In Too Deep

by Lexi Ryan

  “Damn. She’s still got it. Send her my regards.”

  I grunt as I push out of my side of the booth. “You wish.”

  My phone buzzes with a text.

  Bailey: You’d better be dead in a ditch somewhere, you call-dodging asshole.

  It’s ninety-five degrees in Blackhawk Valley tonight, and the air is thick and sticky with humidity—not so different to what I imagine it’d be like to live in a giant, sweaty armpit. If hell is a dry heat, I could go for a visit about now. Instead, I’m scrubbing tables on the patio of The End Zone because no matter how hot it is, the smokers want a place to drink where they can also provide carcinogens with the most direct path to their lungs.

  The bar is quiet and will remain that way until BHU is back in session in the fall, but it’ll pick up a little with the after-work crowd. I want to have the patio ready so I can help Tia behind the bar if she needs it. I toss my rag in my bucket, and I’m reaching for my broom when my phone buzzes in my pocket. I pull it out to check it and my jaw drops in surprise.

  Sweet baby Jesus, it’s a miracle. Mason answered my text. I lean against the side of the building and unlock my screen to read his message. I’m so used to him ignoring me, I’m almost too shocked to be annoyed by his response.

  Mason: Not dead or in a ditch. Just busy.

  I’m sure he’s busy—busy enjoying the beach or busy spending his money. Busy living a charmed life while I’m sweeping up cigarette butts and melting in the heat. I narrow my eyes as my thumbs fly across the screen to type my reply.

  Me: In that case, I’m going to have to come down there and kill you myself.

  Mason: Perfect. When can I expect you?

  Yes. I’m definitely going to kill him. I’m heading to Seaside tomorrow to do a last-minute session with a friend and hopefully see my sister, but it looks like a visit to my accidental husband remains on the list. I type a series of expletives in the reply field then force myself to delete them and shut off my screen. I’ll see him in the flesh soon enough, and those words are more effective when delivered in person.

  “Bailey!”

  The sound of the familiar voice behind me makes me pause before turning. He taps my shoulder, and I turn to face him. Shit.

  It’s Ron, the assistant from the bank who remembered me from the Pretty Kitty. I’ve never seen him at The End Zone before—probably because he prefers establishments where the servers aren’t fully clothed. I’d like to think he’s here for a drink, but judging by the way he’s eyeing my tits, I’d guess today’s reunion gave him ideas. Joy.

  “Hi, Rob.” I know it’s Ron, but I’m a bitch, and I don’t love that he came here looking for me.

  “Ron,” he corrects with a smile. “You forgot to stop on your way out today.” His face is flushed and he’s breathing hard, as if he ran here from the bank.

  “Sorry about that.” Not sorry.

  “I looked up your workplace on your loan application. I hope that’s okay.”

  I stiffen. It’s not.

  “I wanted to give you something.” He holds out a business card. “My cell’s on there. Since you’re not working at the Pretty Kitty anymore, I can finally take you out for that dinner we always talked about.”

  We? In our many “conversations,” I’m pretty sure Ron’s the only one who ever talked about us doing dinner. I just offered the excuses. I stare at the card before blinking up at his bright pink face. Sweat is rolling down his cheeks, and he wipes at it with the back of his hand. “You’re married, Ron.”

  “Does it really matter?” His grin is probably supposed to be mischievous, but he just looks like another douchebag in a long line of douches I’ve met in my life. Seriously, the world is full of assholes. Even if it makes me a hypocrite, since I used to strip in front of this asshole, I feel really bad for Ron’s wife.

  “Yeah,” I say. “It matters. I’m not interested in going out with any man who’s spent years as a regular at the Pretty Kitty, but I wouldn’t be interested in a married man regardless of how desperate he is for attention.”

  He pulls back. “So you can rub your ass against my dick and take my money, but you’re too good to eat a meal with me?” He rubs his sweaty pink chin. “Do you know what that makes you? But don’t worry. I can pay.”

  I put my hand on his chest, and his sneer drops away as his lips part and his eyes dilate. Too easy.

