Walk of Shame

by ANDREA SMITH

  “I know. But we know the truth, right?”

  We both hear the scuffle going on between Max and Stuart.

  “I don’t fucking want to leave,” Stuart snarls, trying to pull away from Max. “She duped that poor bastard! She should be held accountable! Hey---Westward,” he hollers, “did you know Peyton is Penny?”

  “Old news, asshole,” Weston growls. “You leave her the fuck alone!”

  “Weston,” I plead quietly, “please, just stay out of it. Max can deal with him. I need this job, babe.”

  He turns back to me and runs his hand through his hair. “I’m sorry. I just don’t like the way he disrespects you.”

  “It will be fine, I promise. Now hold on while I get your stuff.” I run back to the kitchen and come back out with the shopping bag of gifts. “I have some very special homemade Christmas cookies in here, but you cannot open it until you’re somewhere private, promise?”

  He nods quietly.

  “And there’s something else for you in here, and I also got something for Carson.”

  “Carson?”

  “Yeah, Carson,” I say. “She’s the one that came after me the night…well that night.”

  “Never mind,” he replies, “I think I get it.”

  He takes the shopping bag from me and reaches into his jacket pocket. “This is for you but you can’t open it until tomorrow, promise?”

  I nod, feeling all gooey inside. “I promise.”

  “Okay then. I’ve got to take off, but if that son of a bitch so much as comes near you again, you call me. I mean it, Peyton. Got it?”

  His eyes are flashing and I know he is totally serious about this. “Yes, Sir. You have my word. Witch’s honor,” I say with a wink.

  He smiles, and leans in, kissing me tenderly. “I’ll be in touch, babe. Merry Christmas.”

  “Merry Christmas, Weston.”

  Chapter 48

  Christmas at the Matthews’ home was always a festive, designer circus for as long as Weston could remember.

  He was thoroughly convinced his mother did everything within her power with the exception of ordering tons of snow to make it the best.

  This year was no different except that Weston felt like something---or someone was missing.

  He knew who it was: Peyton. And damn him for feeling this close to her in the short time he had actually known her intimately.

  Carson had come to his room earlier, and he had used that opportunity to present her with the gift that Peyton had sent with him.

  “Oh man,” she said, touching the withered leather cover of the hardback book. “This must have set her back. It’s an old copy. She had to have found it at an antique store or one of those bookstores that find original copies and resell them. I love it.”

  Weston had looked at her closely, “I didn’t know you were into poetry.”

  “You, my brother, are a ‘wanker,’ as Daddy would say. To call Chaucer poetry is like---well, it’s like calling The Wizard of Oz a fucking fairy tale!”

  “Excuse me,” he said, shaking his head. He pulled out the tin of cookies in the bag.

  “What’s in there?” Carson asked.

  “Homemade cookies,” he replied, “for my eyes only.”

  She gave him a smile. “I get it. Probably phallic symbols. Enjoy.”

  After she’d gone, Weston opened the tin and a big smile lit up his face. Carson was partially correct. There were cookies in the shape of dicks, and then some had dicks with the ball sack included. He noted on those Peyton had sprinkled chocolate shavings around the root, which made him laugh. He manscaped and she damn well knew it! He might just have to call her ass out on that one! There were breasts with gumdrops as pink nipples, and nude women spread out for his enjoyment, there were even some in the shape of a man and woman having sex, doggy-style.

  Damn! Where in the hell had she found those cookie cutters he wondered.

  He bit into a breast and it was pure ecstasy. The woman could bake, no doubt. Chalk another one up in his “plus” column of all of Peyton’s attributes so far. That column was growing exponentially.

  He grabbed his cell and texted her:

  WESTON: Love the baked goods. You certainly know the way to my dick.

  He munched on another cookie or two before he heard the beep from his phone.

  PEYTON: Leave it to your filthy mind to come up with that, Matthews.

  He smiled and the moment seemed bittersweet. He wished she were here with him to celebrate Christmas, but the fact he felt that way was foreign, and he wasn’t quite sure if he could handle that. It was a first.

