Pretty Jane (The Browning Series Book 3)

by Dorothy Barrett

  “Sorry,” she said with a shrug.

  “Watch where you’re going,” he said with a sneer.

  PJ pivoted in her flip-flops and walked away, eager to get back to someone who was actually worth her time and attention when Wade’s words had her stopping in her tracks.

  “You’re still ugly, ya know.”

  As PJ turned back around, she could hear a few titters from some of the students still milling about, but most were eying Wade like they figured he was drunk.

  PJ didn’t think that he was. She’d seen him smashed at Cleo’s house, and this version of Wade appeared stone-cold sober, which only made the contempt in his eyes all the more despicable.

  Old PJ would have been hurt by that contempt. She would have been rattled and shaken to the point where she would have lashed out or done something destructive. New PJ could only laugh as she strolled back over to Wade with her hands in her pockets.

  “And you’re a pathetic bully,” she said in between chuckles.

  “You can kiss my as—”

  Hooooooooonk!

  Wade hopped back as PJ whipped out the air horn.

  “Jesus! You crazy bit—”

  Hoooooooooooooooooooonk!

  PJ laid on the trigger with relish and waited for Wade to shut his trap. It didn’t take long. The wail of the horn was brutal in the echoing halls of the stadium, and Wade was already covering his ears, his lips compressed in a pained line.

  “Alright,” she said, her own ears ringing as she lowered the horn. “Here’s the deal, Wade. I talk. You listen—”

  “Fuck yo—”

  Hoooooooonk!

  “Damn man, shut up, already!” shouted a guy juggling a drink and a tray full of nachos as he passed by.

  There were a few snickers from those PJ hadn’t managed to run off with the horn. Then the hall quieted, and PJ appeared to have Wade’s undivided attention, as well as a surprisingly large crowd of onlookers. She swallowed at this, hesitating for a moment as she realized the spectacle she’d just created.

  Wade, sensing weakness, crossed his arms over his chest as he took a step closer. “So what’s on your mind, Plain Jane?”

  PJ wasn’t about to be intimidated by him, and she damn sure wasn’t going to let him silence her again. “I just wanted you to know that I forgive you.” PJ matched his step with surprising calm. Wade rolled his eyes as she stopped a couple feet from him. “Yeah, I know you don’t give a fuck, but I do. It makes me really happy to know that I’m over your bullshit, Wade. I’m over you jumping me at Cleo’s party. I’m over you rubbing your junk all over me while you called me names. I’m over you harassing me and spreading your filthy lies about me in school, and I’m even over you molesting my friend in the eighth grade, but that’s only on account of my girl forgiving you for the hot-dog breath.” PJ paused as the chuckles rang out.

  Wade glared at his prep school friends, his cheeks growing ruddy. “You’re a stupid cun—”

  Hoooooooooooonk!

  “Wasn’t finished,” PJ chirped. “Ya see, Wade, the reason I forgive you is that I know you weren’t raised right. Everybody knows your daddy treats women like crap. It’s no surprise you turned out to be one big walking pile of douche-nozzle.”

  Wade opened his mouth.

  PJ raised the horn.

  Wade shut up, glaring at her as more laughter rang out.

  “But it’s not too late, Wade. You can get therapy.” Wade was already stalking away as PJ grinned. “There are some really great psychiatrists out there who can help you break the cycle of misogyny,” she called after him. “Maybe even a good counselor with a five-star rating. You need to get right with you, buddy!”

  Wade’s arm fired up right before he disappeared through a tunnel, and PJ grinned as she was flipped off for the second time that evening. Then she skipped off in the direction of the home stands to a smattering of applause from some of the away guys and a rousing version of David Guetta’s “Titanium” coming from the band tearing it up on the field.

  By the time PJ stepped back through her own tunnel, the Friday night lights had clicked on, and Finkerton’s drum line was doing its thing, and the whole stadium was alive in a way that was truly unique to a high school football game in the South.

  PJ had hated her high school experience. All four years of it. All three schools. And yet, here she was, standing amidst a couple thousand of her peers, feeling so damn happy and free she could almost dance.

