A VERY UN-SHAKESPEARE ROMANCE: ‘A Fake Dad Grumpy Sunshine Romantic Comedy’

Robbie’s competitiveness had gotten the best of him.

“You ready, bro?” Billie asked, holding out his hand for a fist bump when he finished using his foot to sketch out the game’s boundaries in the sand, something that had amused the opposing team. But if they were going to play, they were going to play by the rules.

“I was born ready.” He rolled his shoulders before lowering his voice. “You’re the one who needs to get his head off someone’s curves and focus on the game. We have a rep to uphold.”

“I’m flipping you the bird in my head, so I won’t set a bad example to the kiddies,” Billie said in an equally low voice, kicking some sand at him as he walked to the net.

Robbie cracked his neck and jogged in place to charge himself up as Summer and Clarice pivoted at the hips and stretched. He couldn’t help but take in Summer’s long, slender legs. Since the first moment he’d seen them, he couldn’t take his eyes off them. To look at her, one wouldn’t imagine she was so athletic. Hers was an understated grace and power. Then she gave him that cocky grin of hers as she palmed the volleyball, her eyes nearly dancing in anticipation. She was enjoying the game they were playing as much as he was. And one thing was for sure…

She was going to make him sweat to earn every point. Frankly, he was juiced.

“Shall we toss a coin or something to see who goes first?” Summer offered, practically smirking. “Since you insisted on sketching out a legal court.”

“Maybe we should give them the ball first because they’re such big, lumbering men,” Clarice shot back, anchoring her hands on her hips with a grand laugh.

“Lumbering, my ass,” he muttered under his breath.

Billie made a show of pounding his chest. “Big is right, sweetheart.”

“Bigger is usually better.” Clarice gave a heartfelt sigh before shaking her finger at him. “But not in this case, honey. We are so going to own you. You’ll be begging for us to get to twenty-one points fast to stop the pain. Do they make Band-Aids in your size?”

“Whatever you want to tell yourself, honey.” Billie dug his feet in the sand, finding his stance. “Losers buy dinner.”

Robbie felt the pull. He’d told Tim he was going to cook, but if they won like he planned, he’d have a night off of kitchen duty. Plus, there was no way they were going to lose. Nothing against Sheila, but she had a serious height challenge being so petite. They were going to own her at the net. “Second!”

“Deal!” Summer shouted back, dancing in place. “But you’re going to be the ones buying.”

He saluted her across the net. “Why don’t you go first? Since you’re so going down.”

“Girls, just so you know, bragging about beating someone else is not considered very nice,” he heard Tim say from the sidelines where he was standing with Reagan and Cassidy, who both had sticks in their hands to keep score with.

He wanted to wince as he glanced over. He really should dial back his boasting. Maybe he’d finally found the outlet for his recent frustration. Because he hadn’t felt this good in a really long time, and he was going to savor every freaking minute.

She tossed the ball in the air, clearly playing with him, her smile as bright as the season she’d been named for.

He planted his feet, preparing for her serve. God, he should be old enough to know better, but he’d always loved a challenge. His mother had told stories about how he used to throw his rattle ahead of him when he was first crawling, only to then crawl toward it, triumphant when he reached his prize. “Even then, you loved to push yourself, Robbie,” she’d say. When he’d gone to school, she’d been smart enough to realize it also worked with schoolwork. She wouldn’t just ask how well he’d done on a test. She’d inquire about anyone who’d done better.

Few kids had beaten him—in the classroom or in athletics. Pickup sports were common in his neighborhood back then. Someone was always playing baseball, football, or soccer after school. He’d join in with glee, scoring again and again.

When he’d gone through police training, he’d loved all of the tests—on the gun range, with physical fitness, and in the classroom. He’d graduated at the top of his class again, to the surprise of none of the O’Connors, and had gone on to excel in the department. His close rate was high, so he’d been promoted quickly. After he stopped being so cocky, of course. Even though he was turning forty this year, he’d resisted a desk job, keeping his physical fitness standards high. Sure, he wasn’t a cadet at the police academy, but he wasn’t a midlife windbag who ate too many donuts and couldn’t run down a suspect.

“Anytime you’re ready, Sunshine!” he called out.

She grinned, looking every bit a hot babe on the beach in that bikini. “I was giving you guys a minute to get ready. You might want to take some deep breaths and do some more stretching. I’m trained in CPR, but studies show it’s easier on old guys when they take the right precautions.”

