by Cindy Miles
I was in the middle of a big squishy bite of steaming pancake drenched in butter and warm Aunt Jemima syrup when Claire cleared her throat.
“So. Memory,” she said, and turned in her chair toward me.
“Hmm?” I answered, meeting her stare.
She pushed a piece of bacon around in syrup. Tinkerbell, sitting at my kitchen table. “That tow truck guy from last night,” Claire started. She took a bite, slid a glance at Brie, and then met my gaze. “Cute.”
“Pace!” Brie said cheerfully.
“Jace,” I clarified, which made both my idiotic friends start grinning. Cute wasn’t the word. Jace…whatever his last name was, had all the mouth-watering swagger of a cowboy. Sexy as all rotting, stinking hell. Tall, with broad shoulders and a bow-legged arrogance to his walk. Green eyes. But his voice—butter and rasp and sensual all rolled into one.
Too bad he was an arrogant ass.
Good thing I could handle arrogant asses. I was like…the Arrogant Ass Whisperer.
“What about him?” I continued after my inner-rant. I almost smiled at myself. At my own wit.
“Well,” Claire said. “Don’t you think he’s cute?”
I grinned. “I sure do. But he’s an uptight bundle of dick. A party pooper.” I shook my head. “No thank you.”
Brie burst out with a loud, obnoxious snort. “Mem, you are so ridiculous! He’s fucking hot!”
“God Almighty, Brie,” Claire commented. “It’s Sunday. Jesus can hear you—”
A knock on the screen door made us all jump, and we squealed. Probably Bentley and Conner. They knew today was Pancake Day and usually they popped over in hopes that we’d left them a crumb or two. I kept on with my bluster, though, as I unfolded my legs from under me and started for the door.
“Well, it’s true,” I continued. “Mr. Tow Truck had his damn drawers on too tight or something. He didn’t crack a single smile, not one time. All serious and acting like he’s Mr. Serious and better than us. And we’re some funny Bettys!” Brie and Claire laughed, and again, I shook my head, and flipped a glance at them over my shoulder. “I call ’em like I see ’em. And Jace the Tow-Truck Guy is definitely an uptight bundle of dick who wears his knickers too damn tight.”
At the screened door I stopped short. Crisp January air blew in, and I shivered, there, in my panties and tank top.
On the other side of the door was Jace the Tow-Truck Guy.
He had a very slight lift to one side of his mouth. Closest thing I’d seen to a smile so far. Because I knew, without a doubt in my mind, that he’d heard every single word I’d just said. Maybe even more. Plus, I was in my drawers.
Damn. He was even sexier in daylight. I could do nothing but stare. Dark scruff on his jaw and cheeks. Full mouth. That silvery scar at the corner of one eye, right on his cheekbone. Small, but noticeable, and I immediately wanted to know how he got it. And his lips were…shaped. As in, beautifully shaped. With his hat pulled low over his brow and a faded Carhartt jacket stretched across broad shoulders? Swear to God, he was breathtaking. A big, cute, breathtaking ass. Check yourself, Thibodeaux!
“I have a feeling,” he began, in that butter voice and a certain smug expression that made his eyes dance, “you aren’t too often rendered speechless.” His mouth twisted into a guarded, tight, crooked grin. “Ms. Thibodeaux.”
I blinked. Breathed.
Whoa.
There was dead silence for all of two point two seconds—like it hung in the air, alive, that deafening quiet—before the sound of screeching chair legs against wood floors shot from the kitchen, followed by stomping and hustling of feet as Brie and Claire came barreling in behind me. Even with Brie’s breath blowing against my neck, I never lost eye contact with Jace. Yeah, he’d gotten me. Big time. I mean, what was he doing at my house? Not expected! But he had me only for a second. Still in my tank and panties and despite the cold air blowing in, I held the screen door open with one arm, making sure he had a full nice view of me, and gave him what Sugar called a knickertwister—my infamous super coy, super sexy smile. I heard Claire’s teeth chattering behind me.
