“Thank you,” I say because it seems the polite thing to do.
“Taught her everything she knows,” Mable shares. And she is not wrong. She did teach me everything she knew before she retired to become a famous painter.
“So, at your last hospital, you recently quit,” he starts and my back straightens.
“Yes,” I say vaguely.
“On your application, when prompted why you left your last position you said, and I quote, ‘Because I motherfucking can and that slut bag can have that pompous, limp dicked little weasel.’ Care to elaborate?” He asks me with a twinkle in his eye. I hear Mable choke on a laugh she’s trying to hold back.
“Awe hell,” I say under my breath. To the Principal, I say, “No, sir. I think that is pretty self-explanatory and all,” I look at the ground.
“Hey, we like honesty around here,” he chuckles. “And glad to see any woman who won’t take any shit. You’ll need it around here.”
“What do you mean by that?” I tilt my head to the side in question.
“Just that some of the football players in these parts can be pretty rough and tumble. They hurt themselves and they’ll need someone who can be firm with them,” I nod. It makes sense. Kids that driven, that cocky can be a real pain in the ass when they’re in pain. “But also show them that they still matter, even if they can’t play anymore,” he says softly. I just nod.
“Makes sense,” I reply.
“Now, we called on your references,” I cringe. Joseph was my boss and my lover until last night. That’s probably not going to be great. “A Dr. Alexander told us you were the ‘worst nurse in the history of nurses and that we should hire, literally anyone but you.’ I took this to mean he is the ‘limp dicked little weasel’ in question,” I sigh and just nod my head.
“In the name of full disclosure, Dr. Alexander and I were involved until recently,” I say. Aunt Mable just snickers. The old bat.
“I’ll say,” she laughs. I growl and give her the side eye trying to impress upon her that we should maintain some decorum.
“We took exception to this, especially considering the head nurse at the hospital said you were the best she’s seen since herself and that you had saved countless kids, including mine. And also, that Dr. Alexander is a douche canoe,” the Principal’s eyes glitter with amusement. I just sigh. Again.
“Jesus,” I say, swiping a hand over my face. Never catching the meaning of his words. I’m so screwed. Time to kiss this job goodbye. I can’t believe I flew all the way down here, hungover to boot, just to be told I’m a total failure.
“That’s my girl,” Mable cheers.
“I think we can all agree, that you would be a great asset to the Tall Pines Independent School District,” Principal Reynolds tells me with a kind smile. Umm, say what?
“What?” I ask, shocked.
“You’re hired, Angellica,” he says, smiling warmly at me.
“Angie,” I tell him, absent mindedly.
“You’re hired, Angie.”
Not one to look a gift horse in the mouth, I said a quick thanks, signed every single contract, non-disclosure, and magazine order form they put in front of me before grabbing Aunt Mable the way she grabbed me when we entered the office and beat feet out of there.
“Huh...” We both said, shaking our heads.
It wasn’t until we were standing in the parking lot of the high school, that we both realized our luggage was in Sam’s Suburban and we had no car. Aunt Mable, never one to ask a man for help, muttered a quick, “Fuck it,” before she started marching down the sidewalk. Like the smart girl I am, I followed.
Two blocks later, we were seated in the most amazing diner ever. If I ate every meal here for the rest of my life, one, that life would be short due to clogged arteries and high cholesterol, two, I would weigh four hundred pounds, and three, I would die happy. Mable ordered a hot roast beef sandwich with au jus, steak fries, and a large malt. Her metabolism should be studied by scientists. I ordered the hot opened face turkey sandwich that consisted of sourdough bread, stuffing, which the waitress informed me in the south is dressing if it isn’t actually stuffed in something, thick slices of roast turkey, gravy, and the cranberry sauce on top of the pile, steak fries and a coke. It’s like thanksgiving in my mouth.
I think I’ve died and gone to heaven. Mable and I are both quiet while we eat. The women in our family are pretty serious about food. Our bodies need it to be successful in life, but we also enjoy it and don’t have any shame in that. When the check was delivered by an adorable brunette named Katy, Mable snatched it up and paid leaving sweet Katy a healthy tip. We grabbed our purses and made our way out the door into the warm Texas sunshine.
