Taste of Lacey

by Linden Hughes

  He entered the lobby of the five-story building, and the pretty brunette receptionist flashed him a sunny smile. “Rye! Aren’t you a sight for sore eyes?”

  “Hi, Pia. Kyle in?”

  “He sure is. You lucked out this time,” she said after she connected with Kyle’s assistant through the intercom. “Go on up.”

  On the fifth floor, he walked into Kyle’s office. It was still strange seeing his best friend at the helm of the company since Mr. Bishop’s semiretirement last year.

  “Wassup, McKay? Heard your ass had landed for a few days.” Kyle greeted him with a palm slap and shoulder bump.

  “Yeah, I needed a break. What’s up with you?” Rye sat in one of the plush leather seats in front of Kyle’s desk.

  Kyle sighed as he returned to his chair and then propped his feet on the corner of the heavy wood unit. “Working my ass off, but I’m looking forward to some relaxation this weekend. You want me to scoop you up for Tisdale’s party tomorrow night? Nothing but prime pussy.”

  Rye chuckled at Kyle’s enthusiasm. “I’ll be there, but with my lady.”

  “Damn. Your woman must be hella fine, ’cause your ass is always laid up these days. This is the first time I’ve seen you this fucking whipped.”

  “Thanks a lot, Bishop.” Rye cringed at hearing those words in reference to Lacey, although Kyle didn’t know yet. But damn, it was true.

  “Hey, I’m not mad. If my dick had just one happy home, I would never leave it.”

  “Well, that’s the reason I’m here. To talk to you about who I’m seeing,” Rye said. “It’s Lacey, man.”

  A deep scowl formed in Kyle’s forehead as he stilled and seemed to ponder the idea. Then he laughed out loud as if Rye told a joke. “You wish, McKay. She wouldn’t give your ass the time of day. For real, though, who’s got you so damn twisted?”

  Rye leaned forward with his elbows on his knees and looked Kyle straight in the eyes. “Lacey Marie Bishop.”

  Kyle frowned as if he was trying to focus. “My sister Lacey? Can’t be.” He shook his head.

  “It is. Lacey and I are together now,” Rye reiterated, making sure there was no room for mistake.

  Kyle’s frown transformed to disbelief, and he shot to his feet. “I do not fucking believe you,” he snarled. “As much pussy as you’ve run through? Your dick should have its own damn area code. There’s no way Lacey would let you lay a hand on her. Why would you even fucking want to?” His shout reverberated through the room.

  “It was the last thing either of us expected, but—”

  “Do not try to feed me some Kumbaya bullshit and think I’m going to buy into it. I don’t believe my rational, smart-as-hell sister would volunteer and get in line for your ‘get fucked and move on’ ride. No way.” Kyle curled his hands into fists. “And since when have you been into black women anyway?”

  “Don’t even go there.” Rye stood as well and tried to remain calm, but he was finding it hard to do after the insults. “Lacey is an adult. She can make her own decisions. I just didn’t want you to hear it from anyone else. I’ve been trying to get with you, to talk to you face-to-face.”

  “Man, what is wrong with you? You’ve known her since she was in grade school! I ought to knock the hell out of you for even thinking about her that way.”

  Rye tried not to let it show, but disappointment gripped him tighter than the coil of a boa constrictor. He’d hoped they would have a respectful conversation, but that wasn’t happening.

  “There is nothing sordid about my involvement with Lacey. If we have to, you and I will go toe-to-toe,” he bit out. Kyle was his best friend, but Rye wasn’t going to roll over for anyone, brother, friend, or foe. “This is going nowhere, so I’ll leave while both of us are still intact. Lacey and I are together. I care for her. I just wanted you to hear it from me.” Without a backward glance, he walked out of Kyle’s office and headed to his next appointment.

  Rye sat with the window down, parked on the gravel driveway. He gripped the steering wheel hard enough to form calluses, but the exertion didn’t ease the knot of anger, and maybe hurt, in his throat. He hadn’t expected Kyle to throw a party in celebration of him and Lacey dating, but he hadn’t anticipated outright animosity either. His best friend clearly wanted to kick his ass, and it sucked. There was nothing he could do about it, though. Lacey was his peace, and he wasn’t letting her go.

