Vote Then Read: Volume III

by Aleatha Romig

I roll my eyes. “Okay, okay, you’re such a nice guy, Kyle. There’s no other man nicer than you. When people tell tales about this century, you’ll be the man they call the nicest. You will be put in history books as Mr. Nice Guy.”

  He grins. “Quit giving me the sarcastic attitude, Chloe. It makes me want you more.”

  My stomach flutters, and my gaze on him softens.

  God, why do I have to hate this man?

  Why can’t he stay Voldemort evil?

  I push my coffee up the table and set my napkin next to it. “I need to get to work. We’ve shared a meal. Now, we’re even.”

  He shakes his head and clicks his tongue against the roof of his mouth. “Wrong. We’re nowhere near even.”

  “The hell?” I do a sweeping gesture of me in the booth. “This was my payback.”

  “No. Breakfast was for me driving you home. You still owe me for dealing with your puking ass. Three shared meals in return for my kindness.”

  “Are you kidding me?” I yelp. “You never mentioned there were numerous debts owed.”

  He bites into his lower lip in humor. “I must’ve forgotten that part.”

  I throw my arms up and then drop them to my sides. “I don’t have time to play games with you. I have a job to get to.”

  “Second order of business: as previously discussed, no digging up information on people I care about. Promise me.”

  So, this is why I’m getting nice Kyle.

  Duh. He’s not doing this for no reason.

  “You know damn well I can’t promise that.”

  “Actually, it’s quite simple for you.”

  “Fine, I won’t publish any stories.”

  He nods, accepting my answer as if he were my authority. “Third order of business: have dinner with me tonight.”

  “Not happening.”

  He crosses his arms behind his neck. “I’ll visit you at work for lunch then. We’ll enjoy a romantic picnic in your office. I’ll find a basket and a red tablecloth to set the mood.”

  My gaze darts around the diner. Briefly, I forgot we weren’t alone. “Fine, dinner at your house.”

  “Cool. See you at six.”

  “Whatever. I have work to do.”

  He tilts his head toward the window when Gage pulls up. “Me, too. See you tonight.” He winks. “Wear one of those cute skirts I like.”

  “Wear that muzzle I like.”

  He grins. “I love when you get kinky on me.”

  4

  Chloe

  Age Thirteen

  Dear Diary,

  I hate my bedroom.

  My friend Holly’s is prettier.

  It’s pink, and she has a real bed, not a mattress on the floor like mine.

  She lives in the same trailer court. Her parents are poor, too, but at least they give her something pretty.

  Meanwhile, my bedroom walls are a dingy yellow from cigarette smoke.

  I throw my diary down and lower my head, glaring at the worn, stained comforter.

  Ugh. Just writing about it makes me hate my life more.

  I pick up the book next to me and open it.

  Time to take myself to a happier place where I have a father, a mother who doesn’t suck, and an older sister who isn’t mean fifty times a day for no reason.

  “Hey, Chloe. What are you reading there?”

  I peek up from my book to find my sister’s boyfriend, Sam, standing in the cramped doorway. I smile before holding up the book, so he can read the cover.

  “The Lion, The Witch, and The Wardrobe, huh?” he asks. “Your sister said you enjoyed reading.”

  “I love to read.” I wait for him to make fun of me like Claudia, my sister, does.

  She’s been dating Sam for a few months now. I only saw him a few times before, but lately, he’s been coming around more. My mother hated him at first, calling him filthy names and then sinking so low as to demand he pay her to see my sister. She needed the money to buy drugs and alcohol.

  He pays her now—most likely because my sister is younger, and I’d guess he’s around my mother’s age. Now, she doesn’t mind as much.

  Neither do I.

  Sam is handsome. He reminds me of a character from some of the romance novels I shouldn’t check out of the library. He’s tall with dark hair and broad shoulders and maturer than my sister. It’s not unusual for her to date older men, but she’s never brought someone home like Sam. He doesn’t lick his lips or ogle me, making me uncomfortable because my mom won’t buy me a training bra, and my nipples poke through my shirts.