  Almost.

  As it was, she couldn’t resist throwing a little extra sway into her steps as she made her way back to her seat. This earned her a chorus of catcalls from the stands. PJ couldn’t say she minded them too much. But it wasn’t the whistles of a few horny teens that had her tossing her hair back and lifting her chin.

  It was Beau.

  He rose from the bottom rung of the bleachers dressed in a pair of navy slacks and a bright yellow sweater-vest. As she drew abreast of him, Beau immediately zeroed in on the sultry color she’d spread over her lips. Between the heat in his gaze and the man’s schoolboy attire, he looked like an accountant having some seriously carnal thoughts.

  “I like this,” she said, flicking his sweater with the tip of her fingernail. “Take it off.”

  Beau chuckled at the mischief in her eyes, seeming to recall their heated conversation on the plane months ago. Then he grabbed the hem of his new vest and pulled it up and off, his preppy side-swept hair getting a little mussed in the process.

  Beau handed her the top with a knowing grin as he smoothed at his fitted white button down. “Go on, then,” he said, “Let’s see it.”

  PJ greedily tugged the warm fabric over her head, the spicy scent of Beau’s aftershave teasing her nose, as well as a hint of Chanel. She frowned as her arms cleared the holes. Then she was eying a hint of pink on Beau’s jaw with suspicion, and crossing her arms in front of the soft cashmere now clinging to her curves.

  “Oh, come on. I was just at a funeral.”

  PJ raised a brow. “Guess it was an interesting service.”

  “It was.”

  The simple honesty in Beau’s words and the raw emotion in his face had PJ settling a palm about his cheek. “You good?”

  “Yeah. You?”

  “We’re good.” As PJ hauled him in close, Beau’s arms wrapped around her, and she could feel him sucking in a breath near her temple. PJ pulled back, winking as she wiped at that little smear of pink. “And, besides, I know where you really like the lipstick stains, Beau Bear.”

  Beau didn’t bother denying it. His mouth was already closing in on hers with some seriously carnal intent. Then, as the whistles rang out again, he was kissing her in front of the stands, for God and everyone in the stadium to see.

  “Ten seconds left!” a familiar voice chirped from the bleacher beside them.

  PJ glanced down to find Max sitting a couple feet from Thelma on the bench. Neither seemed particularly interested in the lip-locking going on in front of them, as both had their sights fixed squarely on the scoreboard.

  Beau let go of PJ with an adorable sigh, and they sat down, squishing in on either side of his son, with Thelma to PJ’s right counting down the seconds to the end of the half-time break right along with Max. By the time they got to one, Beau’s arm was up and stretching past Max’s skinny frame to drape about PJ’s shoulder.

  And he was smiling.

  PJ decided, right then and there, that high school wasn’t so bad after all.

  Chapter 45

  The Jags ended up squeaking out a victory in overtime with Troy Latimoore leading the game-winning drive. The Falcons had nothing to hang their heads over, however, as Dax had put up some stellar stats of his own. According to Thelma, the younger quarterback’s passer rating had been slightly better than Latimoore’s due to that monster pass before the half.

  Nevertheless, when they approached him after the game, Jeremiah’s head was bowed, and his hair was matted with sweat as he listened to his coach. The e
lder man was patting him on the back, clear pride in his expression. People were scattered around them: a teeming mass of players, parents, and cheerleaders. And Beau had slipped away to talk with one of his old teachers from Prep, a sleepy Max perched high on his shoulders.

  Now was the time for Thelma to get her flirt on, and PJ was seriously hoping Jeremiah wasn’t one of those sore-loser type dicks because she’d been doing a remarkable job of behaving herself so far, Wade’s air-horn torture notwithstanding, and she really didn’t want to be kicked off a high school campus again.

  “Alright, girl. You’re up,” PJ said as the Falcon’s coach walked off to chat with a parent. “You know what you’re gonna say to Jeremiah?”

  “Good game?” Thelma turned to PJ for approval, her features frozen in a strange cheerful grimace.

  “You’re doing a silly face.”

  Thelma relaxed her cheeks.

