Fall Guy (A Youngblood Book)

have some coffee? Get a bite?"
"Let me just tell...the people I came with," I say to him. "Do you want to get your car from valet?"
His embarrassed smile tells me that if he has a car, he did not opt to valet park.
"Or just wait by the doors," I amend quickly. "I'll be right there."
I find Gramma and she's already crossing over from tipsy into giddy. She gives me a hard hug and shoos me off, I'm sure assuming I'm with Margurite Holinger's grandson, but the details don't really matter.
What matters is that I'm out on a Saturday night.
Finally.
Jace is at the doors, and his smile is sweet, but his eyes are hungry as they follow me from across the room and out into the humming night air. He leads me down the street, and we hop into his car and set off. I make sure to take out my cell and text Brenna, and I mention it, too.
"Just letting my best friend know I left early," I tell Jace, to make it clear there is electronic proof of me leaving with a time-stamp and location in case he's not as sweet as his pretty eyes make him seem.
Plus that, he doesn't know Bren is all the way in New Jersey and couldn't save me if she wanted to.
"Cool. Do you want me to swing by and get her?" He quirks an encouraging smile at me, and I shake my head.
"She's with her boyfriend. At the gun range," I add, and his smile widens slightly.
He clears his throat, I think to keep from laughing. "If you're game, I got invited to this house party on the beach. A couple people from the chem program at Southern are going." He nods to my phone. "If you want to go, you can text your friend at the gun range the address first. Tonight's the kind of night that makes you want to be by the ocean, right?"
"I don't need to text the address." I give him a sheepish laugh. "She really will come, guns blazing, if anything fishy is going on. But a beach party sounds absolutely perfect, and you seem nice. Wrinkled, but nice."
We share a smile. He has the air conditioning on, but I roll the window down and let the salty air rise and burst through the interior.
"You seem nice, too. Beautiful and nice." The words spill out and a blush instantly works its way over his face.
I laugh into the night wind, giddy with the frothing promise of a heady evening earmarked for magic, compliments of a cute, appropriately attentive guy and the enticing crash of the waves on the beach we're whipping towards.

Winch 5
The moon is perfectly round and hangs low over the ocean like it might crash into the dark waves at any minute. I should be able to see the beauty in something like this moon on this perfect night, but, lately, everything feels dark and depressing as hell.
"Winchester!"
The yells from the house, overcrowded with dozens of already drunk, young, dancing fools almost drown out my brother's voice. But nothing, not even the world's most insane debauchery, can completely stifle Remington.
He trips across the beach to where I'm sitting, falls next to me in a mini-explosion of sand, and kisses the side of my face, his gnarly beard making me cringe.
"Winchester, brother, what are you doing staring at this...ocean? This is..." He trails off and burps, his breath beery and sharp with a mix of all the other alcohols he peppered the beer with. "This is depressing, my man. There are ladies galore up there. It's a wild rumpus. C'mon." He pulls at my arm. "C'mon, brother. What's with you lately?"
"Just not in the mood." I shrug his arm off.
I don't need to be on tonight. I don't even need to be here. There's nothing for me to do, officially, but I'm here anyway because it was claustrophobic at home with my mother asking what my problem is and where Lala's been, and at least if I'm right next to Remington, I can take a stab at keeping his crazy ass out of the trouble that always seems to find him.
"Lala is here. Grinding with that professor from Southern, hoping you'll see her." His laugh is soft and completely amused, easy. "Used to be, seeing her doing that shit would get your fists up fast, man. Not so much, eh?"
"Not so much."
I don't feel like discussing how Lala could dry hump or full-on screw every professor in every department at Georgia Southern, and it wouldn't make me feel a damn thing. The few days I had with Evan blew the months I had with Lala out of the water.
"Ma is upset over you two breaking up. She thought she was finally going to get to plan a wedding." Remington swings his arms in front of his chest, the conductor of his own stupid bullshit. "Dum, dum, dum, dum," he tones and laughs wildly, pulling a flask from his pocket and taking a long pull that half-dribbles down his chin.
I rub a hand over my face and stifle a growl. "Ma can marry you off if she's so damn ready for a wedding."
As soon as the words are out, I want to punch myself in the face. Remington can be a dick, but he always had the softest heart of anyone I know, and I just squeezed fucking lemon juice all over the one wound that even my happy-go-lucky brother can't scab over.
"I'm sorry, man." He's already standing. "Remington! I'm sorry!"
He's staggering back to the house, and I have a feeling my stupid comment is about to unloose a whole wild chain of craziness.
I jump up and kick at the sand, but it's not remotely a good enough release for all the pissed-off shit I have bottled up.
"Fuck!" I scream into the night, loud and long as a wolf's howl.
I stalk back to the house and search all his usual sulking haunts, but my brother