by Penny Wylder
“Well, then this was lucky.”
“I would say so.”
I just sit for a second, not sure what to do. “I should probably go,” I say, even though I don’t want to. “I need to get on the road.”
“Do you need a cab?”
“I can catch one outside.”
He waves a hand, and goes to one of the hotel’s phones. “The hotel will take you.”
While he’s arranging it, I excuse myself and put my clothes back on. This whole thing seems like a dream. This doesn’t happen to real people, right? You don’t go out to clubs and get rescued by ridiculously sexy men who happen to be super rich and amazing in bed. I’m going to wake up at home, and none of this will have happened. I’m certain of it.
I step out of the bedroom, and he’s waiting for me, so close. “There’s a car downstairs that’ll take you wherever you need to go.”
“Thanks,” I say, unable to avoid blushing.
He walks me to the door with a hand on my lower back. But it doesn’t feel like he’s ushering me out. Instead, it’s a connecting touch, anchoring me. And when we reach the door, he pulls me in for one last kiss. “It was very nice to meet you, Diamond,” he says.
“You too, Glenn. And everything else.”
He smiles, a light and brilliant smile. “Be safe on your drive, okay?”
“I will.”
There’s nothing to say after that, and we’re both delaying the inevitable. So I give him a small wave and shut the door behind me. I can’t help but feel like I’m shutting the door on something more than a one-night stand. But that’s just the sex talking. I’ll keep that memory close, and use it to get me through the hell that’s in front of me.
5
Glenn
The drive back to Green Hills is long. I’m tired from lack of sleep and a lot of sex, and I kind of just want to take a nap. But to do that I have to get home first. I should have hired someone to drive me so I could have slept in the car.
But I’m almost there now.
I’m only a couple exits from Green Hills. This is my favorite part of the state, with beautiful rolling fields that our town is named for. There are distant trees that stand out against the horizon, and today’s blue sky is peppered with billowing white clouds. I could be driving through a postcard based on the view out my window.
But honestly, it’s not the view I want right now. I can’t get Diamond out of my head. Her sexy moans and her body and the way she asked for what she wanted with no hesitation. And the way she blushed as we said goodbye, like she wanted more even though we both knew we couldn’t have it.
I almost asked her to stay. I almost gave her my phone number and asked her to call. I don’t know how that would help, because five hours is a hell of a commute for some sex. Even if it was really great sex. But it shouldn’t matter.
I pull up to my house, and sigh. I love my house. It’s the one thing that I’ve truly splurged on with the money. I had it built on the outskirts of town, and it has plenty of space and one hell of a view. It’s many miles away from where I grew up, and miles from the kind of life I had when I was growing up.
Because of that, every time I come home I feel a huge sense of relief. This house is my safe haven. It makes me remember that I’ll never have to go back there, and it reminds me of how far I’ve come.
I grab my bag and head into the house, leaving it in the foyer. I’ll deal with it later. Right now I have to do what I’ve been waiting to do for a long time. There’s a calendar in my kitchen. On the way I grab a pen, and I go to cross off the first day of Dirty Thirty.
I’m about to cross off today, since I’m exhausted and I slept with Diamond this morning. But I hesitate before my pen can hit the paper. For whatever reason, it doesn’t feel right. She doesn’t feel like any one-night stand that I’ve had before. She was vibrant and dynamic and using her for this purpose seems weird.
Jesus, Glenn. Get your shit together. I reach out and mark off the day. Day 1, complete. Here we go.
I’ll be honest, it doesn’t feel like I thought it would. I expected to feel pride at starting this thing that I’ve basically been planning for thirteen years. But all I feel is tired. Man, they say that hangovers hit you harder when you turn thirty, and they were right.
I need a nap, and then I need to check in with Brennan at First Shot and make sure everything is ready for tomorrow. We’re expecting even bigger crowds than there were when I left yesterday, and we’re going to be providing snacks and drinks for those people waiting in line outside. But they have to wait for their free shot until they get inside.
As well as the refreshments, it’s basically going to be a fair. There will be a water dunk tank, where all three of the owners of First Shot will take their turn, along with the staff. We’ll have dart throwing and pie eating competitions and corn hole games. It’s a huge undertaking, and for once I’m just glad that I wasn’t the one that had to plan all of it.
I haven’t even had any emails telling me that something massive has gone wrong. Yet.
Going upstairs, I sink onto my bed with a groan. Now that I’m home, I kind of feel like I got hit by a truck. I need to sleep. Just for a couple of hours before I get up and do some work before tomorrow. My eyes are closing already, and the last thing I think of before I fall asleep is the taste of Diamond’s lips.
6
Diamond
This is torture.
I’m surrounded by pink ribbons and bows and bunting. There’s so much pink that I kind of want to vomit on it just so there can be some variety in the color.
But the pink isn’t even the worst part.
When I got here after driving from Nashville, Lillian practically jumped on me, telling me she was so excited to see me and that she was happy I was here. Funny, I don’t recall that being the case when we were kids.
