The Boy on the Bridge
Page 52
___
The rest of the day goes smoothly. The only time I’m really tense is during lunch when Hunter and Sherlock are not only in the same room, but sitting at the same table.
I don’t sit with them, I sit at my table alone, but I can’t even focus on the book I brought to read today. Between bites of food, I steal glances at their table to make sure Hunter is behaving himself.
I don’t know what I missed yesterday, but today they seem fine. They keep a couple of guys between them and don’t really talk, but it’s far less violent than I was afraid it might be.
After that, the day flies by. I head home and do as much homework as I can before my night shift at the diner.
Just like that, it’s Thursday and the week is nearly over.
I stay after school for the newspaper meeting. To my absolute shock, Hunter walks in.
I look to Mr. Lohman expecting him to be surprised, but he just flashes Hunter a smile and says, “Welcome back, Mr. Maxwell.”
“Glad to be back,” Hunter says, stopping beside me and taking a seat.
“What are you doing here?” I ask, wide-eyed.
“Changing the world,” he says with feigned enthusiasm.
“I’m serious. I thought you quit so you could focus more on football.”
“Ah.” He nods. “Don’t have to do that anymore. I quit the team.”
“You… what? Why?”
He shrugs like it’s no big deal. “I like this more. Besides, I can do this with you. Football’s with Sherlock. I guess he’s all right, but you have a much better ass.”
I choke.
Hunter’s eyes gleam with amusement.
It’s like a million pounds fall off my shoulders, and I don’t even know why. “You’re done being crazy, then?”
“Nah, never,” he says lightly. “Just done being the kind of crazy that stresses you out.”
“I very much like the sound of this.”
“I thought you might.” He pulls his notebook out and drops it on the table. “What are you doing tomorrow night?”
“Working.”
“So, if your work suddenly decided they didn’t need you tomorrow, you’d be free?”
My eyes widen. “No, and I meant to ask you about that last weekend. I assume it wasn’t a coincidence my employer decided to give me the weekend off so I could spend it with you?”
Hunter shakes his head, but appears entirely unashamed of his interference.
“How did you even pull that off? You don’t have sway with Deb, do you?”
“Riley, I’m not trying to be an asshole here, but I can get sway pretty much anywhere I want it. The only thing I want that I truly can’t have is you. Whatever else I set my sights on, I can usually make it happen.”
I sigh. “You’re so spoiled.”
He flashes me a charming smile. “You keep me grounded. See, I need you.”
“Well, don’t do that again. I know you’re used to your bubble of privilege where people fall all over themselves to give you whatever you want, but I don’t live in it with you. If you keep demanding special treatment for me, even if Deb gives it to you because she can’t say no to those big brown eyes or the wad of money you throw at her, it’s going to end up hurting me in the long run. Eventually, she’ll decide employing me is more trouble than it’s worth, and I’ll be out of a job.”
“Then you can come to work for me,” he says, smiling.
“I am not going to be your professional girlfriend.”
Mr. Lohman grabs a dry erase marker and starts writing on the white board. “All right, guys, I think everyone’s here. Let’s get started.”
Leaning over toward Hunter, I whisper, “And I want my house key back, too.”
Hunter leans over and whispers back, “I’ll give it to you if you come over tomorrow night after work.”
“It’s my house key,” I remind him. “You can’t hold it hostage.”
“Possession is nine tenths of the law,” he informs me. “The key’s mine now. If you want it back, you’re gonna have to earn it.”
I shake my head at him. “You’re something else, you know that?”
“Actually, why don’t I pick you up from work? I have my mom’s car. Will you be hungry? I can make dinner.”
“It’ll be too late for dinner,” I mutter.
He nods. “Good point. Maybe a snack. How about a charcuterie board and a nice bottle of wine? I make a mean charcuterie board. Afterwards, you can take a nice hot shower. We never did get to all of them last weekend.”
“Has anyone ever told you no before?”
Hunter smirks. “Only you.”
