“What the hell…” I mutter. “What are they doing?”
“Wrestlin’.” He laughs, parking directly in front of the house—shoving the truck into park and unbuckling his seat belt before climbing out.
“I’m GOIN’ IN!” Duke shouts, throwing himself on top of the three figures already in the dirt slash grass; they look like a heap of children, giving each other headlocks and knuckles to the skull, yelping and laughing in hysterics all at the same time.
“Oh. My. God,” I mutter, watching the spectacle on the front lawn (if you can call it a front lawn) thinking that the house is a complete shithole and could use some tender loving care. “Of course they’re wrestling. Why wouldn’t they be wrestling in the middle of broad daylight, in the front yard?”
They look like some of my little boys, the ones in my class who insist on roughhousing at school because they lack the self-control not to do it indoors.
Suddenly, Duke is on the ground too, and all four of them are laughing and hollering, causing a few girls in the house next door to come outside on their porches and watch.
“I wonder what’s going through their minds,” I wonder out loud, opening my door and stepping out, careful not to get bonked by an errant leg or foot.
There’s nothing to do but stand by and watch until it’s over. I cast glances at the houses nearby; at the other students who are either watching from their windows or porches, curiously.
“They’re not drunk,” I shout out to the girls next door. Then add, “I don’t think.”
Because, to be honest, I can’t exactly be sure.
I stand idly as the boys knock around for another two or so minutes until they come up for air, laughing as they help each other off the ground. Hugs all around, dirt-covered jeans and shirts and dust in their hair and on their faces.
Holy shit—I’ve never seen four brothers who look so much alike.
One set of twins? It’s like looking at four carbon copies, one better looking than the next.
And Duke is right, the twins—or are obviously the twins—look the same but also different, one shorter than the other by a few inches but otherwise very similar.
Yet different?
I’m babbling, even in my thoughts, gearing up for the introduction.
“You must be Miss Posey,” one of the boys says. “I’m Drew.”
You must be Miss Posey…
My hand juts out. “I am Posey—it’s good to meet you.”
I’m shocked he knows my name already but realize Duke obviously shared with them that he would have a ride-along; still, I’m surprised at the guy’s manners.
Drew is tall, with glasses slipping down his nose and a lopsided, polite grin.
He nudges his brother in the ribs.
“I’m Drake.”
“Hi, Drake, I’m Posey.” I say it again, but why I’m repeating myself, I do not know. Why am I nervous? I do not know.
The last brother is as tall as Duke, looks as strong as Duke, and is better looking than Duke—confidently striding through the wake of his younger, twin brothers with his arms out, wrapping me in a hug.
It’s like hugging a bear.
“I’m Dallas. The one in charge while this one is fuckin’ about in New York.”
Fuckin’ about in New York…
Duke gives him a tiny shove. “Watch your mouth.”
Watch his mouth? Duke is one to talk, peppering every sentence with curse words, but he’s an adult, and it’s not my place to correct his grammar.