Chapter 1

I was done with root beer floats.

My old singles group out in California suffered from such severe refreshment impairment that even the girls never broke out of the norm. Root beer floats and Oreos. Every. Single. Gathering. They claimed it was tradition. I claimed it was nothing short of idiotic.

I spent more than a year cursing the guy who decided mixing root beer with vanilla ice cream was a good idea and wishing I could kick him in the shins. After the kick, which I’m sure would have made me feel better, I would have drafted a letter to every Church singles group from there to Mississippi, letting them know the root-beer-float ship had sailed in 1982 and for all that was good and holy could they please make brownies or something?

I landed in Chapel Hill, North Carolina, pretty much over it. Over all of it.

Was I still young enough to attend singles activities?

I was twenty-five, so technically . . . yes. But who wanted to dwell on technicalities? Definitely not me. Not with root beer on the menu.

By the end of my second Sunday in Chapel Hill, I was already lined up to start teaching Sunday School to seven-year-olds in the “not for singles” family congregation, which sounded positively amazing. Before I moved in, I’d kinda hoped family-style church would be my only option, but Chapel Hill was a college town surrounded by other college towns. Three major universities and half a dozen smaller ones fed into the same body of Mormon singles, including UNC, Duke, and NC State, which made for a pretty impressive gathering. Impressive enough to warrant giving the singles their own meeting time free from hovering grandparents or noisy children. I’d felt momentarily lured to the idea of singles church when a well-intentioned woman sharing my pew had given me a flyer for the following day’s singles mingle.

“My daughter is head of the social planning committee in the singles group, and they do all kinds of fun things,” she’d told me. “Plus, there are lots of grad students. If you’re worried about being too old, don’t be. You’ll fit right in.”

I’d ignored the rub of her tactless observation—I hadn’t said anything about feeling too old, which meant I just looked it—and considered the possibility of grad students. But then I’d taken a quick glance at the flyer.

Board games and . . . wait for it . . . root beer floats.

Yeah. There couldn’t have been a clearer sign. I’d crumpled the flyer on my way out the door and chucked it into the trash can at the end of the hall.

Seven-year-olds? Here I come.

I’d moved into the tiny garage apartment above my grandmother’s house two weeks before I was due to start my new job at the Winding Way Inn. The back side of the inn abutted my grandmother’s property, and I’d been quick to make the inn’s grounds my summertime haunt whenever I’d visited Granny Grace. I’d wandered through the gardens, sat on the giant porch swing, and read in the limbs of the blossoming cherry tree on the east end of the rose garden. I’d never spent any time inside—I wasn’t a guest, so I wasn’t allowed—but I still felt like the inn was mine. Like some cosmic force understood that simply loving a place was enough to make it my own. Which was why I’d been so excited when Granny Grace had called me to tell me about the job opening. She’d seen it in the local paper and called me right away. “You always said you wanted to run the place one day, Lane. Now’s your chance.”

It wasn’t really running the entire inn. Just the special events. But still. Winding Way was infused with all the magic and charm of my childhood summers, with the added enticement of being back on the East Coast and closer to my family.

The Saturday before my first day at work, I stood at the foot of my apartment stairs and stretched my long arms over my head. I needed to run. Was dressed for it and everything. But it was hot. I was used to North Carolina’s humidity. I’d grown up in Asheville, a city four hours west, but Chapel Hill was flat and relatively breezeless—too far east to benefit from the mountains and too far west to benefit from the coast.

“It’s too hot to be running, Miss Lane.” Granny Grace stepped out onto the porch and leaned on the paint-chipped railing, one hand raised to shield her eyes from the sun.

“It’s June. It’s too hot for everything.”

“Not drinking sweet tea.” She held up her glass. “Never too hot for that.”

I didn’t love stereotypes. I was a Mormon, a Southerner, and biracial—my mother was Puerto Rican, and my father was black—which meant I had all kinds of reasons to resent people categorizing me based on what they thought I was before they knew anything else about me. But as far as Southern women went, my grandmother on my father’s side, Grace Ann Bishop, was quintessential. If you take everything I love about the South—the kindness, the gentleness, the food—and roll it into one person, you have my grandmother.

“You have something to drink?” Granny called. “You’ll need it.”

I held up my water bottle. “Just filled it up.” I retied my left shoe. I was stalling, but the heat was brutal.

Granny Grace wiped her brow and stepped toward her front door. “I’m making a meat loaf later if you want some. Just knock if you get hungry.”