Billie hooted, slapping his knee. “You just worry about you, Sunshine. Right, bro?”

“Right.” Robbie lowered into a deeper stance, knowing she was going to pack a wallop with her serve. He’d noticed the slender ropes of muscles there, because his eyes couldn’t seem to keep away from taking in every wicked inch of her gorgeous body.

She had shown him up, running him down the beach, and he damn well knew she was more graceful on a surfboard. But volleyball… Not only was he tall, but he had bigger muscles, a clear edge in hitting the ball back. He’d played his fair share on the beach, and he’d demonstrated every time what a debilitating serve and killer spike he had. Forget about his net play. He could outjump most guys.

When Summer had taken off with that cute little swaying butt to grab a drink, he’d let Billie think he needed to twist his arm to get him to play with the women. It never worked to look too eager. But he’d wanted to show Summer he could hang with her. Desperately so.

He didn’t care to analyze his reasons. Obviously, he couldn’t get involved with her. But he could spend time with her like this. He was just a guy playing a healthy game of volleyball with a hot woman who could more than handle herself.

Despite his attempts to prepare, her serve caught him right in the center of the chest, hard enough to sting like a jellyfish and leave a mark. He fought a curse.

“Ace!” Clarice shouted, hooting and turning in a celebratory circle.

“One point to the ladies,” Tim called as Cassidy cheered before being hushed by Reagan, who drew a one in the sand with a stick, which Cassidy tried to mimic.

He closed his mouth as Billie glanced at him and gave him a WTF look. Picking up the ball on the ground, he tossed it to Clarice, who had a shit-eating grin on her face. Her flirtatious demeanor clearly hid a competitive streak. Gritting his teeth, Robbie watched Summer’s hips sway as she walked over to her friend and high-fived her. With the ball back in her hands, she returned to her serving position.

“Ready, boys?” Clarice singsonged, shaking out her thick black hair, probably to distract Billie. Not a difficult task, truthfully.

Robbie wanted to make a rude gesture at his brother, but the girls were watching from the sidelines. Nodding instead, he dug his feet into the sand and focused on his opponent. Her second serve had the same bullet-like quality as her first, but he was ready this time. He set his weight and returned it. It sailed over the net toward Summer, who jumped up and spiked it directly at Billie’s body like a missile.

His brother caught it against his chest before it dropped to the ground. “Lady, you just made a serious mistake.”

Summer’s response was infectious laughter. “Oh, did that hurt, big guy?”

“We have a first aid kit if you need a bandage,” Clarice practically trilled.

“I’m fine!” Billie grumbled, no semblance of his usual charm the ladies grin visible. “You take care of you, honey.”

“That’s two points to the ladies,” Tim shouted with way too much pleasure. “Make another mark, Reagan.”

“The ladies are really good, aren’t they?” she asked Tim in a hushed voice that reached Robbie’s ears.

Glancing over, he noted Tim’s goofy smile. Cassidy had abandoned the stick and was digging with her shovel in the sand while Reagan’s face was strained with worry. Was she concerned about them losing? Well, not on his watch.

On Summer’s next hammering blow over the net, Robbie caught the ball and gave it air, setting Billie up to lob it over the net. With his height, he got it behind Clarice, but Summer skidded through the sand, landing on her stomach as she returned the ball to play with an impressive dig. Clarice caught the low hit, knocking it back into the air. Summer jumped to her feet and rushed toward the net, knocking it to Billie’s right. Robbie lunged for it, but the ball landed on the ground in front of his face. All he got was a mouthful of sand.

“Three!” Tim shouted.

Robbie spit sand out of his mouth as he pushed himself up. Billie glanced at him with a grimace. Jesus, who were these women?

“You okay?” Cassidy asked him, swiveling on her little diaper-puffed swimsuit butt as she tried to stand up in the sand.

He didn’t want to risk her running into the field of play and potentially getting hit with the ball, so he strode over and scooped her up. “Yes, I’m fine, sweetheart. I happen to like having a sand beard.”

He rubbed her soft cheeks gently with the remaining sand, making her squeal to high heaven, playfully pushing him away. Satisfied, he plunked her down in the sand and handed her back her shovel. “Can you make me a really nice sandcastle?”

“Yep!” She scooped up sand with force, spraying him.

