Poked (A Standalone Romance) (A Savery Brother Book)

by Naomi Niles

  “Well, are you going to eat?” she asked me, gesturing toward the open box of donuts. “You need to eat more. You are too skinny.”

  I let out an exasperated sigh. “Carlotta, the only person you ever care about feeding is yourself. What do you want?”

  Carlotta made a weak attempt to look hurt, but the anger shone through. “Yesterday at around lunchtime, Kimmy and I went over to Neiman Marcus. She bought herself an authentic Louis Vuitton designer handbag and I—well, I really wanted one.”

  “How was Kimmy able to afford a handbag?”

  “She used her boyfriend’s credit card.”

  “I bet Rich wasn’t too happy about that.”

  “He won’t be when he finds out, but I knew better than to take your money without asking you.”

  “No, you just wanted to bribe me with food and then hit me up for money. Honestly, Carlotta, is there any end to your greed?”

  “Darren, it’s not like that.” Reaching into her purse, she pulled out a monogrammed silk handkerchief and dabbed at her eyes. “It’s the job of a boyfriend to provide for his love.”

  “Not with handbags!” I shouted. The longer this conversation went on, the more absurd it was getting. It would have been funny if she wasn’t so serious. “How much was the one you wanted, anyway?”

  She sniffed and said in a quiet voice, “Only six hundred.”

  “When we started going out, were you under the impression that I’m an endless money dispenser? I’m not your ATM; I’m your boyfriend. Just because my family has money doesn’t mean you can hit me up anytime you’re wandering through a store and see a thousand-dollar pair of earrings.”

  Carlotta was shuddering and crying now; she had never been very convincing at it. “How dare you, sir! I’ve never once asked you for that much.”

  “No, you never asked for much. Just five hundred dollars for a pair of designer sunglasses, three hundred dollars for a purse made of authentic ostrich hide, another four hundred for a hat containing a feather from the same ostrich…”

  “When you put it that way, it sounds like a lot.”

  “Believe me; it adds up.”

  Carlotta shook her head and her legs jiggled. “I thought I knew you, but I guess I was wrong. I thought you were a kind, loving, generous man—”

  “Oh, don’t give me that. Generosity means feeding the homeless, not feeding your purse addiction.”

  She followed me with her eyes as I rose from my chair and walked over to the front door. “Darren, where are you going?”

  I opened the door and flung out one arm. “Here’s the door. You’re welcome to use it.” When she merely went on staring, I added, “I’ve had just about enough of you and this whole discussion. Go find yourself some other man who will tolerate your whims and indulge your worst tendencies.”

  Carlotta gaped incredulously, looking both hurt and offended. “What are you saying?”

  “Let me put it for you in language you can understand: I’m done! I’m so done! Now get out!”

  By now, it had become painfully clear to her that I wasn’t kidding. Grabbing her purse off the table, she walked slowly and with halting steps toward the door.

  Once she had reached the porch step, she turned to face me. “Just one more thing before I go—”

  “Goodbye, Carlotta. Please don’t come back.” I slammed the door in her face.

  It was an oddly satisfying feeling, and the world had a pleasant sheen about it as I drove to work that morning. Lately, I’d been so fixated on my troubles with Carlotta that I hadn’t noticed the song of the cardinals and chickadees as they clustered in the trees along the banks of the Brazos. My delight must have been evident on my face, for Dickie commented on it when I came through the door.

  “You doing alright?” he asked me. “You look…happy.”

  “Better’n I’ve felt in ages,” I said with a smile.

  “I can tell. There’s a glow about you.”

  “If I had known breaking up with Carlotta would feel this good, I’d have done it ages ago. Somehow the world feels so big today, so much bigger than this one person.”

  “So you finally went through with it? I had a feeling that was coming.”

  “I guess it was about time I listened to you for once. It’s an exhilarating feeling, being single again. Maybe I’ll just stay single for a while.”

  Dickie smiled and shoved a set of keys over the counter. “You know what would make you feel even better?”

