by Taylor Ryan
“Like how?” He asked, laughing helplessly, knowing it was the wrong thing to be doing.
“Like you want to kiss me!” She didn’t bat an eye, only took a indignant breath. “Don’t you have to go to the restroom or something—read the walls of shame?! And don’t forget to wash your hands! I’ve been ousted!” Then she tipped forward and laughed herself silly.
She was a man trap! Even when she was disgusted with him. Everything about her was quirky, vibrant quicksand. Garth remained silent, smiling enigmatically as he watched her suffering go on with a benign expression, his eyes twinkling when she calmed down. She drank deeply from her margarita then set the glass down and gave her friends an exaggerated frown. “This scurvy coward beside me distracted me, Maria. What was your question again?”
“Mary Kathryn,” Geraldine razzed her. “Stop picking on your knave—telling him he’s a pensioned-off chicken is just too sexy an image. Don’t blame him for your wobbly throne!” The anticipation rose as they tried to keep straight faces and continued roasting her. “You have cull commando written all over you, Mary Kathryn. Morley, give her your lemon!”
Garth handed Mary Kathryn the cut-out. She wadded it and tossed it into Mary Louise’s cleavage. Mary Louise made a big production of removing it. Beth was eyeing Mary Kathryn. “Your Saltiness,” she demanded, “answer Maria’s question!”
Mary Kathryn refused to look at Garth, knowing he was waiting patiently. Her lips quirked. “I refuse to answer on the grounds that we are in mixed company.” With a jerk of her head she indicated Garth.
“I don’t mind,” Geraldine added to the riotous glee by deliberately misunderstanding. She toasted Garth with her margarita. “Do you, Morley?” She laughed at her own jest. Mary Kathryn looked as if she thought a torture rack would be more pleasant.
“It was a Panty Coup!” Beth declared with joviality when the women finally calmed down, Maria wiping her eyes amid the congratulations dethroning the reigning queen.
“Finally, we got rid of her! I love bingo!” Geraldine raised her glass to her table mates. “We knocked that commando margarita molester right off her throne. Just look at this table, her empire is in shambles. Long live Queen Maria!”
“Ahh, sheet,” the groan from the Hispanic woman was heartfelt as she tapped her glass against Mary Smith’s. “I’m too old for this!”
Maria explained to Garth, her accent more pronounced, “I’m Catholic. Last time I was queen I got pregnant.”
Things went south from there.
Chapter Eleven
WHEN GARTH WOKE UP alone the next morning on Mary Kathryn’s couch, his stomach muscles were sore. His ribs ached from her occasional elbow, his head was pounding, he was dehydrated, ravenous, had no cash to speak of at all—and knew immediately he’d had the time of his life. And he would never drink margaritas again. That bartender ought to be shot. Alison was calling his name, telling him she’d made breakfast and to come and get it. Food! It was the only thing that motivated him from the couch. That and brushing his teeth.
He could hear Henry upstairs banging on his mother’s door, insisting she come down, that they hadn’t breakfasted together since Garth had been there and they were long overdue.
Alison and Henry eyed them both rather suspiciously when Garth and Mary Kathryn meandered gingerly into the kitchen ten minutes later. Finally, Henry, after his mother groaned over her coffee and simply stared at the eggs and toast he placed in front of her, accused her of being hungover.
“Dad,” Alison was uncertain. “I didn’t know they served alcohol at bingo. Are you hungover too?”
“I have a slight headache.” Garth forced himself to take a bite of the cold lumpy toast. He chewed, staring at the white solid buttery mass and wondered what it was, surely it wasn’t toast? Mary Kathryn’s looked better so he stole hers, his expression so hopeful she only nodded, then quickly stifled a groan as if moving her head hurt.
“Mom?” Henry glared accusingly at his mother.
Garth stifled a miserable, yet amused smile. Any minute now Henry was going to wag his finger under her nose.
“I’ve got IBC, Henry.” Mary Kathryn crossed her eyes and looked at Garth, who grinned as she told Henry, her eyes still crossed, “It’s the first sign of IBS.”
“I know what IBS is...” Alison was genuinely concerned. “What’s IBC?”
“Irritating Ballsy Children.” Mary Kathryn cast an annoyed sidelong glance at Henry.