He spit out more sand, feeling Reagan’s hand on his arm. Turning, he rubbed more sand off him. “You want to feel beach Santa’s beard too?”

She shook her head, dancing away. “Are you mad that you’re losing?”

He wondered if there was a right answer, but he figured the truth was always best. “Yes. We shouldn’t have bragged. Now Billie and I need to do something about it.”

“It’s okay if you lose.” She lifted a shoulder. “Mom always says what matters most is doing your best.”

“Our mother used to say that too.” Even at a young age, he’d known it was bullshit.

Tim was chewing on his lip like he was fighting laughter. “I’m sure my brothers will do their best. Maybe they’re just outmatched today.”

“If the kids weren’t around…” he muttered as he walked closer to Tim, bumping him on purpose. “All right, let’s play. Sorry for the delay.”

“That’s okay.” Summer waved brightly. “It’s important to take care of our little fans on the sidelines.”

“Hi, Miss Summer!” Cassidy called. “I’m making a sandcastle.”

“So I see.” She tossed the ball back and forth in her hands. “Should I serve again to your dad and uncle?”

Robbie’s stomach dropped. He’d told the kids not to use their names, but Cassidy was little…

“Yes!” Reagan yelled, coming over next to Cassidy. “But be nice to them, okay?”

“Yeah!” Cassidy repeated. “Nice is best.”

Robbie didn’t think that was on the agenda after the way he and Billie had shot their mouths off. Robbie cracked his neck and mouthed “No mercy” to Summer. She sputtered out a laugh and then gave a leaping jump and hammered another killer serve his way. He had to step back to set the ball and return it, but he managed it. Clarice was ready for it and lobbed it into the air for Summer to drill over the net. Billie was ready this time, jumping at the right moment and blocking the shot. The ball hit at Clarice’s feet.

Robbie hooted before he caught himself. His little cheering section clapped and squealed. Billie gave a few whoof whoof whoofs before rushing and chest bumping him.

“That’s what I’m talking about,” his brother spat out. “Now you serve and make them wish they’d never tangled with the O’Connor brothers.”

He caught the ball when Clarice threw it his way. Positioning himself at the back of their makeshift court, he stared at Summer. She was wiggling those slender hips of hers, her gaze focused on him. A satisfied smile shone on her face, and his breath caught for a moment. God, she was so beautiful. Her oval face was flushed from the heat. The blond hair she’d twisted into a ponytail to stay out of her way glinted like gold in the sun.

“Anytime you’re ready,” she called merrily.

He felt an answering smile spread across his lips. You bet I’m ready. Time for them to take over this game. Which way was she going to move? If he could fake her out, he had a chance at an ace. God knew they needed a point. He let his eyes and body drift to the left, as if he were planning on sending the ball in that direction. Then he threw it in the air and drove his palm into it, shooting it across the net, angled the other way.

Her body turned sideways in a flash, and before Billie could jump, she sailed the ball over his head. Robbie lunged for it, but he caught it too low. Grumbling, wiping off more sand, he watched it roll across the ground.

Billie winced as he picked up the ball and tossed it to Clarice, who’d just finished cooing and high-fiving Summer. “Sorry, bro. She’s wicked fast.”

“Be faster,” Robbie spat back. “Also, how tall are you? Can’t you use that to your advantage?”

“Don’t get surly.” Billie put his hands on his hips, his face darkening. “We talked about that, remember?”

He bit the inside of his cheek to keep from delivering a salty response. Little ears were the worst. He was going to explode if he didn’t start swearing again. How did people release all this pent-up frustration on the inside if they didn’t drop an f-bomb or two? “I’m as happy as a lark,” he quipped to his brother. “Ask Shakespeare.”

Billie threw his head back and laughed. “Hey, Tim! Did you hear that? Robbie’s comparing himself to a lark. Where’s that from in Shakespeare?”

“I can’t give a direct quote, but I do remember a passage or two about the sweet song larks give in the morning.” Tim pointed to Robbie. “Girls, do you want to hear what a lark sounds like? Go ahead, Robbie.”

Timmy was going to die after the girls went to bed. “I flunked the class on bird sounds. Let’s play!”

“Too bad, I really wanted to hear your lark impression.” Summer took her ponytail down and shook her hair out, her captivating smile making his chest tight. “In fact, we could stop playing if you want to give us a show. Did I hear you talking about Shakespeare? I love Shakespeare!”

