Not So New in Town

by Michele Summers

  “I was telling Brogan he needed to take some time off. He’s been working too hard. What do you think, Dottie?” Javier said with a twinkle in his eye. Brogan didn’t disguise his snort. Javier was getting real comfortable with the locals, but two could play this game.

  “You both could use some downtime. Haven’t heard either of you dating any gals around here.” She narrowed her heavily made-up eyes at them.

  “Brogan will be delivering food to Jo Ellen’s makeup party on Thursday. I’m sure he can wrangle up a date from that group.”

  “And Javier will be attending the Bible study at Hazel’s on Wednesday night, and the Ardbuckle twins are always there.” Javie mumbled something like “praise the Lord” under his breath. Brogan smiled at the waitress as she delivered their beers. “Would you like anything?” he offered Dottie.

  She shook her lacquered helmet head. “I’m good. Both you boys are full of crap.”

  Brogan stopped with his beer halfway to his mouth. Oh boy.

  “Brogan’s not interested in anyone at Jo Ellen’s party, unless Lucy’s going to be there. And even if she were, he’d probably be too chickenshit to do anything about it.” Dottie tilted her head, searching Javier’s face. “Maybe you should start dating her.”

  Javier smiled the smile of a lying, cheating, slimy bastard. “That’s a great idea. Not sure Lucy would agree, but I’ll certainly give it a good ole college try.”

  The bottom of Brogan’s beer hit the table hard. He hated to kick his best friend’s ass, but if he went anywhere near Lucy…he was going down.

  Dottie grunted as she grabbed a handful of popcorn. “Lucy’s too good for either one of you bums. And I’ve a good mind to hire her away. I’m sure if I offered more pay, she wouldn’t hesitate to work for me.”

  Javier coughed and Brogan cleared his throat. “Miz Duncan…I mean, Dottie. We value Lucy, and we really need—”

  “Who needs Lucy?” Wanda Pattershaw dropped her peacock-feather handbag on the table and slid into the booth next to Javie.

  “I need Lucy,” Dottie declared loud enough for the entire bar to hear.

  “To work for you? But what about BetterBites?” Wanda’s head turned from Javier to Brogan, bouncing her brown curls. “Have you fired Lucy because she won’t sleep with you?” Wanda said even louder than Dottie.

  “Wanda! Jesus. Keep your voice down.”

  “Can’t say I blame her. All you boys think about these days is fornicating. Girls like some romancing. Maybe if you asked her out for a dinner date and dancing, you might get lucky.” Did Dottie just say fornicating out loud? A hammer started to pound nails inside Brogan’s head.

  Wanda snapped her fingers. “That’s a wonderful idea. I have the perfect guy. He’s a carpet cleaner, and he plays fiddle in a bluegrass band. Javier, you’d double-date with me and Lucy, wouldn’t you?” She batted her big eyes as her pink-painted lips formed a pout.

  “Sí, mi amor…anything for you. Shit.” Javier flinched as Brogan’s shoe connected with his shin.

  “Who’s not dating Lucy because she won’t sleep with him?” Clinton Perry shuffled over to their booth, wearing a torn, sleeveless red T-shirt with “Skoal Chewing Tobacco” in black.

  His even stupider brother, Clancy, sidled up next to him. “You? You Yankee traitor with a corncob up your ass?” he said, pointing his Bud at Brogan. Great. Brogan didn’t have the energy to go another round with shit-for-brains Clancy.

  “Is Lucy having trouble sleeping?”

  “She needs to see Doc Mayfield for some of those pills.”

  “Lucy needs a good man.”

  Holy hell. Harmony at its finest as patrons shouted out their concern over Lucy. The table shook as Javier started to laugh. And Clancy kept right on talking horseshit.

  “…’cuz I’ve got fifty ways to show Lucy a good time. I’d take her cow-tipping, and I’d sleep with her under the stars by the lake, and…”

  “My son Tervis is a good man. He’ll sleep with Lucy.”

  Seething, Brogan ground his teeth as Clancy spoke over the bar chatter, leaning his dirty hand on the table. “I will sleep with Lucy any day of the week and twice on Sunday.”

  Brogan slammed his fist on the table, making the beer bottles jump. “Lucy is off limits. If anyone sleeps with Lucy, it’s gonna be me!” Silence filled the air except for the jukebox playing Tim McGraw’s “Real Good Man.” Forty-five pairs of eyes stared at him, and forty-five mouths hung open.

