Page 97 of Panty Dropper

“Cut to three days later and there’ve been zero sightings of the two of you, and you’re walking around like someone pissed in your Cheerios. And you’re saying those two things have nothing to do with each other?”

“Yep.” I lied

“Was it the curse?”

“The curse?!” Even though my brothers and I never discussed the folklore associated with our family, I just assumed that they both thought it was just as much a steamin’ pile of horseshit as I did. “There’s no fucking curse.”

“You don’t know that.”

I turned to face my brother. “Are you serious? You actually think that there’s a curse?”

“I don’t know.” He shrugged. “Maybe.”

“Maybe? Has the sun fried your brain out on that boat?” I couldn’t believe what I was hearing.

“Well, look at Pop, and Uncle Henry and Uncle Will,” he shot back defensively.

“You never even met Uncle Henry or Uncle Will.”

“Well, I lived with Pop, and he was a miserable son of a bitch after Mom died. Tragically, I might point out. And what about Hank? Do you remember that girl he dated in high school?”

“Nothing happened to Melody or Hank. Last I checked they were both alive and well.”

“I know. Exactly! Because they broke up.”

“You’re an idiot.” I mumbled. “Maybe there was no brain there for the sun to fry in the first place.”

“I’m thinking you’re more Grumpy than Mopey.”

I was done with this conversation. A small part of me felt bad for being so uncharacteristically hard on the kid, but I had no desire to talk about Pop, Mama, Hank, Melody, the “curse”, or Reagan. And he seemed to have no inclination to leave me the fuck alone.

Anyway, what would I say to her even if I did want to talk? After what I’d thought was one of the most special, intimate days I’d ever had with someone, she wasn’t calling me back or returning my texts. Not a whole lot to say about that. It was pretty much one of those “the thing speaks for itself” kinda deals.

“So what’s going on with Reagan? I know that you’re used to girls falling all over themselves to be with you and she’s not. Is that the problem?”

I remained silent.

“You really are turning into Hank.”

“Shut the fuck up,” I snapped.

“See.” Jimmy held his hands out as if my response was evidence of Hank-like behavior. “Look, I like Reagan, but I heard that she was engaged before she moved here. Maybe you were a rebound?”

“Is that what you came here to tell me?”

“Nah.” He crossed his arms, lounging against the railing as he watched me clean up the patio. “I just wanted to see for myself if you really were being a miserable bastard. Mission accomplished, I guess.”

“Goodnight, Jimmy.” I said as I walked past him back into the bar to close up.

“Night, Grumpy.” He gave me a quick salute, pushed off the railing, and hopped off the deck. As he headed around back to where his truck was parked, he whistled the song the seven dwarfs did in the Snow White movie.

Dumbass.

As I cashed out the remaining patrons and finished closing up, I did my best not to let what Jimmy said get under my skin. Was I just a rebound to Reagan? It was possible.

And worse, was I turning into my older brother? For so long, I’d skated through life on autopilot in the feelings department. Now, as soon as I tried to engage, I got moody as fuck because a girl that I thought I might be in love with was ignoring me?

No. This was ridiculous. I wasn’t going to be that guy. I wasn’t going to end up like Hank, who wouldn’t crack a smile if he won the lottery. Or worse, like my Pop, who never recovered from losing my mama.

If things with Reagan were meant to be, they would be. I didn’t believe in curses, hell, I wasn’t even sure I believed in love.

But I did believe in what I felt when I was around Reagan and what she felt for me. If that wasn’t real, I didn’t know what was.

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