I shake my head at him, but I can feel the indulgent gleam in my eyes. “Spoiled rotten.”
He leans over and steals a quick kiss.
I gasp.
“Mr. Maxwell,” the teacher says sternly.
Holding his hands up in playful surrender, Hunter says, “Sorry, Mr. Lohman. This one’s a temptress. I’ll try to control myself.”
“Oh my God,” I say, hiding my face in my hands.
Mr. Lohman tries to remain firm, but his eyes gleam with amusement. “See that you do.”
The teacher turns back to the rest of the class while I wait for the floor to open up and swallow me.
The newspaper kids are nicer than the average Hawthorne High student, so when I finally peek at them between my fingers, there’s no malice on any of their faces. They’re all entertained by Hunter’s antics, same as Mr. Lohman.
I shoot Hunter a narrowed look, but he’s completely unashamed about embarrassing me.
“What? You wanted to be kissed,” he whispers. “I was just obliging.”
Sighing heavily, I open my notebook and focus my attention on the teacher so we can get started on the actual work we have to do during this meeting.
I guess I should just be glad he did it in front of a nice teacher. If he’d have kissed me in front of Mrs. Dowd, she’d probably flunk me on the spot.
___
Stepford night is upon us.
To the rest of the world, it’s Saturday.
To Mom, it’s the end of living her life without a man.
Even though she loves Ray and she’s being a trouper about him moving in, I can tell she feels a little weird about it. It’s not that she’s having second thoughts or anything, it’s just that I’m the only person she has lived with for half of her life.
It’ll be an adjustment for both of us, but probably more for her than for me.
To distract her from her move-in anxiety, I proposed we make it extra fun. When we went on our shopping spree, she bought herself a floral dress and costume pearls to wear next time we watched The Stepford Wives.
So tonight, while Ray moves his stuff in, Mom and I are all dressed up. We made a nice dinner, and we’re going to make Ray watch The Stepford Wives with us after we’re finished eating—at the table, of course, like proper ladies.
Ray definitely thinks we’re dorks, but it’s nothing he wasn’t already aware of, so he doesn’t complain.
While dinner cooks and Mom and Ray unpack upstairs, I sit on the couch and scroll through the college course catalog on my phone. Ever since college crossed my mind the other night, I’ve spent a lot more time thinking about it.
Interrupting my scroll, Mom suddenly flops down on the couch beside me and sighs.
“Moving in with a man is strange.”
I lower my phone to my lap and look over at her. “How so?”
“It just is. I was just giving Ray his new toothbrush—”
“Was he surprised?” I interrupt.
“He was.”
“Does he love it?”
“He does. But, he’s weird.”
I chuckle. “What?”
“He thought we would share a toothpaste tube.” She makes a face. “Why would we share a tube of toothpaste? Can we not afford the extravagance of each of us having our own? Is that a thing couples who live together usually do?”
“Exactly! I enjoy my white, minty paste. What if he goes for those crazy gel ones that are three different colors? Or what if he squeezes the tube from the bottom and gets mad that I squeeze it from the middle?”
“You can’t just stop squeezing from the middle. It’s a lifestyle choice.”
“See? You get me. We should’ve lived alone together for the rest of our lives. We could’ve become mother-daughter spinsters—each of us with our own toothpaste.”
“I think life as a spinster would suit me quite well, actually,” I confess.
She drapes her arm around my shoulder and gives me an affectionate squeeze. “You make your mother proud.”
Ray comes down the stairs, flicking a gaze in our direction. “Is she still complaining about the damn toothpaste?”
“It’s weird,” Mom insists as she lets me go.
“It isn’t weird, and a simple no would’ve gotten the point across,” he says, stopping in front of the couch.
Mom looks over at me. “I asked if he was a psychopath.”
“A fair question,” I say.
Ray rolls his eyes. “Since your daughter’s in the room, I won’t remind you of all the other ways we exchange bodily fluids.”
Mom gasps and dramatically covers my ears. “Not in front of these virgin ears.”