  WESTON: Just so you know, all the ones shaped like junk are going to Carson. Just sayin’.

  PEYTON: Homophobe.

  WESTON: Behave yourself, babe.

  The following morning the Christmas festivities went the same way they always had. They went to church, opened presents, and then the cook prepared a scrumptious gourmet breakfast.

  Afterwards, his mother cornered him in the dining room and asked to speak to him.

  “Sure, Mom, what is it?” he asked.

  “Weston, you know I’m not one to pry---well, at least I pride myself on that anyway.”

  “What is it, Mom?”

  She put her hand on his arm. “It’s just that I know that for whatever reason, Peyton and Carson have seemed to hit it off. I mean, even before we all knew that Penny was Peyton.”

  “Yeah, yeah, go on.”

  “Well, I just wondered if maybe Carson has said anything to Peyton about what happened to her a few months back?”

  “Oh, Mom,” he said, shaking his head, “now why would Carson say anything to her if she claims she can’t remember?”

  He watched as his mother struggled with her words, wringing her hands, which was so not like her. “I think she does remember, Weston. I just think she doesn’t want to tell us what happened.”

  “Even so,” he continued, “if she’s not comfortable telling us or her physicians, then why would you think she’d confide in Peyton?”

  Darcy shrugged, and looked at her son, “Because, for whatever reason, she’s got some kind of bond with her. I can’t explain it, but I just want your assurance that if, by chance, she has---or will in the future, confide to Peyton that you’ll let us know.”

  “Mom,” Weston said with a sigh, “I think you’re grasping at straws here but, yes, if Carson would confide something like that to Peyton, and Peyton tells me, then I will let you know.”

  Darcy turned to him and looked up into his eyes that were so much like Easton’s, and took a breath before she spoke. “Would you mind asking Peyton when you see her next if, well, if Carson has said anything to her about it already?”

  Weston ran a hand through his hair. He didn’t like getting into shit like this. It wasn’t as if he didn’t want whomever had done this to his sister shouldn’t pay for what they had done; but he just didn’t think Carson would’ve confided to someone she barely knew.

  He sighed and shook his head. “I’ll ask her, Mom. As soon as I’m back I’ll discuss it with her, I promise.”

  His mother breathed a sigh of relief. “Thank you, Weston. I appreciate that. And, for the record, I think Peyton is an extraordinary young woman. I’m so glad that you and she have buried the past and seem to be starting a relationship that will endure.”

  He smiled at her. “You’re such a romantic aren’t you, Mom?”

  “Eternally,” she replied. “You have no idea what your father and I went through before we finally figured it all out.”

  Chapter 49

  It’s Christmas afternoon and per Weston’s text message, I’m not to open my gift until he calls. It’s a small box, and when I shake it, I hear nothing. It has to be jewelry. My heart flutters thinking only a few weeks ago this would have seemed impossible. And even now, it seems surreal.

  A good surreal though.

  My cell rings and I grab it. “It’s about time, Matthews! I’ve been dying to tear into
this little goody all day.”

  There’s heavy breathing on the other end and then a hoarse whisper, “Cunt.”

  The call ends and I toss my phone to the floor as if it has electrocuted me.

  Obviously not Weston, but who?

  I pick the phone up and look at the last incoming call. Someone has taken phone technology to a new level. The phone number that shows is: 666-666-6666.

  Yeah, downright creepy.

  I study it for several moments, trying to process it in my mind. Certainly Stuart had sobered up by now? That wasn’t his style, drunk or not. I hadn’t heard anything from him since Max had called him a cab yesterday afternoon. Still, he would have to have come back later to pick up his car. Max said he was staying at the Ramada outside of town.

  I picked up my cell and pulled up the hotel’s website. I pressed the link to call the hotel directly.

  “Merry Christmas, Ramada Inn North.”

  “Yes, could you please connect me with Stuart McLemore’s room please?”

  “One moment.”

  I wait for a couple of seconds.

  “Mr. McLemore checked out early this morning.”

  “Thanks.”

