Sidecar Crush
Jonah and I drove into town together and found our way to Build-a-Shine’s back room. A round table surrounded by chairs was in the center, and there was food off to one side. My mouth watered. Dev had found someone—I knew it wasn’t him, he was a worse cook than my sister—to serve up a taco bar. There were tortillas, meat, cheese, beans, guacamole, and all the fixin’s you could ever want. That spread was worth losing some money for.
Devlin was at the table with a beer and a plate, as was Bowie. Nash occupied another chair. I said my hellos, grabbed myself a plate, and loaded it up with tacos. Grabbed a beer from a bucket of ice and found a seat.
Gibson sauntered in and I slumped a bit. I’d been hoping Gibs might decide to sit this one out. He and I still hadn’t patched things up after our almost-fight at Bowie’s. Granted, he’d backed me up when it came to Leah Mae, but that didn’t mean what was going on between us was over.
Not that I expected an apology. Bodines didn’t generally apologize, and Gibson had taken that trait to a new level of stubbornness. But I’d be glad when we could both look at each other without angry glares. I had enough on my mind without dealing with my grumpy-ass brother.
As if he wanted to make sure I knew he was still angry, he paused next to the table, held the back of a chair, and glared at me. I glared right back, meeting his eyes. Gibs was older, and bigger, but I was not going to let him intimidate me. I’d go toe to toe with him any day of the week. If he was gonna be like Dad and think I was weak, he was dead wrong.
“Grab some food and let’s get started,” Devlin said.
Apparently a taco bar was a bigger draw than trying to stare down his younger brother, because Gibs tore his eyes away and loaded up a plate. When everyone had taken a seat, we all tossed in our cash, got our chips, and Dev started dealing.
I kept my eyes on my cards and sipped my beer. Bowie and Jonah got into a heated, but good-natured, discussion about football. Gibson stayed mostly quiet, but that was typical. We played a few hands, ate some food, and drank our beers. I relaxed a bit. Seemed like tonight was going to go just fine.
My phone buzzed, so I checked. Leah Mae had texted me a photo of her and Scarlett with something smeared all over their faces, and they looked to be laughing. It said, looking sexy at our spa visit earlier.
Me: There’s my beautiful girl.
“Quit texting during the game,” Gibson said.
I eyed him. He was looking to start a fight, and I wasn’t sure if I was going to indulge him or not. Probably best to ignore him. But just to show that I wasn’t letting him get to me, I sent her another text.
Me: Have fun tonight.
“God, Jameson, quit being an ass,” Gibson said.
“I’m pretty sure I’m not the ass here.” I put my phone down. “You have that title squared away nicely.”
The tension in the room thickened, eyes darting around over fanned-out cards. Looking between me and Gibson.
“At least I’m not draggin’ everyone else through my shit,” Gibson said.
“Why the fuck are you making this about you?” I asked. “You’re not the one being followed around town. Who has to duck when he goes anywhere because every person with a cell phone has a damn camera. Why the hell are you letting this piss you off so much?”
“Because you didn’t give a shit about what this would do to our family,” Gibson said. “You were just thinkin’ with your dick.”
“Fuck you, Gibson.”
Gibson tossed his cards on the table. “No, fuck you.”
“Guys, come on,” Bowie said. “Let’s just play.”
My first instinct was to throw my cards on the table and walk out. Go home. My brother could go fuck himself. I didn’t have to take his shit. But I was getting damn tired of Gibson’s angry streak being aimed at me. Growing up, I hadn’t ever been Gibson’s target. He’d usually been the one sticking up for me, both at home and at school. I didn’t like being the recipient of his assholery.
“You need to back the hell off, Gibs,” I said. “Mind your damn business.”
“This is my business.” He took a slice of olive off his plate and popped it in his mouth.