“That was quite a tip you left her,” I comment off handedly.
“That’s Marsha’s girl, Kathryn. Her fiancée was killed in Iraq when she was only eighteen. Hasn’t dated since. Lives her life like a lonely old widow, the poor thing.” I immediately regret my thoughts about her tip and vow to do the same every time I eat there too. My Aunt Mable may be a pistol, but her heart is huge too.
We are walking aimlessly around the main part of town when we pass an adorable blue craftsman home with a large, beautifully tended yard, and a white picket fence. You could also see a gorgeous all glass solarium on the side that would make the best studio for a famous artist. The truly exciting part was when we noticed the big for sale sign in the front yard. Aunt Mable whipped her cellphone out of her purse and unlocked it, typing like mad, I’m watching her in a trance until her next words, not directed to me, pull me out.
“I’ll take it,” she says firmly. “My accountant will have the funds wired to you shortly. Thank you,” before she signs off. Followed by her typing more things in a crazy fashion. Must be nice to be an eccentric artist.
“Harold…Yes, it’s Mable….I just bought a house in Texas… Send money to this address,” she rattled off the account. “Yes, now…I’m picking up the keys in an hour…You too…bye Harold.” Damn, she works quick. Must be good to be a famous artist.
Mable makes a quick about face and starts heading back towards the diner. Just past it sits a local furniture store. Mable marches in like a force to be reckoned with.
“Can I help you, ma’am?” A young woman asks.
“Oh, we’re just loo…” but I get cut off by General Mable.
“Yes, I want this sofa, that dining set, that bedroom set, this one over here too, that kitchen table, the china hutch that matches, these end tables, and this sofa over here,” she finishes triumphantly. The saleswoman and I are both a little shell shocked.
“Mable?” I ask hesitantly.
“What? We need furniture and it needs to fit the house. The New York stuff is too stuffy, it’s not fun,” she shrugs. Well, who can argue with that? She’s right too. That sweet blue house needs comfy furniture you’re not afraid to live with.
“Okay,” I say, because what else can you do?
“Now, go pick out a bedroom set for yourself. Chop chop!” Aunt Mable claps and then shoves me in the direction of a bunch of bedroom suites set up in the back of the store.
“Okay. Okay!” I shout as I run to pick out a beautiful white iron bed with an interwoven headboard, a large white dresser and matching night stands, and a mirror.
“I need all of these things and new mattresses and pillows, the best only, sent to this address in two hours,” Mable tells the girl handing over a black credit card. Damn, it must be good to be a gangster. “Let’s go! We have keys to pick up,” she shouts.
We retrace our path back down the main street to a small real-estate office where Aunt Mable signs a few more papers but her accountant slash man Friday, did most of it for her at an alarming rate before we’re handed sets of keys.
We again, retrace our steps back to the little blue craftsman with the gorgeous yard just in time to receive our household of furniture. Once again, Aunt Mable whipped out her cellphone and a short time later, we were enjoying pizza and
lemonade on our new round, antique white kitchen table with ornate legs, matching chairs and china hutch. Who needs a suitcase when tonight I’m sleeping in a new bed and in a few days’ time, I will start a new job. Mable was right, this new adventure is off to a great start.
Cody
Thank, fuck. I think as I walk through the door of Our Father's Flag, the local watering hole that is owned by my buddy, Holt's family, for only about a million generations. It's a mix of dive bar and military memorabilia. It has been a rough damn day surrounded by crazy teenagers. I swear, I won't survive a year of teaching those little fuckers health class, sex ed, and driver's ed. My dad is clearly out to kill me.
Holt is just the most recent generation in all of the Stone's to serve their country, then come home to run this bar. Holt never wanted to run it, it was always supposed to be his twin brother Will, but he was killed overseas while I was away in New York, playing ball.
Holt came home and ran for Sheriff. Just like Sam came home a couple of years ago and became the Offensive Line Co-ordinator for our high school football team. I crapped out of the NFL in the fourth quarter of the Super Bowl and came back here to be the head football coach, you know, after re-learning how to walk. But lather, rinse, repeat, we all came home. One way or another.