Lillian is three years younger than I am, and we’ve never gotten along. Granted, flipping back and forth between my mom’s and dad’s house was never easy, and there was a lot of stress. But I would have hoped that we could have bonded over that.
It didn’t happen.
On the surface, it’s the same old story: poor little rich girl. My parents were wealthy but that didn’t make them happy, and we didn’t make them happy either. The most we did for them was to serve as pawns in the one-up game they played with each other after the divorce. I helped Lillian get an A in math. Well I helped Di get an A+ in science.
Every second was the pressure to please, and if you didn’t, you were a disappointment. A failure. Not good enough for the Collins name.
But Lillian always seemed to get away with a little bit more than I did. I pushed myself as hard as I could, into track and sports, but I didn’t love it even though I was good at it. And nothing worked, nothing made them happy. So by the time I graduated high school, I was more than ready to say ‘fuck you’ to them and to college.
I went to beauty school instead. But of course, that’s not a career that a Collins should have. They fought me every step of the way. But I love it. I love it the way I’ve never loved anything else. People can say that it’s shallow all they like, but the feeling of making a person feel good about themselves, of having them turn around and light up when they look in the mirror, it’s indescribable.
None of my family were happy about it, and they treated me like shit for years because I was the disappointment with the low-class job. But they’re family, and the Collins’s have appearances to keep. I’ll never be able to get rid of them. Not truly.
Four years ago, when I met Alex, I thought my life was falling into place. Perfect career, free from my parents, amazing boyfriend who loved me. Everything was ideal. I was happier than I’d ever been. We were in the kind of love that people dream about. The kind of love where people think it’s both adorable and gross that you can’t keep your hands off each other. And that’s the way it was, until we’d been together for two years and I found him fucking my sister in the back of his car.
>
My stomach churns at the memory. The champagne I’m drinking suddenly feels like a bad idea. The sight of Alex, across my mother’s perfectly manicured back lawn isn’t helping, either. He’s talking excitedly with one of the guests about a present. I can’t tell what it is from here, and I don’t particularly care.
It was hard enough finding out that he cheated on me with Lillian. The news that not only were they getting married, but they were having a baby together, made me throw up when I heard. No one in the family seems to understand why. They all think I’m crazy, and that I should be thrilled about the miracle of new life. But I can’t stop the bile from rising in my throat as I watch Alex sweep Lillian into his arms, dipping her and kissing her while his hand is on her very pregnant belly.
God, this was a terrible idea. I wish I was back in Nashville, that I’d stayed in that room with Glenn where all I had to do was think about the next orgasm that I was going to have, and none of this mess.
“You could at least try to smile,” a strident voice says next to me. My mother appears by my side, also holding a glass of champagne.
My father is the mayor of Eastborough, which is easily the most affluent city in Eastern Tennessee. And my mother, after the divorce, has made a name for herself as a philanthropist as she’s wealthy in her own right. If Tennessee had socialites, my family are it. Everyone who’s anyone is at my sister’s shower. It’s no wonder she wants me to smile.
“It’s grotesque,” I say.
“For God’s sake,” she mutters under her breath. “When are you going to let this go? All I ask is that you show up, smile, and not make a scene. Are you not capable of doing that?”
I glance over at her. “I’m not making a scene.”
“There are press here,” she hisses. “Standing in a corner drinking your third glass of champagne and sulking is making a scene.”
I level a gaze at her. “Don’t tempt me, Mom. Because it’s been a long fucking time since I’ve actually made a scene, and I’m overdue.” Her mouth hardens into a line, but I can’t stop the words from flowing out. “Have you thought about what happens when their kid asks how they met? How that’s going to go over?”
“Jesus, Di—”
“Well,” I say, imitating Alex’s voice. “I used to be your Auntie Di’s girlfriend, actually. But she wasn’t good enough for me, so your mother and I got together instead.”
My mother’s face has gone almost purple with rage. It matches the dress she’s wearing well. “You’re the one who’s making this uncomfortable,” she says, voice low and angry. “You’re the one who can’t seem to move on and thinks that someone marrying her ex is the worst thing that’s ever happened to her.”
A sudden realization dawns on me. “Is that what you think happened?” I ask. “Is that what they told you?”
“That Alex left you and then they began dating, yes.”
I shake my head, fighting the swell of emotion that still overtakes me. The betrayal is deep, and it still stings. “Alex didn’t break up with me, Mom. I caught them together in the back seat of his car. They’d already been sleeping together for six months. Behind my back.”
I see that the news takes her by surprise. She blinks at me for a couple of second before schooling her features back into perfect composure. “Be that as it may, it doesn’t matter. It’s in the past now. All you can do is be happy for them, and please smile. If I’m going to help you, you can’t be this girl, Di. Even if you are my daughter.”
And then she walks away, that picture perfect smile plastered on her face as she waves to someone who’s just arrived and goes quickly to hug them. And I feel…nothing.
I hoped that it would make a difference, her knowing the truth. That she would understand why this is horrifying. I should have known better. It’s never been about anything but appearances.
If I’m going to help you, you can’t be this girl.
