While she waited for her drink she watched Brice at the other end of the table. He seemed to know everybody in the place, as a string of people stopped by to greet and talk to him.
“Your old man never met a stranger,” she remembered Sherri telling her when she was a teenager. “It’s the secret to his success. People meet him once and leave convinced he’s their new best friend. Especially the women, and the younger and prettier the better,” she’d added bitterly.
An older man approached the table. Brice stood, slapped him on the back and pulled a chair from a vacant nearby table so he could join the group. He wore baggy black dad jeans and a black short-sleeved shirt whose buttons gapped over his considerable paunch. The remaining strands of his hair had been carefully arrayed and sprayed over his head, and his sagging jowls and dewlaps reminded Drue of the Nestlé Quik bloodhound.
“Jimmy Zee’s in the house,” Jonah drawled.
“Who’s he?” Drue asked.
“He’s our investigator,” Ben said.
“You mean, like a detective?”
“You catch on fast,” Jonah said. “Jimmy Zee and your dad go back a long ways. He’s a retired St. Pete police detective. Zee and Brice used to be partners, back in the day, before Brice started law school at Stetson.”
“Oh yeah,” she said slowly. “I remember him. Jimmy Zee. He and his wife used to hang out at our house, when I was little.”
“Hard to believe the old man was ever a cop,” Ben said. “I’d have guessed he was born a lawyer.”
Unbidden images tugged at Drue’s memory. Of her father, arriving home at the end of his shift, carefully unbuckling his holster, stashing his service weapon in a box kept on the top shelf of the bedroom closet. She remembered Sherri, every Sunday night, with the ironing board set up in the living room, starching and ironing a week’s worth of her father’s white uniform shirts, while smoking and watching the soap operas she’d taped. Some days, if he was in a good mood, Brice would prop Drue up on a phone book in the driver’s seat of his green-and-white cruiser, turn on the blue flashers and siren, and she would laugh and clap her hands, because those were the days she was Daddy’s girl.
She watched as the two men bent their heads together, deep in conversation.
“Where’d you go to school?” Jonah asked.
“On the east coast,” she said, annoyed. She’d already noticed his flashy gold UF college ring.
“I meant, what school?” he persisted.
“Miami,” she said. She hadn’t actually said UNIVERSITY of Miami, right? If he jumped to the wrong conclusion, that wasn’t her fault.
“Miami. Cool. Mark Richt is kicking ass and taking names down there. You a Hurricanes fan?”
“Not at all. I detest football,” she said, trying desperately to shut him down. Why had she lied like that? Why not say Miami Dade College? There was nothing wrong with it. Nothing wrong with her.
She sucked down the last of her margarita and started to stand. “I gotta go. Tomorrow’s a school day, right?”
“You just got here,” Ben said, looking dismayed.
Brice had spotted her. He came around the table, put a hand on her shoulder. “You’re not leaving already. The party just got started.”
“Actually, I am,” Drue said. “I’ve gotta get an early start in the morning. Don’t want to get off on the wrong foot with the office manager.”
Brice frowned at her lame joke. Before he could say anything, his cell phone rang. He pulled it from his pocket, took a few steps away from the table, and a moment later was back.
“Speaking of. That was the boss,” he said cheerfully. “I’ve been summoned home.”
He motioned the server over. “You’ve already run my Amex. Keep the tab running for this motley crew.”
Brice clapped his hands to get the group’s attention. “Gotta go, guys, but don’t stop the party on my account.”
“Booty call,” Ben yelled, and the others at the table took up the refrain, banging beer bottles on the tabletop. “Booty call. Booty call. Brice has got a booty call.”
The boss grinned widely, and gently pushed his daughter back down to her chair.
“Stay, okay? The night’s young.” He turned to Ben and then Jonah. “I’m appointing you two characters as her wingmen. Make sure she’s taken care of, right?”
“We got this,” Ben said, shooting Brice a thumbs-up.
* * *
“Shot time!” yelled somebody at the end of the table.
“Yeah,” one of the accounting girls echoed. “Shots for everybody!”
