Dinah parked her ass on the Kindle and blinked.
“Okay, fine. Maybe it’s only a little her fault.” PJ sat down at her vanity, reached for her brush, and sighed. “Who am I kidding, Di? It’s his fault. And that stupid sexy voice of his. How the hell does he expect me to keep my shit together when he does that whisper growl thing? It’s like the most potent kind of catnip imaginable.”
Dinah licked at her jowls.
“Exactly,” PJ said, pointing her brush at the feline before she resumed yanking it through her hair. “It makes me go all crazy in the head, and then I just can’t stop myself from saying these really inappropriate things.” PJ’s hand stilled as she recalled precisely which inappropriate thing she’d dropped on Beau last night. “Aw, damn it, D.” PJ turned around and stared at her furry friend with a growing sense of panic. “Okay, I need to chill. I only told him I wasn’t a virgin. No big deal, right? Pros: Maybe Beau appreciates the candor. Maybe he stops sweating the age thing so much knowing I’ve already done the deal anyways. And like, seriously, I’m legal in a few days, so what the fuck, am I right?”
All she received for this rambling diatribe was a furry head tilt.
“Whatever.” PJ opened the Louis Vuitton makeup bag the Colonel had gifted her a couple Christmases ago. It was probably worth a small fortune, but all she really cared about was the vast collection of cosmetics inside it. “Cons…” She stared at them morosely. “Maybe he thinks I’m a whore.”
PJ grabbed a bottle of foundation, then looked up to find a pale girl with a spotty face and a pensive expression staring back at her from her vanity mirror. “Maybe I am,” she added quietly, a sudden wave of anxiety gripping her.
By the time she was fifteen, PJ had already had sex a few times. With a few different guys. Not all at once, of course. She might enjoy the occasional literary ménage, but in real life, that level of fuckery sounded painful. And PJ wasn’t in to pain during sex. Her first time, with Skate Park Mike, had brought her to this shocking level of self-awareness pretty quickly. The guy had been surprisingly well endowed for one of the shorter guys at the park.
“I don’t regret it,” PJ said, applying another layer of makeup on autopilot.
Because she hadn’t. Not really. Maybe her body had regretted it for a couple hours afterward, but once the soreness had worn off, all PJ had felt was a perverse sense of vindication. Because Wade Hollis had been wrong about her. Those hateful words he’d whispered that last week of junior high. They’d been wrong.
Nobody will ever want you…
PJ’s movements grew jerky, shadow and liner going on with a heavy hand. She didn’t want to think about that shit. It was over. It was in the past. It didn’t control her anymore. But the violent swirls of smoky black she’d just brushed around her eyes would seem to suggest the contrary, and suddenly, a different set of words was messing with her head. Sassy words from a mysterious woman who looked like a pop star.
You need to get right with you.
PJ zipped up her bag, then turned to the cat watching her from the bed. “You think that’s what Ivy was talking about, don’t you? What happened that day at Baylor with Andy. That stuff I did after with Mike.”
Dinah just stared at her blankly because, of course, she hadn’t been around when all that stuff had gone down at PJ’s old school any more than Ivy had, and also because she wasn’t the most sentient of creatures.
“Whatever. Want some shrimp?”
Dinah hopped off the bed and scrambled for the kitchen.
PJ snatched up her phone and followed the feline from the room. After grabbing Magda’s leftovers from the fridge, PJ found a note from her mom lying under a half empty mug of chai.
Gone to the outlets with Johnny. Back by four. We love you!!
PJ rolled her eyes as she popped her brunch in the microwave. She was fairly certain her mother’s boyfriend didn’t love her. But he did seem to dig Francine a whole lot, especially if he was willing to brave five hours of outlet shopping on a Saturday with the woman. That level of commitment was impressive.
PJ sat down to eat just as her phone pinged on the counter. She smiled, her earlier melancholy disappearing. Maybe it was from Beau. Maybe she hadn’t scared him off entirely. Maybe he was sending her another one of his stupid cute cat memes to let her know everything was cool between them even though it so totally wasn’t. But there were no dancing kitties on her phone, nor was the text from Beau.
Andy: Miss Tiffany’s moving out.
