by Mary Hughes
By the third hour Race was hyperventilating. “Are we done? Babe? Honeypot?” He tried to high-sign his honeys. But Honeypot had just earned…er, got from somewhere…er, she had another fifty and they were flush.
Logan leaned over. “You’re playing well, Liese.”
“When this is all I have left?” I indicated my single stack of quarters.
“Race is down five hundred dollars. Bo’s lost a hundred, Elena almost three. You’ve lost less than fifty.”
“I still lost.”
“But you play very well. You could even beat me, if you’d let go and trust yourself. Take a few more chances.”
Take more chances? Yeah, right. I’d taken a chance with Botcher and look where that got me.
Pop! “That’s getting old, Liese Schmetterling. I expect better of you.” Prissy little Good Liese stood on one shoulder, shaking her tiny unmanicured finger at me. Apparently, after a couple boilermakers, I was starting to hallucinate.
“Planning hasn’t gotten you very far, either.” Bad Liese popped up on my other shoulder, with much better nails. Oh, and a cute little pedicure too. “You planned to get rid of Logan but he’s still here. Worse, Elias is lying in wait for you instead.”
“You planned to get Race drunk and out the door,” Goodie Locks said. “The only thing planning’s gotten you is locked in a game with a sheepshead monster.”
Hey, they were ganging up on me. Wasn’t that illegal? Against the imaginary-creature code of conduct or something? I was pretty sure it was in a rule book somewhere. “The Sex Fairy is so going to squash you guys with his wand.” Which made me think of Logan’s wand, which—
“Liese? Is something wrong?” Logan was eyeing me strangely.
“No, no. Just, um, getting more beer. Want some?” I didn’t wait for an answer, plucking up tray and empties and hurrying back to the bar. Counting heads I ordered three pitchers and nine glasses.
“Nine?” Logan stared at me like I’d started programming in Korean.
“I miscounted.” I poured beer in all nine glasses. B-Liese popped onto the rim of hers, sipped up foam. Waited a moment then belched, “Bernie Botcher’s mother has a mustache.” The funny thing was, she did.
G-Liese, apparently not to be outdone, popped onto the rim of her glass. And promptly fell in.
I laughed.
“Are you sure you’re okay, princess?” Logan put his warm hand on my back. Rubbed between my shoulders.
“I’m fine,” I said, and burst out crying.
He gathered me in, hid my face against his chest and stroked my hair. I caught the expressions around the table, flushed, embarrassed. Awkward.
I tugged from Logan’s embrace, sat up, wiping my eyes. Logan handed me a paper napkin, so sweet. I blotted the worst of the damage. “I’m fine,” I repeated emphatically.
“Maybe we should go.” Race’s tone was uncomfortable.
Hell. A weepy geek was harder for him to handle than losing hundreds of dollars. Come to think of it, Botcher never knew what to do with me crying, either.
Logan did. He kissed my forehead. “He’s right. We need to go home.” He leaned closer and whispered into my ear, “I have something for you. A surprise.”
I perked up immediately. Home, where a golden stallion could gallop—and I could ride. No, fly. Fly to heaven. Have him bite me—
“Liese, honey. Here you are, and with so many new friends. Are you going to introduce me?”
I whirled. And nearly tossed my cookies.
A woman stood there, one hand on her tiny waist, the other holding a cocktail. A black spandex miniskirt outlined her rounded hips and exposed incredibly long legs. Generous breasts overflowed a pink leather bustier. Her hair was professionally dyed champagne blonde with pure white highlights. Her face had a classic, ageless sort of beauty. Her body was that of a high-priced courtesan.
I’d never known that about her.
The woman made a gesture at my friends. “Introduce us, Liese.”
“Yeah.” Race was panting a little. “Introduce us, dollface.”
Oh, I so did not want to. But… “Race Gillette. Logan Steel. Um, and Honeypot and Babe.” Elena and Bo already knew her, unfortunately, which meant I couldn’t just run away. I took a deep breath.
“Meet Hattie—my mother.”
Chapter Twelve
As soon as I could pry my mother from Race’s roving hands, I dragged her to the women’s restroom. There I grabbed her by both arms. I think I wanted to shake her, like I could rattle some sense into her. Or at least shake some sense into my life.
