Hope Entangles: A New Adult Romantic Comedy (Book 2 of 3)

by Alice Bello

  Hope Jones did a very, very stupid thing. She betrayed the man she was falling in love with just to keep her job, and is crippled with guilt.

  But now she has a problematic new neighbor who’s more than just a pain in the ass, a new addiction to breakfast breads, and she has to try and teach a teenager how to drive.

  Will she be able to do all this, get past the darkness in her past that comes calling, and still save her job… again?

  Hope Entangles

  A New Adult Romantic Comedy (Book 2 of 3)

  ***

  Alice Bello

  Copyright, 2013

  Smashwords Edition

  Cover Image, Istockphoto.com

  Edited by the amazing Stephanie T. Lott (aka Bibliophile)

  This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  Chapter One

  FOR THE LAST WEEK I’ve lived on home delivery: Chinese, Indian, Tai, Armenian, and Greek food. That and a pity bag of Krispy Creams Bette brought over after I’d been incommunicado for three days straight. Just not pizza…or Hot Dog Shop…or Mexican…or ribs or ice cream or anything else that would remind me of Jake.

  I cringed at all the delectable foods I might never get to eat again, almost as much as I cringed at the sight of myself in the mirror, or the thought of leaving the house. Or the absolutely miserable prospect of ever running into Jake again.

  Jake was handsome. Jake was sexy as hell. Jake was wonderful in so many ways… and I’d betrayed him. After a whirlwind of rapid-fire dates, more food than could be reasonably digested by a normal human, and the hottest sex known to man—and a Jimmy Buffet concert—I’d found myself losing my job as a romance cover photographer and used an accidentally snapped photo of us making love to appease my boss and the problem bestselling author.

  I kept my job but lost the man. I’d betrayed him.

  I sat on my couch, wadded up tissues scattered over every available surface, my kitty litter box neglected to the point where Clive refused to use it, and I hadn’t taken a shower in three days.

  I was a steaming hot mess.

  And I think I’d gained five pounds.

  Not that I was too worried about the weight. I’d read long ago that a woman’s body changed chemistry every seven years. I’d gained… a few pounds two years ago—which coincided with the end of my last relationship. So I was pretty sure these five pounds wouldn’t stick, and my still youthful metabolism would burn through it in no time; though I’d pulled on some sweats two days ago instead of breaking out my fat jeans.

  I’d gone through every hidden stash of candy I had, and was polishing off the last of it: a box of Good and Plenty’s. I absently wondered if the Armenian delivery guy could be persuaded to pick up some Milk Duds and a twelve pack of root beer.

  Dirty Dancing was playing on my flat screen TV, and Patrick Swayze had just said, “Nobody puts Baby in a corner.” My eyes were still red and sore from sobbing over Ghost. I had about sixty seconds before Johnny said Baby’s real name, and then I’d be a weeping, dripping, soggy mess again.

  I really needed to get some more comedies in my DVD collection. And maybe something non-romance related. Maybe Lock, Stock and Two Smoking Barrels, or maybe The Hangover. But that would mean leaving my house, wearing something other than my Hello Kitty pajamas, and maybe taking a shower.

  So that wasn’t happening.

  Johnny said the line, Baby’s mother told the father to sit down, and I dissolved into tears. I grabbed the Puffs and swiped at my eyes so I could see Patrick and Jennifer Gray dance to I Had the Time of My Life. I blew my nose to the beat, since I snot-up something awful when I cry. They danced beautifully together, and were just… perfect. Love in all its glory… or at least in all its Hollywood produced, Diane Warren enhanced glory.

  I blubbered and cheered when they did “The Lift.”

  Maybe that was why I actually picked my cell phone up when it rang and answered it without checking who it was. I’d been letting everything non-work-related go to voicemail.

  “Yes?” I cried out, sobbing pitifully, phlegm rattling, sounding like I was on the verge of a nervous breakdown… which I couldn’t rule out.

  “Miss Jones?” a wary, almost familiar female voice asked.

  I cleared my throat, wiped my nose and swiped at my eyes. “This is Hope Jones.”

  “Oh good,” the voice relaxed and sweetened. “I was afraid I’d gotten the wrong number from Drew.”

  Drew? My mind stalled… and then I suddenly remembered.

  “Darla?”

  “Oh good, you remember.”

  Dimples, pretty as the day was long. I sniffled, remembering how seemingly in love the two of them were.

  “Are you alright, Miss Jones?”

  I shook it off. “Call me Hope, please.” I grabbed another tissue. “So what can I do for you?”

  “Well, I was wondering if you still wanted to take me out practice driving… you know, for my driver’s license test.”

  I closed my eyes and let my head fall back on the couch. I pushed my palm into my forehead. Driving… with an inexperienced nineteen year old… in the heat. I didn’t want to move off the couch, not to mention go outside and play driver’s education in my air-conditioning challenged Taurus.

  But I’d said I’d do it, hadn’t I?

  I cringed as I said, “Sure. We can do that—”

  There was the shrill cry of a highly caffeinated Justin Beiber fan that was probably Darla being very, very happy.

