but that’s exactly why he’s not right for her. Besides, I can’t even remember the last time he got with a girl. He’s obsessed with football. There’s “work hard, play hard” - that’s my philosophy - and then there’s “work all the fucking time,” which is Noah’s life’s motto.

A girl like Grace Sullivan needs someone to help her let loose. So, competition? In my eyes, there’s no competition. This race is already won.

Mama Ashby eyes me skeptically. “What are you two competing over? You’re off-season and you’ve already signed a contract.”

“Is that my present?” Annie interrupts, unknowingly letting me dodge a bullet with Noah’s mom right there. She doesn’t wait for me to say yes before she grabs the folder out of my hands and flips it open.

“Okay, help yourself,” I say sarcastically.

Annie looks down at the folder and then up at me. “No way.”

“That's not the real thing,” I explain. “The travel agent just gave me that so I’d have something to give to you so it would be less lame than just saying, ‘Here, I got you a plane ticket.’”

“A plane ticket? Where’s he sending you?” Bess asks, her hand on her hip.

“Europe!” Annie runs at me, slamming into me and throwing her arms around my neck before I can respond.

“I guess you're happy about it?"

“Are you serious? It’s like an open-ended ticket!” Annie yells. “Did you tell him to get it, Noah?”

Noah grins for the first time since we got here. “I didn’t. But I’m glad he saw reason and got it for you. You’ll have a great time.”

“Oh my God. I have to call Lucas and Avery. They’re going to be so stoked. They’re leaving in three weeks. Shit. The restaurant’s not going to let me go.”

“I already talked to your manager,” I tell her. “Besides, you’re going into senior year. You shouldn’t be working at a restaurant. You’re supposed to get something work-study, or at least something that’s going to help you get a job after college. That's what Noah tells me, and you should listen to him since he graduated magna whatever-the-fuck.”

“Watch your language!” Bess yells. “Just because you’re all grown up, doesn’t mean you can drop the f-word in my house.”

“Yes, ma’am,” I reply, hanging my head.

“Magna cum laude,” Noah corrects.

I snort at the word cum.

“Thanks, Aiden!” Annie squeals, already across the living room and heading for the front door with her phone in her hand. She flings open the front door, nearly bowling over Noah’s dad Paul. She gives him a one-armed hug, her phone pressed to her ear.

“Where are you off to, girl?” Paul asks.

“Europe!” she exclaims before bouncing out the door.

Paul raises his eyebrows and shakes his head, slipping off his work boots. He’s still in his coveralls from the shop, grease slicks down his tattooed forearms. When he makes it into the kitchen, he heads straight for Bess, the way he always does.

Bess laughs as he half-slips an arm around her waist, swatting him away playfully. “Get your grubby hands off me. Go wash up.”

“You’re lucky I don’t leave a grease-stained handprint on your ass, woman.”

Bess gasps in mock surprise and hits him with a dishtowel. “Paul Ashby, what’s gotten into you?”

Paul turns to me. “Your sister’s going to Europe with pink hair?"

I shrug. “She’s twenty-one now. It’s not like I can argue with her. She wanted to go for two months with her friends.”

Paul shakes his head, sighing exaggeratedly. “You kids," he says. He looks across the room at Noah. "What are you doing over there ignoring everyone?"

"I was going to say hi, but you didn't let me get a word in edgewise," Noah says.

"These two are fighting about something," Bess says, giving Paul a look.

"No one's fighting about anything," Noah roars.

Bess raises her eyebrows. "Uh-huh."

"Oh, Lord." Paul rolls his eyes. "Don't break anything."

"We're not going to get injured," I assure him.

"I wasn't worried about you two. I was worried about my furniture."

"Thanks for the concern, dad," Noah calls as his father heads off to clean up.

Paul and Bess are fixtures in West Bend, Colorado. They were born and raised here, and Paul has been running the only auto repair shop around for thirty miles since

he finished his enlistment in the Navy when he was twenty-two. Noah was supposed to follow in his footsteps and take over the family business, but it was pretty clear mid-way through high school, after the football team won our second state championship and Noah and I were identified as rising stars, that Noah wasn't heading in the same direction as his father. Luckily, his sister Denise turned out to have a knack for auto repair and was perfectly happy taking the mantle – not that Paul is ever going to stop working. The man will probably keep working until he keels over.

"Where's Denise?" I ask.

"She and Ed had to drive over to Gunnison for an OB appointment. They're all nervous because this is their first baby. Wanted to get some fancy OB doctor over there instead of Dr. Allen, even though Dr. Allen's been delivering babies for the last thirty years. Delivered both of you and you turned out just fine." She shakes her head and makes a tsk-tsk sound before she gets distracted by the image of the President and First Lady on the television in the living room.

"You know, he came through Denver last week," Bess says, nodding toward the television where a video clip plays of the First Couple waving to a crowd at some kind of political event. "I'm voting for the other guy. I've never much cared for either of them. I've always thought he was just kind of smug. I know people say she's so fashionable and all, but she's always seemed off to me. Cold."

Noah grunts. "Exactly."

"Noah met him," I tell her.

"The President?? Noah Ashby, you're lying here on the sofa like nothing's going on, when you met the President of the United States?"