“Where the hell did you get these clothes?” I yelled. My rock, my anchor was now a bombshell slut. Whose German mother was this?
Mom tut-tutted. “Language, Liese. I brought you up better than that.”
“You brought me up better than this.” I released her, threw a disconcerted hand at her…well, they weren’t really clothes, were they?
“Cousin Rolf’s wife helped me pick them out.” Her tone was stiff. “I think they’re very nice.”
“Nice? What happened to classic A-lines and sensible shoes? To spending more for something you could wear forever if you took good care of it?” What happened to the only person I could trust?
“I just wanted something fun.” She blinked. “Something cute to take my mind off…you know.”
Oh, shizzle. My mother was going to cry. I felt like a heel. “It is cute,” I lied. “Fun.”
“Isn’t it?” Mom perked right up. “Cousin Rolf’s wife is so good for me. Makes me feel young again. She introduced me to fun makeup and cute shoes and vibrators and—”
“Vibrators?” I shrieked. My sainted mother, talking about vibrators? What kind of friends was she hanging out with, anyway?
“And you’d never believe what you can do with a good, big cucumber.”
I clamped my jaw and shuddered. Please, I thought. Do not let my mother mean what I think she means.
“Of course Cousin Rolf’s wife has a Stryker. That’s a dildo molded from porn star Jeff Stryker’s goodies. I wanted to try it but—”
“Okay! Right. Glad we had this discussion. Let’s go home.”
“But sweetheart. You were playing sheepshead. And losing. You never lose.” An odd gleam entered her eye. “Of course, you were losing to that nice-looking young man. The blond. Although the other one was very nice looking too. He reminds me of someone I once knew well. But I’m sure your young man felt good about winning. Very masculine and capable. Is the other one single?”
“Oh, for the love of… Mom, I didn’t lose to Logan on purpose. He’s just that good.”
That only piqued her interest more. “He’s a schafkopf player? And a good one? That takes brains, you know. And nerves of steel.”
“Yeah, Logan’s got both.” And buns of steel. I thought of cupping Logan’s amazing glutes with my hands—
“You know, sweetie, you look exactly like I did when I tried out the Stryker.”
“Enough.” I grabbed her wrist and dragged her out of there, before she came up with something worse. Like what exactly she could do with a good, big cucumber. Or like—
“Let’s play strip sheepshead!”
My jaw dropped, hit the floor, and bounced around my toenails. I picked it up—just as my mother slid onto Race’s lap.
“Mother!” I yanked her off, got her a chair and plunked her down. Resisted the urge to sit on her—or put her on a time out. “You don’t want to encourage him.”
“Why not?” she asked, all Mrs. Innocence.
“Oh, for the love of Steve Jobs. Because Race is a bad-boy. He has a stable of honeys, and I don’t mean bees!”
“So?”
“So? That’s all you can say? Mother—he’s not the marrying kind of guy.”
“Sweetie, at my age, my first interest isn’t marriage.”
Logan leaned over. “Your mother has a point.”
“You keep out of this.”
“But if she’s occup
ied elsewhere—”
I growled at him. How could he think about sex when my mother’s chastity was on the line?
“Liese, honey, if you don’t have a better reason—” Mom began to slide back onto Race’s lap.
“Mother—shizzle. You’ll do it because I said so.” I yanked her back onto her chair.
“Well, if you insist, I won’t get fresh with this cute young man. Not right now, at any rate.” To my absolute disgust, she winked at Race. Winked at him.
He winked back. “So Hattie, let’s play strip peepshed.”
“You got it.” My mother picked up the deck.
“Mother, no,” I screeched. “You have all of three pieces of cloth covering your body.” She shuffled. I was hyperventilating. “Don’t you dare do this, young lady!”
She dealt. Picked, went it alone, and won.
With a broad grin, Race stripped off his belt and laid it on an empty table next to us. Bo did too. Bo’s was longer. Elena, who was sharing a hand with Bo, took off a shoe. Feeling cornered, so did I.