  “Oh thank you, thank you!” Another shrill blast from the phone. “I’ll be there in an hour. I’ll bring Gyros for lunch!”

  And Darla disconnected.

  I sat there, probably bleeding from one ear, stunned and confused.

  What just happened?

  I sat there for a few seconds.

  What the HELL just happened?!?!

  Oh crap! She was coming over in an hour…

  Shiiit…

  I could always call her back and beg off because I didn’t feel well. I could always say I had the flu. People would leave you alone if they thought you were contagious, and I’d probably sounded especially ill over the phone.

  But then I looked around at my stale, depressing, tissue littered living room. It wasn’t a living room anymore… it was a tomb.

  I blew my nose one last time, grabbed the trashcan by the end table and got rid of every last tissue. I trudged up the stairs, took a much needed shower, put on some clean clothes—my usual jeans and t-shirt combo—and pulled my hair back in a ponytail.

  A little Visine and my blood shot eyes turned a lovely shade of pink.

  So I rummaged through some drawers until I found a pair of sunglasses. I was waiting on my porch when my next door neighbor Bette drove up in her Cadillac Deville. She parked in her driveway and got out of the car, dropping her own shades down her perfectly straight nose, piercing me with one hell of a haughty stare.

  “I was afraid you’d died.” She grabbed her shopping bags: two from Macy’s, one from Saks Fifth Avenue, one from Home Depot, and a Piggly Wiggly sack. She was nothing if not an eclectic shopper.

  “Sorry to disappoint.”

  She smiled, I smiled back. It actually made me feel better to force that smile out.

 
“So, does this mean you’re back in the land of the living, or did you burn out on your little Patrick Swayze movie marathon?”

  I gave her a hard stare, but it was lost behind my sunglasses. It still creeped me out that she had spy equipment and wasn’t shy about using it.

  “I like Patrick Swayze,” I blurted out, “and so do you!” I knew she had an autographed photo of the star from a promotional stint he was doing for To Wong Fu: Thanks for Everything Julie Numar.

  She stuck out her tongue at me. “I was just glad you didn’t pull out Road House. I mean, he was sex on a stick in that one, but it was the nastiest movie I’ve ever seen.”

  I held up my hands as she advanced onto my porch. “I can’t handle the tearing throats out thing, so no worries there.”

  “Good.” Bette set down her shopping bags and took her shades off with a flourish. “So how are you doing? Have you heard from him? Did you call him?”

  I bit my lip and forced myself not to cry. I bit down harder.

  “Oh honey, I’m sorry... ” Bette said, coming over and sitting beside me, wrapping a protective arm over my shoulders. “You know me; I have this unholy curiosity that can’t be quenched.”

  I laughed…and sniffled. Good lord, this was getting ridiculous!

  “I’m fine,” I said and glanced out at the sunny street. “And no, he hasn’t—and he won’t.”

  “You don’t know that,” she said softly.

  I looked her straight in the eye. “I betrayed him, Bette.”

  She gave me a sad little smile and then rolled her eyes. “That’s what relationships are all about. You fuck up, you get mad, you get miserable and then you make up.”

  I leaned over on her shoulder and sighed, blinking away tears I refused to let flow. “But we never got to the having a relationship phase. There’s nothing between us to hold on to, nothing to glue us together.”

  Bette harrumphed. “Glue is overrated. I prefer to use rope or duct tape.”

  I laughed through my impending tears. “Leave it to you to boil down my problems and answer them with a bondage reference.”

  She patted my head with her manicured hand. “That’s what I’m here for.”

  I took a breath to say something, but then the roar of a truck engine and the squeal of tires shattered the quiet, meaningful moment. Drew’s truck flew down my street, made a U turn and stopped with a screech of tires and a cloud of burnt rubber in front of my house.

  “My god,” Bette murmured.

  I looked up and watched as the two love birds kissed goodbye… it took nearly two minutes, and I was surprised Darla still had her clothes on when she pried herself off Drew and finally got out of the truck. She blew Drew a kiss and gave a little wave, and then he burned rubber, revving up his truck and barreling down the street like his hair was on fire.

  Darla sashayed up my walkway and trotted up the steps. As usual, she didn’t have an ounce of makeup on and still looked like a beauty queen. She wore a blue blouse that brought out her eyes, and plunged just low enough to bring out the creamy loveliness of her cleavage. Her jeans were tight enough to hug her curvy hips, and the way she walked, even in sneakers, made those hips sway like she was a supermodel.

  She leveled Bette and me with sparkling blue eyes and a mega watt smile. And she had the cutest dimples I’d ever seen.

  “Hey Miss Jones… I mean Hope.” She then steered her smile over to Bette. “Hi,” she said, extending her hand. “I’m Darla.”

  Bette pulled her arm from around me and shook Darla’s hand. It was funny, but I got the distinct impression that the two women were quite literally sizing each other up. Like two prize fighters entering the ring.

  Oh boy…

  “I’m Bette La Belle,” my neighbor said, smiling, her voice dripping honey. “Hope’s neighbor and best friend.”

