by Elle Aycart
He heard a collective snort this time. “What girls, man?” XL let out. “They were all grandmas.”
Adrian stopped dead in his tracks. “Don’t tell me you were drafted to help with the senior self-defense class.”
“Yes,” XL confirmed. “An hour and a half of not only being kicked by grannies, but also fondled. That’s called sexual harassment. You know how difficult it was to stop their advances? Fucking impossible.”
Adrian was trying to contain his laughter, but he was failing miserably.
“I think they even took pictures,” Monti added.
Adrian reached for his phone and checked Alden’s Facebook page. There they were, right after his own picture dressed like a stop sign.
“I’m sure they aren’t so bad,” he shamelessly lied. If anyone from the guys’ old crew in Boston ever saw those pics, their street cred would go to hell. Adrian’s too. “What about the next self-defense class? Didn’t you stay for that one? The women there are gorgeous.”
XL let out a dry bark. “For that class there was a line of volunteers that reached the front door. Grease Barbie is abusing her authority. She can’t lend us out at will, can she?”
“Complain to the judge if you don’t like her methods. Ask him to send you to another garage.”
XL and the other two harrumphed but kept quiet, as he knew they would. Adrian had seen them with Rachel in the shop; the three of them were having the time of their lives. No way would they risk the judge taking them away from their Grease Barbie.
“Guys, I’m working. See you next Monday at the garage? We can talk more then.”
They complained a bit more but finally hung up. Such crybabies.
With his eyesight now adjusted to the flashes of bright neon colors , Adrian went to the counter and waited for the owner. He turned around to check out a loud group on lane nine. Wasn’t that… fuck, yeah, it was Rachel and the OGs. They were all wearing the same retro red velour tracksuits, bedazzled, which clashed horribly with Greta’s turban and whatever shit she had hanging from her neck. They didn’t seem to mind; they were all laughing, their faces sporting dashes of neon paint. Rachel also had on that tacky bowling uniform. Not a single one of his former girlfriends would have been caught dead with those clothes on. Or playing with their grandmothers.
It was a miracle Rachel hadn’t drafted the guys to carry bowling balls for the grannies. Then again, today the boys weren’t supposed to be in Alden, and she probably preferred to leave a couple days between abuse and abuse.
Everything that before had annoyed the living shit out of him about Rachel had somehow begun to disappear. He wasn’t sure why; she was still the same loud and aggravating woman who didn’t hesitate to go head to head with him or question his authority when it came to the OGs. But now it didn’t irritate him. Maybe it was because he was giving up, tired of waging a losing battle. Rachel defended them out of love; there was no winning against that. Or maybe it had to do with the way she’d taken XL, Ash, and Monti under her wing. Be that as it may, he’d started finding her interesting and funny and even beautiful, in her own Grease Barbie kind of way. Which should totally horrify him, because he liked his women looking and smelling like women. And if that weren’t bad enough, since the stupid piggyback ride, he got hard whenever he saw Rachel or thought of her—which, as much as it pained him to admit, was quite often. He had to get his sorry ass back to Boston. Alden was fucking with his mind and his cock.
“Sheriff, I’m ready for you now,” the owner of the establishment said, interrupting Adrian’s thoughts.
“Please tell me the group on lane nine didn’t have anything to do with the vandalism,” Adrian said in a prayer.
The owner looked toward where Adrian was staring. “No, no. It was kids with their skates, bothering the clients. The ladies on lane nine did graffiti the wall one night.” Adrian tensed. There they went again. “But they’d asked permission beforehand,” the owner hurried to explain, probably reading the scowling expression Adrian had problems hiding. “And Wilma’s granddaughter and Mike were here the next morning with a big bucket of white paint, ready to cover it, which was good because, as artists go, Rebecca, Wilma, and Greta aren’t very talented.”
That was probably that pic he’d seen on the Facebook page, the weird graffiti he hadn’t been able to place.
“About the kids. I know them, so here’s a list of their names,” the owner offered, handing him a piece of paper. “If you could give them a warning, I’d be grateful. It will be more effective coming from you than me.”
As Adrian got ready to leave, Rachel spotted him and waved at him.
He thought about making a quick exit, but now the four women were waving and calling to him, so he decided to approach. The whole bowling alley was staring. Everyone knew of their… animosity for one another. He should be the bigger man.
“Ladies,” he greeted them, tipping his hat. At this proximity, he realized their names were bedazzled on the front of each of their tracksuits, with OGs Rock on the back. Nuts.
“We almost didn’t recognize you,” Wilma confessed. “This neon thing is playing tricks on my eyes.”
“Tell me about it,” Greta said. “Half the time I’m not sure what I’m seeing.”
“Is that why you wandered into lane one when you went to the bathroom?” Rebecca inquired.
