She’d studied the art of naughty as if she were studying for the biggest test of her life. Learned the words, said them over and over in a mirror before she’d ever taken her first phone call so she’d sound as if she’d always said them. In fact, some of her regulars were the only long-term relationships she’d had before she became so close to Dixie and everyone else.
“This is Marybell,” she cooed into the mouthpiece. “Who’s this big, strong man callin’ me up on this fine night?”
“Do guys really fall for that?”
Her heart fluttered. Tag. “Do you really want to know how gullible your gender is?”
He chuckled, rich and deep. “Ouch. Maybe not.”
Here was a real opportunity to scare him off for good. Tag didn’t come across as the kind of man who liked when a woman took charge. She knew how to keep a man in line. “So, what’s your pleasure tonight, Taggart Hawthorne? You up for a spankin’? Because I have to tell you, LaDawn really is your girl, if that’s your scene. She’s the BDSM master. But I’m game if you are. Or how about some submissive play? You know, I’ll be your dominatrix, you mop the floor clean with your toothbrush while I whisper dirty words in your ear. Or do you want to be the big mob boss and I’ll be your beautiful but brainless trophy? Some role-playing, maybe?”
“Will you call me the Godfather? Because I have to admit, it’s a crazy ego stoke.”
She laughed. Damn him for making her laugh. For liking that he made her laugh. “Sure, Godfather. So what’s your kink?”
“Well, I have one in my neck. Damn well twisted it fixing Elias Godfreed’s track lighting. Does that count as a legitimate kink?”
“In my world, track lighting probably is someone’s kink. But I get the feeling we’re beatin’ around the bush here, and time is money. Yours, of course. It is four ninety-nine a minute, after all.” Bringing up the amount a call ran always scared the “just curious” off.
He whistled into the phone. “Wow. No wonder Landon was so rich. And I chose architecture. Anyway, where were we? Kinks, right?”
Marybell bristled. Shouldn’t he be afraid now? It was time to play hardball. “Yes. Kinks. You know, fetishes. There are a million. Some we’re forbidden to engage in, so tread carefully when choosin’.”
“Do you have a list of them so I can decide? Do they cost more if I pick one but I want a side order of another? Maybe you could read them off to me? That’d be helpful,” he said, his voice playful.
She was losing this round of take charge of the unruly man. Time to kick it up a notch. “Well, let’s see—there’s paraphilic infantilism. The fetish where you wear diapers. There’s—”
“Whoa, whoa. Hold up. Diapers?”
Ah. Now she had him. He’d be ready to end this call in five seconds. “Well, yeah. You put on a diaper and wear it while I talk dirty to you.” She had to fight from letting the giggle escape her throat.
“Huh. Had no idea. But you might be onto something here. Diapers could solve a lot of problems for the modern contractor. I don’t have to climb down a fifty-foot ladder to use the facilities. I could keep right on working.”
Marybell bit back a chuckle, wrinkling her nose. “Innovative.”
“But then I think, will they come in my color? If I’m wetting my pants, I want them to be in a nice color. One that complements my coloring.”
Marybell fought another snicker and made a face. If this was scaring him off, what was inviting him in? “Okay, no diapers. How about feet? Shoes, in particular. You like lickin’ high heels?”
He sighed. “Not a fan of leather. It’s tough and chewy and comes from animals and while I subscribe to the food-chain theory, I’m not a fan of wearing animals for show. Now, give me some good old-fashioned canvas, and we could have a plan. Or rubber. I hear Crocs have a distinct taste to them.”
She couldn’t hold it in anymore. She laughed—out loud—sort of barkish and ear-shattering. “Why don’t you tell me what you really want, Tag?”
“I want you to go on another nondate with me.”
“Did I mention I’m not only not dating, I’m also not nondating, either?”
“So you don’t want any more friends? I hear you can never have too many.”
“You didn’t really just say that, did you? You have met Dixie, Em and LaDawn, right? My friend card is on full.”
“But I’m an awesome friend to have. I fix things.”
“Em fixes things.”