  There was no need to ask what that meant. I snatched up the keys with a feeling of elation. “Is the car ready, then?”

  “It waits for you.”

  It was hard to believe the car was finally ready. All those weeks we had been working on it, I began to think it would never be finished. And now on this fairest and clearest of mornings, I was about to take it out for a test run. “You wanna come with?”

  Dickie shook his head firmly. “No, no, no. I just repair the cars, I don’t drive them.”

  I laughed and tousled his hair. “Suit yourself!” And, with a feeling of excitement and pleasure such as I had not felt in ages, I dashed out of the shop toward the waiting car.

  Chapter Eight

  Penny

  I slept in late on Saturday morning. When I awoke, I had a text from Nic.

  Hey boo, I was thinking I might want to go into town today and buy some new clothes. I don’t want Darren to think I wear the same clothes every day.

  To which I replied: Nic, you *do* wear the same clothes every day. You work in an auto parts store.

  and Nic wrote back: I know, I know, but you know what I mean.

  I sent a laugh-crying face and wrote, I do.

  Plus, she wrote back, I haven’t done my laundry in about a week and I’m feeling lazy. I just would like to go shopping.

  And you want me to give you permission?

  No, she said, I want you to come with me.

  I wanted to go, too, but I decided to string her along first. Hmmm. Let me mull that over for a bit.

  Please, please. You’re the only friend I have.

  That’s kind of sad, actually, I replied.

  It is, but there’s not much I can do about it before the race. I can’t just go out and *buy* new friends.

  Ah, if only we could.

  It would be a much better world, she agreed.

  But then those who had money would have all the friends. And I would have no friends at all.

  I’d still be your friend, Pen.

  ty, ty

  When she didn’t respond for a few minutes, I added, I’d like to go out today. I’d been thinking about getting a haircut.

  Nic sent a heart-eyes emoji. Oooo how short are you going to cut it?

  Idk yet. I haven’t even decided if I want to get it cut.

  I think it would look cute. It would make you look about ten years younger.

  Boys already think I’m fifteen, Nic.

  Hmmm, very true. Maybe you oughtta keep it long for now.

  I sent her a sad face.

  After a few minutes, she wrote back, But I think your hair looks great no matter how you wear it, and if you want to cut it you should go ahead and cut it.

  It would be easier to manage, anyway. Right now, it’s all the way down to my waist, takes about an hour to wash.

  It’s going to feel amazing when you finally get all that weight lifted off.

  Ikr? The more I think about it the better I feel about it. Maybe I’ll keep the hair and make a nice rug out of it.

  Sometimes when you say things like that, said Nic, I can’t tell whether you’re joking or not.

  Why would I speak in jest? I replied.

  I got up and washed my face and did my morning exercises, then threw on a pair of blue jeans and a yellow t-shirt and went out to find Dad. His nurse had brought him a light salad with almonds, pecans, cherry tomatoes, egg whites, and sliced roasted chicken. Out of solidarity, I decided to forego the waffles I had been planning on making and rummage
d through the refrigerator until I found a container of yogurt.

  “What have you got going on today?” he asked me as he searched through his salad for the chicken slices.

  “Well, I was thinking about going to get a haircut, and then I think Nic and I were planning on going to see some street races. They’re underground races and probably illegal, so please don’t call the police on us.”

  “As long as you’ve got a good lawyer.”

  “I don’t think the cops go after these guys too hard. The heading on the flyer said it was the fifth annual Dallas automobile drag race, so I assume the last four races didn’t end in mass arrests.”

  “Probably not. I performed in some drag races myself back in the ‘70s, back when drag races were cool, and nobody cared whether you risked your life flying down the strip.”

  “Seriously? Are you pulling my leg?” I knew Dad had done some strange things before he settled down and married my mom and became a teacher, but I had never pictured him drag-racing. It was a bit like finding out your pastor had been in a street gang and fallen in love with a girl from the wrong side of the tracks.

  “No, and I would’ve kept doing it after we were married, but your mom talked me out of it. She said she didn’t want to have to bring her little girl into this world all by herself.”