  Smiling, I tug on his tie to pull him down as I bring my mouth to his ear. “It makes me a woman who knew how to play you when I needed cash,” I whisper, and when he tries to yank away, I tighten my grip on his tie. “And it makes you a pathetic schmuck who can’t even score with his wife because he doesn’t see her as anything more than a walking pussy who can cook.”

  He yanks away, and I release his tie at the same moment, making him stumble back a few steps then fall on his ass between two tables. “What turned you into such a bitch?”

  I shake my head. “I was always a bitch. But I am sorry I rubbed my ass against your dick. I didn’t mean to. It’s just so small I didn’t realize it was there.”

  Tia pokes her head out the back door. “Are you okay?”

  “I’m fine,” Ron says, standing and smoothing his tailored pants.

  She sneers at him. “I wasn’t talking to you.”

  I wave her off. “I’m fine. Rob was just leaving.” Then I grab my broom and bucket and head through the staff door into the kitchen. I stick my shaking hands under hot water as if I could wash away the film of disgust that meeting left on my skin.

  I can’t believe any girl would settle for marrying a guy like that, and here I am, married to Mason Dahl—best guy I’ve ever known—and doing backflips for a divorce.

  I thrum my fingers against my thigh as the event coordinator pulls the catering books off the table and replaces them with binders of information about florists.

  “I don’t remember it being this overwhelming when I was planning my wedding,” Mom says.

  Dad nudges her. “Oh, I remember. You obsessed over every little decision. You made Bridezilla look like a puppy.”

  “Hey!” She laughs and turns to the event coordinator. “I was a gentle bride. Full of grace. It was my mother who was intolerable.”

  I’m glad that my parents are happy, and since things like elaborate celebrations add to that happiness, I’m behind them having this anniversary party. But I’m not thrilled that they want me in on the plans. Big, fancy parties aren’t my thing. Drunken nuptials in Vegas, anyone?

  If I were celebrating thirty years of marriage, I’d want my wife to myself on a quiet little island somewhere. I instantly picture Bailey, a little older, a little softer, laid out on a beach in Fiji, her skin golden from the sun, her fingers twined with mine. That’s a celebration.

  “Listen,” Greta, the event coordinator, says. “I have another appointment in twenty minutes.”

  Thank you, God. It’s over.

  Mom looks at her watch. “Greta, I am so sorry. I didn’t realize we’d been here so long!”

  “It’s been my pleasure,” Greta says. “How about I send these binders with you, and we’ll meet again on Monday? We’ll carpool to the venues so you can see them before you make your choice.”

  “Sounds great,” Mom says.

  “Will you be available as well?” Greta asks me.

  I shake my head. I leave for training camp on Sunday. “I’m sorry. I’m unavailable.” Spoiler alert: I’m not actually sorry.

  “Oh, that’s too bad.” She gives a tight smile, and I feel as if I’m being judged and coming up short.

  “But I was hoping you could help us choose a location, Mason,” Mom says. “You sure you can’t show up to camp a day late?”

  I smile. “I’m sure Greta will be very helpful. You won’t need me.”

  Mom stands and swings her purse over her shoulder. It’s a Louis Vuitton. I know because I bought it for her for Christmas. She loves it, but you could feed a small country for what it cost. “Well, we will see you
Monday, then,” she says, shaking Greta’s hand. “I’m so excited to pin down the details. I want it to be perfect.”

  “It will be,” Greta promises, and as we head to our cars, my shoulders relax.

  “Lindy called us last night,” Mom says. And just like that, I’m as anxious to get away from my parents as I was to get out of that meeting. “She’s really looking forward to her internship. Think how much time you two will have together.”

  It’s not just the Gators’ owner who sees wedding bells when he thinks of me and Lindy. If my parents had a choice in the matter, Lindy and I would have entered into an arranged marriage upon our college graduation. My father’s been doing business with Lindy’s father since I was a kid. They’re both investors with their hands in a lot of domestic and international ventures. When Lindy and I were growing up, our parents always joked we’d end up married, and for a while, when we were dating in high school, the joke seemed more like a reality. After Lindy and I went our separate ways, the joke wasn’t funny anymore.

