Page 8 of Along Comes Trouble

Seven faces turn our way, conversation stuttering to a stop. Fire blazes to life in my belly and flares across my cheeks when anger flashes in Colton’s eyes. I yank my gaze away from his .

Insufferable, no good, cocky asshole …

“No shit.” David Carmichael, little Claire’s dad, scoots his chair back from the table and wraps Sarah in his arms. “The prodigal sister returns .”

“It’s good to see you too, Captain America.” She pulls out of his arms and gestures toward me while he grimaces at the nickname. Even I could tell she didn’t mean it as a compliment, although the whys and hows are lost on me. “You know Tessa Morgan,” Sarah continues, oblivious to his reaction .

David nods, obviously comfortable taking the lead. “We met at Claire’s open house. It’s nice to see you again .”

“It’s my pleasure, I’m sure,” I murmur, smiling shyly .

“So, I’d introduce her to the rest of the crew,” begins Sarah, “but I’m kind of sketchy on all the names .”

David smiles at me. “Tessa, you know my wife Michelle,” he says, pointing to a small woman with long brown hair and friendly eyes .

“Hello.” I lift my hand and Michelle dips her head .

“And this is Michelle’s friend Lexi and her husband Ty. Ignore the frazzled look in their eyes. This is the first time they’ve been out since their son Christian was born .”

Lexi lifts a hand. “I’m going to pre-apologize for anything I may say or do now. I promise I’m not weird all the time. I just forget what it’s like to be out with other adults .”

A small blonde beside Lexi shakes her head and laughs. “Don’t listen to her. Lexi is definitely weird all the time.” The blonde lifts a hand in greeting. “I’m Bailey, by the way, and this is my husband, Liam .”

The man beside Bailey nods in my direction, unleashes a blinding smile, and lifts a heavily tattooed arm in greeting. I repeat the names in my head, trying to connect them with faces so I don’t forget as the evening wears on .

“Wait,” I say. “Liam?” I narrow my eyes and study his face, a crazy story from a few years ago trying to surface .

He laughs. “Yep. That’s me.” He smiles as he watches all the pieces of the story fall into place .

“You’ll get used to him,” says Michelle. “Eventually .”

David nods. “It’s true.” He gestures in Colton’s direction. “And this is my brother, Colton .”

“We’ve met,” I say, with what I hope is my friendliest, though also my most neutral smile. The child in me wants to jam my thumbs in my ears, wiggle my fingers, and stick out my tongue. I conjure up a saintly amount of patience and abstain .

The new father with the short blond hair—Ty, I think—sits forward. “This is her?” the man asks Colton before he points to me .

What in the world is that supposed to mean? Has Colton been talking about me to his friends? I bat down the indignation writhing in my stomach and lift my chin because it doesn’t matter. I’m here for Sarah, and that’s it .

“Smooth, Ty.” Colton rolls his eyes .

Before I can work up a response, a caravan of waitresses arrives carrying trays laden with appetizers and drinks. While they cover the table with plates of chicken wings, potato skins, onion rings, and something that looks like egg rolls but smells much better, everyone shifts to make room for Sarah and me .

Before I can claim a seat, a server approaches me. “Can I get you something to drink ?”

I order a gin and tonic, leaning in close to be heard over the din of conversation, the shuffling of seats, and the sound of plates being filled with food. When I turn back to the table to find a place to sit, the only available seat is directly across from Colton. Musical chairs has never been so cruel .

He glares at me. “Looks like it’s you and me.” He sighs, the irritation I’m feeling mirrored in his face. “Have a seat, Bunny .”

“Bunny?” I wrinkle my nose. “What’s that supposed to mean?” I pull back the chair and sit, crossing my legs and straightening my spine. I’ll get through the evening with every bit of grace I can manage. For Sarah .

“Isn’t that what you told me?” Colton elbows his sister. “That Tessa is a scared little bunny ?”

Sarah gives him a withering look. “No. I said she was sweet and gentle, and you were Yosemite Sam, howling like a moron and shooting your shotgun into the air. Now be nice.” She slaps her brother in the arm and shoots me an apologetic glance .

I laugh at the image of Colton as Yosemite Sam, even as I try not to be hurt by the cruel nickname. I’m not a bunny. I’m much stronger than that. The waitress arrives with my cocktail. I swipe it from the table and take a long drink. There’s only one thing that’s going to get me through this night, and its name is alcohol .

Sarah widens her eyes at me. “Whoa there, rock star. Pace yourself .”

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