“You lied, Mother,” accused Henry. Then up came his hand and he wagged his index finger at her. “You told us you were taking Garth to play bingo.”
“I did, I swear.” Mary Kathryn turned to Alison because watching Henry’s moving finger was causing her stomach to roil. “Your father even won a game. It cost him a small fortune. I was so proud of him, Alison. Even though the game was rigged, he paid up like a real trooper. Then we discussed the merits of birth control until somebody bought another round.” She glanced significantly at her son before turning to Garth. “It wasn’t you who bought, remember? We’d spent that last twenty you had bribing Mrs. Peabody to show Mary Louise her nipple ring.” Mary Kathryn stirred eggs around on her plate, explaining to Henry. “Mrs. Peabody took his twenty, then said it wasn’t enough money and started haggling for more. But the ATM was out of order so she agreed to keep her end of the deal. But she’d lied. She refused to show us anything...she actually had the audacity to buy us another pitcher of Bingo Margaritas with Garth’s money and join us at our table.”
Garth only grunted, then with a look of droll indulgence for Mary Kathryn, said, “so your mother told everyone Mrs. Peabody’s ring was infected. Then nobody wanted to see it. Which only made the woman want to prove it wasn’t. We had a time of it, keeping her clothes on. Mrs. Peabody wanted to give me a lap dance, but a leg on her walker was broken.”
Mary Kathryn inhaled her coffee and choked, her head swiveling toward Garth, who only shrugged and rolled his eyes toward Henry and Alison as their children took the bait and ran with it.
“Mom!” Henry was scandalized, missing the byplay. “What the hell kind of bingo do you play?!”
“Don’t curse, Henry.” Other than that, Mary Kathryn ignored her son, saying to Garth over her coffee cup. “I think you borrowed twenty dollars from Geraldine and ended up paying Mrs. Peabody to keep her blouse buttoned.”
“Two dollars a button,” he nodded. “Eight buttons,” his eyes lingered on her. “The other four dollars were so she would go away. She didn’t. She used my money and started a game of 1/4/24. You banked me. Which, by the way, you said we’d take out in trade.” His gaze grew warmer. “Which I agreed would be acceptable if you told Mary Louise to stop ogling me and get her boobs off the table.” “Dad!” Alison gaped at the blatant flirting, glancing uncertainly between him and Mary Kathryn. “Dice! How could you? Drinking and gambling?”
“She made me do it.” Tongue in cheek, Garth pointed at Mary Kathryn with his fork, threw her to the wolf pups whining at them. Mary Kathryn immediately looked at the tip of her nose, her eyes crossing again until Garth choked on an the uninteresting bite of the runny scrambled eggs piled on his plate. After he recovered, Garth looked toward the ceiling as if appealing for help. Henry and Alison huffed and made indignant comments about their parents juvenile behavior. Finding no help from above, he turned to Mary Kathryn, the quick grin they exchanged was empathy laden, full of remembered laughter and camaraderie. The easy closeness they were sharing crackled with awareness.
“That’s not exactly what happened,” Mary Kathryn wagged a spoon at him. “Are you trying to get me grounded?” She turned to Henry and staunchly defended herself. “It was the, uh, the club members!” She managed a weak smile as she explained. “They refused to let us leave until we finished our dinner.”
“What did you have for dinner?” Alison wasn’t sure what else to say as Henry stared at his mother with soulful, disappointed eyes.
“Well...” Mary Kathryn said thinly, staring a
t her toast as Garth started laughing at the hole she had dug herself. “—limes?”
“Mom,” Henry raised his voice, which only made her head pound harder. “You’re too old to be running around acting like a barfly. And where did you learn about nipple rings? That’s college stuff.” He groaned and slumped in his chair. “What will people think?”
Garth’s fork stilled as Mary Kathryn’s head snapped up. “Barfly?”
“You two didn’t get home until two-thirty!” Henry glowered. “Didn’t it occur to you we would worry? All the guff you gave me when I was a teenager and you pull the same thing you nagged and nagged me about!” Henry was red-faced. Garth wanted to say something but wisely kept his mouth shut. He watched the exchange with interest, noting Alison was looking at him with the same judgmental disparagement Henry gave Mary Kathryn. Henry’s face was sullen. “What if some of my friends saw you out? Why would you go to a bar after bingo? Bingo is...innocent! Little old ladies and blue hair chatting over tea at the senior center! Couldn’t you just have come home afterward?!”
