Page 53 of The Curveball
“So, Darren.” I point the rolled note at the guy wearing the Tire Heaven tee. Turns out, he owns the place. I make a mental note to satisfy all my tire needs there from now on. “And Carter.”
The second twin nods again and takes a third cookie from the plate in the center of the table. “You got it.”
It took a few minutes to catch my bearings when they’d circled me. But after I debunked the tweet saying I was being investigated for the disappearance of novelist Marci Grey, Carter and Darren Warren (I note the different last names and tuck that away for later) transformed into different men.
They look like they’re the same age as Wren; I’m guessing they’re close half-brothers, or maybe stepbrothers. I don’t know, but it’s a piece of Wren Fox I’d like to crack. Truth be told, anything about her past intrigues me.
Who am I kidding?Anythingat all about Wren intrigues me.
“Hey, good season, by the way,” Carter says through his bite of cookie. “Ever since Wren became friends with Alice, I’ve watched the Kings. Hope the out isn’t eating you up too much.”
I shrug one shoulder. “It happens. I’d feel worse if I took the risk to run home when I didn’t need to. With bases loaded there isn’t much we can do, you know?”
“True.” Carter leans back in his chair. He’s the talkative twin, Darren is polite, but more melancholy. “So, a concussion, huh?”
“Yeah. It’s a pretty good-sized bump.”
“I still don’t get why she moved in here and didn’t call one of us?”
Ah, the whole living in the car thing. I skipped that detail. Wren had been mortified enough, and I promised I was good with secrets.
I take another cookie. “She has mold in her apartment, so we figured it was easiest if she came and stayed here. I have the room.”
Carter scoffs. “It’s just weird because she’s never, ever mentioned you to us by name. She usesKingsto talk about the team, not individual names.”
It shouldn’t be a surprise that Wren doesn’t think of me like I think of her, but it stings a little all the same. I’m not sure how far to take this with her brothers, though. I’m not sure what they know. I need my tag-team here, but until then I try my best to keep things vague.
“She put up a bit of a fight about me helping her out, but I couldn’t exactly leave her out there with a concussion, right?”
Carter chuckles. “Sounds like her. Stubborn as a bull. I’m surprised you got her into the ambulance at all without sedating her.”
“I’m convincing.” I grin, breaking the cookie in my hand in half, but not eating any. “And a lot bigger. That helps.”
Her brothers even laugh the same. I’m starting to figure their roles out by talking with them. Carter scrutinizes me with a smile; he’s probably the least bothered brother. The more open one. Darren is more in the camp of looking for weak points in case he needs to break a bone. If I had to guess, I’d say he’s the oldest. Even if it’s by a few minutes, he puts out big time oldest brother vibes.
I don’t have siblings, but I do have a protective instinct embedded in the DNA of each cell. I can relate to Darren’s frown. Hurt someone I love, yeah, you’re going to feel the consequences.
“I’m sorry you guys had to find out like this,” I say, trying to appease brother bear.
Darren finally cracks and speaks. “It was surprising.”
“Did you try to get ahold of Wren first? I’m not even sure how you found out where I live.”
The twins give each other a sheepish look. Carter rubs the back of his neck and shifts in his seat. “Hindsight, yeah, we should’ve called Wren. We, uh, we tend to get a little hotheaded when it comes to her.”
“Understood.” I wave a hand as if wiping his unease away.
“And it shouldn’t be this way,” Darren says, “but it’s not that hard to find out where high-profile people live sometimes.”
The hair on my arms lifts. I’m getting a gate.
A big clatter comes from the hallway, followed by the rush of shoes on the wood floors. Ten seconds later, Wren skids to a stop at the entrance of the kitchen. “No!”
The three of us adjust in our chairs to face her. Wren hugs her purse to her chest and has a wild look in her eyes. She’s dressed in her eccentric librarian Barbie style again, and I have to swallow to keep from doing something pathetic. Like drool.
A frilly pink skirt, white sneakers, then a silky button up shirt that covers every inch of her neck and hides the smooth planes of her throat.
Stop looking at her neck. I’m thinking too much of kissing that pulse point, and that’ll do no one any favors.