Whoa. PJ snagged a bite of food, chewing quickly as she typed out a reply. Her friend’s life coach moving out was a big deal. Miss Tiffany had been living and working with Andy for almost two years, and like most people on the spectrum, Andy didn’t always handle big changes so well.
PJ: You okay?
Andy: She’s getting married to the boyfriend with the motorcycle. He smells like rubber and gasoline, but she’s always kissing him, so I guess the stench doesn’t bother her too much. I wouldn’t like to kiss a boy who smells like a tire store.
PJ smiled. Andy was fine. If she’d moved on to kisses and tire stores, she obviously wasn’t too rattled.
PJ: Me neither. That’d be like kissing my dad.
Andy: He still work at that auto shop in Lafayette?
PJ: Yeah. Runs the place now.
Andy: Cool. I’ll be running the Man Cave Outfitters on Delta Boulevard in a couple years. Our manager is an idiot.
PJ giggled, forking a couple bites of shrimp to drop into the little fish-shaped dish on the floor. Dinah gave an appreciative mewl and pounced.
“Don’t overdo it, D. We’ve got yoga later.” PJ shook her head as the cat devoured the food. Then she tapped out another text to her friend.
PJ: So when’s Miss T leaving?
Andy: June 24. She gave sufficient notice, so I won’t write a Yelp review.
PJ: Three months does sound sufficient. Your mom gonna hire another life coach?
Andy: Don’t need one anymore. I can do laundry, pay bills, order takeout, and I know how to work a Keurig machine. I’ll find a normal roommate. When can you leave Baton Rouge?
PJ chuckled, a soft bittersweet sound in the quiet of the kitchen. God, she missed this girl. If it weren’t for the fact that she had less than two hundred bucks to her name, she’d yet to secure a first paycheck, and she was struggling to control a growing addiction to a guy who’d friend-zoned her, PJ might actually consider Andy’s offer.
PJ: You know I just got a job, right?
Andy: I remember. And it’s a good one. Maybe you can help someone else to not need a life coach one day.
PJ: That’d be cool.
Andy: Yes. It would be. Gotta go now. Lightning deal in two mins. You want moonstone choker with free henna tattoos for your birthday?
PJ: 100% yes.
Andy: Okay. Bye.
PJ sent her friend a thumbs-up, then finished off her meal and reached for the training manual she’d tossed on the counter the night before.
***
Hours later, PJ was feeling good about the likelihood of securing a first paycheck. She’d spent the entire afternoon rereading her ABA book, and she was confident she was going to slam-dunk Ms. Patrice’s exam on Wednesday. She’d also done forty-five minutes of power yoga, washed her sheets, and updated her sleek black manicure to include some snazzy gold stars for motivation. By the time Francine and Johnny got back from their outlet trip, PJ was in a damn good mood, despite her phone remaining memeless and Beau appearing to have gone radio silent.
“Want some dinner, Janie Lou?” Her mother sailed past her on the couch, her hands full of bags from her favorite designer stores, her cheeks flushed with the glow of name brand discounts. “We picked up drive thru on the way home.”
“No thanks. Just painted my nails.” PJ blew on her fingers as her mother disappeared into her bedroom to unload her loot. Johnny, meanwhile, was unloading his wallet, keys, and a bucket of Popeyes on the coffee table in front of her. Taking a s
eat on the other end of the sectional, he reached for the chicken and tore into a spicy drumstick. “Looks like someone needs it more than I do,” PJ said with amusement.
Johnny smiled sheepishly. The guy was six two, tanned, toned, and ripped, and he had the amazing ability to blush like a schoolboy. “Sorry,” he offered in between bites. “It was a long day. I’ve never seen a woman shop like that before. She’s like that bunny in those old commercials that keeps going and going” — he paused to chew ravenously — “and going.”
“My mom teaches fitness classes for a living,” PJ said dryly. “She has incredible stamina.”
Johnny flushed even more, his jaw working through another massive bite of food. “Yeah, I know.”
PJ giggled as the dude squirmed. She hadn’t meant to sound suggestive, but she could tell that was right where his sex-addled brain had gone. The guy was in serious lust with her mom. This should probably creep her out. She should probably hate the dude for being one big cliché of a home wrecker. But she couldn’t. There was something kind of endearing about the man, and as Francine plopped down between them, kicked off her Reeboks, and lifted her feet into his lap, PJ suddenly realized exactly what it was.