“Speechless, my good man, I most certainly never, ever am,” I replied. But I was cold. Desperately cold. It had to be forty outside, and I was standing there with the door open, and all that January barreling into me and trying my damned best not to show it. Trying to act all cool, suave. Together. “Wanna come in for some breakfast? It’s Pancake Day.” I fluttered my lashes at him, like I’d said it’s foursome day instead of Pancake Day. He was just so damn cute, and I was going to untwist his britches if it killed me. Or died trying. Two metaphors that really, really weren’t very funny, but only I knew it.
Jace gave me a quick glance—fast but thorough, and not intimidated. I watched his eyes move over my half-sleeve of, in my opinion, fascinating and artistic ink, before lifting his gaze up to mine. For a moment, those eyes flickered interest. At least, I thought they did. Then he pushed his hat back off his forehead and shook his head, but I knew I saw a gleam there. Amused? Appreciative? Shy? No, not shy. Something else I couldn’t identify. “Thanks, but no ma’am.” He reached into his back pocket and held his hand out to me. “Just thought you might need this.”
My eyes met his outreached hand—holding my driver’s license. My eyes widened and I plucked it from his fingers.
“Found it in the truck this morning,” he drawled.
I looked at him, and his eyes were on mine. I noticed they were not just regular, run-of-the-mill green. They were the color of sage. Sage, faded by the sun and rimmed with dark, generous lashes. Etched right into what might not be the perfect face, but a damned fine, rugged one that made me unable to look away.
Okay. He didn’t know it, but the chase was on.
He gave a quick nod to me, Brie, and Claire. “Ladies.”
Then he turned and swaggered off my front porch. I couldn’t help but watch his ass, tucked perfectly into a well-worn faded pair of jeans, and him moving in that lanky, swanky, bow-legged, easy-going walk. He had to know we watched. And possibly drooled. Had to.
I think Brie sighed against my ear.
I think I heard Claire whisper, I want one.
“Wait!” I called out. “Hey, Jace?”
He stopped at the door of his pick-up—an older model I couldn’t place. 70s maybe? 80s? A Chevy. Blue. Custom job and a damned good job. He looked at me and waited.
“What’s your last name?” I asked. “I can’t just call you Jace the Tow Truck Guy, you know.”
The faintest trace of a smile tugged at his mouth. “Beaumont.”
“Well,” I said, letting the screen door close. A real smile pulled at my face. Kind of shocked me. I couldn’t and in no way help it. It grew wider. “Thank you, Jace Beaumont. If I ever break down again I know just who to call.”
He said nothing; only gave another short nod, swung up into his truck, started the engine, which rumbled and sounded just plain cool, and left.
“My fucking ovaries just started breakdancing,” Brie said. “Old school style. Like, 1984.”
We burst out laughing. Brie was such a goof.
“Seriously,” Claire said. “I think I lost my breath for a second.” She elbowed me with her pointy little pixie elbow. “He is so into you it’s not even funny, Mem.”
“No, he’s not,” I answered with disappointment. “He’s wound as tight as a ball of rubber bands. The epic kind. Like a sitting-on-a-hill, tourist-attraction kind.”
“Did you give him the knickertwister?” Brie asked. “Jesus and God…and Thor, he is freaking sexy.”
I gave her a sly smile and said nothing.
“Oh, of course you did,” she smirked. “And you flashed him those twenty-five foot long legs, only wearing your drawers and that little teeny top with your big ole boobs clawing their way out?” She snorted. “It’s a wonder he didn’t have a freaking heart attack right there on the porch.”
“I bet he walked away with an epic hard-on,” Clair
e added with a giggle.
“Maybe he’s got a girlfriend?” I said. “Married, maybe? Or he could be gay? Maybe he doesn’t like girls with tattoos?” I thought about my right half-sleeve of ink, a myriad of what I considered poignant symbols of my life. And what I hoped to see throughout it, to the end. An aged pocket watch, opened, with an antique face but no hands; numbers embedded in scrawling vines that represented the dates of my birth, my mother’s birth, and my father’s. Along with the word Timeless, in detailed scroll. Done mostly in shades of black and gray, a few daisies—my mother’s favorite flower—were inlaid and colored and reached nearly to my elbow. Crisco had been with me for the initial outlining. Sugar had thought it was bad-ass. Bentley had said it was hot. Conner had said it was my body, my choice. Claire and Brie had tried to talk me out of it. In the end, though, they’d all accepted. I’d never told them the meaning behind any of it. I just admitted to loving daisies.