I make my way to the darker, back corner of the bar and sit down in the very last booth, my back facing the door, and take a deep breath, my shoulders sagging in relief. I know what you're thinking, it's weird to sit down by yourself with your back facing away from the room, but I'm meeting Sam and Holt here, and those two can be cagey mother fuckers these days, so it's my little manly part to help ease whatever it is in their minds that has frayed edges.
Holt walks in and plops down on the bench across from me. Katy walks over and hands us each a beer she just poured. I smile at her as she winks at me. Holt just scowls as she walks away.
“What the actual fuck?” He growls. And I'll be damned if it doesn't catch me off guard. I might be a badass on the field, but I'm pretty sure Holt could kill me sixteen different ways with a pair of eyebrow tweezers.
“Umm, what?” I ask and I hate how shaky my voice sounds. Shit. I'm such a little girl.
“Is there something going on between you and Katy?” He asks straight out and I am dumbfounded as to why he would think that.
“Uhh, no,” I tell him. “Why would you even think that?”
“Because she winked at you,” he again says straight out. I like that about Holt, he never beats around the bush. That thought sends my immature mind directly into the gutter, and it's all I can do not to snicker, because no doubt Holt would take it the wrong way and punch me in the face. And I happen to like my face.
“Dude, she winks at everyone,” I tell him. Holt might be losing it a bit. I look at him a little closer and he holds my stare, I'll give him that, something is going on with him, I'm just not sure what. But I'll figure it out. That much I'm sure of.
“Humphh,” He concedes.
“Seriously. You know I am never getting involved again just to get burned again,” he looks at me. Like really looks at me until he nods once. I swear if he looked at me a second or two longer, I would have crapped my pants. I'm man enough to admit that.
“Hey guys, what's up?” Sam asks as he slides into the booth next to Holt with an easy smile.
“Holt's lost his damn mind,” I tell him. And he just chuckles.
“Is it over the new nurse?” Sam asks.
“What nurse?” I ask. I've been so busy with Spring Tryouts that I can't even remember my own name some days.
“The school nurse? Come on man, I know you've seen her,” Sam asks, holding his hands out from his chest. Almost like he's holding a pair of imaginary cantaloupes.
“Why would I? She's probably some old blue hair, right?” I ask. Holt and Sam share a look before throwing their heads back, laughing. I think about their reaction to my question before it dawns on me. “She's a babe? Really?” I ask because I can't help it.
“You interested?” Sam asks me.
“Don't be stupid,” I shoot him a withering look.
“So you wouldn't mind if someone else was interested?” Sam asks and this gets my Spidey senses tingling.
“You're not thinking of stepping out on Aliza are you?” I ask starting to get pissed. I see Holt stiffen next to Sam but wisely doesn't say anything.
“Of, course not, you moron. She is it for me. I meant Holt, you douche,” he tossed a handful of bar nuts at me.
“Jesus, you scared me,” I tell him.
“But still, you don't even want a look before someone else moves in? I mean it's kind of poetic, football coach and hot school nurse. Oh, God, do you think she has a nurse's uniform?” Sam asks, egging me on. He's been telling me for months to get back on the horse, but I just can't bring myself to do it.
“Nope. Not dating. Ever again, man. You know that,” I tell him, eating one of the peanuts I pull out of the collar of my school polo shirt.
“So, Holt, can go after her?” He asks, sharing another mysterious look with Holt.
“Sure, man. Go get 'em, Tiger,” I say and laugh.
“Cool, then don't turn around now” he tells me on a laugh. And it's like a god damned car crash, you can't not look. So, what do I do? I casually look over my shoulder and stop in my tracks. All the air in my lungs whooshes out because at the door to Father's is Angel. My. Fucking. Angel.
My fucking Angel from that hospital in New York. I would recognize all that blonde hair and big blue eyes anywhere. Not to mention full, dark pink lips that you know would be good for kissing and….other things. And, hello, she has been hiding a dynamite body under those awful scrubs. I hope she burns every last pair. She looks like one of those pinup girls from the old movies my mom likes to watch. And looking at her in tight jeans and a slinky pink tank top, I can't help but agree. Shit, I'm hard. Like the steel rod in my spine, hard. That's totally not awkward or anything since I'm sitting in a bar with my two best buddies. Ugh. I run a hand down my face and think of baseball. Nope, still hard. Shit.