  Sighing, he stepped out of his vehicle. Acorns crunched under his shoes as he walked. The five-acre vacant lot with hundred-year-old oak trees, magnolias, and a full lake view was magnificent. He loved the outdoors, and at this location, all the things he enjoyed would be at his fingertips. Water sports, family gatherings, quiet times. The only thing he wouldn’t do here was his woodworking, which he’d confine to his father’s shop in Lakeview.

  School was out for the summer, and he could hear the boisterous voices of teenagers on the lake as they skied, laid out, and probably made out, enjoying being young and living on the water. He, Kyle, and Logan Tisdale had been the same way. Rye wanted his sons or daughters to have a similar experience. For the first time in his thirty-four years, he was giving serious thought to the next generation of McKays, which would continue or end with him. The only son of an only son, he held the family name precariously in his hands. He looked at his watch. Right on schedule, a set of fancy wheels pulled up beside him.

  “You upgraded from the Jeep. ’Bout damn time,” Lisa Bishop commented after he opened her car door.

  No greeting, no how are you. Just straight to conversation. “Thanks,” he returned and smiled.

  “I was surprised when you called. Anybody looking at this property has big dreams and even bigger paper, so I hope you’re not wasting my time, McKay.” After taking his hand, she stood as regal as a queen out of the silver Mercedes convertible before going to the trunk.

  “I promise not to waste your time, Lisa.”

  Leaving the trunk open, Lisa returned with an expensive-looking pair of riding boots, then sat on a corner of her car’s driver’s seat to change her shoes.

  “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you in anything other than those high-heeled man killers.”

  The piercing look she shot him would make many a man cower and run. Good thing he was immune considering he’d known her since she was born. “I keep boots on hand for when I have to deal with bush and bullshit.”

  Rye shook his head. “Lisa, Lisa, Lisa. You never change, do you?”

  “Now why would I ever do that?” she asked and then flounced toward a line of mature oak trees. “I had to reschedule an appointment with another client to meet you today. You owe me.”

  And her commission wouldn’t count? “I’d never let you down.”

  “You’d better not, cowboy.”

  Lisa channeled her full-fledged Realtor persona, giving him the rundown about the property. There was nothing she could tell him he didn’t already know. He’d memorized every detail from the listing and from the information Paula had dug up for him. Lisa continued her sales pitch, never once consulting the slim portfolio in her hand. She was Lena Bishop’s protégé, after all, and she was good at what she did. He just walked silently and listened.

  “Of course the boat launch is included. Home-owner’s association dues are paid annually in advance to the association, not to escrow. There is an excellent volunteer fire department only two blocks away, and when you’re ready, the school system is five-star rated.”

  They had walked the entire parcel and now stood near the water’s edge.

  “Your neighbors straight across the lake are the Bishops—a fabulous family, by the way—the Carters, and the McKays. They’re just a five-minute boat ride away,” Lisa finished. “There’s a lot of interest in this property, and I expect movement soon. Can we put in an offer?”

  “Go ahead.” His voice was calm and firm.

  “Did you say yes?”

  Rye laughed at her shocked expression. “Put in an offer. Full price.”
>
  She whisked a contract from her portfolio. Since she knew most of his basic information, she only inquired to fill in a few of the blanks. “What are you going to offer by way of earnest money?”

  He answered, and she continued. After estimating a closing time, she asked about his financing arrangements.

  “Cash.”

  Lisa raised her eyebrows and nodded but kept writing. “I advise my single clients to title properties with someone they trust if possible. In case of your untimely demise, it keeps the property from becoming a part of your estate. Do you want me to add your parents or Jensen on the deed with you?”

  Rye allowed a slow grin to work its way to the surface. The name he gave made her drop her portfolio to the ground, contract and all.

  Ever the professional and full of grace, Lisa accepted the items after Rye retrieved them. Then she had him sign and initial the contract in the required places. It was a done deal. The business part was over.

  “Now, do you want to tell me what the hell is going on?”

