Rogue Affair

by Rhys Everly

  Random can be a serial killer stashing you in the back of his car, I said. Random is not good.

  Random can be Mr. Dreamy Hunk, she said.

  With my luck, he’s Freddy Krueger.

  Maya blue raspberries and waved me off.

  He’s not Freddy Krueger. Freddy would get you in your sleep. You’ve got a better chance if he’s Jason Voorhees.

  I shivered at the mere mention of the machete-wielding serial killer and my phone dinged again with a reply.

  Badboycollin: Yeah, I’m free. And bored. So why not?

  What a charmer! Please tell me more. How bored are you? Ass.

  MrRomantic: Sure. What do you have in mind?

  Yes, I was a dating whore. I couldn’t avoid saying yes to a date even if I could see the car crash crystal clear.

  Badboycollin: I’m open to anything.

  MrRomantic: Well, I’m going to a frat party later. If you wanna swing by.

  His profile said he was twenty-five. So, he either was way over frat parties or way into them still.

  Only one way to find out if he was a wet blanket or if he was fun.

  I mean, just because he wasn’t a charmer didn’t mean he couldn’t be a cool guy.

  Right?

  Badboycollin: Sure. Sounds fun. What time?

  Once I’d sorted out the details with him and added those details on the Cinderfella app—they took their users’ security very seriously—I got back to doing my homework with Maya.

  I couldn’t help but feel a little guilty going out on a date. Which was stupid because I wasn’t attached to anyone.

  I wasn’t attached to Fantasy Hudson or Sweet_Peaches.

  The former one didn’t even exist anyplace other than in my messed up head, and the latter was just a guy looking for friendship.

  It said so in his profile.

  He hadn’t ever expressed any interest in meeting me in person.

  Maybe I should get my head checked out. There was definitely something wrong with me.

  Ten

  Hudson

  If there was anything I hated more than working the farm with my father, it was doing the rounds.

  Thankfully, that didn’t happen very often. He had his men for that.

  Unless there was an urgent delivery or one of the guys fell sick—or being a sissy as Dad liked to call catching a cold. Because, of course, catching a cold was a gay thing.

  Thank fuck straight men didn’t get sick.

  It used to be fun when I was in grade school.

  I’d ride with him around town—sometimes with Nathan, most times without—and we’d deliver to every reputable outlet in Cedarwood Beach. His men always took on the deliveries out of town.

  It’d been something we’d shared, Dad and I. Pick the fruit and vegetables, arrange the orders, go around and see the happy faces of everyone as they tried our products.

  Having warmth and kindness directed at us.

  Yes, Jack Bell was still a dick of a dad, but those moments had been my most fatherly I’d ever gotten.

  Not so much anymore. And not because he wouldn’t come with me.

  Ever since prom night, the smiles had stopped, the kindness had become extinct, and the warmth had gone south.

  Everyone thought I burnt down the school gym.

  My lighter was found inside. And I’d disappeared from prom earlier than everyone else. Which I guess meant I did it.

  You’d think they’d suspect the last people to leave, but who would blame the teachers or the chaperons?

  It wasn’t them who set the fire.

  But no one wanted to believe the mayor’s son smoked pot.

  No one wanted to believe the mayor’s son had borrowed said lighter.

  And no one wanted to believe the mayor’s son had set fire to the gym.

  Even if he’d admitted it to me when I went to beat his ass for framing me.

  He had a career as a politician to think about after his baseball career went down the drain.

  Derek failed to get any scholarships, which was bad enough. But then fucking Hudson had gotten a scholarship. As if it was my fault he’d injured his hand.

  My life would have been a lot better if I’d finished high school, that was for sure. If I’d stopped Derek from doing something stupid.

  But of course, the college in Nashville wouldn’t take a guy suspected of arson. Besides, I didn’t even finish high school, so it wouldn’t have mattered if they would have, anyway.

  My phone kept buzzing, but I was so lost in my world and driving that I didn’t get the chance to check it.