She’d brought up a meat loaf the night I’d moved in—crispy onions on top, a tangy sauce drizzled over the entire thing, and a heaping pile of mashed potatoes to go with it. I especially appreciated Granny Grace’s love for cooking because I hated to cook. Loathed it. Unfortunate because of how much I loved eating. It wasn’t just about the food though. I loved the togetherness food brought. The family gatherings. The friendships. To have one of my favorite people living right downstairs who loved to cook and share was a little like a dream come true.

“I’ll definitely come by,” I told her.

Finally off my porch, I hit the sidewalk and ran square into the middle of what could only be described as a gaggle of women. One stepped forward. She was tiny and perky and blonde.

“Are you Lane?”

And her voice sounded exactly like her do-gooder, flyer-sharing mother. I’d been outed. “Yeah.”

“Oh my word. You are just as beautiful as Mom said you were. Are those curls natural? Seriously. So gorgeous.”

My hair was pulled back into a ponytail for my run, so I don’t know how gorgeous it actually was, but I wasn’t going to reject a compliment. “Thanks. Yeah, it’s natural.”

“I’m so glad we caught you.” She glanced at her watch. “If we hurry, we’ll make it before the game starts.”

My eyebrows went up. “Game?”

Another girl stepped forward. “Trust us on this one. It’s tradition. Every time a new girl moves in.”

I took a step backward. “Right, but I didn’t move in. I didn’t really want to join up with the singles this time around.”

Perky Blonde rolled her eyes. “But you’re still one of us. I’m Chloe, that’s Emily, Steph, and Melanie. I promise we’re harmless. We can even be fun sometimes. Just come. I promise you won’t be disappointed.”

“I was about to head out for a run.”

“And you still can.” She put her tiny hands on her tiny hips. “After the game. We drove all the way over here from Raleigh to pick you up. You have to come.”

I sighed. She was little, but she was fierce. “Do we have to go back to Raleigh? I don’t know that I have that kind of time.” It wasn’t like the capital city was far. Maybe half an hour, but still. This was my last Saturday before work started. Time was precious.

She smiled. “Nope. Only over to Carrboro. It’s less than ten minutes from here.”

Hmm. Carrboro meant they were driving right through Chapel Hill to get there anyway, so it’s not like they’d gone out of their way to pick me up. They would have driven all the way from Raleigh regardless. But whatever. I’d been looking for reasons to delay my run anyway. “Fine. But I have to be home by noon.”

Chloe smiled in victory. “I promise.” She tossed her keys to a brown-haired girl—Melanie?—behind her. “Start the car. I want to be there before they start warming up.”

* * *

I was expecting the worst. Singles-organized, Saturday-morning badminton. Or the most cursed of all group sports—volleyball. Turned out, the game was soccer. I was willing to get behind a soccer game. Until I realized I was meant only to be a spectator.

I wasn’t good at spectating. Especially when it came to soccer.

“So we just sit and watch? Who’s gonna play?” I asked.

“Yes, we just watch.” Chloe tugged me down onto the bleachers that lined the field. “And you’ll see why soon enough. They should be arriving any minute.”

It didn’t look like there was going to be an actual official game. There was some semblance of a team warming up on the right half of the field, but I didn’t see any refs or officials. There wasn’t even a scoreboard. It looked like a casual pickup game in the park, which only reaffirmed my desire to play instead of watch. I was about to say as much when Chloe grabbed my arm and pointed. “Right there. There they are.”

“There who are?” I followed her gaze across the field. Walking in a side-by-side line past the left goal and toward center field, looking a little too much like an Adidas commercial, were four men.

“We call them the untouchables,” Emily whispered, her voice breathy and high.

“The what?”

“The untouchables,” Melanie repeated. “The Hamilton brothers. All Mormon. All gorgeous. And all completely, irrevocably undateable.”

Chloe sighed. “Sad, isn’t it?”

As soon as Melanie said “brothers,” I could see the common thread running through them all. It wasn’t a bad thread. It was decidedly good. I mean, I wasn’t going to sigh, but I also wasn’t sorry I’d come along. “Why are they untouchable?”

Chloe cleared her throat. “That one on the end—Cooper—he’s only nineteen and leaving for a mission at the end of the summer. The one in the blue—that’s David. He’s one of the twins. Not identical. He’s engaged. Gray shirt, green stripe on his socks—that’s Simon. He’s the oldest and totally boring and has a long-distance girlfriend who lives in . . . I don’t know. Somewhere far away. Overseas, maybe? I can’t remember.”