She means that if she’ll even consider what I asked her, I have to be a perfect princess who smiles for the press. Because she can’t help me, her daughter, if it will damage her reputation. Or my father’s. For being divorced, they’re still very protective of each other. Probably because they know that if one goes down, they both will.
I didn’t want to, but I’ve asked my parents for money.
After years of working for other people in salons, I have a client list that I can be fucking proud of. On top of that, my work is well enough known that I sometimes get work in Nashville, and on movies when they film locally—which they do often enough for the beautiful scenery.
It’s time. I’m ready to have my own salon, for both hair and make-up. I’ve found the perfect place here in Eastborough. It’s a beautiful little storefront in a brick building with loads of natural light and beautiful cherry-colored hardwood floors.
I knew when I walked inside that it was perfect. But the owner of the building isn’t interested in renting anymore. He wants to liquidate, and I don’t have that kind of money. And so after waffling back and forth for weeks, I asked my parents to help, hoping that me taking this step into being an entrepreneur would make them more willing to help. Maybe even make them proud.
They’re response was that I had to be better. Be a part of the family, take part in the events. Be friendly. Smile. Be a good Collins girl for the cameras. If I did that, then maybe they’d help me.
It’s why I’m here at this baby shower now.
I hate that I want to please them, and to make them happy. That there’s a voice in my head that wants them to approve of what I’m doing for once in my life. If I had any guts, I’d just walk away. But I can’t.
They’re my family, and I love them even if what we have is twisted and broken. And so I try. And I try to put a smile on my face. It’ll be worth it, if I can finally get the salon. Something that’s mine. Just mine and no one else’s. Something that they won’t be able to take away from me.
So I think about last night and this morning, the joy and the pleasure and laughter that I felt with Glenn, just for a few hours. And I plaster on a smile, even though I want to be anywhere but here.
7
Glenn
So far, the fair has been a huge success. The street in front of First Shot has been shut down for it, and there are crowds that are bigger than I had anticipated. I really need to stop underestimating the First Shot fans.
I’m standing outside with Frankie and Wallace, waiting for our turns to go into the dunk tank. We’ve agreed to do it along with our staff and city officials to raise money for the refurbishment of one of the city parks. Plus, it’s added entertainment for the people waiting to get inside.
“I’ll be honest,” I say to them, “I never thought that Labor Day would be a holiday that would do so well for us.”
“Neither did I,” said Frankie, “but as long as it’s going this well, we should do what we can to keep it this way.”
I nod. “I fully plan to.”
“That’s all good,” Wallace says. “But I think Frankie and I are more interested in how your trip to Nashville was. Did you have a good time?”
They’re trying to be supportive, even though I know they both want me to give up on the whole idea of the pledge. “I did have a good time,” I say. “A very good time.”
Frankie laughs. “I’m afraid to ask for details.”
“I helped someone avoid a creeper in a club and we hit it off. Ended up spending the night and morning in my hotel.”
“The morning too?” Wallace asks. “Isn’t that against the rules?”
I roll my eyes. “The rules are what I make them since you pussies bailed on me.”
He holds up his hands in surrender. “Fair enough. As long as you had fun.”
“Yeah,” I say, Diamond’s face flashing into my mind. Specifically, her face when she was in the middle of coming on my cock. Flushed, eyes closed and mouth open, everything about her screaming that she was in perfect ecstasy. “Honestly, it was great. Wish I could have stayed longe
r. But with as many visitors as we have right now, it shouldn’t be a problem.”
There’s a splash, and the manager of the bar goes sailing into the tank to the cheers of her friends who have been pummeling the button with rubber balls. Frankie’s up. He gives me a long stare before he walks away. “Careful, Glenn.”
I know he’s warning me about the business, and how they both think that sleeping with a different woman every day is going to be bad for business if it gets out.
If they knew how many women from the bar I’d slept with already, they’d probably lose their damn minds. Frankie and I have mostly gotten over the issues we had, and even I can admit that I was a dick. But I was pissed at him. He dropped off the face of the earth to go follow his dreams, and then he barely came back.
Now, even though he and Annabelle live in Nashville most of the time, they’re in Green Hills a lot because of their families. Frankie’s grandmother is getting older and they’ve wanted to spend time with her. Plus, he can afford the charter flights back and forth that make the commute a far more reasonable forty-five minutes.
Wallace and I watch as Frankie removes his shoes and his shirt, and hear the women in the crowd shouting—no one louder than Annabelle, his wife.
We’ve never really gotten along. We blame each other for things we probably shouldn’t. Now that the Dirty Thirty is actually here, I’m guessing after it’s over things will get better. But I don’t see us ever being close buddies. That’s okay. As long as Frankie doesn’t punch me in the face again we’ll be just fine.
Frankie sits in the dunking booth and someone throws a ball, and misses. Annabelle is only a few people back in the line. I will laugh if she doesn’t dunk him. Because he’ll never let her live it down until she has another chance—probably next year.
“So,” Wallace says, too casually, “have you officially started yet?”