Page 5 of Just One of the Groomsmen
“Hey,” Easton said. “When you’ve got balls this size, they require constant adjustment.”
Addie took a swig of her beer. “Buck wasn’t as bad as that Yank Shep brought over. That dude didn’t even know how to play.”
“That Yank happens to be my cousin,” Shep said. “And it’s not like I wanted to bring him. My mama insisted, and it was easier to drag him along than argue with her.”
“We explained the rules over and over”—Easton reached across the table to grab the potato chips—“and that dude still didn’t know whether to check his ass or scratch his watch.”
Whenever Tucker came home, he noticed the extra twang in his friends’ voices—not to mention the more colorful sayings—and he knew by the end of the night, he’d pick it right back up, his own accent thicker for a few days before the city smoothed it out a bit.
“All right, let’s see what you got,” Tucker said, and he and Addie placed their cards on the table at the same time.
Then she proceeded to take the last of his chips.
They played until everyone was sober again and Addie had pretty much cleaned them out. One by one they left, save the two of them.
“Are you staying here at the houseboat tonight?” she asked as she gathered her keys off the table outside. “Because you know that my door is always open, and I even have a bed that doesn’t sway.”
That was Addie’s way of offering him a place to crash without making him feel homeless.
His parents had divorced his junior year of high school, which was extra fun in a small town where everyone gossiped about it. The next hit came when the bank foreclosed on his childhood home, leaving him feeling completely uprooted, something he’d only ever confessed to Addie.
It didn’t help that Dad sold nearly everything so he could move towns, and Tucker had to beg him to hold off selling the houseboat.
Halfway through law school, Dad claimed he needed money too badly to wait any longer, so Tucker drove to Uncertainty, took out a loan against the small plot of land his grandfather had left him, and bought the houseboat himself. He’d nearly paid it off, although he’d already seen repairs that would need to be made whenever he found spare time—so probably about three years from now.
“I like it out here on the lake,” he said, “and I don’t mind if my bed rocks a little.”
“Dirty,” she teased, and he laughed.
Although now he was thinking about how long it’d been. Work was getting in the way of every single aspect of his social life. If he loved his job, it would be one thing, but he was giving up a lot for a future of making a lot of money—right now he still had plenty of bills and student loans to worry about.
A smile curved Addie’s lips as she ran her hand over the deck railing. “I love this mini-house and all our memories here.”
“Yeah, those were definitely the good ol’ days.”
He folded his forearms on the railing and looked out over the water. It’d been a long time since he’d been able to kick back and joke with people who understood him. A long time since he’d felt so relaxed. While being with the whole gang was a blast, Addie had always been his go-to when he needed advice or wanted to get more real.
Certain things couldn’t be communicated over the phone, and no matter how hard they’d tried to keep in touch, it just wasn’t the same as in person, and now he was out of practice.
So he stuck to simple. “Tonight was the most fun I’ve had in a long time.”
“Me too. Like I said, poker’s not the same without you. Same with football games, whether we’re both cheering for Auburn on Saturdays, or if you’re spending Sundays being an annoying ass who talks trash about my team.” She set her jaw. “Even you have to admit that the Falcons had a good season last year.”
“I admit nothing.”
“Stubborn,” she muttered. As if she wasn’t equally as stubborn. She sighed and lightly punched his arm. “Night, Crawford.”
He returned the gesture. “Night, Murph.”
She turned to go, but then abruptly spun around and wrapped her arms around his waist. “I understand that your job is demanding, but don’t be a stranger.”
He squeezed her back, noticing that her hair smelled fruity, like maybe strawberry or raspberry, or something berry, anyway.
“At least with Shep getting married you’ve got another excuse to come down and spend more than a weekend,” she said, and something deep in his gut tugged.
“Yeah, it’s good to have an excuse.” What he wanted was an excuse not to go back to his cold, generic apartment and mind-numbing job.
Back to his serious life where he’d have to feel the loneliness he was doing his best to pretend didn’t exist.