God, what was it about chicks and Shakespeare? “You can talk to Tim after the game. He’s the wannabe playwright. Come on, Clarice. Let’s see what you’ve got.”

She gave her hips a wiggle. “I can’t wait to show you, boys. Especially that big hunky bald guy across the net. You ready, honey?”

“I’m always ready.” Billie pounded his chest. “Let’s see what you’ve got, little mama.”

Robbie grimaced. Were they supposed to talk like that around the girls? Tara’s lengthy list of dos and don’ts had only included not swearing. Figuring it was better to err on the safe side, he said, “Hey! Watch the language.”

Billie looked over his shoulder. “What did I say?”

Before Robbie could respond, Clarice jumped up and pounded the ball over the net, catching Billie in the chest.

“You weren’t looking!” She rushed over. “Are you all right?”

His accusatory frown in Robbie’s direction was answer enough, but it fell from his face as Clarice gently ran her hands over the spot where she’d nailed him with the ball. “That’s much better. You have a woman’s touch.”

“Oh, for the love of…Pete!” Robbie mumbled. “Let’s play!”

“Maybe we should call it,” Summer offered, walking to the net. “You don’t seem to be having much fun.”

Fun? Getting creamed by two gorgeous women in beach volleyball was supposed to be fun? They’d clearly never been to Southie. He and Billie would never live past the disgrace if his other brothers ever found out about it. They would have to hang Tim upside down from his fingernails or something and get him to promise to never share the details of this horrendous butt kicking.

“No way,” he called back. “We agreed to play, so we play.”

What Clarice’s serve didn’t take care of, Summer’s net play did. While she wasn’t as tall as either Billie or him, she was plenty tall enough and the most wicked fast female he’d ever met. And strong. Laser strong.

He caught a few more balls to the chest, and while they didn’t sting as badly as other injuries he’d sustained—like taking a bullet with a bulletproof vest—it still competed with a jellyfish.

By the rally for the winning point, he was sucking in air and downright pissed off. At himself. Summer was serving, of course. He dug his feet into the sand, determined the game wouldn’t end on an ace.

She jumped and slapped her palm to the ball. It sailed over the net, wobbling erratically. It fell well short of her other serves, so he and Billie weren’t prepared. They both lunged for it, colliding with each other as the ball bounced off the ground.

“Winner!” Tim shouted as Clarice let out a cheer. “Now that was some final serve. What was that?”

Robbie looked up as Summer walked over to the net and ducked under. “A float serve. I thought it might catch you by surprise.”

“Well, it sure did.” Robbie shook his head ruefully, pushing past his own anger and frustration over losing.

His mother had been wise here. Be a good loser. Just make sure you don’t do it too often, okay?

God, he wondered what she was thinking about them from her perch in heaven—out here talking big while being run ragged by two little girls who wore more than their fair share of glitter. She would probably laugh herself blue. He was smiling as he came forward. “Good game, Summer. Clarice. Looks like we owe you two dinner.”

He’d been raised to be a good sport, so he stuck his hand out for extra measure. Summer glanced down before extending her hand to him. His was sweat-slicked while hers was positively cool in comparison. His palm sparked at the electricity of her soft touch, and he was pleased to feel her fingers contract around his. Their eyes locked, and he watched her pupils dilate, the gold around the iris surrounded by green.

Holding her hand and her gaze a moment more, he felt his heart pumping faster in his chest. Awareness of her gold-kissed skin in nothing but a blue bikini filled his awareness. He wanted to touch. He knew he couldn’t. “You played some game.”

“When I have to, I play to win,” she answered, no smile on her face now.

That sounded practically cryptic, but before he could search her features, a small hand touched his hip. “Okay?” Cassidy asked, patting him with her shovel. “You did great!”

What kind of bullshit was Tara feeding these kids? He picked her up and gave her a kiss on the cheek. “No, sweetheart. Billie and me stunk to high heaven. Like one of your hurricane diapers. But we don’t need to dwell on that.”

“Hurricane diapers?” Summer asked.

Now she had a smile on her face, one he shared. “Inside joke.”

Then he not only heard Cassidy give a trio of farts but felt them against his arm. He winced. “Is that the power of suggestion or something?”

“Magic!” Cassidy declared, dropping her shovel and clapping her hands.