“Maybe he’s just a gentleman?” Claire said with a snap. “Ever think of that, Miss Judgemental? Just because a guy doesn’t start dry-humping you on the spot doesn’t mean he’s married or gay or anything else.” She pointed her teeny little finger at me and looked up. “Maybe he’s just old fashioned, or,” she widened her eyes and placed her palms against her cheeks as though in total surprise, “mature, perhaps. Either way. He heard all those mean things you said about him. Rude, Memory Catherine! You’re a mean girl and I’m ashamed!”
“Truth, they were rude, mean things,” I defended myself. “But he was an ass of grand proportion last night and deserved every single one of them.” I turned, and watched the back of his truck disappear down my drive. “Pretty easy on the eyes this morning, though. Not too much of a douchebag. Not at all, actually.” I looked at Claire. “And I’m not a mean girl, Peeshwank.” I shrugged and closed the door before I froze my ass off. “I’m…a fun girl. I like to live. You know, like Jack Dawson says. Make each moment count.” After my short, close-enough Titanic quote I busted a little twerk. “Just cut loose, ya know?” I turned my twerking bootie against Claire, who shoved me away. I laughed so hard my sides felt like they were splitting.
“Hmm,” Brie said, and we followed her back into the kitchen to finish breakfast. “Putting your philosophical mutterings about living life and such aside, I wonder if he’s related to Olivia Beaumont? And P.S., if your daddy ever saw you doing that repulsive move, he’d smack you.”
“Who do you think taught me?” I teased, popping my bootie and dropping it to the floor.
“You mean Olivia and Brax? A.K.A. Brax-n-Gracie? A.K.A. Bracie? That Olivia?” Claire asked, ignoring our entire conversation.
“Yep,” Brie replied.
I rose and thought about it. “I’m not sure. I really don’t know her too well. Only from the Texas Gov class we took my sophomore year. And of course the dare scandal.” I shook my head. “I like to have fun but those Kappas went way too far.” I grinned. “She was tough as nails, though, huh? Remember that?”
“She doesn’t look it but she’s as badass as they come,” Brie added.
“And Brax. God Almighty, he has it bad.” It was true, too. Never had I known two people so crazy in love. Except my mom and dad.
“Well, it must run in the family because his brother Kane has it just as bad for Harper Belle.” Brie sighed. “I pass them almost every day in the quad while they’re eating lunch together.” A dreamy look fogged her eyes. “He looks at her as if his eyes are lasers shooting right through hers.” She looked at us both. “God, I’m jealous.”
Yeah, I’d noticed that, too. Couldn’t help but wonder what that might feel like.
I was pretty sure I couldn’t invest the time it’d take to find that out.
An inspiratory grin crept over Claire’s pixie features. “Well, I do know Olivia and I’m going to find out if Jace the Tow Truck Guy is her brother or cousin or something.” She jumped up and returned with her iPhone. She flipped through her contacts, and I watched with curiosity as her little fingers flew over the screen, texting Olivia Beaumont. She set the phone down and continued eating.
“Look at her,” Brie commented through a bite of pancake. “All satisfied with her cunningness and wit. Claire, stop grinning like that.” Brie shot me a look and wiggled her brows. “You’re creeping me out.”
We all giggled, and then Claire’s phone buzzed. She snatched it up, read the message, and a slow smile pulled at her lips. Quickly, she typed another message to Olivia. Another grin. More typing. Grinning. Typing.
“Well?” Brie finally said with an impatient quip, biting a piece of bacon. She cut her eyes at me and crossed them before returning her gaze to Claire. “What’d she say?”
Claire set the phone down and met both our gazes. “Jace is her older brother. He is twenty-five. Single. Criminal Justice student like he said. Breaks horses. Loves his mama.”
“Interesting,” Brie said. “Right, Memory?”
“We already knew most of that,” I answered. “Besides. He made it really clear he’s not interested.” I smiled at my two friends. “Which makes him all the more alluring, of course. If I could just…I don’t know. Loosen him up some.” I wiggled my brows. “Because I got things to do, see? I can’t be all tied down by some serious guy with a stick up his ass, you know?” I pushed my natural Lafayette accent out and held my arms out wide. “I’m a free spirit, girl! I got…gorges to zip-line over! Skydiving! Hot-air ballooning!” I wiggled my brows at my friends. “And lots of dirty one night stands to be had, you know what I’m sayin’?”
