A grin tugged at his cheeks as he reached the fourth rung and PJ continued her countdown. When he hit number five, he dangled for a few seconds as she cried out the number. Then he dropped and dusted off again. This time when he stood back up, he looked at PJ with a bashful smile as she fist-bumped him. “Nice, dude!”
“Thank you.”
Rhonda logged some more points as the boy ran back to the ladder. “Wait,” she called after him. “What can you say to Miss Jane, Max? Can you think of a compliment you could give her?”
Max didn’t look too keen on doing this; he was clearly more interested in conquering the monkey bars. But, as he reached for the first rung, he paused and looked down at her, his eyes fluttering over her face for only a second. Then his words were another garbled whisper, but PJ still heard them, and they shook something inside of her.
“You’re pretty, Miss Jane.”
PJ sucked in a breath.
Rhonda logged more points.
Max swung through more bars. When he fell from number six, he walked back over with a frown. “You didn’t count.”
“My bad,” PJ said, exhaling slowly as she smoothed at her eyeliner. “I just needed a second. Go again, dude. I got you.”
But Max didn’t move. He just stood there watching her, his gaze more direct than she’d ever seen it. “I ’member you,” he said quietly. “I ’member you from Papa Gray’s house.”
PJ nodded, surprised the child remembered her living there since he would've only been two or three at the time. PJ swallowed and knelt beside him. Max blinked nervously, his focus shifting again as he shuffled his sneakers in the wood chips. Then he reached into his pocket and handed her something before racing off to play with Danny on the slide. PJ looked down at her palm and smiled at the glittery purple coin he’d deposited there. “Yeah, I remember you too, Max.”
Chapter 12
As soon as Beau walked into Journeys that night, he could hear shrieks and giggles and all manner of hysterical laughter pouring from the common room. Some of the noise was coming from his kid. Beau scribbled his name on a sign-out sheet and smiled at the receptionist.
“Max had a really good session,” Leslie said, beaming as he handed her the clipboard. “All the kids are just loving Miss Jane.”
“Miss Jane?” Beau glanced toward the large room beyond the lobby. Much of it was concealed by a partition wall, but there were entrances on either side of the reception desk. Through one of them he could see a chubby little boy racing by with the end of a jump rope in one hand. Then Max whizzed into view, sitting cross-legged on a skateboard and holding the other end of the line as he was towed about.
Beau frowned at the flash of yellow wheels zipping past. He knew those wheels—
“Mr. Browning?”
Rhonda was talking to him. His son’s therapist. She was smiling and handing him a tablet to sign. “Max did awesome tonight. No behaviors, other than a little resistance with our conversation starter lesson, but he came around. He’s just finishing up some free time he earned with his points. Can you give him a few extra minutes?”
“Sure,” Beau muttered distractedly, trying to catch a glimpse of those wheels again.
“Come on.” Rhonda motioned him towards the common room. “I want you to meet our newest therapist in training.”
Beau followed Rhonda past the partition wall, and the first thing he saw was another wall. This one was significantly smaller and made of giant cardboard bricks set up in the center of the common room. The second thing he saw was a familiar curvy backside perched on a very familiar skateboard. The third thing he saw was Max running towards said backside and shoving with all of his might.
“No!” an extremely familiar voice cried from the board now cruising towards the bricks. “Not the black hole of doom!” There was an underwhelming explosion of cardboard followed by an overwhelming explosion of giggles as the rider went down, really hamming it up by tossing bricks every which way. “I’m being sucked into the black hole of doom. There’s no” — she stopped writhing on the floor as her gaze fell upon him — “escape.”
Beau felt like he’d just been punched in the gut. Because, suddenly, there were those eyes again. Deep and dark and sucking him in. Only this time they weren’t surrounded by PJ’s usual level of makeup. This time they were lined simply in black, the dark smoky edges extending out to the corners of her eyes like little wings. And the lips that were parted in surprise as PJ stared at him, were both the same color, a vibrant, fiery red. Gwen Stefani red.
Fuuck.
“PJ?”