Mary Kathryn eyed her son as if she’d never seen him before. “Bingo Virgin! The closest you ever came to a bingo game was throwing up on the side of the road near the Moose Lodge that time I picked you up from a keg party that was supposed to be a chess club meeting! Look it up on the internet. Bingo is terrifying and vicious! Pull tabs ripping and daubers banging. And the narrowed greedy eyes of your elderly neighbor glaring at you suspiciously, just daring you to call a Bingo! It’s strife and open dauber warfare. So be quiet and eat your...what is this?!” Her fork flipped browned curling eggs to find a puddle of yolk. She dropped the utensil on her plate with a clatter that made both Garth and her wince.
“Garth,” Mary Kathryn’s chair shoved from the table as she rose, cup in hand. “Bring your coffee. For some reason, Henry has decided he is my keeper. And his eggs are dismal, and the toast is muck with cold butter pats on it. He can eat it himself.”
“I cooked!” Alison wailed as her father followed Mary Kathryn from the kitchen. “Dad, where are you going?”
“I’m not sure yet... The jury’s still out...” Garth was eager to get away from them. Henry was only considering what his friends would say about his mother’s behavior? Even intoxicated she hadn’t done anything that could be misconstrued as inappropriate. She hadn’t even kissed him when they’d come home, only crawled up the stairs after a cheery goodnight and telling him she’d had fun after thanking him for giving everyone a ride home... Which he hadn’t... But he’d wanted to kiss her...he’d wanted drunk, sweaty, hot, greedy, selfish sex.
“Alison!” Henry yelled as they left the room. “Do something!”
“We’re going somewhere peaceful, I hope, Mary Kathryn.” Garth followed his hostess as she made for the stairs, Henry’s cry ringing in his ears, causing his skull to throb from the mariachi band playing tequila bong inside. “Where, exactly, are we going?”
“I need to brush my teeth again—take a nap, then brush them again.”
“Am I going to help you with that?” He was amused as they went up the stairs, not so hungover he couldn’t admire her bottom in her hastily donned sweat pants. He took another look, wondering if he should tell her they were inside out.
“No,” Mary Kathryn told him over her shoulder. “But when I feel better, I’m collecting that rain check—the kiss. Not the spanking. I’ll let you know when I feel better.”
His steps quickened. “And then what?”
“Who can tell?” her voice was weak. “You want to kiss me. I’d like to kiss the backs of your knees until your eyes cross—or maybe my eyes will cross while I look at mental snapshots of you in those green briefs—which hopefully, after a week, you’re not still wearing.” She sighed, then asked lightly, “You still want to kiss me, don’t you?”
He was silent, instantly hard.
“Well,” she prompted, pushing her bedroom door open, waving him in. “Do you? Or were you only after my throne—I know,” she closed the door behind her, effectively drowning out Henry’s cries. “It’s that danged waffle. You want the recipe!”
Garth could imagine his daughter’s attitude when she heard him howling if they had sex right now. “How could you even ask?” he grinned. “I want it all. But you’re deposed, so I’ll settle for the waffle.” He walked deeper into her bedroom, which would become a den of steamy iniquity in five seconds if she weren’t careful.
“Good. But first, a nap.” Then Mary Kathryn muttered, clearly annoyed with herself, “We forgot your toothbrush.”
“Were you...”
“Were I what?” she crossed the room to her unmade bed, the bed she had abandoned less then twenty minutes ago, beckoning him to follow.
“Wearing panties?” He was taking in her room, the huge sleigh bed with its down coverlet and the light airy feel from the two windows. Uncluttered. Simple and no ruffles. He liked it. Elegantly tasteful, the only knickknacks he noticed were bronzes set on either side of the television on special shelves. A horse and rider facing a storm. Another horse bucking, the rider’s arm flying wild. Garth absently noted the large screened plasma television mounted between the bronzes and a few western landscapes gracing the other walls. He glanced at the paintings, noting the vibrant purples of the skies, and having seen a few western sunset just like that, he briefly admired them.