  He leans against the doorframe. “Girls who like to read are those with a bright future ahead of them. Their imaginations can take them anywhere.”

  I crawl to the edge of the mattress and settle myself Indian-style. “My sister doesn’t like to read.”

  He chuckles. “Yes, I am well aware.”

  “Why do you like her then?”

  Claudia is gorgeous, and even at eighteen, she could pass for someone old enough to get into bars. Mama lets her go with her sometimes, too. Claudia is also mean and selfish, and she isn’t the big sister girls dream of.

  “Your sister excels in other areas,” he replies.

  “Like sex?”

  My response surprises him.

  He raises a brow and points to my book. “Keep reading. Excel at that.”

  He walks away before I can reply.

  The next day, he returns with a box of books—brand-new books!

  “These are for you,” he says. “Keep reading, Chloe.”

  “Thank you!” I squeal, hastily searching through the box. I grab a copy of a Sarah Dessen book and hug it to my chest. “Thank you so much!” The book hits the floor with a thud when I jump up to give him a hug.

  When he leaves, I grab my diary and write about how nice Sam is.

  5

  Chloe

  My stomach fills with dread when I see the name flashing across my phone screen. My finger wavers over the Ignore button for a few seconds but eventually moves to answer it.

  I clench the phone in my hand. “Hello?”

  “What is wrong with you?” Claudia shrieks on the other line. “Marsha said she saw you having breakfast with Kyle Lane this morning.”

  My sister is best known for her overdramatic behavior.

  Scratch that.

  She’s best known as being a scam artist.

  An alcoholic.

  An opportunist.

  Overdramatic runs in fourth.

  “Good morning to you, too,” I grumble, rubbing my forehead.

  I can’t share pancakes with someone without it being talked about. Good thing I run the headlines in this town.

  “Did you fall and smack your head? I know you’re still mourning the loss of your snooze-fest relationship with Kent, but Kyle Lane is bad news.”

  “Noted.”

  She’s irritated, but her not continuing her rant confirms this isn’t a courtesy call. She wants something from me.

  “Go ahead and say it,” I finally mutter.

  “I need you to watch the kids tonight.”

  “I can’t. I have plans.”

  I’m not a fan of helping and enabling her, but normally, I have no problem with babysitting my niece and nephew, Gloria and Trey. I wish she’d act like a mom and take responsibility for them instead of putting it all on me.

  “With who?” she snaps, the attitude resurfacing. “Kyle?”

  Even though she can’t see me, I tip my chin up. “My plans are none of your business.”

  We’ve never had a relationship where we share beauty secrets or boy advice. We only share conversations when it concerns the kids or she needs money.

  “Do those plans involve Kyle?”

  I release a long sigh. “It’s a work thing, not that it’s any of your concern. I’m available after seven.”

  “Cool. I’ll drop them off then.”

  The line goes dead.

  Claudia is as grateful to me for watching he
r kids as those obnoxious twits on My Super Sweet 16 for their extravagant birthday parties.

  Helping her is expected of me—has been for years. Like my mother, whose demise will be her strict diet of vodka and endless opiates, she’s entitled. If someone has something of value, she demands a slice. Free rides are hitting the jackpot, and Claudia views me as her money train to support her partying.

  I drop my phone in my bag before getting out of my car and heading to my office. My head throbs with every step I take up the stairs. It’s not even lunchtime, and I’ve already dealt with Kyle and Claudia.

  “Homegirl, you are in trouble,” Melanie sings as soon as I walk in, her feet kicked up on the desk.

  Her loud voice makes my head hurt, but it’s nothing compared to the shrill of Claudia’s.

  I shrug off my jacket and settle it on my arm. “I can be late for once.”

  She snorts and drops her feet, smoothing out her skirt. “I don’t give two shits about your punctuality. What I’m referring to is, you looking like you were up all night, drinking or sexing it up—or possibly both.”

  “You have no idea,” I grumble while heading toward my office.

  “The rumors are true then?”

