Page 21 of Bull Rush

“I have to open Hotcakes in the morning and take deliveries in the afternoon. I really need to find someone who can help me with the deliveries at least.” Marlowe sighs and gives me a sad look.

“Since Delia quit, it’s just me. So I’m working tomorrow too. But send me pictures and updates!” Bristol looks at Dakota.

“Will do.” Dakota nods.

A moment later, a couple of guys who look like they might be tourists approach our table, their eyes on Bristol and Dakota.

“Dance?” The younger one holds out his hand for Dakota.

“Can you city boys dance?” Dakota raises her brow in return, clearly unimpressed.

“I imagine you can teach me if I can’t.” He flashes bright white teeth that nearly blind in the low light of the bar.

“She’s not much for teaching. She prefers them experienced.” Bristol smirks at Dakota, and they exchange glances.

“What about you then? Do you mind teaching?” His eyes fall on Bristol.

“I’m not much for dancing with guys who had their eye on my friend,” Bristol answers and then leans against Dakota’s shoulder in amusement. The city boy’s grin fades fast, clearly not used to losing out this hard at home.

“Dance with me then. He can watch and learn,” the older one interjects.

“How about you both watch?” Anson, my older brother, steps between them and reaches his hand out for Bristol’s. He nods a brief hello to the rest of us. “I’ll have her right back. Any refills?” Anson nods to our drinks.

“Another whiskey sour?” I ask.

“Another whiskey. Neat.” Dakota pushes her empty glass to the side.

“I’m good.” Marlowe nods to the drink she’s been nursing all night. Bakeries and their crack of dawn opening times don’t usually go well with nights out.

“Coming right up.” He slips his fingers through Bristol’s, pulling her down off the high bench we’re on and spinning her once before he crosses the floor with her to a two-step until they reach the bar.

“Should we be asking questions about that?” Marlowe asks as the city slickers disappear to another table, and we watch Bristol and Anson having an animated discussion about something.

“Definitely not.” I shake my head. “They bicker like an old married couple without any of the cute moments.”

“And they’re related.” Dakota frowns at the idea.

Bristol and Anson are technically brother and sister-in-law, although his wife—Bristol’s stepsister, Fannie—died a few years ago in an accident. Bristol and her mom still help Anson out with their son whenever he needs a babysitter or just a weekend off from being a busy single dad. But Fannie and Bristol were nothing alike, like oil and water, and Anson’s complained more than once that my best friend drives him up the wall.

“Hmm. Just asking.” Marlowe flashes another look in theirdirection.

“Anson’s just protective because she watches Ford. Doesn’t want any bad influences around and all that. You know how he is.” Anson’s so quiet and so business focused; I can’t imagine any woman besides Fannie wanting to deal with him.

“You’re just projecting your Briggs brother crush on the rest of us,” Dakota teases, and Marlowe’s cheeks pink at the implication.

“I still have no idea how you thought Bo was hot.” I have to shake the thought off. Growing up with three brothers has left me with all kinds of trauma—dead animals, dirty laundry, and mystery odors of all kinds. The idea that any of the boys I lived with end up with women at all is a puzzle wrapped inside an enigma, only opened with a riddle that probably involves a “that’s what she said” joke.

“It was high school. I was young and impressionable.” Marlowe attempts to defend herself.

“I mean… he was kind of hot when he played football. I’ll give you that.” Dakota’s always had a thing for athletes. I ended up with one on accident.

“I know a football player who’s about to be single if you want him,” I offer up, knowing full well that Dakota has zero interest.

“No, thank you. That one is permanently damaged by a previous owner and is currently being returned to sender,” Dakota pipes back.

A moment later, Anson’s returning with our drinks, and Bristol’s hopping back into the booth.

“Miss anything?” she asks, sliding the drink she got for Dakota across the table.

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