  He smiled at the memory, but I couldn’t help thinking about the tragic irony embedded in those last words. “Mom was probably right—you’d have broken your neck, and then I wouldn’t have had a mom or a dad.”

  “You underestimate me,” Dad replied, a touch of pride in his voice. “Back in my teens, I was an excellent racer.”

  “Well, I think Mom did the world a favor by keeping you alive. I bet she was relieved to get you away from all the other girls.”

  “That probably had a lot to do with it,” he admitted. “Gwen always said she lucked out when she married me because there were a hundred other girls who wanted to, and she managed to snatch me away before anyone else had the chance.”

  “Well, from the pictures I’ve seen of Mom, you were pretty lucky yourself.”

  “Yeah, for a few years.”

  Just then, Nic came into the room with a towel wrapped around her head. She was wearing a pair of faded denim jeans and a red spaghetti strap shirt that was cut low enough to expose the cup of her orange bra. “Hey, boo,” she said, sitting down in the leather recliner. “So where are we going this morning?”

  I wanted to go and get a bigger breakfast, but I didn’t dare say that in front of Dad. “I think I’m about ready to visit the barber. It is time.”

  “You sure you don’t want me to cut it for you?”

  “You know how long that would take? I don’t want you to spend three hours cutting my hair. Not to mention the clean-up afterward.”

  “I told her she should just go bald,” said Dad, who had been trying to get me to shave my head since I was five.

  “You could get it buzzed like Furiosa,” suggested Nic.

  “I think maybe we’ll start small. How would it look if I just cut it to right here?” I motioned to a spot about midway between my neck and shoulders.

  “That’s about how short you had it in middle school,” said Dad. “I think it would look really cute.”

  “I think it would look really sexy,” said Nic.

  “Okay, but you’re not the one I’m trying to impress.”

  “Who are you trying to impress?” came two voices at once.

  I smiled and shrugged innocently. “Nobody in particular. If the boys want to be impressed, I won’t stop them.”

  “Okay, but you’ve gotta have somebody in mind. Nobody cuts their hair, that they’ve been growing out since they were in junior high, just to impress ‘The Boys.’”

  “Well, I’m a pretty unique person,” I replied. “So…”

  Dad rose from the couch and shuffled toward the trash bin the kitchen to throw his salad away. I got up and ran after him. “Here, Dad, I’ll get that for you…”

  “It’s alright,” he said, a note of frustration in his voice. “I can throw away my own salads.”

  Meanwhile, Nic was examining herself in the reflection of the big-screen TV, trying out various hairstyles to see how they looked on her. “Sometimes I wish my hair was wavy likes yours is. The kind of wavy where it’s almost curly, but not quite. I hate having stringy, straight hair that I can’t do anything with. Every time I go out, I feel like the other women are judging me for having such straight hair.”

  “Nic, calm down,” I said as I returned to the couch. “You can curl your hair if you want.”

  She shook her head. “I’ve tried curling my hair, and it doesn’t look as good on me as it does on you. I look like I oughtta be wearing padded shoulders and dancing to Cyndi Lauper.”

  “Nothing wrong with that,” I said, blushing slightly. “Anyway, why are you so jealous of someone who isn’t even as pretty as you?”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “You’re, like, the cutest woman I know, and when we go out, all the guys are lining up to buy you drinks. You don’t see them lining up to buy drinks for me, even though I’m right there. But you’re always complaining about how you wish you had my hair, or wish you were short like me, or wish you weren’t as tan and had paler skin. It’s okay to look the way you look. You don’t have to steal everything from me. I’m not even that pretty.”

  Nic placed a hand on her hips. “I bet I know some boys who would beg to differ.”

  “Oh, yeah? Who?”

  There was a long silence which ultimately dissolved into laughter.

  “See, I told you!” I shouted. “Don’t pretend you know loads of secret guys who love me when you can’t even name one. You’re just getting my hopes up.”

  “If it’s any comfort,” said Dad, who was still in the kitchen pouring himself a glass of O.J., “I always thought you were the cutest.”