  Javie broke the thick silence and hooted with laughter.

  Wanda purred like a tiger, “Grrr… You go, cowboy.”

  Dottie snickered. “Boy, you’re wound up tighter than a Sealy mattress spring.”

  Brogan looked out and locked gazes with Parker, standing in the middle of the Dog.

  “Man, you are such a dweeb.” Parker shoved his hands in his pockets, shaking his head, and crossed the room toward the exit.

  Yep. That about summed it up. He was a total dweeb.

  Chapter 20

  “I’ve told you, I can’t bowl,” Lucy said to the back of Wanda’s ponytail, swinging along with her booty-hugging white shorts. Wanda wore a tight hot-pink bowling T-shirt with “Pin Ups” in black on the back. Lucy crossed the blacktop parking lot to the Ten Pin Alley, tripping after Wanda. Apparently everyone showed up on Tuesday for Rock ’n’ Bowl night where classic rock music played along with a cosmic light show.

  Wanda turned and yanked on Lucy’s hand. “Come on. You’re gonna love it.”

  “Do I have to wear those gross, smelly bowling shoes?” Lucy glanced down at her orange flip-flops slapping against her feet.

  “Don’t worry. I brought extra socks.” Wanda pulled the glass door open and shoved Lucy inside. The sounds of heavy balls rolling and pins crashing filled her ears. “Here.” Wanda dug inside her pink-and-white-striped beach tote. “Put this on.” She thrust a neon-green T-shirt at Lucy and a pair of white ankle socks.

  Lucy shook the shirt out. “Ball Busters.” She raised one brow. “How come I can’t be a Pin Ups like you?”

  “My team’s full. The choices were ‘Gutter Gals’ with the Ardbuckle twins or ‘Dry Humpers’ with the Perry brothers. I thought ‘Ball Busters’ was best.”

  Wanda pushed her into the ladies’ room near the entrance. “This is just for fun. No one is competing. Hurry and put that shirt on.” Wanda checked her lipstick in the mirror while Lucy locked herself inside one of the gray stalls.

  “I feel bad about leaving Julia.” Lucy’s voice was muffled as she pulled the green shirt over her head.

  “She’ll be fine. Tweedle Dum and Tweedle Dummer will entertain her with all the latest gossip.”

  Lucy gulped as she tugged the shirt down over her boobs. Wanda was referring to Julia’s besties, Marcia and Amanda. “That’s what I’m afraid of. I kept Julia away from her phone and computer all day so she wouldn’t see the gazillion tweets and posts on Facebook.” Word of Brogan’s outburst last night at the Dog spread like a match to a firecracker tent. She’d been imagining ways of killing Brogan Freakin’ Reese. Death by rancid tofu held great appeal.

  “Did you see the picture of me?” Wanda asked.

  Lucy emerged from the stall. “How could I miss it? Your boobs were like giant bowling balls.” She looked in the mirror. “Speaking of boobs…this top is too small. Is this meant for a toddler?” She tugged on the hem, but it barely met the top of her white jean shorts.

  “Here, try this.” Wanda handed Lucy a tube of lipstick.

  “I can’t believe I let you talk me into coming out.” She outlined her lips with glossy pink. “Everyone is gossiping about Brogan doing the dirty deed with me.”

  Lucy had managed to avoid running into Brogan all day. She’d answered his texts only when they pertained to work, and ignored all the other attempts at apologies and explanations.

 
“At least they’re not still yakking about Brogan being Parker’s dad or wondering if you’re gonna glue Julia’s eyelids shut.” Wanda zipped her makeup bag closed and tossed it in her tote. “They’ll move on to the next topic. My prediction: bets will be placed on who Julia’s baby daddy is.”

  Lucy stopped adjusting the elastic that held half her hair up. “Sheesh, I’m not sure I want to know.”

  Wanda slung her tote over her shoulder. “I do. And I bet after a few or fifteen strong cosmos at the Dog, I can get it out of Tweedle Dee and Tweedle Dumbass.”

  Lucy followed her out of the bathroom and up to the main floor. “Sweet Home Alabama” blared from the sound system. Lucy spotted the Ardbuckle twins with their “Gutter Gals” team in red and white. Next to their lane, Clinton and Clancy Perry wore black T-shirts with “Dry Humpers” in bright yellow.