She scrambled to her feet, tugging her Journeys T-shirt down where it had ridden up over jeans and smoothing at her ponytail in one fluid movement. Then her hand shot up in a wave as she laughed nervously. “Surprise! I work here now.”
“Wow, you two already know each other?” Rhonda asked with interest.
“Yeah, we’re friends.” PJ leaned over and socked him playfully in the arm. “Nice to see you again, friend.”
Beau’s eyes slivered as his bicep tingled and his nose caught the scent of cinnamon. “PJ—”
His son tugged on his hand. “S’posed to call her Miss Jane, Daddy.”
Beau nodded, rolling the name around in his head. Jane. So that was the J. It was pretty. He liked it. He wondered why he’d never asked her about it before. He wondered what the P actually stood for. He wondered why the hell Miss Jane hadn’t told him she worked here during their Taco Tuesday night at La Fonda.
“Wow, look at the time! I should probably go help Brecken clean up.” PJ sidled towards a blond dude passing by with a basket of toys. The guy slowed, clear blue eyes darting from PJ to Beau and back again. Then he grinned, one of those panty melting smirks that only Baywatch-looking fuckers could pull off so well. “No worries,” he drawled. “I got this. Later, P.”
P? What the hell! Did this douche have besties initial rights already? How long had PJ been working here exactly?
“It’s Miss Jane!” Max persisted, his son’s good humor quickly morphing into whiny irritation. “Can we go now?!”
“That’s a good idea, Max. I should be off too.” PJ scooped up her board and shot the other woman a hasty wave. “Night, Rhonda.”
“Night, girl.”
Beau watched PJ disappear into a therapy room, only to reemerge seconds later with a burgundy sweater and her backpack.
“You’re still here,” she said quietly.
“I thought I’d walk you out, Miss Jane.”
“Whatever.” PJ stalked from the building without another word, striding into the parking lot ahead of him. Then she dropped her board on the sidewalk near his car and waited as he buckled Max into the backseat, like she not only knew he was about to give her a piece of his mind, but she was actually looking forward to it. Beau got his son situated with his learning tablet, shut the door, turned, and fired.
“What the hell are you doing here?”
“Uhm… working. I thought we just covered that.” PJ tossed her ponytail behind her as she zipped up her hoodie.
“So, you’re telling me that out of all the places where you could’ve found employment in this city, you just happened to pick the autism clinic my son goes to?”
PJ unwrapped a stick of gum and popped it in her bratty mouth. “Yep.”
Beau’s jaw ticked, his teeth grinding together as she chewed. He wasn’t sure exactly why he was so irritated, except that he felt like he’d been duped somehow by the chick with the sinful red lipstick now blowing a bubble in his face. “This have anything to do with that stuff about you liking the sound of my voice?” he asked quietly.
The bubble burst with a sharp snap. “Pshhh… no.” PJ’s eyes darted to the board she was shuffling around on the sidewalk. Then they were back on him, red lips curving into a sneer. “And I seriously don’t like the sound of it now.”
“Do you even know anyone with autism?” Beau threw up his hands in exasperation.
“As a matter of fact,
I do,” she said, her voice rising to match his own.
“Do you even know what autism is?” he growled at her.
She dropped her backpack, ripped it open, and yanked out a thick manual riddled with colorful Post-it notes. “I’m learning!”
Beau reigned in his ire as he caught sight of the sheen of tears she was trying to conceal as she struggled to put the massive book back in her bag. “Look,” he said more calmly, “this place” — he motioned towards the building that was growing emptier by the second as parents continued to pick up their children — “this is not some job you sign up for just for kicks. Working with ASD kids isn’t all fun and games. It’s serious. They need real help. They need commitment.”
“And you don’t think I can do commitment?” PJ’s hands tightened on the straps of her bag as she slung it over her shoulders.
“Well, your track record at the schools around town hasn’t been all that solid, so I don’t know, can you?”
“Watch me.” She spat her gum at the sidewalk near his feet and kicked off.
Beau was already moving in front of her. “Are you crazy?!”
“What the hell is your problem?!”