  I still don’t believe for one second that was Stuart’s voice on the call. As far as I know, it could’ve simply been a wrong number. I’m still tossing it around in my head when my cell rings. I jump, and then calm when I check Caller ID and see that this call is from Weston.

  “Merry Christmas,” I say cheerfully over the phone.

  “This is Santa Claus,” Weston says in a sexy growl. “and I wanna know if you’ve been a good girl this year?”

  “Why yes, Santa, I surely have,” I reply, trying out my Southern twang.

  “So, you haven’t opened my gift already, right”

  “I haven’t, but if you don’t give me permission right this minute, then I will risk whatever punishment you feel appropriate because this is so not fair!”

  He laughs good-naturedly and my belly tingles because his laugh is just one of his qualities that serves as an aphrodisiac for me. “Go ahead, I’ve got yours here to open, too.”

  I rip the paper off and see the velvet covered box, and quickly flip it open. There, attached to the satin pillow, is a silver chain with two silver charms attached to it.

  A clown and a witch.

  “Oh, Weston,” I breath, my fingers working to get the necklace out. “It’s beautiful. It’s a charm necklace. I love it!”

  “Put it on,” he says. “I had the jeweler make the length of the chain so the charms would nestle right above that gorgeous rack of yours.”

  I giggle, imagining how Weston might actually have conveyed that to the jeweler. I slip it on, and fasten the clasp. “It’s perfect,” I say with a sigh. “It’s just where you want them.”

  “Damn, baby, I wish my tongue was where they are right now, taking a path south.”

  My face warms at his words, “Me too,” I sigh. “Now open yours.”

  I hear the paper rustling as Weston tears it off, and then opens the box where his framed Early American Lit grade of 3.95 has been copied on parchment, and the double matting is in his school colors. “Oh, this is great,” he says, chuckling. “And it’s going to hang right over my desk where I spent hours of pure torture in order to ace that class. My tutor, you see, was this Nazi chick…”

  I laugh at the comparison. “But it was worth it, right?”

  “Damn straight,” he replies softly. “Oh, and Carson loved the book. She’s holed up now with Chaucer, I’m pretty sure.”

  “I’m happy to hear that. How’s she doing?”

  Weston proceeds to tell me about the conversation Darcy had with him earlier. I can tell he’s not comfortable with what she’s asked of him.

  “Hey, don’t worry about it,” I say. “She’s not divulged anything to me other than some kind of random statement about nobody ever knowing more than they know now.”

  “When was this?” he asks.

  “Thanksgiving.”

  “Do you think I should press her for info?”

  “No,” I say solemnly, “it won’t do any good.”

  “You sound as if you’ve been through something like this?”

  It’s posed as a question and the fact that it is, tells me that Eva didn’t divulge everything to Weston that night after the hockey game.

  “Listen,” I say, not responding to the question, “if Carson ever decides to share any of that with me, you need to trust me to do the right thing, okay?”

  “Okay,” he says quietly. “So, how are you spending the day?’”

  “Just staying home. Missing you a little.”

  “Just a little?”

  “Don’t press your luck, Matthews.”

  He laughs his sexy laugh, and I get all gooey again. These feelings are so foreign to me, and I want them to last forever.

  “Hey, well I’ll see you when I get back on the twenty-eighth. Coach has made damn sure we get two practices in before New Year’s Eve. By the way, do you have plans for that evening?”

  “Umm…no, just studying.”

  “We’re going to fix that,” he says, laughing. “Get your studying done before I get back, okay?”

  “Yep,” I say, flushing with embarrassment at how nerdy I have just come across to him.

  “See you soon, babe.”

  Chapter 50

  Weston had just come off of the ice, and the backup goalie, Rex Baker, was sent out to the scrimmage. He was a sophomore, and not half bad, but he’d have to pick up his pace if he wanted to start next year as a junior. He knew Coach was still scouting for another goalie because he wasn’t sure that Rex was physically equipped to withstand the brutality of the sport.

  He was in the locker room enjoying the whirlpool when Marcus and some of the other players came in, shedding their practice uniforms along the way to their lockers.