“But can she build them from scratch?”
“I don’t need anything built from scratch. I rent.”
“Why do you resist me, resistant one?”
Okay, big guns, both-barrels-loaded rejection looked as though it was the only way to go. “I’m not resisting you.” Marybell paused before she said the words—to be sure she’d get them out without her voice hitching or a shred of her real feelings creeping into them. “I’m just not interested.”
“Did you hear that?”
“What?”
“The arrow through my heart.”
Still, she had to ask why he was so interested in her. “Why me?”
“Why you what?”
“Why are you interested in me?” Of all the women in the world.
“If you’re not interested, why do you care?”
“Just curious. I mean, I’m not exactly conventional. I always wonder what attracts a man to me.”
“Your nose ring.”
“You like my nose ring?”
“I’m fascinated by it. Did it hurt?”
“It pinched a little.”
“And your hair.”
“My hair...”
“Well, yeah. It’s an art form. Isn’t it like crafting a sculpture every single morning? That’s gotta be a lot of work, and a fortune in hair gel.”
If he only knew. An easy two hours a day between her makeup and hair. “It’s just who I am.” God, she was sick of saying that, sick of forcing herself to sound convincing. This wasn’t who she was anymore. It once was, now it was just a way to keep the bad away.
“Listen, let’s be honest here. No elephants in the room. No, there’s nothing conventional about you. But conventional is everywhere. I can see conventional all over Plum Orchard, if I wanted to.”
“Is this the part where you tell me how much other women want you in an effort to make me jealous?”
“Nope. What I meant was, I see the same cookie-cutter women all over this town. Most of them dress alike and sound alike. You don’t sound or look like any of them, and you don’t seem to care that those women don’t like it. I like that you spit Plum Orchard in the eye. And c’mon, what kind of guy would I be if I didn’t at least take a shot at a date with a woman whose job is as a phone sex operator? I’d be like a rock star with my friends if you’d just agree to another nondate.”
Men. A truthful man. But still. Men. “That implied assumption should make me angry.”
“I didn’t imply anything. I was very direct and honest.”
Marybell laughed again, cupping her chin in her hands—so tempted by his warm, chocolate-rich voice and his sense of humor.
You can’t do this, Marybell. If you think life in the PO is hard now, just wait until they hear about who you used to be. “No nondates.”
“All right, but I just bought some really good bologna. Not the generic stuff, either,” he coaxed, grumbly and deep.
“Darn. Disappointment. It cuts like a knife.”
He laughed. “I know the feeling. But I’m not giving up on you, Marybell Lyman. Because I know you like me, too. So for now it’s good night, but this isn’t goodbye. Not by a long shot. You have a good night, phone sex operator.” Tag hung up without another word.
He should infuriate her with his pushy requests for nondates and his stark honesty. Instead, Tag made her long for him in the way one only can when they can’t have something they want.
Maybe that was why she was longing so hard?
Maybe if she had him, she’d decide she didn�
��t want him as much as she thought she did?
But maybe she’d like to try just to see.
But she absolutely could not.
Damn.
* * *
Marybell pushed her way through the doors of In a Grind and headed straight for the counter. She loved it here. Loved all the books lining the shelves above the conversation area, loved the scent of flavored coffee brewing.
She loved the bright green and lemon-yellow overstuffed chairs and ’70s-style flowered pillows. But she never stayed here long. If she stayed long enough to settle into one of those chairs with a book or her laptop, someone was bound to look at her just long enough to make her worry they’d seen past her people shield.
She needed a good dose of caffeine to ward off her maudlin thoughts and a sleepless night. She’d tossed and turned the better part of it while bits and pieces of her past haunted her.
Especially the bit involving Tag. Tag was conjuring up all the images she’d tried hard to purge. He was smiling now, but she’d seen him angry. Seething, spittin’ mad, and deservedly so.
If only she could...
“Afternoon, Marybell. The usual?” Gordy Perkins asked with a smile. Gordy didn’t seem to mind her hair and crazy makeup. He greeted her like everyone else, and that left her grateful. She wasn’t up to fighting demons today.
