The Anti-Hero (The Goode Brothers, #1)(46)

As for The Rake and His Reluctant Bride, she loved it. But then again, Gladys always loves the broody alphas.

“He was so…cruel to her,” Mary replies, looking a little uneasy.

“He only acted that way, but deep down, he really loved her,” Sylvia adds.

“I just don’t understand why. If he was on that ship for so long, why was he so mean to her when he returned? It doesn’t make sense.”

“Men don’t make sense,” Gladys says, popping a chip into her mouth.

“It added conflict,” Sylvia replies, making a scowling expression. “If he had come back to her happy and ready to marry her, there wouldn’t have been a story.”

I let out a laugh. “I think it’s deeper than that.”

“How so?” she asks.

But as I remember the rake in the story and how cruel and dismissive he was of the heroine, I’ll admit I’m struggling to find the depth I’m looking for. “I don’t know. I just think there was more to his brutish attitude than just a lame story device.

He was broody and rough, but he wasn’t a bad guy. Besides…

I think the baroness liked it.”

“Yes, let’s talk about the good stuff,” Gladys adds with a wink. “Like that scene in the garden.”

We all hum in unison.

“That was pretty hot,” I say, taking a long sip of my margarita.

“Not as hot as their wedding night,” Sylvia replies. “The way he tied her to the bed with the ropes.”

Mary is blushing across from me, so I stifle my laugh with my lips around my glass.

“He must have learned how to tie those knots on the pirate ship,” I joke, and we all erupt with laughter.

“My husband was in the Navy for twenty years and he never did that with me,” Gladys adds. Now we’re all howling, and my cheeks are burning from laughter. As I wipe away the tears falling from my eyes, I notice Mary quickly compose herself and stare wide-eyed at something over my shoulder.

“Can we help you?” she asks with a small voice.

Under the table, Gladys nudges my knee, so I quickly spin around and stare at Adam, standing near the extra-large dryers and watching us with confusion.

It’s weird how my mood instantly brightens at the sight of him before remembering how rude he was on the phone, like some toxic mixture of excitement and bitterness.

“Hey,” I mumble.

“What are you doing?” he asks, glancing at the ladies around me.

“I told you. Book club.”

His only response to that is a flinch of his brows. “Can we go upstairs, please?”

“No,” I reply sternly, “I’m in the middle of something.”

“Well…”

“Why don’t you join us?” Sylvia asks in her sweet Southern drawl.

“Yeah, pull up a chair.” Gladys’s voice is a little smokier and less cordial, but the invitation is still there.

“No, thank you, ladies. Sage…” His eyes are piercing as he stares at me. There’s not a single chance in hell he’s going to get me out of this chair and up those stairs before the end of

this meeting. I have half a mind to tell him that right now, but I don’t want to let my harsh response ruin the fun we were having.

“Come on, we could use your input,” Gladys adds, breaking the tension between Adam and me.

“My input?” There’s that deepening wrinkle between his brows.

“Yeah. We need a man to explain this to us, so you’re right on time.”

Sylvia jumps up to grab Adam a chair, unfolding it and placing it next to me. Meanwhile, Mary is loading food onto a paper plate and handing it to him as he shuffles hesitantly toward the empty chair. I watch him with amusement, biting my lip, as he awkwardly takes a seat and smiles politely at the ladies fawning over him.

On the other side of the table, I notice Mary staring at Adam like he’s the greatest thing she’s ever seen. He must notice too, because, after a moment, he gives her a tight-lipped grin.

“You recognize me, don’t you?”

“I have all of your father’s books,” she replies, launching into full-on fangirl mode. “And yours too!”

“Thank you.”

“I didn’t know you wrote a book,” I reply, staring at him over my margarita glass.

“Two,” he replies.

“What are they about?” My interest is piqued. I guess I’ve had Adam pegged as his father’s son for so long I forgot to wonder what he actually does on his own. Somehow on my Google search, I got so distracted by his family that I missed his personal accomplishments.

“They’re devotional,” he replies, brushing it off like I wouldn’t care, but Mary quickly cuts him off.

“Oh, they’re so much more than that. I gave your first book, Prodigal, to my son when he came home from Afghanistan. It saved his life.”

Aside from the tumbling of clothes in the dryers behind us, the room is silent as we all stare at either Adam or Mary. It’s like seeing a whole new side of him, kind and warm and humble. Suddenly, I realize there’s probably a lot about Adam Goode I don’t understand.

With grace, he nods at Mary as he says, “Please thank your son for his service. And thank you for sharing that with me.