Giving In: The Sandy Cove Series (Book 1) by M.R. Joseph

fucking hot, but the big brother vibe in me needs to go over and give the guys flirting with the girls a bit of warning, without words that is.
    “Maybe later, baby. I’ll find you. What’s your name?”
    “Leilani.”
    Polynesian? Sounds hot.
    “Sounds good. And you will get your answer about the rest of my ink.”
    She releases my arm, and I stroll over to the gang. The guys around the girls aren’t as big as me, some are built well, but my stature towers over them. I make my approach, methodically, intimidating even.
    I hand Harlow her beer after I tap her arm. She doesn’t even take her eyes off this guy she’s talking to, she just holds out her hand for me to place the beer in it.
    What the fuck is that all about?
    “You’re welcome, Turnip.”
    The guy she’s talking to snickers.
    “Turnip? What is that?”
    Harlow laughs forcefully at his question. I mean such an exaggerated attempt at a laugh that even I think it’s comical.
    “Oh, that’s just some silly name my neighbor came up with. Oh, I’m so sorry, but I didn’t get your name.” She asks the genius standing next to her.
    “Elton. Elton Joel.”
    Now see, that’s my cue to laugh the way she just did, but mine won’t be forced because you have to be kidding me. Elton Joel? Were his parents smoking crack when they named him? Oh, wait. I’m not going to answer that, but it’s not going to stop me from laughing right in his face.
    “Elton Joel? Seriously?”
    Harlow shoots me daggers from her eyes, clearly ready to kill me. Elton Joel smiles when Harlow looks at him after she shoots me her fiery gaze, but when she looks back to me, his expression is less than welcoming.
    “Yes, I know. My mom was a huge Elton John and Billy Joel fan. You gotta take what you get. I’m used to it.”
    Harlow’s grin spreads so wide, her jaw is going to hurt.
    “I know exactly how that is. I was named after an old movie star my mother loved.”
    Elton Joel moves in a little closer to her ear, and I inch a little more towards Harlow to listen in. It’s loud in here, so I bend down a little. All I hear from him is, “Harlow’s a beautiful name for a beautiful girl.” He picks her beer-free hand up and kisses the top of it.
    Oh, come on! That’s a line I use, and a move I make. Can’t he be original? I’m the king of the pickup lines, and that is by far one of the cheesiest. This guy is a grade-A ass. My dilemma is do I intervene, or let Harlow step into his pile of bullshit. I’m not going to think. I’m just going to speak.
    “Hey, Turnip, Max’s band will be going on in a few. He got us a few booths reserved so why don’t we go sit.” Again, not eyeing me, she speaks in an even tone.
    “Cruz, I’m perfectly fine right here for now. I’ll come over in a bit.” All the while she’s still grinning at this asshat like he’s Santa Claus or something. Then she shoos me away with her hand, like I’m bothering her or something. Like I’m one of the swarm of guy flies, but with me, I annoy her like a typical fly. I guess I’m lucky she didn’t swat and smash me like one.
    I mutter out a ‘fine’, and I’m not really sure she even heard me. Guess it doesn’t matter.
    I reach one of the booths we have reserved, and I’m surprised to see Porter sitting alone.
    I throw my body in the booth, kind of pissed off at Harlow, for which I’m not sure why, but even more angry that Elton Joel is feeding her lines that she clearly doesn’t know are lines.
    I guzzle my beer as I sit, Porter is very quiet.
    “What’s up with you?”
    Porter stares over my shoulder, obviously perturbed about something.
    “I’m fine,” he says with his mouth in a hard line.
    “Don’t look like you’re fine. What’s the deal?”
    He snorts, “I guess I could ask you the same thing. Looked like you were burning a hole right through that guy talking to Harlow. You use your x-ray vision to see if he was a jerk? We all know you have Superman-like powers.”
    I glance