Their server materialized, taking orders as they were shouted out.
“Jägerbomb!”
“Buttery Nipple!”
“Mind Eraser!”
“Redheaded Slut!” Ben yelled.
“Angel’s Tit!” Jonah called. He pointed at Drue. “What’s your pleasure?”
“Lights out,” Drue said.
“Huh?” Ben looked puzzled. “That’s one I’ve never heard of. And I’ve tasted every shot ever invented.” He held up his phone and tapped an icon. “Look. I’ve even got a Shots Spreadsheet.”
“It’s not a drink, it’s a statement,” Drue said. “Sorry to be such a wet blanket, but I’ve gotta head out.”
“No way,” Ben said. “You heard the man. You gotta at least stay for a round of shots.”
“This is so ridiculous,” Drue said, shaking her head. “I’ve never understood why they call it ‘happy hour.’ More like ‘amateur hour,’ if you ask me.”
Jonah groaned. “Spare us the lecture about how immature we are. Can’t you just let go and join the party? Have a little fun? I never would have thought any kid of Brice’s would be such a tight-ass.”
“Shows how little you know me,” Drue shot back. She drained her margarita. “Okay, I’ll play if you’ll play. How about you order me a shot, and I’ll order one for you.”
“Deal.” Jonah turned to the server. He gave it some thought. “Can you make a Crouching Tiger?”
The girl shrugged. “I guess.” She looked at Drue. “How about you?”
Drue smiled. She’d mixed a Crouching Tiger or two during her bartending days. Tequila and lychee juice. An obnoxious combination, in her opinion. But if he wanted to go that route, she could do him one better.
“Bring my friend here a Prairie Fire.”
“Does he still want the, uh, Angel’s Tit?” she asked.
“Doesn’t everybody?” Ben said, smirking. She could tell he was fairly wasted.
Their server nodded and just before she turned to head back to the bar, shot Drue a secret, congratulatory smile.
* * *
Their server had some skills. When she came back she expertly unloaded the correct glass in front of each member of the team. She hadn’t written anything down, Drue noticed. She was just that good.
When she reached the end of the table she slid the bright red shot glass in front of Drue. “Crouching Tiger for you.”
“Redheaded Slut for the redhead,” she said, placing Ben’s glass in front of him.
“And for the gentleman, an Angel’s Tit and a Prairie Fire.”
Drue reached for her drink. She’d get this over with and get out of here before things got too intense. She knew she was buzzed and was already regretting that margarita.
Jonah stayed her hand with his. “Not yet. This is team-building night, remember? And Marianne, as the most senior member of the CCK precision-drinking team, gives the signal.”
“Hey, Marianne. Waiting on you.”
Marianne, who had short, white-blond hair and the angular body of a runner, stood up.
“On my count. One. Two. Three. Drink up, assholes!” she screamed.
Every member of the team, including Drue, raised their glasses and downed their drinks.
She grimaced. If Jonah wanted to give her liquor poisoning, he’d made a good start of it. Her head was swimming.
He’d downed the creamy confection he’d ordered
for himself in one gulp. Now he wiped his mouth, smirked and reached for the amber-colored shot.
He tossed it back and his eyes widened. He gagged, then forcefully swallowed. His eyes were watering. Thirty seconds passed, and then he picked up Drue’s empty margarita glass and spat out his drink.
“What the fuck?” he croaked. “What…”
“Oh. You want to know what’s in a Prairie Fire?” she asked sweetly, sliding a glass of water his way.
Jonah drank the water. “Hot tequila? Who does that?”
“I didn’t invent it. I just ordered it. So yeah, hot tequila and Tabasco. You’re lucky I didn’t ask her to garnish it with a ghost pepper.”
Drue reached into her pocket, pulled out a five-dollar bill and pressed it into their server’s palm. “Thanks, girl.” Then she turned to Jonah and Ben and stood, swaying a little as she did so. “Good to meet you both. I’m heading for home now.”
Ben jumped from his chair. “Let me give you a ride home. You probably don’t need to be driving.”