Jesus. If Adrian had been the owner, these ladies would be banned. Then again, Rachel would stage a protest at the door.
“Do you want to play a game with us?” Rachel came to him, smiling brightly. Her lips were painted neon pink, and she had pulled her hair up into a high ponytail, which bounced with every movement. “We’ll go easy on you.”
Man, she looked so damn cute. He cleared his throat. “I’m on duty. Sorry.”
She winked. “We won’t tell.” Even dressed as she was, she did it for him and his cock started stirring. Damn, his condition was disturbingly serious. He had to get out of there.
He was already shaking his head, but Wilma grabbed him by the arm, bringing him closer. Rebecca passed a ball to Greta, who apparently didn’t have a strong enough hold on it, because the damn thing slipped from her fingers.
“Oops,” she let out as the humongous pink neon ball fell straight on Adrian’s left foot.
The music was loud, but he heard the sound of bones breaking. Oh, hell. Today of all days he had to forget his reinforced footwear.
His first instinct had been right; he should have run away. Fuck being the bigger man. On a positive note, getting his foot smashed did wonders for deflating his eager cock.
After that, mayhem ensued. Apologizing nonstop, Rachel helped him to sit down while he did his best to refrain from cursing. He tried calling his deputies through gritted teeth; Wilma screamed into the radio, “Officer down, officer down!”
His foot was hurting like a motherfucker, but that was nothing in comparison with the pain he felt when Rebecca attempted to get his shoe off. Fuck not cursing. They all grimaced at the string of loud obscenities—except for Greta, who seemed hypnotized, mumbling again and again that she’d broken the sheriff.
“A phone,” Rachel demanded from the OGs, seeing he wasn’t getting through to his deputies. “Let’s call an ambulance.”
Yeah, please.
Wilma reached inside her purse and produced something that looked like a cell, but it wasn’t. “Here,” she said. She probably pressed something, because two prongs flew at him, hitting him on his chest.
Shit, had she just tased him? Fuck, yeah, she had. As the full-body jerking began and he slipped onto the floor, his last thought before passing out was that at least he couldn’t feel his foot anymore.
“Come on, sleepyhead,” Wilma said, opening the curtains. “Max is having a barbecue because his dad is in town, and we’re invited.”
Rachel rubbed her eyes, then squinted. “What?”
“Barbecue at Max’s. Get ready.” Wilma left.
Right, barbecue. The second Rachel fully w
oke up, the events of the night before came rushing back to her. She covered her face, groaning. How many years would they get for assaulting an officer? They’d not only broken his foot, they’d tased him too. It had taken several minutes before Adrian came around, and thank fuck he did, because by then she thought the OGs had finally broken the sheriff for good. Neither Walter nor Jensen, his deputies, were free, and the ambulance was taking too long, so Rachel had helped Adrian to her car. The OGs had wanted to come along, but his hostile stare, for once, had derailed the old ladies. She’d driven him to the ER while he spat curses at Alden, himself, and everything under the sun. She’d chosen to stay silent; there really wasn’t anything that she could say that would have improved the situation. The OGs had apologized enough, and that had only seemed to piss him off more.
Once in the ER, the verdict came: metatarsal fracture, whatever the hell that was. No damage from the taser. Then Walter came and Adrian had curtly thanked Rachel for her assistance and all but kicked her out.
The only thing that could save them at this stage would be if the doctor had pumped enough painkillers into the sheriff’s body to keep him in la-la land for several days. That’d give them enough time to run to Canada.
She put on sweatpants and a shirt. After washing her face, brushing her teeth, and using a hair pin to make a knot on the back of her head, she walked to the kitchen, where sounds and voices were coming from. The three perpetrators were there, preparing salads and pies and God knew what else, chatting like everything was fine and they had not a worry in the world.
“We’re fucked,” Rachel told them.
“Language,” her grandmother admonished.
“Ladies, we’re fucked. Forget community service and get used to wearing orange; we’re going to be doing time.”
Wilma waved at her in dismissal. “Don’t exaggerate. Old people don’t go to prison.”
“I will.” She was sure the sheriff would find a reason to pin all of it on her. Now that they’d started to become friends.
“Nonsense,” Wilma said.
“Why the hell do you carry a taser around?” This was the third accidental misfire after the incident with Drake, Kyra’s ex-husband.
Wilma shrugged, trying and failing to look apologetic. “The world is a scary place for defenseless single ladies.”
Defenseless? Please. Who was Wilma kidding?
“And don’t worry,” her grandma continued. “We have a plan. Everything is under control.”
Famous last words. They would not only go to jail; they’d get capital punishment.
Rachel was about to complain, but they stuffed her mouth with a piece of freshly baked bread, gave her two bowls of salad to carry, and pushed her out of the kitchen and into the backyard.