  “Here.” From the check-in counter, Wanda handed Lucy a pair of classic rental bowling shoes with maroon and black sides. “Put these on,” she said as she sat in one of the plastic bucket seats and pulled her fun hot-pink-and-white bowling shoes from her bag.

  “Awww, those are cute. Why do I have to wear these ugly things?” Lucy said, holding her shoes as if they were contaminated from too many stinky feet, which they were.

  “Because you’re not a regular bowler. Maybe if you’d stick around longer than two months”—Wanda sat up from lacing her shoes—“you could join our team.”

  Oh, jelly bellies, no. Pink-and-white bowling shoes would not be strong enough incentive to convince her to stay. Hot dogs, popcorn, and beer smells made Lucy’s stomach growl. She hadn’t eaten anything since her strawberry Pop-Tart from breakfast. She’d been too busy waiting on Julia and making sure she stayed hydrated. She’d even hung out and played backgammon with her on the old board Lucy’s dad had given them one Christmas. What she didn’t do was bring up the past. And she certainly didn’t inform Julia of Brogan’s asinine public declaration at the Dog last night. She had a sneaky suspicion Julia knew, but neither one of them mentioned it.

  “Ready. Where to?” She stood, pulling on the hem of her shirt and glancing around the lanes. Bertie Morgan waved, wearing the same hot-pink shirt as Wanda. No wonder they were named the “Pin Ups”…all of them had bombshell figures. Lucy followed Wanda to the ball rack, and Wanda plopped a marbleized orange one into her hands. “Man, this thing is heavy. You sure I can do this?” She trotted after Wanda. “Where’s my group?”

  “Next to our lane. With the neon-green shirts.”

  “Is that Javier?” A guy with thick dark hair and dark complexion had just bowled a strike.

  “Where?” Wanda asked, sounding suspiciously innocent.

  “That guy wearing the ‘Ball Busters’ shirt, bowling and high-fiving—” Lucy stopped dead in her tracks, almost dropping the bowling ball on her feet. “Wanda Wonderbust Pattershaw, I am going to cut you.”

  Wanda slid into the mint-green molded seats that housed her team, leaving Lucy standing alone, facing none other than Brogan, wearing her same team shirt and a sheepish grin on his face.

  Lucy did an immediate about-face and marched toward the check-in counter, determined to return her ugly bowling shoes and beat it, even if she had to hoof the seven miles home. She heard Brogan shout her name over Tom Petty’s “Free Fallin’” as she dumped her ball back on the rack, but she ignored him. Heat flamed her cheeks, and nasty thoughts filled her mind on all the ways she wanted to torture her ex–best friend, Wanda.

  A strong hand grabbed her upper arm. “Lucy, wait…please.” Lucy cursed her pitter-pattering heart that reacted to his touch and his warm, husky voice. She didn’t want to listen to him, and she certainly didn’t want to look into her favorite green eyes or be persuaded by his charming, crooked smile. Brogan had other ideas as he turned her to face him with both hands weighing heavily on her shoulders.

  “Lucy, please let me apologize… I never meant to say what I said. I never meant to hurt you.” To be heard over the loud music and striking of balls hitting pins, he bent his head close…too close. If she’d been in a forgiving mood, she’d only have to lean about two inches, and she’d be pressed against his solid chest and touching his delicious lips. Ho, no, not this time. Lucy’s head snapped back as if she’d almost kissed a warthog. Brogan’s lips curled into a knowing smile that said, I know where your naughty mind wandered…

  Lucy removed herself from his sexy aura and folded her arms. She fixed him with a stern gaze. “You didn’t hurt me. More like embarrassed me to death. Were you drunk?”

  The idea of lying must’ve crossed his mind as she detected numerous excuses pedaling through his brain. But in his favor, he manned up. “No. But I was provoked. When dipshit Clancy wouldn’t stop yammering on about fifty ways to get you in bed…well, I guess I kinda lost it.”

  Lucy gave him points for hanging his head and shoving his hands in the pockets of his cargo shorts. But not many.

  “Will you let me make it up to you?” he asked, not looking quite as contrite as she would’ve preferred. He seemed to be fighting back a big grin.

  “Sure. I want a raise. Forty bucks an hour.”

  “Done.”

  Too easy. And she didn’t want to make anything easy for Brogan “Melt My Heart” Reese. “And I want a new pair of shoes. Michael Kors sandals in black and gunmetal. They have them at Belk’s. Size seven.”