“Uh, dude. You don’t need to be driving either,” Drue said. She pointed at Jonah. “And neither do you. But it’s cool. I walked here. And I can walk home.”
“You seriously walked here?” Jonah asked. “From where?”
She turned and had to grasp the back of her chair to keep her balance. “Just down there,” she said, jerking her thumb to the north.
“Should have known. You’re the boss’s daughter. He has a house on the beach. You have a house on the beach. No biggie.”
She leaned down until her face was only inches from Jonah’s and whispered, “My dad has nothing to do with where I live, okay? You’re such an asshole, by the way.”
He leaned away from her and stood. “You’re wasted, by the way.” He looked over at Ben. “We can’t let her walk home like this. You want to drive her? If not, I can. I Lyfted here, and I can just have the driver drop her off.”
“Hey!” Drue protested. “I’m right here. Stop talking about me. I told you, I’m fine. I don’t need a ride. And I don’t need an escort.”
“I can drive all three of us,” Ben said. And then his face fell. “Damn. I just remembered. It’s such a nice night, I rode over on the Vespa.”
“A Vespa?” Drue whooped. “Hell yeah! I changed my mind. Let’s go for a ride.”
“Can’t,” Ben said. “I only have one helmet.”
“Don’t be such a rule-follower,” Drue exclaimed. “It’s only a couple blocks.” She tugged at Ben’s arm. “Come on.”
“Not a good plan,” Jonah advised. “This is the boss’s daughter. Remember? What if she falls off and sustains a head injury? Who ya gonna call?”
“Campbell, Coxe and Kramner,” Drue sang, mimicking the firm’s catchy jingle, which was sung to the tune of “Maxwell’s Silver Hammer.” “Had a fall? Give Brice a call!”
“Enough said,” Ben agreed. “You want me to walk her home with you? I mean, she says it’s only a couple blocks.”
“Not necessary,” Jonah said. “I’ll walk her, make sure she gets home okay and then I’ll call for a Lyft from there. I’ll text you if there’s a problem, otherwise, I’ll see you tomorrow.”
5
“You really don’t have to do this,” Drue said, as they trudged along the beach. “I’m perfectly capable of walking home all by myself.”
“Sure you are,” Jonah said, rolling his eyes. “Which motel did you say you’re staying at?”
“Behind the ‘at,’” Drue said, giggling at her own joke. “Don’t they teach you guys grammar up there in Gainesville?”
“Which motel?” he repeated.
“Mmm, it’s one of those, right up there,” she said, pointing at a cluster of small motels just beyond the dunes. They were fifties throwback tourist courts, each painted in a different Easter egg pastel—coral, turquoise and yellow.
“Okay. Can you be any more specific?”
“It’s the Sea … something, I think.”
“The Sea Breeze?” he asked, pointing at a C-shaped complex built around a glowing turquoise swimming pool.
“That’s the one!” She playfully punched his arm. “I take it back. You’re not such a dummy after all.”
As they started toward the dune line, Drue stumbled and toppled backward onto the soft sand.
“Whoops!”
Jonah grabbed her arm to help her up, but instead, she pulled him down beside her.
“Hey!” He started to protest, but on an impulse, she shut him up with a kiss. Which he returned, in a chaste, closed-mouth sort of way.
He pulled away after a moment. “What’s this about?”
She wasn’t sure. But he was a good kisser, that she did know. And in the dark, she decided to just let the tequila do the talking. She wrapped her arms around his neck, leaned in and kissed him again.
His response was definitely more enthusiastic the second time. He parted her lips with his tongue and ran his hands up her bare back. She shivered at the touch of his warm hands, and pressed herself closer to him.
“Oh man,” he said, sitting up after a few moments. “This is a terrible idea.” He put his head in his hands.
“What?”
“This,” he said, indicating her prone position on the sand. “You’re the boss’s daughter.”
Drue grabbed the collar of his stupid preppy polo shirt and pulled him down beside her. “Shut up,” she murmured in his ear.
She slid her hands up the back of his shirt and he slowly eased a knee between her legs. He nuzzled her ear, ran his tongue down her jawline, and her neck, and her shoulder, and at the same time, his hands were working their way from her back and under the front of her halter top.