  I knew who it was, anyway. The only person that was willing to put up with me.

  He wouldn’t if he ever met me. But that wasn’t going to happen, so I hoped he’d stick around long enough to turn into a friend.

  I got out of the car, grabbed the grocery store’s order, and picked up the crates to take in.

  “Hello, Mrs. Vaughn. I’ve got your delivery,” I said.

  The old, affectionate lady who’d run the grocery’s longer than I’d been alive turned to me after giving a customer her change, her warm smile turning upside down.

  See?

  Her expression was a mix of sheer interest, hatred, and pity.

  As if she wanted to find out more about my life so she could gossip about it, tell me to go to hell and never come back, and come give me a hug and reassure me everything was going to be okay, all at the same time.

  It was weird, and I’d never met any other person in the world that could pull off that look. A look I was somewhat familiar with after every time I’d stopped by.

  “Oh yes, dear. You can put those in the back for me,” she said, snatching the invoice off the top crate I was carrying while following me like a short, but creepy, shadow.

  “Oh, this is wrong dear. I requested ten pounds of raspberries and only five of strawberries. Mrs. Coleman is making jams with her book club again and they need a lot of raspberries. Although it begs the question what kind of book club makes jam. Surely they should be reading books. You know. As a book club.

  “Anyway, like I said, this is wrong. Did you prepare the orders again, dear?”

  I swallowed a huff that threatened to come out, and I smiled.

  “No. It was Dad, Mrs. Vaughn. As usual,” I said. “And I double checked the order myself, too, before I left. You ordered five raspberries, ten strawberries.”

  “I think I remember what I ordered better than you do, dear. I can’t take the extra strawberries. Mrs. Coleman was very specific. She will take all my raspberries, and what am I going to do with the extra strawberries? By the time I sell out, they’ll have turned nasty. Which reminds me, have you changed pesticides? Because your products start to rot as soon as I sign off my checks. Are you bringing me older product?”

  “No, Mrs. Vaughn. We haven’t changed pesticides. And we don’t bring you old food. Everything is handpicked and delivered fresh. The Bell Farm Promise,” I said, quoting our hundred-year-old slogan.

  “I don’t like that tone dear. Just set them down here.” She waved on the floor in the back where we usually put deliveries, anyway. “I’ll do you a favor and take the extra strawberries, but you’ll have to give me a considerable discount. You know. For the inconvenience.”

  I wasn’t exactly sure how her messing up her own order inconvenienced her, but I kept my mouth shut or else I’d spew some very bad words.

  I took the invoice and deducted ten dollars of her purchase, but it wasn’t enough.

  “Ten dollars? Come on. I didn’t even order these. I’m sure you can do better than that,” she said.

  “I’ll take it up to fifteen, but that’s all I can do. If you have a problem, you can take it up with my dad,” I told her and signed off, then took her check and was about to leave the store when she spoke again from behind the register.

  “You better pay extra attention next time you prepare my order.”

  I gritted my teeth and nodded.

 
I’d be sure to not deliver her order, that was for sure.

  My next stop was the Oyster Club with one of their daily orders of vegetables.

  On my way there, I drove past Andy’s Bar, Nathan’s dad’s bar.

  They used to place orders with us. They also used to get a big discount because Nathan and I were such good friends.

  But the orders had stopped coming not long after the fire. Another reason why my dad hated me. I’d cost him a few regulars. None that hurt more than Andy’s.

  Even though we’d stopped being their suppliers, Dad hadn’t stopped frequenting the bar almost every day. He’d been drinking there for years. He couldn’t stop.

  It was surreal.

  Just like everything else in this town since that night.

  I parked the truck outside the Oyster Club and walked in with their order.

  And of course, I bumped into none other than Felicity Carlson. Former First Lady of Cedarwood Beach and prime mother of an asshole named Derek.

  “Excuse you,” she said when she walked into me. She lifted her gaze from the crates of vegetables to my eyes and her face turned sourer, if that was even possible. “You!”