  “You got it.”

  He didn’t even hesitate. “They cost a hundred and fifty bucks.”

  “Fine. Are we good now?”

  No. Lucy’s mind scrambled for something to make him quake or cringe. Something that would set him off. Like he’d done to her with his embarrassing public speech about sleeping together. Brogan started to pull her toward the lanes when it hit her. “And you have to buy me a huge plate of nachos with that delicious processed yellow cheese, two hot dogs with chili and sauerkraut, fried pickles with ranch dressing, and…you have to eat it with me.” That did it. Brogan stopped. Lucy thought he might go ballistic; his eyes bulged and steam whistled from his ears. “Add a hot fudge sundae and Mountain Dew, and then we’ll be even.”

  Brogan’s mouth worked, but no sound came out. Lucy took the time to admire the expanse of his strong shoulders stretching the neon-green T-shirt, and the slight brown stubble covering his square jaw. She appreciated the way his eyes blazed with outrage and then blazed with something even more dangerous, like desire, need, and craving all wrapped together and directed at her. This time he pulled her so close that nothing separated their matching T-shirts. Her breath lodged in her throat as he smashed her against his hard pecs.

  “No deal,” he growled just above her surprised open mouth. “Unless I’m eating hot fudge off your creamy skin, and dribbling caramel sauce over your pink nip—”

  “Stop.” She tried wrenching away from his devil lips and the edgy words he breathed into her mouth, but his arm tightened around her waist. “Okay. Forget the hot f-fudge thing, but everything else…I want. And I want it now. I’m starved.” She pressed her own lips together in case they went rogue and latched onto his.

  Laugh lines crinkled around his eyes as he chuckled. “Everything but that nasty, nuclear nacho shit. I have to draw the line somewhere.”

  “Replace it with French fries, but no more substitutions.”

  Brogan dropped a quick kiss on her forehead. “Come on. You can clog your arteries while we bowl.”

  * * *

  Brogan wanted to take hot bamboo skewers and stab his eyes out. He knew he’d be seeing Lucy tonight, because he’d promised a year’s worth of free scraps for Fiona if Wanda brought her. What he didn’t know was that she’d be wearing short jean shorts and a T-shirt that kept inching up, revealing a sliver of smooth skin and his favorite innie belly button.

  After buying all that garbage she ordered, he had to sit, without groaning, and watch her lick mustard from the co
rner of her mouth with the tip of her tongue, which was a practice in pure Chinese torture, but when she fed him fried pickles dipped in ranch and threatened to hold his nose if he didn’t chew and swallow, he wanted to throttle her and then gag.

  “Oh, quit being such a baby. They’re only dill pickles from our local-grown cukes. They’re yummy,” she said, popping another pickle chip in her mouth. “Now pick that hot dog up and let me see you eat it,” she ordered. He’d much rather watch her eat. Hot dog. Banana. Him.

  Between his clenched teeth, he said, “Two bites. That’s all. My body is a temple. I don’t abuse it by eating total crap.” He snatched the hot dog from her hand. As he shoved half the dog in his mouth, Lucy drew up her phone and snapped a picture.

  “Perfect. Can’t wait to post on BetterBites’ Facebook page: Owner Brogan Reese enjoying nonorganic hot dog—” Lucy squealed, evading his grasp as he lunged for her phone. She took off running toward the arcade room as he chased her. “No-o-o-o!” she shrieked.

  “Go, Lucy!” Wanda yelled.

  Brogan enjoyed an evil, maniacal laugh as she boxed herself in between a Baywatch pinball machine and Super Bikes Motorcycle Racing. He blocked her escape and wiggled his fingers, hand out. “Give it up.” She shook her head and bit her lip, trying not to laugh. She held both arms behind her back, hiding the phone. “Lucy,” he said in his best Ricky Ricardo imitation. “Give me the phone.” She yelped as he grabbed her and wrestled the phone from her hand.

  “No! Brogan, give it back.” She tried climbing him like a ladder to reach the phone he held over his head. Any other time, he’d be taking advantage of her rubbing up against him, but right now, business took precedence. Maneuvering her in a headlock, he tapped Photos on her screen and deleted the one of him.

  Lucy struggled with her head pressed into his waist. “You don’t fight fair,” she muttered into his shirt.

  “Of course I don’t.”