My eyes focused on the only brother yet to be mentioned. The other twin. “And the last one?”

Chloe wiped her palms on her knees. “That’s Jamie. The best-looking of the bunch and the only one unattached.”

My eyes darted from Jamie back to the oldest brother, Simon. I actually thought maybe Simon was the best-looking. When I said as much to Chloe, she squinted at the field for a second, then shook her head and gave me a dismissive wave. “No way. Jamie’s totally hotter. Plus, the girlfriend disqualifies Simon.”

I moved my gaze back to Jamie. He jogged away from his brothers, calling something over his shoulder with a grin, then turned and looked directly at us. Every girl on the bleachers gasped. Except me. I did not gasp. He smiled and waved.

“He’s the biggest flirt,” Chloe said.

“Then why is he untouchable?” I asked. “You said he was unattached.”

“That’s just it. He flirts, but he never asks anyone out.”

I scoffed. “Has anyone ever asked him?”

“There are rumors it’s happened.” Chloe gave her shoulders a dismissive shrug. “But I think it’s all talk. Everyone is too chicken.”

“Because he never says yes to anyone.” Steph finished her thought. “For whatever reason, he’s just . . . impossible to catch.”

“Untouchable,” Melanie said. “Completely.”

“You’re lucky,” Chloe nudged my shoulder. “They don’t live that far from you. We’re all so spread out, but you guys are almost neighbors.”

Neighbors. Interesting. I crossed my arms. No one was impossible to catch. Maybe he just hadn’t met the right girl. No. Scratch that. Maybe he hadn’t met the right woman. Not a sideline-sitting, sighing girl but a woman. Someone willing to get in the game. Figuratively and literally. I knew life wasn’t a big game of truth or dare. We weren’t in middle school. I didn’t have anything to prove. But sitting there watching Jamie warm up, I felt the tiny thrill of challenge that had driven me my whole life. I was a woman who went after the impossible. I was a woman who liked to win.

I stood. My running gear wasn’t the greatest for soccer, but it would do for one game.

“Where are you going?” Chloe asked.

“I’m going to play.”

“Play what?”

I raised my eyebrows and motioned to the field. “Soccer? It looks like they could use another player.”

Steph shook her head. “You can’t play. They get really serious about these games. Do you even . . . Have you played before?”

Ha. Yeah. A few times. “I’ve played enough. It’ll be fine. You guys can cheer for me.” I stepped off the bleachers before they could protest again and headed straight for Jamie. Untouchable? Yeah. I didn’t think so.

“Hey.” I stuck out my hand. “Lane Bishop. You need another player? I’m great midfield.” Up close, he almost did make me sigh. Dark, short hair. Clean-shaven. Dimple in his chin. Deep-set, chocolate-brown eyes.

He shook my hand and smiled. “Jamie Hamilton. You’re here with the girls from church, but I’ve never seen you before. That means you’re new.”

“I am new—just moved in a couple weeks ago—but I opted out of the singles scene this time around.”

“What does that even mean? Opted out? You aren’t single?”

“Funny. I’m asking you about soccer, and you’re asking me very personal questions.”

He grimaced. “Noted. Sorry for prying.” He gave me the once-over. “You don’t really look dressed for soccer.”

I shrugged. “I didn’t know there was going to be a game. I promise I know how to play. Maybe someone has an extra set of shin guards?”

He scratched the back of his head and looked back at his brothers. A group of guys had collected around them, but it still didn’t look like enough for a full team. “I really think we’re all set.”

I did a quick count, then shot him a look. “Come on. You’re down three men. At least let me play outside defense.” I motioned across the field to the other team. “They look like they’ve got a full lineup. You’d rather play outnumbered than have me on your team?”

He huffed. “That’s not what I said.”

“Okay. I’ll play, then.”

He glanced back at the bleachers where Chloe and the others still sat. “Look, things may look casual, but . . . we play tough. Are you sure you won’t be in over your head?”

In over my head? Sure, it had been a few years since I’d played in a real game, but who was he to discount me so quickly? I took a step backward. “You know what? You’re probably right.”

He held up his hands. “Look, I wasn’t trying to hurt your feelings.”

“Oh, no, you didn’t. I totally get it.”

“We can kick the ball around later if you want. After the game?”