Did she come here for me? I can't help but like that feeling. Holt puts his hand up to wave her over and she starts in our direction. My palms are sweaty and I'm a little nervous. I never thought I would see her again. Not that I didn't think of looking her up at that hospital she worked at every night when I had my dick in my own hand, but part of me didn't want her to remember me like the sad, broken man I was. I figured it would be better to leave her in my fantasies.
“Mind switching seats with me, man?” Holt asks. When pigs fucking fly, asshole.
“Over my dead body,” I growl. “She's mine. My angel.” I want to beat my fists against my chest. And those two morons just laugh.
“Hey, guys,” she says as she stops to hug Sam and Holt. What the actual fuck is happening here. I clear my throat and she looks at me. They all look at me. “Hello, I'm Angie,” she says holding her hand out to me. I take it and lean in close. God, she smells good. Like honey and oranges. I'm so hard I could break glass. I realize I've held her hand too long when she yanks it back.
“I'm Cody,” I tell her.
“This is Cody Reynolds, the head football coach, retired NFL player for New York, and Super Bowl champ,” Sam tells her but she just looks confused. Sam is clearly enjoying the fact that she has no idea who I am and that's fine. She will.
“Oh, you're Jim's son?” Well, if that doesn't chafe. So much for her being in this town for me. But she will be. She just doesn't know it yet. But she will be.
“Yeah, I am,” I smile at her.
“Mind if I sit down?” She asks me in a breathy voice. And shit if I didn't almost come in my pants like a kid. Nodding, I scoot over so she can sit down. But not so far over that she has actual room. Nope, I am a big enough bastard that I left just enough room for her curvy ass so that her thigh has to be pressed to mine. Muahahaha. Insert evil villain laugh here. There's not even enough room on the seat for her purse, but she'
s polite so she just sets it on the floor next to her.
“What'll it be guys?” Katy asks us. “The usual?”
“What's the usual?” Angel asks.
“The biggest pizza we have with more meat on it than in a zoo, three dozen hot wings and a pitcher of beer,” Katy laughs. Clearly amused with our disgusting man habits.
“Sounds amazing. Count me in too,” she says, and I admire her confidence, no side salad for this one. Plus, my new life goal is to make sure she in takes enough calories to maintain that fantastic ass. Which is what I'm leaning back looking at when I hear Sam clear his throat. I look up and see his eyes are crinkled, his chest shaking as he silently laughs at me. Holt is mirroring Sam's hilarity. Bastards.
I can't stop looking at her. She's so god damn gorgeous. I wonder if she'd go out with me. I wonder what she looks like naked. I'm imagining what she looks like riding my cock, her full breasts bouncing in my face as she throws her head back when she comes. Jesus, I could come just thinking about what she looks like when she comes.
“Can I help you?” She asks me, a little annoyed. “Is there something on my face? Oh, God. Do I have a booger in my nose?” And nope, no, there is definitely nothing I can tell her in polite company right now. I feel my embarrassment at being caught burn across my tanned cheeks. I look over and those bastards' eyes are twinkling. Shit, they know what I was thinking.
“No, no. Nothing like that,” I reassure her. Slightly. But what am I supposed to say? You're the most beautiful woman I have ever seen. No. I was wondering what you look like when you come. No, again. Shit, I'm such a creeper. “I was wondering if you'd like to go out sometime.” There, I bit the bullet. I asked her out. I can feel how sweaty my pits are. Shit I hope I don't smell. When was the last time I was this hung up on a girl I really don't even know? If ever? I smell trouble, but my dick doesn't care.
“Let me get this straight, I don't know you, I work for your dad, you barely say two words to me the whole night over dinner, but sit there and creepily stare at me like a stalker and then you ask me out?” She asks, point blank. I can admire her candor. It's pretty sexy if I do say so myself.
Stand (Southern Heartbeats Vol. 1) Page 3