Logan shrugged and removed his shirt. Great galloping gamma rays. The only thing saving me from complete meltdown was the fact that he was wearing an undershirt.
Honeypot and Babe weren’t playing, but they took off their tops too.
They weren’t wearing bras. After two guys at the next table fainted dead away I suggested we move our game to the large back hallway where only the drunks staggering to the bathroom would see us. Logan and Bo moved the table, Honeypot and Babe tottering after with belts, shoes and iron-on nipple patches (or were they tops?), which they dumped on a small stand in the back corner.
The next hand, Logan picked. For those who’ve never played sheepshead, there are thirty-two cards in the deck. We played five-handed, which meant six cards for each player and two left over, placed face down on the table and called the blind. Logan’s taking the blind meant he thought he had enough points to win. He called ace of hearts for a partner. It turned out to be my mother. They walked right over us.
Three hands later a pile of socks and shoes were on the stand. Mom hadn’t lost a hand. Logan lost one more, a belt. Race was barefoot and so was Bo.
The more clothes that came off, the more beer went in. Or vicey-versey. Vysa-ver—whatever, my lips buzzed and the next thing to go would be major. Elena was already there, unsteadily peeling off her top. She looked all hot in her lavender lace pushup bra. I thought hubby Bo’s eyes were going to pop out of his skull.
I had the deal. After distributing somewhat unsteadily, I eyed my cards. Three jacks, a queen and the ace of diamonds, along with two fail.
Couldn’t I have dealt myself some big guns? I never picked with less than two queens. Of course Elena never picked with less than five. Since there are only four queens in the deck, she rarely picked.
I passed, hoping the big guns were distributed evenly. They weren’t. After some tense play, my mother won that hand too, partnering Race.
“Damn, I wanted us to lose,” my sainted mother said. “I wanted to see me some beefcake.” She ogled Race’s chest. “Guess I’ll have to settle for getting another pitcher.”
“I’ll help you.” Babe rose unsteadily to her feet. Honeypot was off somewhere “finding” money.
As Mom and Babe tottered toward the bar, Logan untied and threw off a shoe. Bo pulled off his T-shirt. His bare chest was nicely muscled but not as honed as Logan’s.
“I’ve faced killers, but this is going to take some real courage.” Elena drained a full glass of beer. Then with a grimace, she shimmied out of her jeans. Her lace panties matched the bra.
Race watched avidly. When Elena turned to put the jeans on the stand (and we all saw it wasn’t panties, but a lavender thong), Race said “Woo—”
The “hoo” was cut off by Bo’s hand, clamped around his throat. “That is my wife.” As Bo forced the words around tight lips, I caught glints from two extremely long canines. “You will keep not only your hands off her, you will keep your eyes off.”
Race, gaze now glued to Bo’s ruby red one, nodded. Bo released him. Race glanced at the stand where Elena’s jeans lay and smirked.
Fangs erupting, Bo seized Race by the throat again. “You will not only keep your eyes off her, you will keep your mind off her. You will not say, do, or think anything that even remotely connects my wife with sex. Understand?”
“Um, Bo?” Elena gestured toward her mouth. “Your, er, slip is showing.”
“Understand?” Bo growled, ignoring her.
“Un’sta,” Race croaked.
Bo released him.
All eyes were on their little drama. I used the opportunity to pull off my T-shirt.
Logan choked.
“What?” I covered my chest.
“Don’t you ever wear underwear?”
Race grinned. “Woo—”
Too fast to follow, Logan smashed him to the wall by the throat. Race’s neck was certainly going to be bruised. “Don’t—”
“Sh’s no’ yr wife. I cn loo’.”
“You want to test that theory?” Logan’s blood-red eyes belied his pleasant voice.
“Uh…no.”
“Smart boy.” Logan released him to grab my shirt and toss it to me. “Come on, Liese. We’re going home.”
As I drew it on, my mother returned. “Home, already? Oh well. We can buy a six pack to go, put in a frozen pizza and play Uno.”
We played Uno until midnight, when Logan announced he had work to do and left. I had stopped drinking and fought off sleep until then, hoping my mother would go to bed and Logan and I could, um, cuddle in my room. I might not trust him, but I didn’t need trust to get the comfort of rubbing body parts.