For a second, I wondered if Chloe would have considered that a victory. It was almost like he’d asked me out. But I didn’t want a sympathy sorry-I-hurt-your-feelings date. “That’s kind of you to offer, but I think I’ll be fine. Thanks though.” With a final wave, I turned and jogged across the field right into the middle of the other team’s huddle. “Okay, who’s in charge over here?”

Beyond a few raised eyebrows, no one responded. I huffed. “Seriously? You’re all going to stare at me, but no one will talk?”

“Hablamos español, chica. No comprendamos.”

I rolled my eyes. Fine. “Quién está a cargo? Capitan del equipo?”

At least that got a response. A guy motioned behind him with his head. “Hey, Carlos?” he said. “Está encargado?”

“Depends on who’s asking.” Carlos sat on a bench a few yards away, tying his cleats. He looked a little older than everyone else, maybe midthirties. His long hair was pulled back, and he wore a closely trimmed goatee. I walked toward him, and he stood to meet me. “Sorry. We don’t let Matias out of his cage very often. When we do, he forgets how to be polite.”

I stuck out my hand. “Sorry for barging in on your game. I’m Lane.”

“Carlos.” He smiled. “What can I do for you?”

I motioned to Jamie and the rest of his team across the field. “How hard are those guys to beat?”

Carlos folded his arms across his chest and grunted. “They’ve had a bit of a winning streak lately, but it isn’t impossible.”

“How frequently do you play?”

“Most Saturdays.”

“When was the last time you beat them?”

He narrowed his eyes. “Why are you asking so many questions?”

I weighed my next words carefully. “Because I really want them to lose today. And I want to help make it happen.”

A few other players moved closer.

“You, huh?” Carlos asked. “Forgive my doubts, but you’re just one person.”

“One person the other team isn’t expecting to be any good. Jamie just shot me down like I’m still playing youth league. But I promise I’m qualified.”

Carlos raised an eyebrow. “How qualified?”

“UC Berkeley. Three-time conference champions, Division I National Champions my senior year.”

“Jamie—the tall one. He played in college too,” Carlos said.

My confidence wavered. I had an impressive soccer pedigree, and I knew it. But ultimately, I had no idea what I was up against. I’d been riding on determination buffered with a little bit of bravado and a hope for some good luck. It didn’t take much effort to imagine a smirk on Jamie’s face if my plan backfired and I helped the opposing team to nothing but defeat. Still, it was too late to back down.

“Just let me play. If we don’t win . . .” I hesitated. “I’ll buy your entire team dinner tonight.”

Carlos laughed and shook his head but then seemed to consider. “Dinner for the whole team? You’re not worried we’ll throw the game just to get a free meal?”

I narrowed my eyes, and a few of the players chuckled. “You wouldn’t.”

He rubbed his chin. “You play midfield?”

I nodded. “Center.”

He ran his hand across his forehead. “Fine. But if you screw up, you’re moving to the outside, and you’ll never touch the ball.”

Good grief. Jamie was right. These guys were serious about their sport. “I won’t screw up.” Did he think I’d pretended my way through four years of collegiate soccer?

Carlos’s face softened. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to sound harsh.” He motioned to a bag a few feet behind him. “There are extra shin guards if you want them.”

I pulled on a set of guards and took my place midfield. I breathed in the earthy smell of the field. It was good to be playing again. The smell of the grass. The sun on my shoulders. The thrill of anticipation. I’d forgotten how much it all felt like home.

I grabbed my ankle, pulling it up behind me to stretch my quad. I caught Jamie’s eye as I released it and took hold of my other foot. He stood maybe twenty yards away, a broad smile on his face, and scratched his head. I shrugged my shoulders and waved. In over my head? Yeah. Give me half an hour.

My father used to say it was both my greatest strength and my greatest weakness that I was so competitive. It wasn’t so much that I had to be the best at everything. I always recognized things that weren’t for me and never felt badly for walking away. Ballet? Nope. Horseback riding? Not even a little. But soccer was my thing. My passion. When I was on the field, I was terrible at not winning.

Which was why it was so frustrating that Jamie was so good. Better than I’d expected. With his brothers flanking him, the four of them made playing look like a choreographed dance. It was effortless, almost magical to watch. Still, I held my own. I played hard. Ran hard. Maneuvered, twisted, danced. We were four minutes in when I scored my first goal.

Carlos gave me a high five. “Not in youth league now, are you?”