  Darla’s smile intensified. If they’d been a couple of guys they would have been trying to crush each other’s hands.

  “I’m so glad to meet you.” Darla held up the large paper sack she had in her hand. “Thank heavens I brought enough for three.”

  ***

  The Gyros were from a little mom and pop place downtown call De Petro’s, and they were to die for delicious. Darla had brought three gyros and three large fries. She had them put the creamy sour cream and ranch sauce on the side so they wouldn’t get soggy, and they were piping hot.

  Of course, as fast as Drew drove they wouldn’t get a chance to get cold.

  I got out plates and the ketchup, and Bette found a gallon of peach iced tea in my pantry and poured three glasses over ice. Darla dished out the eats and we dug in. Once they started eating the girls ratcheted down their sweet as pie glaring contest.

  “These gyros are fantastic!” I told Darla as I luxuriated in the spicy deliciousness.

  Bette held up a fry with a dollop of ketchup on the end. “And these fries are divine…so crisp.”

  Darla lit up at the praise. “I’ve been going there since I was in high school. You can’t find a better gyro within the city limits.”

  Bette nodded her head and gave Darla a real smile.

  I sighed and relaxed. They weren’t going to fight after all.

  We ate. Darla talked about how grateful she was that I was taking her out to practice driving. Bette gave me a raised eyebrow and a taunting smile. She knew I was in for it.

  Then she asked our young third a series of questions that didn’t seem to be leading anywhere.

  Where is your family from?

 

  Do you work or go to school?

 

  How did you meet your fine young beau?

  Darla smiled:

 

  I cut in, afraid where Bette might be going with these seemingly innocent questions.

  “So when are you scheduled to take the test again?”

  Darla washed down the last of her gyro with a sip of tea. “Two weeks. It’ll be my tenth time. The ladies at the DMV say if I fail one more time it’ll be the county record.”

  Bette got this funny look on her face, as if she were about to laugh or cry or something.

  “You’ve really failed the test nine times?”

  Darla eyed her empty plate. “I don’t do so great at the parallel parking…the cones…or the highway.” She fidgeted and looked miserable. “I just get so flustered.”

  Bette shook her head in disbelief. “So why doesn’t your boyfriend teach you?”

  Darla sighed and bit her lip. Lord, she was adorable.

  “He gets all anxious when I get behind the wheel of his precious truck. I don’t get ten yards before he starts in that I’m going too fast, too slow, I’m hitting the brakes to hard, I almost side swiped a parked car…”

  She put her hands on her hips and shook her head. “I’m afraid if I try and have him teach me anymore we’re gonna have a really big fight and break up.”

  Bette just stared at Darla… and then looked at me with one of her seldom shown moments of speechlessness. I could tell by the look on her face, she’d given up trying not to like Darla.

  Bette got up and swung her purse over her shoulder. “Okay then, ladies… let’s hit the road.”

  Darla and I stared at her for a dim moment before she snapped, “Well, come on. You can’t take Hope’s old clunker and expect to learn anything but calling AAA.”

  I shot her a hard look.

  “Come on, honey bun. You know that old clap trap heap of crap is on its last legs.”

  Darla’s eyes were round as saucers. “You mean you want me to drive your Cadillac?” She glanced out my kitche
n window to where Bette’s Caddy was parked.

  Bette practically purred as she shot Darla with a knowing grin.

  “You’ll love it. It’s like a Barcalounger on wheels.”

  Chapter 2

  I’d always suspected that Bette loved to live life on the edge. She had more ex-husbands than I had pairs of shoes, and now that she was single again she had a stream of male suitors coming and going like worker bees at a beehive.

  I’d also noticed that she preferred to sweep out her own gutters, which she did in her bare feet, practically dancing around as she swept.

  On those days I opted to go inside. I’m afraid of heights, and watching her up there is just too precarious for me to stand.

  But when she handed over the keys to her pearl white, shiny, brand-new Cadillac to a nineteen year old driver she’d only known for twenty minutes, I knew she was a true adrenaline junky. I bit my lip as my stomach tried to flip over on me. It felt like I was on a rollercoaster, and we hadn’t even gotten into the car yet.

  After Bette had made the offer to take Darla out driving, she’d high tailed it over to her house to stow away her perishable Piggly Wiggly items. It had taken her all of five minutes, and she came out of the house chatting on her phone, smiling and shooing us to her Caddy.

  Presented with the keys, Darla hesitated and gulped. Bette gave them a little shake and when they clinked like bells Darla lunged for them and ran for the driver’s seat.

  “Are you sure you want to go through with this?” I whispered into her ear, trying not to look to obvious about it.

  Bette smiled as she slid her sunglasses back on. “Driving is the most important skill a young woman can have. Otherwise she is consigned to being a passenger in life, and winds up subservient to others for transportation.”

  I blinked at her. I’d never pegged Bette as a women’s lib type.

  Bette sighed, her smile turning brittle. “My parents refused to let me learn to drive. And my first husband kept with the tradition.”