“Oh, Lord, when the Cajun comes out you know trouble will soon follow,” Brie said with a smirk. “That boy oughta run for his damn life.”
“Memory Thibodeaux, I just don’t get you,” Claire said on a sigh, her lip poking out “I just don’t.”
I stood, walked behind her, and draped my arms around her shoulders. “You never will, so stop trying.” I gave her a peck on the cheek. “I’m just simply too frustratingly complicated. Thanks for breakfast. Perfection, as always.”
“Hey, speaking of Brax Jenkins, did either of you hear the latest?” Brie said.
Claire and I exchanged glances, then we both shook our heads.
Brie’s eyes widened. “Remember the bastard shithead who caused Olivia Beaumont all that grief her first semester at Winston?”
“Kelsy something,” I said. “Brax Jenkins beat the holy piss out of him.”
“Evans,” Claire supplied. “Kelsy Evans.”
“Yes and yes,” Brie agreed. “Well, apparently that beating Brax gave him,” she glowered, “you know, the one that almost landed Brax in jail? Well, that ass-beating wasn’t enough. The dumbass ignored the restraining order against him and followed Olivia to the observatory. Was waiting for her when she got off work.”
“And?” I encouraged.
“And Brax was waiting for Olivia, too. Only Kelsy didn’t see him.”
“Don’t tell me Brax beat him again,” Claire said. “I thought I’d heard somewhere that Evans’ dad was some big-shit attorney and had something over Brax’s head.”
Brie shrugged. “Apparently, Brax didn’t care.” She grinned. “Beat the double-piss out of him. Called the law and, when they showed up, Brax threw him onto the hood of their Charger.”
I sat forward. “Will you stop dragging this out? What happened to Brax?”
Brie again shrugged. “I don’t think anything. They hauled Evans off to jail. Violated the restraining order. So I guess the cops just didn’t care.”
“Well, good,” I said. “I always hated that Evans’ dad had enough power to keep his ass out of jail.”
“Me too,” Claire said. Then she sighed. “Brie, have you studied for the Patient Goals test yet? It’s going to be such an epic bitch.”
I slipped away, leaving Brie and Claire to discuss the Epic Bitch they had coming up on Tuesday. I was so glad I never stumbled down the nursing path. It was definitely not a career for me. Padding down the hall, I glanced once o
ver my shoulder to make sure they remained engaged, stepped into my room, went to my bed, and eased to my knees. The old heart pine floorboards were cool against my bare skin. With my hand, I reached under my bed and my fingers brushed against the nylon backpack hidden there—hidden, because my friends pretty much had the run of the place, digging through my closet, my dresser, the bathroom for makeup. The cabinets in the kitchen for food. The last thing I’d want them to find was This Bag. And its contents. I dragged it quietly out, unzipped it and withdrew the bottles of pills and sat there, on my floor, staring at the labels. With the girls’ chatter still humming from the kitchen, I considered what I was doing. The consequences of doing it or not doing it. How either decision would affect me. Jesus, Daddy didn’t even know about it yet. What would he say? Hell, I knew exactly what he’d say. Why would I even question myself on that? It was inevitable that I’d have to tell him. He always hated that I’d kept such a secret from my friends, but again, I’d been determined never to let them know.
Max Thibodeaux was out on an oilrig in the Gulf of Mexico and wouldn’t be home for a couple more weeks. It would do absolutely zero good to call him. He’d only rush home and make things twice—no, three times as difficult. I’d already put him through too much. Mama, too, but now she was gone. It was just me and my dad. We’d lived on the farm on the outskirts of Killian for almost six years, and things seemed to have finally woven peacefully together. Swear to God on my life, I wouldn’t do it again. Ever.
I’d made this decision on my own. Made it a few weeks ago.
I’d stick to it. I had to. I mean, what else was I supposed to do?
Quickly, I unscrewed first one bottle, then the other, turning out a pill from each. Just as quickly I stashed them back in the bag, slipped it under my bed. I unfolded myself and made it to the hallway.