  “Just imagine him naked.”

  Thelma smiled for real this time, her lips curving into a cute goofy grin.

  PJ smacked her on the back. “Go get him, T.”

  They both turned toward Jeremiah at the same time. PJ frowned. The dude had two cheerleaders hanging off of him… the same two cheerleaders they’d seen him with at Eataburger. The taller girl was squirting a Gatorade bottle at his mouth. The shorter one had her arms wrapped around him and her head buried in his chest.

  Jesus, this dude was a player. PJ tensed, her claws flexing at her sides.

  Jeremiah was wiping at his mouth when he caught sight of her client. “Hey,” he said, brightening noticeably, “you made it.”

  The girl glued to his chest lifted her head as he spoke, and just like that, PJ’s claws retracted and her heart melted because this cutie, with her crooked, Cheshire cat grin and slightly flattened facial features, appeared to have Down syndrome.

  “Hi, Thelma,” the girl said politely.

  “Hi, Tina,” Thelma responded in kind.

  Jeremiah beamed at the pair of them before draping his long arms over the shoulders of the two brunettes at his sides. “My own personal cheering squad,” he said, winking at PJ as he hauled them in close. “These are my sisters, Tina and Ryan.”

  “Ugh,” Ryan groaned, immediately shrugging Jeremiah off. “You’re all sweaty and gross.”

  PJ got a good look at the taller girl for the first time and was surprised to find she appeared rather familiar, and the masculine name was certainly jogging her memory.

  Ryan glanced at her, her blue eyes flashing with the same sort of recognition. “Do I know you?”

  PJ sighed. “I might have punched your friend Willa in the face during our PE class a few years ago.”

  “Holy shit! PJ?”

  “That’s me.”

  Ryan threw back her head, her long dark ponytail swishing behind her as she laughed. “Oh my God. That was awesome. Willa was such a bitch freshman year—”

  Jeremiah smacked her in the arm. “Language, Ry.”

  Tina rolled her eyes. “No. She’s right. Willa was a bitch. I always wanted to punch her in the face when she came over to the house.”

  Thelma giggled.

  Jeremiah grinned.

  Then he was waving his sisters off. “Go. Buy me some nachos, cheering squad. I require sustenance.” The girls sauntered off, Ryan shooting Jeremiah a classic big sister smirk before waving at PJ.

  PJ returned the gesture, then hit the chick’s brother with a warning look that basically said, “I’m gonna cut you some slack here because your sisters are cool as fuck, but if you mess with my girl, I will hurt you.”

  Jeremiah nodded his understanding.

  PJ took a few steps away and turned her back to give them some privacy, her gaze seeking out and locking on Beau across the field even as her ear remained tuned to the young couple behind her.

  “Good game,” Thelma said more naturally.

  “Thanks,” Jeremiah said with a sigh. “Would have been better if we’d won, though.”

  “Your quarterback rating was better than Troy’s.”

  “That right?”

  “Yes, I ran the numbers.”

  PJ smiled as she heard Thelma flipping through the pages of her book.

  “Wow. That’s cool,” Jeremiah said. “Are these plays you’ve been drawing in here?”

  “Yes. I think you should have slanted right to Van Martin on that last one.”

  “Fuc—I mean, hell, yeah, I know it. It was a snap call to go to Simsy. I was hoping since he caught the long ball at the half, he could’ve made the catch again in the clutch.”

  “We all make mistakes,” Thelma said tactfully.

  PJ had to restrain herself from doing a fist pump. Her girl was killing it.

  “Speaking of mistakes…” Jeremiah cleared his throat. “I kind of asked Lindsey to prom next Saturday night.”

  “Yes. That was definitely a mistake. I can’t be certain, but statistically speaking her chances of having an FTD are quite high.”

  Jeremiah laughed. “Well, I better warn Simsy. Lindsey dropped me like a hot potato after he asked her to the dance.”

  PJ snorted. The guy didn’t sound too broken up over it.

  “So, uhm… did you have a date for prom yet?” he asked Thelma nervously.

  “No,” Thelma said quickly. “I do not have one.”