Johnny was one hundred percent in love with her mom. Not fifty percent like the Colonel had been on a good day home from the office during their brief stab at marriage, or even seventy-fiveish like her dad had been way back in the day. No. This dude was one hundred percent head over heels for Francine Bruister. And it was clear by her mother’s moony expression, as she tipped Johnny’s Tigers cap off and plopped a wet one near his temple, that the feeling was entirely mutual.
Francine smiled serenely as the man ditched the chicken, wiped off, and started rubbing her feet. Then she turned to PJ with a wink. “Wanna hang with us and watch Ghost again?”
Her mother had seen Ghost at least fifteen times. She had a healthy respect for the afterlife and pottery because of it.
“I’ll pass. Y’all go on and enjoy your dinner and a movie.” PJ rose from the couch and headed back to her bedroom. Halfway down the hall she paused and looked back. Dinah had hopped up on the couch near Johnny and was watching him intently.
“Cats have a sixth sense about people, ya know?” Francine whispered this as she rumpled her boyfriend’s longish black hair.
“Oh, yeah?” Johnny said with a sniff. “What’s she sensing about me, then?”
Dinah climbed into his lap and parked it.
Johnny sneezed.
“That you’re alright, Johnny Gable.” Francine snuggled closer to the man and sighed. “But just so you know, she’s not too fond of men in general. I think some guy hurt her pretty bad. You’d best be real careful with her, or you could end up taking a claw to the face like that son of a bitch trying to hurt Sam’s Molly in Ghost.” Francine grabbed a remote and fired up the movie.
Johnny cuddled her even closer. “I’ll remember that, Franny girl.”
PJ slipped into her bedroom, pulling the door shut carefully so she didn’t jack up her nail polish, but before it had closed entirely, she could hear the husky timbre of a man’s voice telling her mother that he would never hurt her, her daughter, or their cat.
PJ had a feeling Johnny was going to be sleeping over tonight.
This suspicion was confirmed one “Unchained Melody” and two hours later by the soft murmur of whispers and kisses that preceded the even softer click of her mother’s bedroom door closing. PJ stared at the clock on her nightstand. It was almost ten, she was wide awake, and her mom was having sex with Johnny Gable, of Gable Pool and Spas.
PJ should have been creeped out by this too, but all she could feel was envy. Not because she was hot for the pool guy herself, although said pool guy did have spectacular abs, but because PJ would have really liked to have been having some smoking hot sex herself, with something that didn’t require batteries. Specifically, the smoking hot guy who’d friend-zoned her.
PJ glared at the silently charging phone on her nightstand.
“You know what?” she growled at it. “Fuck the friend zone. Just fuck it.” But even as she ranted, PJ was already ripping the phone off the charger and obsessively checking it for a missed text. “And fuck you, Beau Browning for not sending me my meme.” She tossed the device on her bed, rolled away from it, and willed herself to not think about him.
Wasn’t working.
She had no sooner closed her eyes than a very carnal image of Beau was exploding onto the silver screen in her head. A naked Beau. At a pottery wheel. Only he wasn’t stroking a phallic lump of clay. He had the real deal in his hands, and he was watching her, and this was so damn hot, PJ was certain she was going to need another change of panties soon.
PJ’s eyes shot open and she sat up, trying to get a grip on herself. She should go brush her teeth, wash off her makeup, make a nice calming cup of tea. Chamomile or some shit. That would do it.
PJ didn’t move. She sat there frozen, another mental image suddenly gripping her. This one so real it felt like a vision. Beau was a grandpa, a legit sweater-wearing grandpa. The lines on his face were deepening as he sat down next to her on a squashy brown couch and lifted her size tens into his lap. The warmth of his fingers as they worked the soft pale skin of her big old lady feet making her feel one hundred percent cherished. One hundred percent loved.
God, it was insane. PJ shook her head, trying to rid herself of the ridiculous fantasies because it was crazy how much she wanted the first… but even crazier how desperately she longed for the second.
And Beau? What the hell did he want?