"I thought you didn't care for him," Noah says.

"That doesn't mean I don't want to hear about it!” Bess exclaims. "I swear, the two of you with your celebrity lives, do you think us mere mortals don't want to know who you're hobnobbing with?"

"It's not a big deal," Noah grumbles.

"We're working with his daughter on a charity thing," I say, unable to resist riling Noah up since he's had such an attitude problem when it comes to this. I guess I'm not all pissed off - because I'm confident in my ability to land Grace myself. "Noah donated his ranch."

"Yeah, and Aiden decided he was suddenly all about charity," Noah adds.

"I've always been about charity. What do you think hanging around your sullen ass is, if it's not charity?"

"Maybe you should take your charitable ass and get it out of my house," Noah suggests, his tone biting. "Leave my neighbors alone."

"I think your neighbor is fine with my not leaving her alone."

"Enough," Bess interrupts. "Are you both arguing over some girl?"

"Not just some girl," I say.

Paul walks into the room. "The two of you can work out your crap somewhere else," he booms. "We got more important things to talk about here – like what smells so good in the kitchen, Bess?"

16

Noah

This place is crazy.

What were they thinking, giving these kids ice cream? I don’t know jack shit about kids, but even I know that giving sugar to twenty kids and turning them loose to set up campsites is a recipe for disaster. There are four camp counselors trying to establish order in a field a few hundred yards away from my house – the area I designated for the campsite.

Aiden and I spent most of lunch – hotdogs and burgers – fielding questions from a bunch of kids, some of whom were super excited we were here and some who didn’t know who the hell we were. I preferred the kids who didn’t know who the hell we were. The camp only started today, but already I think I’ve answered more questions than I did from reporters all last season.

I glance back at the house, wondering if anyone would notice if I ditched the tiny terrors out here and caught a workout in the gym. Or shit, just enjoyed ten minutes of silence.

Grace Sullivan has been all business since she got here. Professional doesn’t even begin to describe her attitude. She’s been cool as a cucumber ever since Aiden and I met with her in her office. There were a few times the past few days when she called me personally to ask questions about the ranch, questions that I could swear an assistant could have asked. I thought she was calling because there was something between us, but even during those calls she was all business. When she introduced Aiden and I at the beginning of the camp, it was like we were any other celebrities.

There was one moment after she finished the introductions, however, when she met my gaze and something passed between us. It was enough to make her cheeks flush, but that was the only hint I was given that she might be attracted to me.

Fortunately, I’m not the only one who’s been kept at arm’s length. Aiden hasn’t gotten any alone time with her, and that’s how it’s going to stay if I have anything to say about it. The camp counselors are all required to camp outside with the kids, but I “generously” opened the main house to Grace and the field house to the support staff who needed space during the week but wouldn’t be staying overnight. Grace started to protest that it wasn’t necessary and that she usually stays with the support staff, but her security detail stepped in and said that it was a better setup from a security point of view.

Score one for the Secret Service agents.

A boy darts past me with a bunch of tent spikes in his hand, and I grab him by the back of the shirt. He looks up at me. “Dude.”

“Dude,” I repeat, letting go of him. “Anyone ever tell you not to run with scissors?”

“Uh, these aren’t scissors.”

“Yeah, they’re spikes, Louis,” I correct, reading the name tag on his shirt. “And I’m pretty sure that’s worse.”

“Why?”

“You want to trip and fall and get a spike through the eye?”

“That would be gnarly.”

I roll my eyes. “Where’s your tent?”

He shrugs. “I don’t know.”

“You’re just running around with a bunch of tent spikes for no reason?”

“That kid has it. I paired up with him.” He points to a nerdy blond kid with glasses twenty yards away who’s holding a tent and looking like a stiff wind could knock him over.

I exhale heavily. “Have you ever been camping?”

“No.”

“Where are your counselors?”

He shrugs and points to a counselor helping a pair of kids with a tent. Then he turns back to me and asks, “Do you know how to set up a tent?”

At the same time, I catch a glimpse of Aiden on the other side of the field, walking toward Grace. She’s squatting down in her jeans and cowgirl boots – the most inauthentic bright red boots ever, but the second I saw her in them, I couldn’t help but think of her in nothing but those boots. She smiles as she talks to a kid. When Aiden reaches her, she tucks a lock of hair behind her ear and directs that smile toward him.

Walk over and take Grace out of Aiden’s hands or help a couple of kids set up a tent? It isn’t even a question.

Inwardly I groan; outwardly, I sigh. “Ah, shit. Yeah, I know how to set up a tent.”

“Don’t sound so happy,” Louis says. “Are you a camp counselor? You’re not supposed to cuss.”

“How old are you?” I ask.

“Ten.”

“I’m pretty sure your ears aren’t going to fall off if you hear the word ‘shit’.”

“You’re kind of an ass,” he notes as we walk. All right, these kids might not be so bad after all.

"Did you just call me an ass?"

“That's what my mom calls people sometimes when they cut in front of her in traffic. Who are you, anyway?”

“I’m a football player.”

He looks at me with his nose wrinkled. “You don’t look like a football player.”