“With extra whipped cream and sprinkles. I need the sugar today.”
Gordy bobbed his red head. “Yeah. I can see that.” He made a circle around her eye area. “You look tired today.”
“Rough night slingin’ sex, Marybell?” Louella asked sweetly, leaning against the counter in all her blond perfection.
Speaking of demons. Marybell popped her lips. She was in no mood for Louella Palmer. “Sorry you can’t say the same, Louella?”
Louella’s eyebrow rose. “Why are you all still here, Marybell? What’s it gonna take to get Call Girls gone?”
“What’s it gonna take to get you to find a new hobby? First it was cross-dresser shaming. Then it was birth-certificate tamperin’. Have you tried quilting? I hear it’s like music. It soothes the savage beast.”
Louella and the Magnolias, the town’s group of snotty upper-crust socialites, had been hot on Call Girls heels with the wish to rid Plum Orchard of the apparent evil Dixie’s company brought. So far, they’d been unsuccessful. When Landon had said he’d covered every possible technicality before moving the company here, he hadn’t been kidding.
But it hadn’t stopped Louella and crew rounding up people to sign petitions to have them run out of town. She’d balked at how Call Girls was ruining Plum Orchard’s chances for better tourism. Because when you thought of exciting things to do, sleepy Plum Orchard was the first thing that came to mind. Right.
Louella’s eyes narrowed when her transgressions were on the table. “You’re all bad influences. The lot of you.”
“Do you mean like the kind of influence that trashes little boys’ lives and gets you a new nose courtesy of Johnsonville’s finest plastic surgeon?” Marybell asked just as sweetly.
A few months ago, when Louella, in a jealous rage over Dixie’s return, had revealed pictures of Emmaline’s cross-dressing ex-husband in front of the whole town in the hopes Em would think Dixie was responsible, Louella and Dixie had had what Dixie called a tussle. That tussle had resulted in a broken nose.
Unfortunately, the result of that night had made for some hellish experiences at school for Em’s boys.
It had died down now, mostly because Jax had taken on the school board like a gladiator, but it didn’t change the fact that the Mags still had it out for them.
Louella’s hand went to her nose in subconscious response and then her eyes narrowed. “I have no idea what you’re talkin’ about.”
Marybell eyed her. “Really? Has your fast-and-loose memory forgotten that you dug up dirt on Em’s mother and Dixie’s father?”
In round two of “rid Plum Orchard of Call Girls,” Louella had also been the party responsible for sending Em her real birth certificate, revealing she was Dixie’s half sister and exposing her mother Clora’s affair with Dixie’s father all those years ago.
Thankfully, Dixie and Em were the truest of friends, and neither had missed a beat when they’d found out. But everything Louella did was geared toward trying to create a rift between the women, and no one was immune.
Louella ran her tongue over her glossy lips, but shame, if she had any at all, didn’t stop her from reminding Marybell she wanted them gone. “We’ll find a way, Marybell. Might not be today, or maybe it will, but we’ll find a way to rid this town of your kind of filth. You mark my words.”
“Find a way to what?” Tag asked, wedging his way between the two women with a grin.
Oh, he smelled so good. “Shut us down.”
Tag frowned, the lines in his forehead creasing beneath the edge of his knit hat. “Shut down Call Girls?”
Louella smiled, pretty, pink-lipped. She placed a hand on Tag’s arm, curling her fingers into it. Marybell fought the urge to peel them away one by one. “Surely, bein’ an uncle to a young, impressionable girl, you can’t support such an establishment, Tag. Please tell me you’re the sane one over in the Hawthorne household.”
Tag looked down at Louella’s hand, then directly into her eyes. “I support people who’re just trying to make a living and go out of their way to keep their interaction with the impressionable youth of this town squeaky clean. I also support minding your own business.”
Marybell’s eyes flew open. He was taking up for her. Right here in front of everyone in the coffee shop. He absolutely had to stop being so attractive in almost every imaginable way. And she had to get away from him before she said as much.
