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“That’s Chad. He’s from here, but he moved to Pinecrest after high school and turned into a real tool—box.”

“Toolbox,” Emmett repeated.

Beau snorted. “Yep, that’s it.”

Emmett ran off to play with a few acquaintances, leaving me with Beau, who was doing his best to sell me on the joys of playing flag football. I hummed along, aware of Jess’s watchful stare.

I wondered if she’d heard Clark’s boyfriend theory. Ugh. Awkward. I gave a friendly nod, noting Gretchen beside her with her head buried in a book and Rhys sitting next to a girl who was checking out a teenage boy on Elmwood’s team.

I was curious about their dynamic and irritated with myself for feeling protective. I didn’t want anything crappy to touch them.

You’d think I’d have learned by now that it was impossible to keep the people you cared about out of harm’s way, but no. I just hoped that Gretchen had her nose in her book because she wanted to read, not escape. And I hoped Rhys’s heart wasn’t going to get trampled by the girl with the wandering eyes.

I chided myself for being an idiot.

That was life. You couldn’t stop heartache from happening. But you could be sure to appreciate the good parts while they lasted.

Emmett and I showed up at Troy’s with Spider-Man and a twelve-pack of beer.

I was nervous and I had no idea why. This was a barbecue with friends, and I’d been extended a courtesy invitation. I wasn’t one of them; I was the guy who’d befriended Reg’s dad and worked for Cooper. Or maybe they’d heard Clark’s theory and suspected we were more than friends. These guys would know that was code for fuck-buddies.

Which begged the question: How were outed fuck-buddies supposed to act in polite company?

“Hey, you made it! Welcome.” Troy motioned for us to enter, chuckling as Emmett stood with his mouth open in amazement, pointing at the sensory-activated, life-sized talking witch at the base of a modern stairwell.

“You’re not scared, are you, my pretty? Bwahaha!”

“That’s…really spooky,” Emmett whispered.

“I know,” Troy agreed. “I put her in the living room at first, but she scared the bejeezus out of me first thing in the morning, and I had to move her. I’m going to put her on the lawn on Halloween, but she’s too noisy to leave out there all the time. I tried that, too. My neighbor jumped three feet in the air, carrying two bags of groceries. I think he’s still mad at me.”

I handed over the beer with a laugh. “I kind of don’t blame him.”

Troy led us into his beautiful lakeview home with floor-to-ceiling windows that looked out on a massive deck and a huge yard. His house was tastefully furnished with a boxy sectional and matching armchairs facing a stone hearth and possibly the biggest flat-screen television I’d ever seen outside of a movie theater.

Emmett gaped in awe. I could one hundred percent guarantee he’d never been inside a home quite this nice. “Do you have a ’cuzzi?”

“A hot tub? Yep. I also have a big table outside with a bunch of pumpkins that need to be decorated. Wanna help? The other kids got a head start, but⁠—”

Emmett tore through the open sliding door without another word.

“My nephew is very shy,” I commented sarcastically.

“I can tell.” Troy nudged my elbow. “I’ll get you a cold one.”

“I got it.” Reg stepped between us, offered me a beer, and clinked his bottle against mine. “Cheers.”

Troy mumbled something about chili and hot dogs before heading into the kitchen, leaving us alone. Though, not quite.

Cooper, Silas, and two of Troy’s assistant coaches and their spouses were in the living area. They called out a greeting and resumed a heated football-related discussion. Anders’s wife, Maeve, pointed to the deck outside and mimed that they’d brought their two kids with them. I knew their son was Emmett’s age, and their daughter went to school with Gretchen. Excellent.

I smiled and probably should have said something, but Reg La Rue in jeans and a snug-fitted light gray V-neck sweater that complemented his eyes was all kinds of distracting.

“You look hot. New sweater? The gray matches your hair.”

“Watch it,” he growled in a faux-menacing tone that hummed through my chest like a purring engine. “How was the game today?”

“I think Wood Hollow won.”