Summer bravely fought laughter. Instead, she nodded with a serious expression. “That’s incredible, Cassidy! Can you do magic anytime?”

Her little head nodded, and Robbie shot Summer a hard look. Was she purposely encouraging more of Cassidy’s so-called magic? Her whole acupressure thing had already delivered one diaper disaster. She’d better not be trying to bring on another, because changing a stinky diaper after getting their butts kicked would only make him more surly.

“Hey, Robbie!” Billie jogged over with Clarice. “Since we owe the ladies dinner, do you want to take them out or invite them to the BBQ you were planning tonight?”

Right. He’d justified that wager and gotten burned. Now he was cooking dinner and visiting temptation alley, all in one night. Part of him grew excited, realizing he’d have an excuse for spending time with her, time he’d been refusing himself. Surely one night would be all right…

“A BBQ here would be better. The girls will probably be tired after all this excitement.” Plus, he wasn’t sure he wanted to go out to a local restaurant. Going out publicly would be a risk.

“I’m not tired,” Cassidy mumbled, putting her sweaty head against his shoulder.

He smoothed his hand down her pink swimsuit, brushing off sand. “Sure, you aren’t.”

“Can we bring anything tonight?” Summer asked, her green eyes suddenly soft and slumberous.

Then he realized she was looking at him like that because of how he was holding Cassidy. He cringed inside. Women had some weird thing for men who treated kids good. Must be some kind of evolutionary impulse. He wanted to tell her not to get too gushy. Cassidy wasn’t his kid. But he couldn’t, and the thought of perpetuating the lie—especially to a woman he was attracted to—made him tight on the inside. Lying about who he was was worse than bragging, and look how that had turned out.

“You can bring your famous margaritas,” Billie said, looping an arm around Clarice. “If the offer still stands. I’ll need something to wash out all this sand in my mouth from your killer plays. Right, Robbie?”

He didn’t deign to reply. He glanced over to see where Reagan was. Tim was standing by her as she kicked the sand. For a minute he didn’t know what she was doing. Then it hit him. She was brushing away the scoreboard, clearly upset. Crap. “Hey, Reagan!”

A soft hand touched his arm, arresting his breath. “Let me talk to her,” he heard Summer say.

He met her gaze and nodded. Her mouth tipped up at the sides before she strode off. When she knelt in the sand before Reagan, the little girl ducked her head to her chin. She was upset for them, and the knowledge made his heart shift in his chest in a weird way. Funny how she was as protective of them as they were of her in some ways. Well, she was an O’Connor, he supposed. They took care of their own.

Tim wandered away a few steps as Summer spoke to Reagan. Robbie couldn’t hear what she was saying, but he watched as Reagan nodded a few times before tipping her head up and giving Summer her full attention. A few moments later, Summer ran a light hand down Reagan’s arm. They shared a smile before the little girl shot past her, running his way. When she reached him, she banded her arms around him, making Cassidy giggle.

“I think you’re a winner,” Reagan told him. “You’re absolutely the best!”

She might as well have knocked him in the head with that one. Is that what Summer had told her to say? And why did it affect him so? He needed someone to smack him upside the head.

But Reagan didn’t let go, so he put a hand to the back of her neck, not knowing what to do in the face of this fierce affection. Suddenly he was rocked by another memory of his mother—of coming home and finding her upset about something. He’d run to her and told her how wonderful she was too—and she’d kissed the top of his head and told him what a sweet boy he was.

Even knowing he had an audience, he leaned down with Cassidy in his arms and laid a kiss on Reagan’s wind-tangled hair. Her arms squeezed tighter around him, and another pang went through his chest. When he straightened, Summer had that gushy look on her face again. His heart must be feeling all the gushy girly stuff around him because it went sideways again in his chest.

Then another barrage of bullet-like sounds came from Cassidy’s diaper. Reagan jumped back and started laughing. The stench of rotten eggs rose up, and he held Cassidy out with a grimace. She laughed, dangling her feet in the air. “’Cane,” she announced, clapping her hands again.

The absurdity of his life crashed over him like a giant wave. His shoulders started to shake from laughter, and he looked over to see Summer holding a hand to her face, doing the same.

In a different situation, a different life, he’d have gone over to her and asked her out. Just. Like. That.

But he had kids to keep safe and a diaper to change.