They were both yelling at the same time, and Beau realized that some of the parents were starting to stare. He raked at his face, really digging deep as he sucked in another calming breath. “PJ, it’s almost seven o’clock at night. It’ll be dark soon. The last time I saw you, you were lying on the side of a busy road. Do you really think I’m going to let you ride that thing home?” he asked, pointing at her skateboard.
“It’s got glow-in-the-dark wheels.”
It did. There were smiley faces on all four of them, and they were glowing brighter as the sky grew dimmer around them. Beau wasn’t impressed. He cocked his head to the side with a derisive snort.
“How do you think I’ve been getting home for the past four nights?” she asked, eying him like he was a moron.
“Why don’t you have a car?” he fired back. “You’re almost eighteen. Surely, you have your license by now.”
“Yeah, I do.” Her voice dripped with sarcasm as she snapped her fingers. “But note to self. Next time I’m shacked up with a billionaire, I’ll be sure to hit Daddy Warbucks up for a Benz.”
“Would you just get in the car?”
“Pass.” PJ moved away from him again.
“Please,” he said, stepping in front of her before she could roll another inch. “Please get in the car, Jane.” Maybe it was the ‘please’ that did it. Maybe it was the ‘Jane.’ But suddenly she was looking at him with something other than sheer animosity, so he pressed his advantage. “Six weeks ago a girl was kidnapped from a diner in Northern California. She was gone for days. She’s lucky as hell to have escaped. Most don’t. I’d really feel better if you didn’t force me to leave you in an empty parking lot with a glow-in-the-dark skateboard.”
“Yeah, alright.” PJ walked over to his car, opened the passenger side door, and dumped her skateboard in the foot well below his dash. Then she slammed the door and climbed into the backseat with Max.
Beau settled down behind the wheel of his Audi with a tired sigh. He honestly wasn’t sure whether to scream or laugh at the situation he currently found himself in, but he figured neither would win him any favor with the girl he’d just thoroughly pissed off. He turned to find her ignoring him as she checked out Max’s game.
“Watch this,” his son told her, “I can make fruit explode.” He pounded on the screen of his tablet until he got the destruction he was after, and then he was screaming with laughter. “They explodeded!”
“Oh my gosh. That’s awesome!” PJ cried.
Max immediately handed her the device. “Want a turn?”
“Thanks, dude.” PJ took over with enthusiasm. “Man, this is such a stress reliever.” Beau might have actually believed this if PJ’s hands hadn’t been shaking with every furious jab of her finger, and her eyes weren’t suspiciously moist.
Beau didn’t feel like screaming or laughing anymore. He just felt like a dick. He’d hurt this girl. He’d hurt his friend. And he very much cared about that. “I’m sorry,” he told her quietly.
“It’s fine.” She shrugged as Max continued to bounce about beside her.
“That’s a three-hit combo!” his son shrieked, yanking the tablet back into his lap. Her hands suddenly free, PJ immediately swiped at her mascara.
“Hey…”
Her fidgeting ceased as she peered back at him.
“You just…” Beau lost himself for a second because she was doing it again, sucking him in, stirring something inside of him he didn’t want stirred. “You just caught me off guard back there. I’m sorry about what I said. I was out of line.”
“Maybe a little…” She flushed, her gaze darting away almost guiltily. “Not really…” She turned back to him with a sigh. “Look, I’m sorry too. I probably should have mentioned the job thing after the fifth cat meme.”
“Keyboard Cat is classic.”
“Agreed.” Her fist shot forward. He bumped it and they just sat there for a few seconds trading smiles as Max cracked himself up detonating virtual watermelons.
Then PJ glanced toward the clinic, her expression sobering. “I’m going to be really good at this, ya know?”
“Yeah. I do.”
PJ blinked a couple times, long shimmery lashes fluttering like butterfly wings. “Cool. Whatever.” She shrugged again, seemingly dismissing him as her focus shifted back to Max’s game, but Beau could see her vampy red lips quirking back up in a pleased little grin. And this pleased him greatly. Beau turned back around and fired up the engine, feeling a hundred percent better about the situation he currently found himself in.