Drue couldn’t remember the last time she’d had sex. She and Trey hadn’t been getting along all that well in the months leading up to her mother’s illness. And after her mother’s diagnosis, she’d spent every free moment she had with Sherri, ignoring Trey’s pointed comments about his needs.
After the kiteboarding accident, sex had been the last thing on her mind. Not anymore, though.
And apparently, Jonah was rapidly overcoming his initial apprehension. He was fumbling for the zipper on her jeans.
“Let’s take this somewhere with less sand,” Drue said, kissing him again, and momentarily forgetting herself.
“You sure?”
“Positive,” she said.
“You’re the boss.” He stood and helped her to her feet.
“Damn straight,” Drue told him, taking his hand and leading him toward the motel.
* * *
“You sure this is the right room?” he asked, as they stood in front of a door looking out at the pool.
She whipped the key card from the back pocket of her jeans, slid it into the slot and tried the door handle, which didn’t move.
Drue frowned and took a step backward. “I could swear this was my room. I know it faces the pool.”
“May I?” He took the plastic card, wiped it on the front of his shirt and inserted it into the slot, easily pushing the door open.
“Hey. How’d you do that?”
He smiled. “I’ve got the magic touch.”
She pulled him into the room and turned the deadbolt lock. “We’ll see about that.”
Moonlight shone in through the room’s sheer drapes. Drue dropped her shoes on the floor, unzipped and discarded her jeans, and pulled her top over her head, letting it drop onto the floor. She collapsed naked onto the bed, leaning back against the headboard.
He shrugged and pulled off his polo shirt, dropping it on top of the clothes she’d so readily discarded.
He had a nice body, Drue decided, not as wiry and lean as Trey, who spent all his spare time surfing or kiteboarding, but muscular and toned.
Jonah glanced at the noisy window air conditioner, which barely cooled the room. “Doesn’t it get hot in here?” he asked, kicking off his loafers and unzipping his shorts, letting them fall to the floor.
“
Not as hot as it’s gonna get.” She held out her arms, and he smiled and joined her on the bed.
* * *
She awoke with a start, her heart racing. Her head throbbed and her mouth tasted like a sewer. She was startled to hear the sound of soft snoring. Slowly, she turned her head. Sunlight seeped through the window and now she saw, sprawled facedown beside her, a sleeping, naked man. She glanced down and realized that she was also naked.
“What the…” She started to sit up, but a jagged lightning strike of pain threatened to split her skull in half.
Drue sank back down onto her pillow. Slowly, the previous evening’s events came back to her. “Come to happy hour,” her father had said. “Meet the team,” he’d said. “Drink up,” he’d urged. She was pretty sure Brice hadn’t meant for her to get shit-faced and literally take one for the team.
“Oh God,” she muttered, as she vaguely remembered how easily she’d shed her inhibitions once she’d willingly guzzled the equivalent of half a bottle of tequila. She looked down at Jonah’s sleeping form. Just how drunk had he been?
She groped around on the floor beside the bed until she found her cell phone, thumbing the home button to bring it back to life, and gasping when she saw the time. Eight o’clock! She had to be showered, dressed and at work, in downtown St. Pete, which was thirty minutes away, in an hour.
Her stomach roiled and she ran for the bathroom, reaching the toilet just in the nick of time. She kicked the door shut, knelt and retched until she felt she might have barfed up her own toenails.
“Oh God.” She sank onto the edge of the bathtub. “What the hell did I do?” she whispered.
* * *
Drue shook Jonah’s shoulder. She’d taken a hasty shower and gotten dressed. “Wake up.”
He didn’t move. She shook him harder, and slowly, he turned his head. His eyes opened slowly. “Huh?” Spittle left a narrow trail from his mouth to his chin.
“Wake up! You’ve gotta get out of here. I have to get to work.”
He groaned and rolled onto his back. “What time is it?”
“It’s eight-thirty. I’ve got to leave. It’s my second day of work and I can’t be late.”
Sunset Beach Page 4