  I stop mid-step. “What rumors?”

  She sits on the edge of her chair in excitement. “Word is, you left Down Home with Kyle last night and then had breakfast with him this morning.”

  Seriously?

  Joke’s on me. The woman who writes other people’s stories is now the face of the town gossip.

  “Word is, people need to mind their damn business,” I grumble.

  This is not what my hangover needs at the moment.

  “He took me home and left last night. This morning, I spilled my coffee when he came over to give me my keys, and he offered to buy me another. Just two neighbors sharing a meal. No biggie.”

  She glowers, confirming I’m full of bullshit, before her face turns somewhat serious. “You know I’m all for you getting laid, but make him a booty call only. That’s it. You get an orgasm and get the hell out of there, girlfriend. His family is no joke about protecting their image and not letting outsiders in.”

  She’s right. Like Kyle, his family is royalty here. His dad is the mayor, his grandfather a judge, and his mother the biggest philanthropist in the town. Blue Beech isn’t full of people with money, except the Lane family. They’ve owned this town for decades.

  “Trust me,” I say. “There’s nothing going on between us.”

  I don’t wear one of those skirts he likes.

  I wear yoga pants and an old tee.

  “I’m actually doing this,” I say to myself while pulling my hair into a sloppy ponytail.

  Sure, I’ve shared drinks and meals with Kyle, but dinner at his home is intimate. There will be no crowd around and no puking involved. Kyle obviously wants to have sex, and I’d be a liar if I said I didn’t want the same.

  Last time we had dinner, it ruined me. No one was supposed to find out, but they did.

  When they did, Kyle came out unscathed.

  Everyone loved him, his family, and their wealth.

  Guys wanted to be his best friend. Girls wanted to be his girlfriend or current screw. Even I was guilty of the last two, which was what pulled me into the mess of him. He was nice when no one else even glimpsed in my direction.

  Turned out, he wasn’t the nice guy he’d played off to be, and I’m scared he’s playing the same deprived game.

  I walk through Kyle’s front door without bothering to knock. He doesn’t respect my privacy. Therefore, he doesn’t deserve his. I check out the living room after the door shuts behind me. I expected the interior of Kyle’s home to scream bachelor pad with neon signs and poker tables, but it’s nowhere close. While there is a flat screen TV set up on the wall and a saddle-brown leather sofa, it’s clean with dark pillows and a bookcase filled with books and pictures of him and his family.

  I follow the noise of dishes clinking and the scent of food into the kitchen to find Kyle standing at the island with a beer in his fist and dishes set out in front of him. I figured we’d have pizza or takeout, but it smells of comfort food—similar to how Kent’s mother’s would when she spent all day in the kitchen.

  What the …

  Surely, he didn’t cook for us.

  “We need to make this quick,” I say.

  He grins as if my outburst wasn’t rude. “Mmm … I’m not normally into quick the first time, but I’ll make an exception for you.”

  “Hilarious,” I deadpan. “I’m babysitting in an hour.”

  “Not cool. You agreed to dinner.” He’s scolding me as if I were a child, like he’s the one who has to babysit me.

  I throw my hands up. “I’m here, aren’t I?”

  He sets his beer down and walks around the island, resting against the counter and pushing his hands into his pockets. He’s in jeans, a tee fitting the vast expanse of his chest, and barefoot. “And? Our dinner will take longer than an hour.”

  I blow out a frustrated breath. “Wrong. Whatever you’re cooking will take me ten minutes to eat.” I smile. “I’m a fast eater.”

  He tsks under his breath. “You’re lucky your escape plan is kid-sitting. Otherwise, I’d make you cancel.”

  Make me?

  He’s given himself the control tonight, and apparently, my spine has flattened because the urge to take that control back is nonexistent.

  “How sweet of you,” I mutter.

  He shoves off the counter, takes the few steps separating us, and captures my chin in his hand.

  I draw in a breath and surprisingly don’t jerk away.