  “Nope, not just yet. And I need you to keep it to yourself until all interested parties have been notified. I haven’t had a chance to do that yet.”

  “So in addition to me securing this property for you, I’m supposed to keep my mouth closed about something this major?”

  “You got it.”

  Lisa shook her head and stomped off. Back at their vehicles, Lisa performed the shoe change in reverse before she slammed her trunk closed. As they were leaving, she pulled her car next to his. “I’m the listing and selling agent, and I was going to waive my commission considering it’s you, old family friend, yada, yada, yada. But since you almost gave me a heart attack and you want me to keep my mouth shut, you get to pay the normal six percent,” she said with a toss of her hair and an obviously fake smile.

  “Six percent? Fine.” Then Rye looked down at her. “But for the privilege of seeing your reaction and for you keeping your mouth shut, I would have paid twelve,” he said, then smiled and winked.

  Lisa glared at him before speeding off, leaving a trail of dust in her wake. Rye laughed out loud.

  Minutes later he arrived at the guard station serving as the entrance to the Lakeview subdivision. John Bishop had conceived and developed the picturesque neighborhood overlooking the lake almost thirty years ago. Rye’s aerospace-engineer father and elementary-schoolteacher mother built their home here when Rye was eight. They were the second family to move in after the Bishops.

  He wasn’t thrilled with the skinny kid next door but made do since he had no one else to play with. Eventually he and Kyle forged a friendship. Whatever concept he imagined, Kyle could make it a reality. Engineer and builder. A yin-and-yang relationship grew, and together they produced things like model airplanes, replica buildings with working elevators, and many other contraptions that cluttered and possibly endangered their parents’ homes over the years.

  In fact, their similar interests led them to creating realistic prototypes that, along with good grades, landed them both scholarships at MIT. Later, a kid named Logan Tisdale moved to the street, and the duo became a trio, but Rye and Kyle remained as close as brothers. Aside from chasing coeds, neither of them lost focus of their technical gifts and did well in their respective careers. After working for other renowned firms to develop a different prospective, Kyle had toiled through the ranks at his father’s commercial construction company and took the helm this past year. Rye had enjoyed a challenging and lucrative career with his same employer since interning there his junior year in college.

  He didn’t bother to use the key to his parents’ house he’d thrown into his glove compartment. Once, he’d made the mistake of walking in unannounced, and the image of his parents naked having sex on the window seat in the breakfast room would never be erased. He hadn’t touched or looked at the bench the same since. Although he’d promptly run to the bathroom and gagged, he had to give it to his dad. The old man still had it. As disgusting as it was.

  After the third ring of the doorbell went unanswered, he turned to walk toward the back of the house when he saw his mother coming around in full gardening garb.

  “Rye!” Emily Ann McKay shrieked.

  A wide grin spread across his face. His mother’s brown eyes sparkled while her chin-length blonde hair flowed with the wind. In his typical greeting, he picked her up and twirled her around easily. “Hi, Mom.”

  “It’s so good to see you! I’d almost forgotten what you look like,” she said between kisses on his face.

  “Mom, we talk all the time.”

  “Yes, but this is the longest you’ve stayed away since you left for school. Your father and I think you must have a girl tucked away somewhere. A serious one this time.”

  Chagrin heated his face. Only his mother could make him feel self-conscious. “Mom, I’m thirty-four years old. If anything, it would be a grown woman, not a girl,” he reminded her, but didn’t answer the subtle inquiry.

  “Doesn’t matter as long as you’re here now. Your father is in his dreaded shop tinkering with some clocks, he says he has a deadline to repair, but I know he’s just smoking those stinky cigars. He does it on purpose so I won’t go out there,” his mother continued. “Did you get a new vehicle? I’m not sure I like dark gray. It looks so masculine. You must have picked it out by yourself, because a woman would never have suggested this pewter color. Goodness, you didn’t get rid of the Jeep, did you? You’ve had it for so long. What made you change? And you know, just when you’re coming home, we’re flying to Baltimore this weekend to visit your sister. Jensen is looking forward…”

  Rye smiled and listened, as usual not allowed to get in one word, and followed his mother around the house to the workshop. A few years ago, after retirement from Lockheed Martin, Jackson McKay expanded on his hobby and opened a clock repair business. Jackson loved tinkering with intricate parts, and it gave him an excuse to get out of the house. Just as Rye’s mother had predicted, his father was kicked back in a lounge chair smoking a cigar and watching the activity on the lake.