  “It doesn’t mean the same coming from you, Dad.” I turned back to face Nic. “Look, you’re young and hot. Just enjoy being young and hot.”

  “I’m alright,” said Nic, waving her arms in the air limply with a disgusted look, like a skeleton who had just found out he was dead. “I wish I wasn’t so skinny. I wish I was curvier like you.”

  “Nic, I weigh 98 pounds.”

  “You wouldn’t be able to tell just by looking at you.”

  “Thanks, I guess?” It was always hard to tell when Nic was giving you a compliment. “Before we go anywhere today, let’s make a deal. Are you ready for this?”

  “I’m listening,” said Nic, putting her hair into a half-up.

  “I want you to go for a whole month without comparing yourself to me even once. Thirty-one days. Do you think you can do that?”

  Nic frowned thoughtfully. “What do I get if I win?”

  “I’ll buy you a steak.”

  “You’ve gotta do better than that.”

  “Fine, I’ll take you to see Owl City the next time he comes to Dallas. We’ll go together.”

  A gleam of satisfaction shone in Nic’s eyes. “Now that I think I can do. Thirty days without comparing myself to you. Does that include positive comparisons?”

  “Thirty-one days, and it includes all comparisons.” She came forward and shook my hand. “I’ll be really impressed if you make it through a whole hour, but also, I believe in you.”

  “Maybe we should have waited until after you got your haircut,” said Nic with a gloomy look. “You’re gonna be just—super cute!”

  “Well, that in no way detracts from your worth as a person. So you just keep that in mind.”

  ***

  After we left the house, we went out for breakfast at Waffle House. I ordered a plate of Texas bacon and an egg-and-cheese melt with hash browns, and Nic ordered a two-egg breakfast with coffee. I sat there for a few minutes in a booth by a window looking out over a quiet city street. It was a cloudless blue morning, and the sun gleamed on the hoods of the cars in the parking lot.
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br />   “It’s gonna be sad saying goodbye to my hair after growing it out for so long.” I poured a small packet of sugar into my orange juice and stirred it thoughtfully. “It’s like losing an old friend.”

  “Well, maybe you can donate this friend to someone,” said Nic. “Maybe a kid who has cancer would like to have a nice head of wavy blonde hair.”

  I was quiet for a moment trying to picture what that would look like. “I guess I wouldn’t mind some little girl having a Penny wig. I just hate to see it thrown away. I almost want to frame it and hang it up on my wall.”

  “If you like it that much, then maybe you should just keep growing it out.”

  “I could, but it’s getting really long. I don’t know if you’ve noticed. Soon I’ll be tripping over it.”

  Nic frowned and stared down into her half-empty lemonade glass. I could tell there was something she wanted to say, but she knew if she said it she risked losing a chance to see Owl City. “Maybe you could do the bun thing like Princess Leia. Then you wouldn’t have to cut it, but it wouldn’t be in your way anymore.”

  “I could do that. I was never much of a Star Wars fan.”

  From the expression on Nic’s face, you’d have thought I had admitted to hating babies. “So, rule number one of dating: never admit that to a boy.”

  “Why not? If we get married, he’s going to find out eventually.”

  She reached over and patted my arm. “Maybe just never tell anyone that you don’t like Star Wars. Or come to your senses and like it—whichever is easier for you.”

  “Hey! I don’t make fun of you for not liking Lord of the Rings.”

  “Okay, but Lord of the Rings has no plot! There’s an elf, a dwarf, a man, and a couple of tiny people, and they’re walking toward a volcano for, literally, nine hours.”

  “They’re called hobbits.” I threw my straw at her. “The tiny people are hobbits!”

  “Whatever they’re called—I could have reached that volcano in half the time.” She studied me curiously for a moment before adding, “It never occurred to me before, but you sort of resemble that one chick—the one who kills the dragon.”

  “I assume you mean Eowyn, and yes, I have been told that I look like her. It’s because we both have long wavy blonde hair and huge bluish eyes.”