  “Fuck practice today,” Marcus grunted. He’d been in a foul mood ever since coming back from Pittsburgh. Weston wasn’t one to get into his friend’s business, but it had been so damn obvious, he felt he’d be remiss in not making an inquiry.

  “What’s up your ass, dude?”

  He tossed Weston a murderous glare. That could only mean one damn thing: chick problems.

  “Don’t fucking ask,” Marcus snapped.

  Weston knew that wasn’t the end of the conversation.

  5-4-3-2-1

  “Why the hell do chicks have to get so fucking clingy once you’ve been tapping it for a month or two?”

  There it was.

  “Bad time in Pittsburgh?” Weston asked.

  Marcus shook his head, grabbing a towel from his locker and slamming it shut loudly. “It wasn’t Pittsburgh, per se,” he replied. “It was the whole vibes thing, you know?”

  Weston shrugged and shook his head. “How the fuck would I know? I’ve never had a girl that’s taken me home for family approval,” he said with a laugh. “But it couldn’t have been that bad.”

  “Oh no? Well, I’m here to tell you that the Eva here was not the Eva there. Jesus Christ! I swear to fuck she and her mother were picking out china patterns and naming our kids!”

  “For real?”

  “Just about,” Marcus replied, clearly perturbed. “I just don’t get why chicks have to get that whole nesting thing going. It fucking ruins shit.”

  “Wait a minute. I thought you and Eva were getting pretty tight? What? Are you dumping her, Marcus?” Weston asked, his brow furrowed.

  Marcus hesitated momentarily, and stared off into space as if he were mulling it over. Weston found it difficult to believe that Marcus would simply end it like that. He’d never seen his friend so crazy about a girl the way he had been with Eva these past few months.

  “I don’t want to end things permanently,” he said slowly, “but I did tell her this afternoon that I think we should slow things down a bit.”

  Weston exhaled with a whistle. “Whoa, how’d that go over?”


  Marcus turned to him, a flustered look on his face. “What do you think? She copped an immediate attitude, turned all defensive on me. Told me she’d be happy to give me all the time and space I needed. Basically, she told me to fuck off.”

  “Oh,” Weston said slowly, “Dude I’m sorry. But maybe you should’ve given that some thought before you opened your mouth? I mean, it seemed like you and Eva really clicked.”

  “Look, I sure as hell don’t need couples advice from someone who’s longest relationship has lasted two nights, alright?”

  Now it was Weston’s turn to get pissed. “Hey, don’t take it out on me because you blew it, man. Yeah, I get that I haven’t had any relationships to speak of, but I’m thinking it’s different with Peyton. We seem to be on the same page with one another.”

  Marcus scoffed before grabbing his body wash from his duffel bag, “Yeah, well check back with me in a couple of months. That’s about long enough for her to sink her claws into you and imprint.”

  He was puzzled at the turn of events since Marcus had gone to Pittsburgh. There had to me more to it than that, but Weston was certainly no relationship expert and that had been by design.

  The truth of the matter was that Weston had no inclination or desire to strike up something serious. He had too much growing up to do, and figuring out an appropriate career path for himself. He recently had given a lot of thought of going into a Masters Program and supposed that Peyton (or Penny) had played a part in that with her tutoring. She had actually made a subject he loathed, not only palatable, but in a small way, enjoyable, although he’d never admit that to her.

  Peyton understood where his thoughts were on all of that---at least he assumed she did. Now this whole thing with Marcus and Eva gave him pause. Was this something couples needed to address early on? Post sex? Was it a major communication gap that had existed for centuries between men and women? That would explain a whole fucking lot!

  He made a mental note to discuss this with Peyton at the earliest opportunity. She was in no way smothering him or acting needy, but maybe that was inevitable down the road if they weren’t on the same page. He would never want to have a discussion like the one that Marcus had had with Eva. Better to be up front at the start and define one another’s expectations, he decided. After all, Weston knew that Peyton had plans to work on her Masters out west, and he was now looking into continuing on with his MBA at Hardwick.