  “She says she ran into you back in the spring,” Mom says.

  I freeze at that unwelcome reminder of my big-ass mistake. Why has Lindy been gabbing to our parents about that night? “Lindy’s a nice girl,” I tell Mom, “but as I’ve told you before, there’s no future for us.”

  “We should talk about that,” Dad says. “I think I could make it worth your while if you’d give that young girl a chance. Together, you two would have an empire.”

  “What are we doing here? Bartering cattle?” I frown at him. “Because it sounds like you’re trying to butter me up for the sale.”

  “Stop that, Mason.” Mom’s perfectly arched brows draw together with her frown. “Your father just means that you two are compatible, and it might benefit both of our families if you didn’t dismiss her so carelessly. She likes you, you know. And you used to like her. Before.”

  I bite my tongue, because I want to tell them about Bailey. Maybe Owen is right. Maybe if they knew I was married, they’d back the fuck off about me and Lindy. “I have to go.”

  “Have a great time at training camp,” Mom says with a smile.

  Dad stays silent, but his eyes are hard, and I know he’s unhappy with me. I don’t care. I’m so over them meddling in my life and trying to control me—been there, done that, got the emotional baggage.

  On a good day, it’s a little over five hours between my parents’ home in St. Augustine and mine in Seaside, but the highway is riddled with construction, making the traffic worse than usual, and the matter of Lindy’s temporary move to Seaside looms heavily in my mind.

  When I bumped into her in April, I was in my favorite Seaside bar, drunk on whiskey and self-pity. There I was, living my dream life, and nearly a year after leaving Blackhawk Valley, I still thought about Bailey every single day. That day, Bailey had posted a video of herself on Instagram stumbling around on the bar at The End Zone and captioned it, What you really look like when you’re drunk and trying to dance sexy on the bar.

  It was goofy and hilarious and so Bailey that it made me miss her with an intensity I hadn’t felt in months. I was desperate to stop thinking about the blond, curvy heartbreaker, and then Lindy appeared. We talked about old times—the good ones, at least—and she told me about her graduate program and her plans for after graduation. After nearly four years of being shut down by Bailey, my ego loved her attention. It felt good to have someone next to me, laughing at my jokes, leaning closer at every opportunity. After a few more whiskeys and more laughs, we climbed into a cab together and went back to my house.

  I let things go too far. I was hoping to feel something—anything—with someone who hadn’t spent the better part of the last four years pushing me away. It didn’t work, and it complicated the fuck out of my relationship with Lindy—a relationship I closed the door on five years ago.

  By the time I pull through the gates of my subdivision, it’s dark, and I just want a shower and a drink. Hell, I might skip the drink and fantasize about keeping Bailey as my wife instead. Some good old Bailey fantasies are just as intoxicating as bourbon and less likely to screw with tomorrow’s training.

  Maybe Owen’s right. Maybe going public with our marriage could solve my problems. Bailey’s life in Blackhawk Valley isn’t exactly glamorous, and the collection notices with her name that have started to show up in my mailbox tell me she has problems of her own. Maybe we could make an arrangement that would help us both.

  When I turn into the drive, my lights flash on the front of the house and I see a woman sitting on the porch swing, sipping a glass of wine. I wish I could say I was surprised, but Lindy is who she is. She goes after what she wants, and after five years apart, she’s decided she still wants me.

  I don’t bother pulling in to the garage. I stop in the driveway, cut the engine, and climb out. “What are you doing here?” I ask. Lindy’s dark hair is down around her shoulders, and her porcelain skin glows in the porchlight.

  Her wine-stained lips stretch into a smile. “Is that any way to greet your lover?”

  I rub the back of my neck, irritated that she’s made herself at home but trying not to show it. “We’re not lovers.”

  She takes another drink of her wine and flashes me a mischievous grin. “That’s not what it looked like a few months ago.”