I slide her a look, because she knows I’ve slept with Hunter.
“It’s part of Stepford night,” she tells me. “All daughters must remain virgins until they’re married.”
“Ah, right. Well, at least you’ve already been paid a bride price and negotiated the terms of my sales agreement. Maybe my wanton ways can be excused.”
Mom uncovers my ears. “Speaking of your wanton ways…”
I blink. “Wait, what?”
“You came home late last night.”
I flick a glance at Ray, instinctively wondering why she would bring that up when he’s still here before remembering he lives here now—he’s not leaving.
Weird.
“Oh. Yeah, I texted you,” I say, looking back at Mom. “I told you Hunter was picking me up from work.”
“Is he your boyfriend now?”
“No. He just gave me a ride home from work and made us a snack. We had a glass of wine.” Her eyebrows rise, so I explain, “He lived in Italy, he does wine with meals now.”
“Right, of course. Well, the fact remains, you came home super late.”
“I didn’t think you’d care,” I say with a shrug. “You knew where I was, you knew who I was with. I don’t have a curfew. What’s the problem?”
“The problem is I didn’t get to talk to you after work last night and I was already gone when you woke up today, so I didn’t get to tell you I need you to request off work tomorrow.”
I blink at her. “Tomorrow?”
She nods, cringing a bit. “Short notice, I know.”
“Very short notice. I need to know like a week in advance if I’m going to request a day off, Mom. When Hunter doesn’t know that, I understand because he’s never held a blue collar job, but you know I can’t just request the next day off. The schedule is already set. I’m supposed to close tomorrow.”
“I know,” Mom says, pulling a face. “I’m sorry, I would’ve given you more notice, but—”
“It’s my fault,” Ray interrupts.
I look at him.
“I’ve been talking to this potential investor for the gym. I found someone who’s really interested and has the capital, he’s even got social media marketing experience and some good ideas about advertising the gym. He knows how to do the stuff I don’t, and it seems like it would be a really good fit, but we haven’t signed the paperwork yet. He wanted to come over one night this weekend to have dinner with the family, get a feel for me, talk everything over, and hopefully sign the papers so we can get things started.”
“Oh, wow, that’s really great,” I say, trying to think how I could get out of work. “Hmm… I guess I could see if one of the other waitresses would take my shift.”
“I hate to put you out,” Ray says. “I just wanted the whole family here. I want to make a good impression, you know?”
“Yeah, of course. I’ll find a way. If none of the waitresses say yes, I’ll… figure something else out.”
Maybe I’ll ask Hunter to work his magic. I know he’ll gently blackmail me for the favor, but… well, I don’t mind.
Chapter Fifty Six
Riley
“So, what do you know about this investor?” I ask Mom as we stand at the kitchen counter, preparing side dishes to go with dinner.
Ray is outside assembling the new grill he bought since he’s making steaks for the main course.
Mom shakes her head as she tosses the salad. “Nothing, really. Why?”
“I’m just wondering what we should be expecting. I mean, it’s not gonna be Tony Soprano at the dinner table tonight, right? We’re sure this is a legit investor?”
“I don’t think Tony Soprano would be a social media marketing whiz,” she says. “He said the guy knows about marketing, so it sounds legit.”
“But what if by ‘marketing’ he means, ‘Maybe you should join our gym. It sure would be a shame if you didn’t and something were to happen to you…’?”
“Well, that would certainly be interesting,” Mom says. “I’ve never entertained mobsters before. Do you think they’ll be upset that we don’t have a dessert course? Maybe you should run out and grab some cannoli, just in case.”
“Maybe they’re not Italian.” I shake some seasoning over the olive oil I’m about to coat the potatoes in before we roast them. “Maybe they’re Russians, or Irish.” I gasp, delighted, and look over at her. “If it’s an Irish gangster, I hope he has an accent.”