  He uses one finger to tilt my chin up before cupping it, his finger sweeping along my skin, and his emerald-green eyes scream determination while he appraises me as if I were an expensive item he was debating on purchasing. “I’m sweet when necessary, dear neighbor, and as you’re well aware, not sweet when necessary.”

  Is he flirting with me or threatening me?

  I don’t catch my breath until he drops my chin and turns away. I glance around the kitchen, debating on if I should leave.

  “We should get started. You’re not bailing before dessert,” he says. He snatches his beer again and points at me with it. “What’s your drink of choice?”

  “Water, please.”

  Alcohol combined with Kyle is a bad idea unless my plan is to drop my panties or throw up on him—or possibly both.

  “Water it is.” He opens the fridge and draws out a bottle of water and a wine cooler before holding the cooler up. “In case you do want a drink, I snagged a few of these. When my sister was a teenager, she’d sneak and drink them. There’s hardly any alcohol in them. Serving you anything stronger might result in you painting my walls with the wonderful dinner I’ve prepared for us.”

  His joke eases me, and I smile. “With the hangover I’m suffering from, I don’t even want to think about consuming alcohol.”

  He settles the drinks down in front of me, and a pleasant smell covers the room when he opens the oven, drags out a pan, and places it on the island. I push forward on my toes to get a better view.

  My attention flies to him. “You cooked this?” There’s no way.

  Chicken coated with spices, vegetables, and potatoes are in the pan. My stomach growls at the sight. I haven’t had a home-cooked meal like this since last Christmas with Kent’s parents.

  “Negative,” he answers. “My mother did. I’m heating it up. It has to count for something, right?”

  I can’t help but smirk. “Aw, how cute. His mommy made dinner for his forced non-date.”

  He drops the oven gloves on the counter and smiles at me. “Shove it, Fieldgain. My mother’s cooking is the fucking best and is better than anything I can pull together. I prefer to impress you, not give you food poisoning.”

  I tilt my head his way. “Appreciate that.”

  I drag out a breath, watching Kyle move around the room to gather up everything.
It’s hot. He’s not the chef tonight, but he’s no stranger to the kitchen.

  He prepares our plates, grabs the silverware, and directs me to the four-person table across the room.

  He takes the chair next to me when everything is situated. “How was your day, honey?” His fingers circle around the neck of his beer, and he takes a drink while waiting for me to answer.

  I narrow my eyes his way. “Don’t make this all domestic.”

  He’s not thrown off his game at my response. “All right then, how the fuck was your day, you goddamn pain in the ass?”

  I shrug. “Now, that brings me back to my dinners as a child.” At least, when my mother wasn’t too drunk to sit with us.

  “Same.”

  I raise a brow at the same time I snort. “Yeah, right. The Lanes are the picture-perfect family.” I cough. “I mean, it’s what everyone says. I wouldn’t know.”

  He sets down his beer and leans back in the chair. “Looking in from the outside? Sure. Inside? No. My mother and father despise each other. They’re experts at hiding it in public.”

  His parents not having a healthy relationship isn’t surprising. His father is an asshole. Most people in this town, friend or foe, wouldn’t dare mutter a bad word about the mayor. The people on the lower end of the totem pole, we speak about him. It might be in hushed whispers, but it’s known that his father isn’t a stand-up gentleman.

  “Dig in,” he says, breaking me away from my thoughts. “We only have an hour.”

  I take the first bite and moan.

  It’s delicious.

  I’d so hire Kyle’s mom as my chef if I ever won the lottery.

  “This is amazing,” I comment before taking another bite.

  He sticks his chest out in mock over-the-top pride. “Ding! One point for Kyle.”

  “One point for Kyle’s mom,” I correct.

  “Give a man credit now. You said your favorite meal was grilled chicken. I made sure that’s what you got.” He shrugs and moves in closer until our elbows are touching. His eyes meet mine. “Maybe I’ll get my favorite meal tonight, too.”

  I nearly choke on my bite and use my water to help me swallow it down while he laughs in the background. “You enjoy catching me off guard, don’t you?”