Gordy placed her coffee on the counter and eyeballed the three of them with a tentative glance. He was no stranger to coffee shop confrontations between the Call Girls and the Mags. “Can I get you something, Tag?”
Marybell threw a ten-dollar bill on the counter. “Whatever he’s havin’, it’s on me. Keep the change, Gordy.” She turned to Louella, leaned in and growled at her, “Good sparring with you, Louella.” She snapped her teeth for good measure, pivoting on her heel and sauntering toward the door of the coffee shop.
“Hey!” Tag called after her, his wide hand engulfing a foam cup. “Wait up.”
Marybell pretended she didn’t hear him until he was right next to her outside the coffee shop. Big and rangy, he was even more handsome in broad daylight.
He leaped into focus in ways that made for loud, chest-thumping exclamations of “Look at me. I’m all rock-hard man, sent to tempt you with my chiseled beauty.”
She pushed her eyes back to the ground to avoid consuming him with them. That unfamiliar beat to her heart began, thump-thump-thumping out an uneven rhythm that belonged solely to Tag. She hadn’t dated a lot in her lifetime, but she’d definitely had a relationship or two, and none of them ever made her feel quite the way just standing next to him did.
Tag grabbed her hand and stuck it through his arm. “You didn’t let me thank you properly for the coffee.”
She tried to pull it away without drawing more attention to them. Though just the sight of freakish Marybell Lyman with a studly Hawthorne was enough to make the folks in the square gawk.
She knew what they were all thinking. Why would a perfectly good man tangle with the likes of her when there were plenty of single, respectable ladies in town to tangle with?
Tag tightened his grip, nodding at Kitty Palmer, Louella’s mother, as they strolled past her. “So, thanks for the coffee. You didn’t have to.”
“You didn’t have to take up for me with Louella. I don’t think I’ve ever seen her hush her mouth so quick. I should be buyin’ you a drink.”
He stiffened, ever so slightly, his hand tensing and flexing before it relaxed. “Don’t drink.”
Marybell stopped walking, turning to face him. “Let go of my hand. People are staring.”
He grinn
ed—so warm—so perfectly adorable in all those gruff angles, her pulse managed a cartwheel. “Like you’re not used to that. I mean, you have a nose ring. Let ’em stare.”
She rolled her eyes. “Are you ever going to leave me alone?”
He hitched his unshaven jaw at her. “Are you ever going to go out with me again?”
“I already told you no.”
“Then unless restraining orders are involved, it could be a while.”
The cold wind ruffled through the stiff points on her hair, sending a chill of warning along her spine. Remain indifferent but attempt to negotiate. “What will it take to make you go away?”
“Ahh, negotiations,” he said with a dazzling smile. “One more date. If you’re not thoroughly impressed with me, I’ll leave you alone forever.”
Marybell gave him an arched eyebrow of disbelief. “Forever?”
“Yep. Act like you don’t even exist. Walk-into-a-room, look-right-through-you don’t exist.”
Marybell hesitated. “What are we going to do on this date?”
“I’ll cook.”
“At your house?” She’d turned down every invitation in the book when Jax and Em invited her to their gatherings just to avoid seeing Tag. Now she was going to walk right into his lion’s den?
“I was hoping you’d let me come to your house. Jax’s isn’t exactly conducive to privacy. Plus, I can’t properly charm you if my family’s in the mix. They’re a nosy crew. Promise I’ll even take dish duty.”
She waffled, shuffling her feet while her hand stayed firmly ensconced in his. “But what will Blanche say?” Blanche hadn’t been keen on renting her basement apartment to Marybell until Caine and his mother, Jo-Lynne, had intervened on her behalf. Now they shared a strange acceptance of one another.
Sometimes Blanche would drop off a piece of pie at her door. She never acknowledged it was from her, but Marybell knew, and she’d nod her thanks if they passed each other on their way into their separate entries to the house. No one could miss the enticing scent of Blanche baking one of her blackberry pies.
Talking After Midnight Page 7