“You lie as badly to yourself as you do to other people.”
I had gone to bed alone (unfortunately), so that meant…I blinked at my shoulder. It was empty.
“Yoo-hoo. Over here. Ow.”
Bad Liese sat on my nightstand, propped up against a glass of water. She was pressing her forehead to the glass like she had a really bad headache.
“Hangover?” I rooted around in the nightstand drawer, found a bottle of aspirin and popped it with my thumb. “Take this.”
The white tablet was half as big as her face. She nibbled it delicately. Grimaced. “Don’t you have any sugar for this?”
“Not here. What did you mean by that, me lying badly to myself?”
“Ain’t it obvious?” She took another tentative nibble on the aspirin. Her tongue pushed out repeatedly. “Maybe other people don’t need trust to have sex. But you do.”
“Do not.”
“Too. Otherwise why has your only lover since Botcher been your hand?”
“Don’t be crude. It’s because nobody’s been interested until now.”
“Not.”
“Too.”
“N—”
An authoritative clap of hands cut us off. “Girls, girls.” Good Liese, at the foot of the bed, was disgustingly chipper. “Don’t fight.”
Bad Liese held her head on with both hands. “Ow. Do you have to be so loud?”
I closed my eyes. “Or so bright?”
G-Liese smirked. “She’s right, Liese. You’re not going to make love unless you actually love.”
“I don’t love Logan Steel.”
“Su-ure you don’t.”
“Because obviously saying it makes it true,” B-Liese said.
“I don’t.” My voice rose. “And let me tell you—”
There was a knock on the wall. “Everything okay, Liese?”
The three of us exchanged looks of panic. Three forefingers slapped to lips. “Shhh.”
“Liese, answer me. Do you need me in there?”
G-Liese pressed her tiny ear to the wall. “She’s getting up. Do something!”
“Why me?”
B-Liese rolled her eyes. “Who’s the real person, here? Say something.”
“I’m fine, Mom.” I put every ounce of sincerity I could into my voic
e.
Bad Liese snorted. “I’m fine,” she warbled in imitation. “Could you sound any more like a sick cow? Moooo. I’m a cow.” Good Liese shook with laughter, tiny hands holding her stomach.
I flicked G-Liese off the end of the bed. She landed on the floor with a tiny poof. Putting my face up to B-Liese I yelled, “Just getting an aspirin, Mom.” B-Liese clapped hands to her head and tottered off the nightstand.
I popped the nibbled aspirin in my mouth and washed it down with the cold water, then turned my back on the disgusting duo. “I am not in love with Logan.”
G-Liese grunted from the floor. “Not completely.”
“Not yet, at any rate,” B-Liese said right into my ear.
I flinched. Glared at her. “Why don’t you guys just go away and let me sleep?”
G-Liese popped onto the same shoulder. “Imaginary creatures clause, remember?”
“I already made the life-altering decision, remember?”
“And now you have another.”
“Oh, goodie. Let me guess. I have to decide whether or not to love Logan.”
“That’s not a decision.” Good Liese tsked. “That’s a feeling. Didn’t you study psychology?”
“Computer science majors only have to take Communications for Engineers.”
Bad Liese snorted. “Now there’s an oxymoron.”
“Hey!”
“The point is,” G-Liese said, “feelings just are. You can’t hold a gun to your head and say, ‘Feel happy.’ The decision’s not whether to fall in love with Logan, because you already are. The decision is what to do about it.”
I stared at them both, incredulous. “You’re saying I’m already in love with Logan. And that the only choice I have is how to deal with that?”
“Yep.” G-Liese’s smile was smug.
I shook my head. “That’s easy, then. I push him away.”
“What?” Smug gave way to shock. “What about True Love?”
“What about getting laid?” B-Liese screeched. “What about heavenly orgasms and the best sex of our life? You’re going to just push that away?” She gave G-Liese a wild-eyed look. “She’s insane, you know that? This is your fault.”
“My fault? How is this my fault?”
“You’re the one who told her feelings just ‘are’. Couldn’t you have lied a little? Told her it was already too late?”