  Jackson jumped up in a guilty rush when Rye and his mother approached.

  “Son, good to see you,” Jackson said before pulling Rye into a bear hug, no shame in sight. Rye had a two-inch height advantage, and his father was slim and wiry, but somehow Rye still felt a lot smaller.

  “Hi, Dad,” he said, smiling.

  “Well, I’m going to rustle up a snack while the two of you catch up,” his mother said before heading into the house.

  His father sat back down, and Rye sat in a chair beside him. “Working on any new clocks?”

  His dad, an older version of Rye except for the more seasoned skin and gray hair, gave his son a sly wink. “Hell no. I’m just back here to get away from your mother. She’s about to drive me nuts. Wants me to go to some luncheon tomorrow to raise money for the safe return of raccoons to the wild. You know what I say?”

  “Fuck the raccoons,” they said in unison. Rye was long used to his mother’s over-the-top exploits and his dad’s opinion about them.

  “So how long you home for?” his father asked before resuming his cigar smoking.

  “A week this time.”

  “You on vacation?”

  “Not exactly. I had some business to handle. Needed several days to do it.”

  His father’s piercing blue gaze studied Rye over half-lens reading glasses. “This business wouldn’t have anything to do with a woman, would it?”

  Rye couldn’t restrain his smile when he thought about Lacey. “As a matter of fact, it would.”

  His father’s hearty laugh made Rye laugh too. “Don’t worry, son. It happens to the best of us,” he said before snuffing out his cigar. With slow, careful hands, he clipped the end of it and replaced it in the humidor Rye had built years before.

  “It’s different from anything I’ve ever experienced,” Rye confirmed.

  “Wanna talk about it?”

  “Just one thing. It’s Lacey.”
>
  His father did a double take. “Bishop?”

  “The very same.”

  “Shit, son. When you do it, you do it big, don’t you?” His father whistled through his teeth. “She is one fine filly. Killer rack.”

  “Dad!” Rye choked out a laugh.

  “Just ’cause I’m sixty years old doesn’t mean I’m blind. All three of those Bishop women are easy on the eyes, especially Lacey. Seems you were the only one with blinders on.”

  “I guess you’re right.”

  “She’s stubborn like Lena.”

  “Yep.”

  “Smart like John.”

  “Definitely.”

  “How’re you going to handle it all?”

  “The best I can.” Rye gave his honest answer. “I’m sure it’s not going to be easy.”

  “No, it’s not,” his father said. “Have you ever seen a wild horse get tamed?”

  Rye shook his head. “I’ve only read about it.”

  “It’s not pretty. Amazing to see it happening, though.”

  Rye grunted, leaned back in his chair, and crossed his legs at the ankles.

  “You’re going to have a fight on your hands. Not only from her, but from people with a problem because you have a beautiful black woman by your side. Be ready.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “You talk to John yet?”

  “Not yet.”

  “Don’t wait too long.”

  “It’s my next stop.”

  “And son?”

  “Yeah, Dad?”

  “Sometimes you never really tame a filly. Sometimes you just hope she slows down and lets you jump on every now and again.”

  Rye smiled. “Hell, as long as I get to ride.”

  His father laughed, swatting Rye’s shoulder with his palm.

  Rye’s mother returned with a tray loaded with sandwiches and lemonade, fussing over him and his father until they each had a heaping plate of food. Then she took a seat beside his dad and, seemingly without thinking, ran her fingers through his father’s mane. Rye had a feeling if he hadn’t been there, she would be in his father’s lap instead. God, this was what he wanted. With Lacey. The fighting and the loving. They bickered back and forth, but his parents couldn’t go a day without each other, and they wouldn’t have it any other way. Neither would he.