  She didn’t bother hiding her disgust. And I didn’t bother hiding mine.

  “Hello, Mrs. Carlson,” I said bitterly.

  “Oh, please, don’t address me, young man. The fact that you’re even standing in the same space as me is abhorrent. After what you did.”

  I took a deep breath that came out like a growl. I knew because she winced.

  “Agh,” she gasped. “Such manners.”

  “I’m sorry my manners don’t meet your expectations,” I said, and my hands twitched.

  The crates were getting heavier by the minute, and she was still blocking my way.

  “Excuse me! Are you mocking me?”

  “I’m not mocking you, Mrs. Carlson. I’m just here to do my job.”

  “And what job would that be?” she asked, and my eyes darted from her to the vegetables I was so obviously holding and back at her.

  What exactly did she not get? I was a farmer. She knew I was. She could see what I was holding. It didn’t take a genius.

  “Trying to deliver Mrs. Barnes’s order,” I said after a moment.

  “You mean the Oyster Club orders from your farm?” she asked, and she could have bitten into a lemon the way she grimaced.

  “Just like most of the town,” I answered, and her eyes almost popped out of their sockets.

  I tried to push past her and set the crates down, but she didn’t budge.

  “Oh my goodness. How atrocious. I can’t believe this fine establishment is supporting someone like you after what you’ve done.”

  “We’re just trying to make a living,” I told her and, again, tried to push past her. This time, she blatantly took a side step to stop me.

  I was starting to fantasize how awesome our tomatoes would look on her white power suit and was very tempted to make it a reality.

  “I wish you and your father would finally move away from our town.”

  I pursed my lips into a forced smile and bit the inside of my cheek.

  “You know what? Sometimes, I wish the Carlsons would move away, too,” I told her before I could help myself.

  She shrieked a gasp as a response.

  “So. Rude. I can’t believe you talk to me that way. Where is the manager? Where is Holly? Holly!” She panted and screamed off the top of her lungs for Holly. Or Mrs. Barnes as I knew her.

  As Felicity was having her fake panic attack, I finally got the chance to put down the order and shake my hands.

  It didn’t take long for Holly Barnes to appear, looking flustered and holding a red fire extinguisher in her pale hands.

  “What happened? Where is the fire?” she asked, then looked at the wailing ex-Mayoress and put the extinguisher down. “Gee. I thought it was the fire alarm.” She looked at me and I chuckled.

  “Holly,” Felicity Carlson shouted. “This young man is claiming he’s your supplier. Is that true?”

  “Yes, they are. We’ve been using them since we opened,” Holly said and gave me a big smile. “Why? Do you know someone cheaper? Because I love you guys, but I’m not impartial to paying less. Sorry”

  Holly turned from me to Felicity and back to me with an apologetic but quite funny grimace.

  She was probably one of the very few people that didn’t treat me like a pariah. Which had probably more to do with her being an out-of-towner than her comical, easy-going character.

  Oliver and Holly Barnes had moved here a year and a half ago and brought their great quality food with them from the big city.

  “Oh, poor Holly! I would think some of the other owners would have warned you about the Bells.”

  “What is the problem?” Holly asked her, her face turning serious for once.

  “The problem is this… young… man is a troublemaker. A criminal. Not only did he set fire to the Cedarwood High gym, he also blamed my son for it. Ah, the audacity! So… you can see why you have to stop ordering from him, can’t you?”

  Holly looked at me and pulled her lips to the left.

  I let a sigh indicate my thoughts on her accusations.

  “That…” she said, turning to Felicity, “sounds terrible, but… Bell Farm is the most local and most quality farm around.”

  Felicity gaped in disbelief.

  “You mean you don’t see a problem with this young man trying to destLinc my son’s future with lies? You don’t have a problem with a criminal pyromaniac?”

  I had no idea how she deduced I was a pyromaniac considering I’d only been rumored to have started one fire, but I let that slide. There was so much wrong with what was going on, that was the least of my worries.