Pulling his Audi to the edge of the lot, Beau hit the brakes before Glenwood. He looked to the west. Then he looked to the east. Then he groaned, suddenly remembering his cousin’s demands from earlier. Beau glanced into his rear view. “I don’t suppose you’d like to hang out at the Colonel’s for a couple hours?”
PJ snorted as she slaughtered more fruit. “Not so much.”
“Magda’s making shrimp creole.”
“Yeah, alright.” PJ buckled her seatbelt.
Beau headed east.
Chapter 13
There were a couple things PJ missed about living with the Brownings. The first was the food. When the Colonel’s housekeeper made something cajun-style, it was legit cajun-style, and no one did a shrimp creole better than Magda. PJ wiped the last bit of sauce from her plate with a roll and wondered how much of a pig she’d appear if she went for a second helping. Normally, PJ didn’t have a lot of hang-ups when it came to eating, but Lily was making her self-conscious.
This was because the girl seated across from her in the Colonel’s sun room was one of those effortlessly beautiful chicks that could rock the bed-head look and one coat of lip gloss and still look like a supermodel. Graced with silky chestnut locks and sky-blue eyes surrounded by lashes so dense they’d probably never need a mascara wand, Lily Browning was a stunning natural beauty. She’d also inherited her tall willowy frame from her mother.
Stripped of her falsies, PJ had short, nearly invisible, lashes, and she’d inherited her tall pillowy frame from her Aunt Mona. PJ’s last bite of roll went down like a rock.
“More, chère?”
PJ offered the elderly woman bustling about the table a polite smile. “No, thank you. I’m full.”
Magda leaned in to take her plate, scanning the empty state of it with approval. “There’s plenty more in the kitchen. I’ll make you a Tupper. You can take some home.”
“Uhm, you don’t have to—”
Magda straightened to her full height, which was barely over five feet even with her salt-and-pepper hair pulled up in its usual beehive, and hit PJ with one of her “resistance is futile” looks.
“Yeah, okay,” PJ said. “I’ll take some home.”
Magda smiled, as though she hadn’t just pulled some weird
mind-control trick on her. “Of course, chère.”
The Colonel, who’d been engrossed in conversation with Beau’s parents, stopped chatting long enough to signal the woman with a lazy wave. “Magda, my love, would you be a dear and serve me up another helping of that delectable manna from heaven.”
Magda’s smile flattened, and dark eyes, almost the exact shimmering bronze color of the locket she wore with her blouse, cut to the man with irritation. “Not happening, patrón. Your triglycerides are too high—”
“Aww, Mags, come on.”
Magda didn’t look too impressed with the whining. “You need to lose weight. Your belly’s growing pudgier than that little biscuit man’s.”
Max giggled as he chewed on a roll. Lily shot him a fist bump. The Colonel didn’t pay either of them any mind as he was still locked in a staring contest with the tiny spitfire now scowling at him.
“More shrimp,” she said, the faint traces of a muddled Spanish accent growing more pronounced as her voice rose in challenge, “then no cake for you!”
“Fine.” The Colonel reluctantly relinquished his plate and went back to chatting with his family as though nothing unusual had occurred. This was because nothing unusual had occurred.
PJ couldn’t hide a smile as she sipped at the Shirley Temple Beau had mixed for her earlier. Because this was the other thing she’d missed about living with the Brownings. Giving the Colonel shit was vastly entertaining, and the only person who did it better than PJ was Magda.
“You know, I think you could do with a bit of color too, Grayson.” Beau’s mother grinned as she patted the man’s arm. “Perhaps you should plan a nice vacation now that you’re retiring. Some place warm and sunny…”
The Colonel grimaced. “I’m not frying my balls on some nudie beach in Bermuda, Nadine.”
Beau’s mother smoothed a newly tanned hand over her short mane of silver and honey curls before snuggling up to her husband. “Don’t knock it till ya try it.”
Old Finn planted a shameless smooch on his wife’s saucy lips.
Pretty Jane (The Browning Series Book 3) Page 9