  “Would you maybe want to go with me?”

  “Yes,” Thelma squeaked.

  “No,” PJ whisper-screamed.

  Thelma gave her the side-eye as PJ craned her head and stared pointedly.

  “Come on, T. You were his second choice. Make him work for it!”

  Thelma blinked at her in confusion.

  “Tell him what you want. Make some demands,” PJ explained.

  Thelma nodded her understanding.

  PJ turned back to Beau.

  “I’d prefer one of those corsages that clips to my dress,” Thelma said. “I don’t want the stretchy bracelet kind that strangles my wrist.”

  “No problem,” Jeremiah said.

  “I’d also prefer if you put your hands on my hips when we’re slow-dancing.”

  “Can do.”

  PJ almost laughed at the speed of the guy’s response, but Thelma was on a roll with her demands, so she kept a lid on it.

  “I’d also prefer we kiss with our lips closed. I don’t think I want your tongue in my mouth—”

  “Yessss,” PJ hissed. “Way to be assertive, girl!”

  “—unless you’ve abstained from eating onions, cheese, or any type of seafood for at least twenty-four hours.”

  “Sounds good,” Jeremiah said. “Would you mind texting me a list of your favorite foods?”

  “Can do,” Thelma parroted happily.

  “Anything else?”

  “I also want a limo.”

  “Sweet.”

  PJ did do a fist pump as the two continued to make plans behind her, and by the time Beau was striding back over with Max, she was almost vibrating she was so happy.

  “What’s up?” Beau asked, unable to miss her excitement as he stole in for a kiss.

  “My girl’s going to prom!” PJ squealed.

  “That mean you’ll be doing another off-site?” Beau grinned slyly. “I’m down with chaperoning.”

  PJ snorted. “Not gonna happen. Count your lucky stars I let you dance with me on that pier.”

  “I do,” he said, dropping another kiss on her nose. “Every day.”

  They stared at each other like the sappy lovestruck fools they were, both enjoying their own small moment of privacy before Beau’s son burst their romantic bubble with an audible yawn.

  “I’m bored, Daddy.” Max’s chin settled on Beau’s forehead as he blinked sluggishly.

  “We should probably get this guy home,” Beau said. “He sounds pretty tired.”

  “No way. I’m not tired.”

  “Sure, bud.” Beau gripped his son’s ankle with one hand and took her hand in his other as they trailed Thelma and Jeremiah f
rom the field.

  With every step they took, PJ’s happiness grew because suddenly it seemed they had an even better bubble. They had a Beau, PJ, and Max bubble. They had a ‘we’ bubble. And maybe their ‘we’ bubble was about to get even bigger—

  As soon as the thought entered her head, PJ shook it away, another little squeal escaping. This one slightly hysterical.

  “You good?” Beau asked her again.

  PJ glanced at him sharply. Beau’s bangs were a wreck from the humidity and the weight of Max’s head crushing them, and his crisp oxford shirt was now rolled at the sleeves and sporting fresh chocolate stains from the cookie he’d bought his son during the game. But even so, he was still sexy as hell. Sexier even, because he was all rumpled-daddy gorgeous, and she was all hormonal and possibly knocked up.

  PJ could only nod her head stupidly, staring at the seams in the sidewalk as they strolled toward the parking lot. The smells of the food from the concession stands coming up on their left seemed unusually strong, but maybe she was just imagining things. Probably she was just imagining things.

  Fuck. Did she want to have this man’s baby?

  As soon as the question entered her head, the answer materialized like a glowing blue triangle on a Magic 8 Ball toy.

  Yes.

  She absolutely did want to have Beau’s baby. Problem was, PJ wasn’t so certain she wanted to do so in the next nine months. She kind of wanted to enjoy the Beau, PJ, and Max bubble for a little longer than that. And she was only eighteen. And she suspected Beau might have an issue with going oh-for-two in the whole planned parenthood thing.

  “PJ?”

  “Hmmm?” She glanced up to find Beau scrutinizing her face with concern.

  “You went from cloud nine to dazed and confused real fast. What’s wrong?”