  It was fascinating, though, how she thought I’d destLinced her son’s future even though his rejection letters came before the fire, and even though Derek was the one who’d destLinced my future.

  “That’s not what I said,” Holly said.

  “My husband was the mayor, you know,” Felicity said, finally. I bet she’d been holding that in for a while. “I used to be the Mayoress. I’m only trying to protect you and your business, you know. I wouldn’t want people to start boycotting your business because you use Bell Farm as your supplier.”

  “What are you doing, Mrs. Carlson? My father had nothing to do with whatever you think I’ve done. There’s no reason for this,” I said between gritted teeth.

  Mrs. Carlson gasped as if I’d committed another crime.

  “Watch your mouth… young man. See Holly? See what kind of… man you’re doing business with?” Felicity’s lips trembled in front of me.

  “Yeah,” she said, looking at me. “So composed and professional. What a monster.”

  Holly rolled her eyes, and I swallowed my chuckle just as Felicity turned and stood with her back to me and in front of Holly.

  “Trust me on this, pet. Find a different supplier or you will lose all your patrons,” she said.

  “Felicity, I don’t take kindly to threats,” Holly said.

  Mrs. Carlson jumped and shrieked with a hysterical fit of laughter.

  “Threats? I’m not threatening you. I only meant you’ll lose your patrons if they find out Bell Farm is your supplier. See? This is the kind of young man he is. Turning you against me,” she said and gave Holly Barnes a poignant glare at the last sentence.

  “I think I’m more than capable of handling my own business, Mrs. Carlson, thank you very much,” Holly said.

  Felicity threw a huff and straightened her skirt.

  “Trust me, Holly Barnes. You will regret this,” she said and stormed off, leaving me to bear an amused grin.

  “Thanks,” I said to her once Felicity Carlson was long gone.

  Holly winked at me.

  “I don’t take kindly to bullies,” she said, and my grin disappeared.

  If only she knew.

  I’d been like that.

  Maybe not as
terrible as Felicity Carlson, but not everyone could have a masters in bullying. Her son must have a doctorate in intimidation by now.

  But I liked to believe I was a bully out of fear rather than privilege.

  Fear of rejection and ostracization.

  How had that worked out for me?

  Holly reached out for the invoice, and I remembered I had a job to do. So I carried her order in the back and fled Oyster Club once I got paid, thanking the owner for her kindness.

  My next drop-off wasn’t as dramatic, but it was definitely more abrupt.

  The owner of Taco ‘Bout It downright refused to accept her order.

  After further investigation, it turned out Felicity hadn’t wasted a moment. She’d gone around and demanded our clients stop using Bell Farm.

  Considering Taco was my last drop-off for the day, I’d had enough social interaction for the day and headed home, leaving Carlson to wreak havoc in my life with her campaign.

  “What have you done?” Dad asked as soon as I walked through the door.

  Romeo started barking his head off up in the attic.

  “What have I—”

  “Taco’s called to cancel their order for tomorrow, and so has Linda’s. They’ve both said they don’t want to order from us anymore. What did you do? What did you say to them? I warned you about fucking up, boy—”

  “Stop calling me boy,” I shouted. “Felicity Carlson saw me delivering at Oyster Club and she demanded Holly stops using us as a supplier. I didn’t do nothing.”

  “Don’t raise your voice at me, boy. You’ve just cost us a good chunk of money. You better go back in town and fix whatever you’ve done,” he said.

  “I’m not doing anything. I did nothing wrong.”

  “I said don’t raise your voice at me. It’s fine. I’ll go and fix your mistakes. If I leave it up to you, we’ll end up with no customers.”

  Dad took his keys from me and stomped out of the house muttering “useless boy” under his breath.

  I ran upstairs and hid in my room, Romeo’s barking and energy driving me insane for a change.

  I laid in bed crying my eyes out and repeating my plan in my head.