I shook my head, knowing Dean usually had a pretty good bead on the reality of things despite his juicy delivery.
“Ehhh. You can probably stick to the regular iodized kind. Thatch is a crazy asshole. Fun, though. And, occasionally, a good friend.”
“Is he really that crazy?” she asked, insistent in the belief that he couldn’t be as rowdy as people described.
As always with Thatch, examples of his depravity were plentiful, but one stood out above the rest.
“You know the scar on my abdomen?” I asked. “Lower right side?”
I glanced over in time to see her nod, eyes brimming with biblical knowledge. “It’s completely plausible I’ve noticed it.”
A smile arrested my features.
“Well, I owe its existence to Thatch and one of his half-baked ideas.”
Waiting for an explanation, she settled farther into her seat.
“One night during our freshman year of college, he got this idea that stair surfing on our mattresses on the icy courtyard steps could be the next big campus activity. Three broken fingers, one bloody nose, and a tree-branch-impaled abdominal muscle later, I decided I didn’t want to be a part of the sales pitch.”
“You could have said no from the beginning,” she suggested and I shrugged.
“What fun would that have been?”
I flipped on my blinker and turned into the long gravel drive of the Hamptons house. This had been the quickest drive of my life with Georgia keeping me company, and the salty sea air clung to my skin as I rolled my window down to put in the code for the gate. The stars were brighter now that we’d left the city behind, and when I turned to look at Georgie, I found her head hanging out of her window with her face to the sky like she’d noticed.
“Georgie?” I called, fighting back a grin.
“This place is outrageous!” she all but shouted. “Have you seen the fucking sky? And the length of this driveway?”
I shook my head and laughed some more, pulling forward cautiously so she could stay in her happy place half in, half out of the car.
“I might have noticed it a time or two.”
She sank back into the seat and shook her hair out of her smiling face.
“You should notice more. Like, a lot more. You know, every weekend or so. Andddd, if you just happen to want some company,” she said, feigning nonchalance, “I could probably fit it into my schedule. I mean, I’d be willing to check.”
“I’ll make note.”
“Holy hell! Look at that house! It’s adorable!”
I followed her eyes through the windshield, smiling so much my cheeks started to ache. The little bungalow wasn’t ostentatious, but it didn’t lack space either, and the wood-shank shingle siding had seen better days. The inside pretty much matched, but I was working on fixing it. Slowly but surely.
“I’m glad you like it.”
She bounced in her seat.
“But you probably shouldn’t like it too much. I’m fixing it up to give it to my parents, and I’ll start to feel bad if you get too attached.”
“Really? You’re doing the work yourself?” If she had been a dog, I imagined her ears would have perked up.
I smiled and nodded. “Really. I had an electrician work on the wiring and Thatch and Wes have helped me a couple of times with the heavy lifting, but I’ve done most of it myself.”
She slammed an open hand down on my thigh and squeezed, her expression deadpan.
“I think I just orgasmed.”
I shoved the gearshift into park and reached for her neck at the same time. I rubbed my nose with hers and smiled before touching my lips to hers just once. “Please, Benny. For the love of all that’s holy, hold on to that thought—and the easy trigger.”
Bags inside the house, a quick dinner of sandwiches I’d picked up from Tony’s deli and packed to bring along consumed, and wine in hand, Georgia demanded a tour of the house.
“I want to know every detail. What it looked like when you started, what you’re in the middle of now, and what you see it being like when you’re done. Don’t cut corners, Brooks,” she’d said.
“I intend to travel each and every curve in its entirety,” I’d teased back salaciously.
She’d just laughed and shoved me down the hall we were currently walking.
She’d seen the completely redone kitchen, the room I’d tackled first. I’d known it would be an outrageously extensive job, as well as the heart of the house. Crisp white cabinets, light stone counters, and dark wood floors, I’d kept the character of the house but added a ton of modern twists and convenience.
“God, Kline. I still can’t get over that island! It’s freaking enormous.”
“I know.”
Twelve feet by twelve feet, it was nearly enough room to use as an elevated dance floor. Part of me worried that it was too much, but my reasoning was sound. Maureen and Bob Brooks lived their lives in the kitchen, hip to hip or one or the other relaxing at the counter while the other one cooked. I swore ninety-five percent of my childhood memories happened in that room.