We took a break at halftime, the score tied at three. Two of my team’s goals had been mine. I retrieved my water bottle from the sidelines, Chloe and the rest of her friends cheering as I approached. Swooning over guys was one thing but nothing like a little girl power to get everyone fired up.

“Seriously,” Chloe said. “We watch these guys play all the time, and it’s never been this fun. I hope you stomp them in the second half.”

“Ooh, heads up,” Steph said. “The enemy team approaches.”

I turned around, watching as Jamie jogged over, stopping a few feet away. “Fine, I cave. Who are you?”

I shrugged. “I already told you who I was.”

“You know that’s not what I’m asking.”

I kicked the ball to him, and he stopped it with his foot. “Right now, I’m just a girl who made a few lucky goals.”

He scoffed. “Luck, huh?”

“Jamie, let’s go!” Someone called from across the field. “You changing teams?”

He reached down and picked up the ball, then started to back away. He smiled and shook his head. “We’re not through yet.”

I held up my hands. “Bring it on, pretty boy.”

My new friends cheered for me again as I took my place on the field. Jamie shot them a look, apparently noticing that his cheering section had changed their allegiance. It only made them cheer louder. I grinned. Yeah. That’s the way it is.

Forty minutes later, my team was up by one, the smile on Jamie’s face had long since faded, and I was dying. I’d been running on a regular basis, but nothing got my heart pounding like the stop and go of a soccer game. Factor in the adrenaline of competition, and it became a seriously intense workout. I was definitely feeling the burn.

But I couldn’t stop. Every time I felt like quitting, the look of confidence on Jamie’s face, the speed with which he’d underestimated me, flashed through my mind. We were winning, sure, but we couldn’t afford to relax. I raced toward Jamie as he passed the ball to his brother, the older one, who dropped his shoulder and faked left, then surged around Carlos and made a goal.

Fantastic. Tied game.

I stopped and leaned forward, resting my hands on my knees, my breathing heavy.

Matias came up behind me. “You okay, Lane?”

I glared at him. “Oh, look. He speaks English.”

He grinned. “Forgive me?”

I stood upright. “How much time do we have?”

He glanced at his watch, the only thing keeping unofficial time. “A little more than two minutes.”

I nodded. “Let’s do this, then.”

We dug deep and kept pushing, but Jamie’s defense was amazing, and we could not get a shot through. With the clock running down to the final seconds of the game, the pressure was on big time. Carlos surged forward, Matias and another player I couldn’t name close on his heels. In a second of crystal clarity, I saw the play happening in my head. I ran wide to the right, then crossed over to center field in time to catch a crossover pass from Carlos. For a brief second, my path to the goal was clear, but Jamie was approaching from the left, hard and fast. In a helicopter move my old college coach would have been proud of, I maneuvered around him and sent the ball sailing toward the goal. Their keeper jumped for it, but it arced over him and hit the net. Score!

We’d won five to four.

I collapsed onto the field, my legs feeling like rubber and my lungs on fire, buoyed only by the exultant victory cries of my teammates.

Carlos dropped to one knee beside me. “That was some game. You okay?”

I sat up, took Carlos’s offered hand, and let him pull me to my feet. “I am woefully ashamed of how out of shape I feel, but I’ll be fine.”

Chloe and the others were crossing the field from the sidelines, but one of the Hamiltons was on his way over too, two water bottles in his hand.

Emily reached me first. “Which one is he again?” I whispered to her, looking at the approaching Hamilton.

“That’s Simon,” she responded.

“The oldest, right?”

“Yep.”

I brushed the grass off my palms and arms.

Simon handed a water bottle to Carlos, then offered the other to me. “Nice game.”

Carlos grinned. “Lucky for us, your cocky brother wouldn’t let her play on your side.”

Simon looked at me, his eyebrows raised in question. “You wanted to play on our team?”

I nodded. “Jamie said I’d be in over my head.”

Simon laughed. “That explains why he was so annoyed. I’m Simon, Jamie’s older and much less competitive brother.”

I opened the water and took a long drink. “I’m Lane.” I looked across the field and saw Jamie stalking away, his bag flung over his shoulder. “Is he okay?”

Simon followed my gaze. “Don’t worry about Jamie. He’ll simmer down eventually.”

“Yeah, and then challenge you to a rematch,” Carlos said. “He is not a man who likes to lose.”

“I feel him on that one.” I watched Jamie until he crossed the street and disappeared out of sight.

I forced my attention back to the brother standing in front of me.