  “I’ve told you, that night was a mistake.” Such a big fucking mistake. I thought if Lindy and I reconnected, maybe I’d feel something—maybe I could move on from Bailey. “Everything between us is history. There is no future.”

  Lindy looks away and wraps her arms around her waist. “If I were pregnant, you wouldn’t be turning me away right now.”

  I scrape a hand over my face. I was in Vegas when Lindy texted me to tell me she wasn’t pregnant.

  I know it was silly to hope. I just thought a baby could bring us back together.

  It hadn’t even occurred to me that she might be until she’d sent that, and then I spent the rest of the trip thanking my lucky stars Lindy wasn’t pregnant with my child. That would have been a disaster.

  I draw in a breath. She’s always been emotional, and since I fucked up enough to sleep with her, the least I can do is attempt to be patient. “Lindy . . .”

  “You know it’s true. If I were carrying your baby, you’d be happy to have me here. We would make this work.”

  “You’re not pregnant and we’re not a couple, so there’s nothing to make work.”

  My phone buzzes in my pocket, and I pull it out and stare at the screen to see Bailey’s face.

  “I think it’s time I talk to my father about you,” Lindy says. Her voice rises an octave, and her words pick up speed. “You wouldn’t be anyone if it weren’t for him. If he knows you used me for sex, you can kiss another contract goodbye.”

  I stiffen. I can practically feel my career teetering on the edge of the hysteria in her voice. Maybe I took a deal with the devil when Bill McCombs got his people to draft me, but at the time, Lindy was seriously involved with someone else. It seemed safe.

  “Why would you do that?” Even after hearing her say it, I don’t want to believe it. Once, we were friends. Once, we banded together against our parents’ attempts to manipulate us and control our lives, and now she’s trying to control me.

  “You toy with me. I thought you’d grown up, but look at you now. Pushing me away again.” She shakes her head. “Do you have any idea how used and dirty that makes me feel?”

  “I’m really sorry,” I say, and I have to be entering into the triple digits of apologies.

  “Can you give me one good reason we can’t be together?”

  Hell, I could give her a laundry list of reasons, but she doesn’t want to hear any of those. In fact, there’s only one reason that might make her dial back the crazy.

  I draw in a long breath, trying to stop myself from breaking my promise, making myself take one more beat before beginning to unravel the plan that’s been hatching since Arrow and Mia’s wedding. My hesitat
ion is nothing more than a formality. I made my decision weeks ago when I started dodging Bailey’s calls and ignoring the texts that read, You. Me. A romantic divorce? When are we going to do this thing?

  “There is someone else.” I wait for Lindy’s gaze to meet mine and say a prayer that I can talk Bailey into going along with this. “Lindy, I’m married.”

  The airport waiting area is filling up, but it’ll be another half-hour before they start boarding our plane. I dial my sister and cross my fingers while I wait for her to answer.

  “Hello?”

  I grin at the sound of her voice. I haven’t seen her in months and suddenly, I can’t wait to be down there. “Sarah!”

  “Hi, Bailey, how are you?”

  “I’m good. I’m at the airport, heading your way soon!”

  “Oh.” I can practically hear the smile fall from her face. “You are? Like, without any notice?”

  Can’t wait to see you either, sis. “I have a job in Seaside. I’m doing a little photography on the side these days, and my friend decided at the last minute that she wanted me to take some pictures for her.” And I need to get my husband to divorce me. But my sister already thinks I’m impulsive, careless, and irresponsible. No need to give her ammunition for those conclusions. “I thought I could swing by and see you and Faith.”

  Sarah lives near Rock Hill, about thirty minutes from where Keegan, Emma, and Mason live in Seaside. Since she never comes home to visit, I only get to see her and Faith when I go down there.

  “Sure. Give us a call when you’re down here, and we’ll see if we can make it work. The summer’s really busy. Faith has day camp while I’m at work and then nights are dance, gymnastics, and swimming.”

  “I know you two are busy. I’m flexible.” I’m determined to keep the cheer in my voice. “I’m going straight to my photoshoot off the plane, but I could come by after.”