“Dang Maria!” Mary Kathryn burst out, distracting him. “She knew the question would haunt you. She didn’t ask because she thought it may or may not be true. She asked to see your reaction. The look on your face was priceless, that witch! Oh My God!” she lifted her t-shirt and then laughed bemusedly when she saw her sweat pants were inside out. When she looked at him, her eyes were huge. “I had too much salt last night.”
“Were you?” She made him laugh even when he didn’t want to. His head was pounding.
“If you’re referring to the Panty Coup, that’s neither here nor there,” she avoided looking at him and he grinned. She hadn’t been!
He knew instantly she’d been busted by accident; knocked off her throne in a margarita panty raid. He laughed as he shook his head, recalling the evening. Thinking back, he’d have liked to have had his question come last. Why hadn’t she been wearing panties? As the evening progressed, with her witty comments all night, there was no telling what her answer would have been; anything from airing dirty laundry to having a rash made her feel sexy.
“People are protective of you.” Garth was thinking of Mary Beth and Geraldine, and even some of the men in the bar, all who knew her. They watched his every move in case he stepped over some invisible boundary. As the evening progressed, a few actually came up to him and asked him what his intentions were. When Mary Louise told them all she’d offered him sanctuary, they’d laughed knowingly, then assured him that if Mary Kathryn was allowing him to use her as protection they approved—sort of. Garth wondered if she knew how protective people felt about her.
“Some of your friends questioned me about my intentions toward you,” he said, watching her to judge her reaction.
“That’s because they all know I’m gorgeous when I’m hungover.” She humphed disgustedly as she studied her inside-out sweatpants. “Just look at me. I’m stunning.” Slightly bloodshot eyes peered at him from under tired, heavy lashes as she fussed with the blankets then grabbed a folded quilt laying across the bottom of the bed.
“You only go out on Mondays?”
She stared at him as if he’d lost his mind. “Not every Monday. Even God rested one day a week. The holidays, always the super bowl. I love football.” Mary Kathryn plopped down on the haphazardly made bed and pulled a blanket up to her eyeballs. There was no mistaking this, Garth was watching her. Sex wasn’t in order. She really was going back to bed, only offering him sanctuary from Henry and Alison.
“Who’s your favorite team?” he walked around to the other side of her bed.
“I have no idea.” She seemed amused by the question. “I’ve never watched a
game in my life. We just yell when the others do. Believe me, it’s awkward when we root for the wrong team.” Her laugh turned into a groan as she clutched her head. “Grab a pillow and get comfortable.” One eye opened and squinted in his direction as he took off his boots and lay down. “You’re a nice man, Mr. Morley. Macho eye candy does have its advantages. I’ve decided you’re eye dessert...candy is for kids.”
Garth rolled over onto his side to face her, finding her eyes were closing. “What advantage is that, Mrs. Kathryn?”
She sighed listlessly, “That even if you kiss bad, sloppy wet camel lips—right now, I wouldn’t even care, which is a tragedy. Which is why I’m collecting my rain check later. Have a nice nap.”
“Good grief, this bed is comfortable.” Garth sank into heaven. “Even the pillow is fabulous.”
“It’s memory foam. Isn’t it great?” She drew back slightly to see him better. “It cost a fortune.” She opened an eye to find his nose near hers. “This isn’t good.”
“What?”
“Now I won’t know which you like the best: me, my delicious waffle, or my wonderful bed.”
“It’s a package deal,” he said huskily against her mouth. “I’ll take the waffle in bed. I’ll only keep you around because you have the recipe.”
“Then I’ll never write it down.” She yawned hugely behind her hand. “Share my blanket, but no hanky-panky. I haven’t been doing yoga and busting my bum keeping it in shape only to end up not being able to prove it because you ruined me playing bingo.”
At his sharply inhaled breath she patted his cheek indulgently and closed her eyes again. “I’m ill. It’s your fault. Proof of life and all. Enjoy my down-and-out while you can. It won’t last, and I have expectations.”
Garth lay stiff next to her. She finally cracked an eye open. “Think of fishing. It used to help me.”
“You went fishing all last week,” he said after considering the innuendo.