Trouble (Dogwood Lane 3)

“I’m not joking, Harper.”

She rests a hand on my shoulder. Her whiskey-colored eyes offer a soft spot for mine to land. “Listen, I don’t care who you date or don’t date. It’s no skin off my back. I just . . . Penn’s a nice guy. You’re a great girl. When I see you two together, I get this feeling right here.” She pats her chest.

“I think that’s heartburn.”

She snorts. “No, I think it’s called a gut feeling, thank you very much.”

I back away slowly with a grin. “Keep your feelings to yourself.”

She laughs. “Will do. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I gotta pee.” She flashes me a wave before disappearing into the restroom.

The air grows thicker as I stand alone. I brush back a few blades of fake tiki grass and, like a complete creeper, find Matt and Penn. They’re sitting at a table with a giant pizza placed between them.

“They’re just two guys,” I say, rearranging the grass. “Maybe you can be friends with them.”

I walk around the end of the bar as I finish my pep talk. Penn’s eyes hit me before the thought fully launches into the universe. My flush must be obvious, because he winks.

Damn it.

I force a swallow as I approach them. There are four chairs around the small rectangular table, two on one side and two on the other.

Matt points to a plate in the middle of the table. “Your burger was delivered here.”

“Why does that not surprise me?” I ask.

Matt grins as he motions toward a pink-and-orange drink next to Penn. “We also ordered you a Rocket Razzle.”

“A Rocket what?” I laugh. “What’s in that thing?”

“It’s a rum-and-something,” Penn says. “If you don’t drink or don’t like rum, I’ll drink it. No worries.”

“No, I love rum. I just have an aversion to tequila.” I shrug. “Long night. Cheap tequila. Longer next day as I puked up everything I’ve ever consumed. I can’t stand the smell of it now.”

“Sounds like a good story,” Matt says. He pulls out the chair beside him. “Grab a seat.”

I look between the two empty chairs—one by Matt and another by Penn. My body wants me to take the seat next to Penn. My brain is screaming at me to be intentional about this decision and make the smart choice, meaning the one by Matt.

Before I can sort out the internal dilemma, the redhead who opened the door for me comes bouncing our way.

“Hey, guys!” The bracelets adorning her wrist jingle as she comes to a stop. “I can’t believe I left the stupid grill on at the café. Who am I these days?”

“Claire Collins, the same girl that called me last week because she left her car running all night and ran it out of gas,” Penn says.

She slides into the chair by Matt. “You’re an asshole, Penn.”

“Why?” he says. “Because I speak the truth?”

“Because you’re you.” She looks up and notices me for the first time. She points a finger my direction as she thinks. “Didn’t I just meet you?”

“Claire, this is Avery. Avery, this is Claire.” Penn motions between us but looks at me. “Wanna sit?”

“Um . . .” I was going to, but for some reason, I’m not sure now. “I should probably go sit with Harper,” I say awkwardly.

Penn drags the chair next to him against the brick pavers. “Sit.” He looks at me with a raised brow. “Claire will be offended if you leave now.”

Claire snorts. “Don’t use me to woo her.”

“He’s not wooing me,” I say.

Her eyes light up. She sits back in her chair and looks at Matt. “Where did you find her? Because I like her already.”

“Right? She’s turned him down a couple of times, and I just met her,” Matt says. “She’s a fucking unicorn.”

“I’d fuck a unicorn.” Penn looks around the table. “What? I would.”

“Color me not surprised,” Claire mumbles. “Anyway, Avery, if you’d like to sit with us, please do. I could use some estrogen to balance the testosterone around here.”

I look around the patio. There are open tables and a chair next to Harper, who looks cozy next to a guy in a leather jacket. But then I consider Claire and what she had to say. She’s not wrong. Two women would make it much easier to defuse this craziness with Penn, and if I’m staying here, I need to make friends. Given she just called Penn an asshole, I might get along with her just fine.

“You sure?” I ask, lowering myself slowly next to Penn.

Penn leans forward, his elbows resting on the table. “I’m sure,” he says, his voice low and gravelly. The tone sinks all kinds of ideas into my head. Ideas that don’t belong there.

“Great,” I say as neutrally as I can.

Claire takes a slice of pizza and pops it onto a paper plate. “Want a piece?” She offers it to me.