Probably some nice girl like Lily. Some perfect, pretty girl who was like his cousin… but not actually his cousin because PJ was fairly certain Beau wasn’t the kind of Southern who was into that business—
Music suddenly filled the room, Maroon 5’s “Payphone” blaring from the cell lying on her quilt. PJ gaped at it. This was a call. Not a text. A call. A pathetic surge of hope had her accepting it without checking the number on the screen. Maybe it was him.
“Hello?” she squawked with embarrassing excitement.
Silence.
“Hello?” she said with less enthusiasm.
The sound of someone softly clearing her throat had PJ frowning. It was not Beau.
“Who the hell is this?” she demanded.
“Uhm… Hi, PJ. This is Margo,” came the hesitant reply.
There were a couple more beats of awkward silence.
“From CSA,” the girl added unnecessarily.
“Oh. Hey,” PJ drawled, reigning in her temper as she shifted on the bed, “What’s up, Margo?”
“You told me to let you know if I heard anything about Wade Hollis…” PJ stopped moving as Margo swallowed. “Well, yesterday in Bio, Jenny Ratherty was chatting with Tessa Williams during lab. I guess Tessa has a thing for Wade or something, but anyways, Jenny told Tessa that Wade was going to be over at her boyfriend’s house tonight—”
“What!” PJ jumped from the bed.
“Yeah, that’s what I heard. Like, I guess Mrs. Latimoore is on vacation and Mr. Latimoore’s on a business trip, and so Troy’s sister is throwing a party, and everyone’s gonna be th—”
“Margo!” PJ interrupted, her voice rising dangerously as she paced.
“Yeah?”
“Are Penny and Lily at your place right now?”
“Uh, no. They left for Cleo’s half an hour ago—”
“Fuck!”
“Uhm…”
“Gotta go, Margo.”
PJ disconnected the call with a vicious jab of her finger before striding to her closet and ripping out the first sweater she could find.
Damn Lily! What the hell was wrong with her! Why couldn’t the chick just stay in her tower? She should be writing. Or studying. There was nothing wrong with studying on a Saturday. PJ had been doing it for much of the day. It was quite enjoyable really.
Fuck her.
PJ yanked her black Punisher sweatshirt on over h
er tank and shoved her size tens into combat boots with neon green laces. Then she stalked from the room, adrenaline coursing through her as she headed for a small console table by the front door.
Her mother usually left her handbag there, but right now it was as conspicuously empty as the living room. The purse, and consequently the car keys, PJ needed were probably behind the door that was conspicuously closed back down the hall. And there was no way in hell she was going in to find out.
Fuck this.
PJ strode for the coffee table and snatched up the keyring lying next to the empty chicken bucket.
A couple minutes later she was speeding from the apartment in a white and blue pickup plastered with the Gable Pool and Spa logo.
’Cause fuck Wade Hollis too if he thought he was going to hurt another girl and get away with it.
Chapter 16
Beau was having a bad parenting moment.
Really, the whole day had been one big series of them.
He’d taken Max to the zoo that afternoon because Eli’s friend, Melinda, had called him back and as luck would have it, she was babysitting her nephew, Tyler, and apparently, the kid was super into elephants, and Mel, as she preferred to be called, would just love for them all to meet up.
Things had gone pretty well at first. Mel was a knockout. She had luminous olive-tan skin, sparkling almond-shaped eyes, and long black hair brushed out like one of those girls in the shampoo commercials.
She was also nice. Really nice. Like the kind of nice that apologized for being ten minutes late getting to the zoo because she’d had to stop on the way to drop off clothes at the Salvation Army. The kind of nice that, much to his son’s delight, had brought a bag full of coins to drop down the donation funnel at the entrance to the animal exhibits. The exact kind of nice Beau’s mother would have loved, and Beau was typically attracted to.
But as they’d stood in front of a cage full of scrappy little primates, chuckling over Max’s enthusiastic and damn near perfect impersonation of their mating calls, Beau had only felt the mildest gravitational pull towards the woman beside him. He’d leaned in closer to her more because he had no idea what she was saying over the screeching of half a dozen horny animals and one hyperactive child than because he was actually trying to send off any signals of his own.
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