“Maybe you should grab a dessert from every country dangerous men might hail from, just so we can be sure not to offend. Although,” she says, pointing her tongs at me and pursing her lips, “they might not even be mobsters at all. There are gangs in prison. I don’t know which serious criminals he could get money from. Maybe they’re less organized, just a pack of standard Americans with dirty money.”
“What’s a standard American dessert?”
“I don’t know. We’re standard Americans. This shouldn’t be a hard question for us.” Mom frowns. “Why is ‘Jell-O’ the only answer I can dig out of my brain?”
“It’s Sunday. Our brains are tired.”
She nods, opening a container full of grape tomatoes and dumping them out on a cutting board so she can slice into them. “I guess I’ll accept that excuse.”
The back door opens and Ray comes back in the kitchen.
“Hey, what’s a dessert Americans like?” Mom asks him.
He stops and looks at her, uncomprehending. “Is this a joke?”
I look back and explain, “Our brains are tired.”
He shoots us both funny looks, then resumes his trek to the fridge. “I don’t know. Cheesecake? Cookies? Pumpkin pie at Thanksgiving.”
“Mmm, pumpkin pie,” Mom says longingly. “Is your investor Italian? Does he like cannoli?”
“I think he is Italian, actually.” Ray looks back at us and frowns. “Why does this matter?”
To save him the long, long road we took to get here, I sum up. “We were wondering if we should’ve planned a dessert course.”
“Oh.” Ray frowns. “Nah, I don’t think he has much of a sweet tooth. I mean, I could be wrong, but he seems pretty into fitness, so.”
Mom looks over at me as if enticed. “A sexy Mafioso—and he’s not bringing a wife to dinner. Maybe he’s single. Maybe you’ll like him and we can finally get you married off.”
I shake my head as I coat the potatoes. “Being a mob wife is not high on my list of potential life goals, sorry.”
“You sure? You like troublemakers, at least this way he’d be rich.”
“Hunter is rich,” I remind
her.
She smirks. “Thought he wasn’t your boyfriend.”
I roll my eyes at her smugness. “He’s not. I’m just saying, if you’re determined to marry me off to a troublesome rich guy, we have an easier option than selling me to the mob. And, hey, Hunter is even half Italian.”
Mom nods, smoothly segueing. “Out of curiosity, how come you don’t want to be his girlfriend?”
“Mom.”
“I mean, you clearly like the guy, right?”
“It’s complicated,” I tell her. “And absolutely not something we should talk about right now when we’re about to have a business dinner with a potential colleague of Ray’s. Let’s keep our eyes on the prize here.”
The doorbell rings, alerting us to the arrival of our dinner guest.
“All right, you two behave yourselves,” Ray says, pointing at us. “I can see you’re in one of your moods, but I don’t want the guy to think you’re nuts.”
“If he doesn’t have a sense of humor, do we even want his money?” Mom calls after him.
“Yes,” Ray calls back as he heads toward the door.
Mom shakes her head, a disgruntled look on her face. “I say no. I don’t want stodgy money.”
“Let’s behave ourselves, just in case he’s boring,” I suggest.
Mom sighs. “Lame. If dinner gets weird and quiet, I can’t promise I won’t haul out obscure Wooster and Jeeves references.” Theatrically, she uses a hand to cup her ear as if listening for something. “Do I hear cats in your bedroom?”
“I can almost guarantee he would not understand those references. I don’t think anyone but us has ever seen that show.”
“I’m sure the British have seen it.”
“Are we expecting him to be British now?”
“If he is, I’m set. I’ll talk to him about Wooster and Jeeves, he will love me forever, and then he’ll give Ray all the money he needs.”
“As long as we have a plan,” I say with a nod.
“And hey,” she says brightly, “if he’s British, he’ll have an accent for you.” She pauses. “Now I’m kinda hoping he’s British.”
I smile faintly and dump the potatoes into their baking dish, then I walk them over and put them in the oven. When I straighten back up, I hear footsteps and murmuring from the entryway, so I paste on a polite smile, preparing for Ray’s guest to walk in.