“Did you play in college?” Simon asked. He crossed his arms over his chest. He wasn’t quite as broad through the shoulders as Jamie or as tall, but family genetics had still been nice to the guy.

“I played for Berkeley.”

“National champs,” Carlos added. His voice held a hint of pride that made me smile.

“Wow.” Simon nodded. “I guess that eases the sting a little.”

“You ever want to play with us again, Lane, you know where to find us,” Carlos said. “Every Saturday, we’re here.”

“Thanks, Carlos.”

He took off, waving over his shoulder. “See you, Hamilton. Bye, Lane!”

“You played a great game, Simon,” Steph said.

He looked at her and smiled. “Thanks.”

Emily cleared her throat. “Has Cooper heard anything about his mission yet?”

He shook his head. “Not yet. Soon, we think.” He turned his attention back to me. “So I guess I’ll see you around?”

I nodded. “Sure.”

“It was great to meet you, Lane. Nice job today.”

He turned and jogged toward the youngest Hamilton brother, who stood waiting at the corner of the field.

In a second, I realized three fundamental truths regarding my situation: Number one, I had made too big an issue about not joining the singles group to change my mind now, even if it did mean seeing Jamie again. Two, I really wanted to see Jamie again. And three, if that was going to happen, I needed to act. And quickly.

“Hey, Chloe, you got a pen?” The purse hanging on her shoulder looked big enough to hold an entire kindergarten classroom. Surely she had something to write with in there. “And paper too, if you’ve got it.”

She started rummaging. “I’m sure I do somewhere. What for?”

I glanced at Simon’s retreating form. “Just hurry?”

She handed over a pen and a bright-yellow sticky note. “Sheesh. Patient much?”

I took off across the field without responding. “Simon!”

He turned. I paused in front of him and scribbled my number on the note. “Give this to Jamie for me?” Had Simon not had a girlfriend, I never would have asked him to play middle man, but seeing as how he was attached and his brother wasn’t, I hoped he’d be willing to forgive my lack of social etiquette.

He took the sticky note from my hand and studied it for a moment before looking up and meeting my gaze. “Just like that, huh?”

I shrugged and smiled. “I’m going with my gut on this one. After the sting of defeat wears off, I’m pretty sure he’ll want to call me.”

He shook his head with a laugh. “I’m sure he will.”

I jogged back across the field and handed Chloe her pen. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to be rude. I just wanted to catch him before he was gone.”

Chloe eyed me, her expression wary. “No problem. What did you do?”

“You remember Simon has a girlfriend, right?” Melanie said, sounding all territorial. “We told you that.”

“I didn’t give my number to him,” I said. “It’s for Jamie. I asked Simon to pass it along.”

Chloe’s jaw dropped. “You barely even spoke to Jamie.”

“What more do I need to know? He’s gorgeous, loves soccer, and loves to win. Sounds good enough to me.”

“But you don’t . . . How can you even . . . What if he doesn’t call?”

“What if he doesn’t? It took me four seconds to give my number to his brother. That’s hardly a serious investment.” I waved a farewell to the few members of my team who were still around.

“So you won’t care if he doesn’t call?” Melanie asked. “You’ll just be fine with that?”

“Why not? No love lost, right?”

“Can I please be like you when I grow up?” Chloe said.

Emily shook her head. “Seriously. I had to swallow rocks back there just to ask Simon about Cooper’s mission. I can’t talk to guys. No way I’d have the courage to jump into their soccer game. Or even just give one my phone number.”

“Honestly, it probably won’t matter anyway, right? You said it yourself. Jamie is untouchable.” I said the words out loud, but in my head, I already knew differently.

Untouchable? Yeah. Not anymore.

Simon: Lane’s number: 828-555-3687

Jamie: Seriously? She gave you her number? Does this mean you actually SPOKE to a woman?

Simon: Shut up. She gave it to ME so I could give it to YOU.

Jamie: Sweet. Thanks for passing it along.

Simon: You should have talked to her after the game. It was poor sportsmanship to stalk off like that.

Jamie: Whatever. I had somewhere to be.

Dave: You know he won’t lick his wounds in public, Simon. He’s too proud for that.

Cooper: Did you see that helicopter move she did at the end? She was RIGHT in front of you, Jamie, and then she was gone. Impressive.

Simon: Will you call her?

Cooper: If you won’t, I will.

Jamie: Lay off. I’ll call her.

Dave: Seriously? You never call anybody.

Jamie: You saw her, right? Seems like she might be worth it.