Right. Better to eat well while they could.
Max’s backyard was packed. They were a bit late and the barbecue was already in full swing. Everybody greeted them when they arrived. All the Bowens were present: Max, James, his wife Tate, and Cole were manning the grill, while Annie and Christy were bringing food from inside the house. The Bowens’ aunt, Maggie, and Nathan Bowen, who had come from the Eternal Sun resort in Florida, were holding the babies—Jonah, James and Tate’s firstborn, and Lizzie, Max and Annie’s, each just a few months old. Nathan looked completely in love with his grandchildren—no wonder he was traveling to Alden more often than before.
Some of the Haddicans were there too. Kyra was helping Annie and Christy, while her daughter Sam and Sara, Mike’s sister, were jumping on the trampoline. Mike was sitting on the table, talking with… Shit, shit, and triple shit. That was Adrian, out of uniform and wearing some sort of walking boot on his injured foot.
The OGs must have seen him too, because they left the bread tray on the table and, carrying the pies they’d baked, approached the sheriff.
“We’re so sorry. We brought you our unbeatable pecan pie and apple pie. They just came out of the oven. Piping hot.”
He stopped their approach by lifting a hand. “Stay there. I’d appreciate a six-foot distance between you and me. I can’t escape, and the last thing I need is second-degree burns, thank you very much.”
The painkillers hadn’t improved his disposition.
The OGs grumpily left the pies on the corner of the dessert table closest to him and, after being told by Annie to sit and enjoy, they joined Nathan Bowen and the cute babies.
There wasn’t much left to do. As the meat and veggies came off the grill, they all sat around the big table and began eating. Rachel searched for the seat farthest away from Adrian, and she found it; they were short on chairs, so she sat on a tree stump in the sheriff’s blind spot.
“We got pizza,” Max said, reaching for it, his daughter Lizzie in his arms.
“Christy brought it,” Kyra explained, taking a piece for Sam.
Max’s hand stopped in midair. “Christy did?”
Christy, sitting on Cole’s lap, showed him the cover of the box. “I bought it, see? From the diner. Jeez, you’re so suspicious.”
“Of course I am,” he replied, taking a slice of pizza. “You wouldn’t believe the things she cooks. Cookies without sugar and flour. A chocolate cake made basically from zucchini. Bread that’s not exactly bread but rain bread.”
“Cloud bread,” Christy corrected.
“Whatever. I like my junk food junky. Full of sugar and carbs and without nutritional value whatsoever. Like this.” He took a bite from the pizza. “Perfect. Nothing beats the classics.”
Christy turned to Annie and Rachel and winked. Cole must have caught her, because he leaned into his wife and whispered. “Babe, what are you feeding my poor brother this time?”
“Cauliflower-based pizza.”
“He hates cauliflower,” Cole said with a chuckle, kissing her softly on the lips, his hand resting on her baby bump, which was how it always was when Rachel saw them.
Annie smiled and kissed her unsuspecting husband, who was grabbing another slice and offering it to her.
James Bowen, with Tate on his lap, must have suspected something too, seeing as he was smirking.
Everybody dug in, eating with gusto and talking and laughing and bickering all at the same time. This bunch wasn’t a quiet one, and Rachel loved being around the Bowens and the Haddicans. She, who hadn’t had a proper sense of what a family was before she came to Alden to live near Wilma, always felt overwhelmed around them. And thank God Mike’s parents must have had other plans and weren’t there.
Suddenly, there was loud music. Sara’s cell. She answered with a short “on my way” and hung up.
“The guests I told you about are here,” she said to Max and Annie. “Is it really okay for them to come in?”
“Of course,” Max answered. “We’ve got plenty of food.”
Sara sprinted inside the house and, after several minutes, came back with XL, Ash, and Monti. “They helped me with the self-defense class. I owed them,” she explained and proceeded to introduce them to everyone.
The kids seemed a bit out of their element and a bit overwhelmed. Rachel winked at them, and they smiled at her. When the introductions reached Adrian, they opened their eyes wide.
“What happened to your foot?” XL asked.
Nobody answered. The Bowens were trying to hold in their laughter, as was Kyra. Mike was grimacing and giving the evil eye to his grandma and the other two.
“He was attacked with a bowling ball and then tased for good measure,” Max explained.
XL frowned. “What kind of thugs do you have in Alden?”
A long pause. “We didn’t mean to,” Greta started, clearing her throat. “The ball slipped.”
“The tasing was also an unfortunate accident,” Wilma added.
Ash stared at the grannies and then back at Adrian. “You went close to them without protective gear? Are you nuts?”
The OGs looked at each other, frowning. Wilma put on her glasses. “Oh, the cute kids from the gym.”
“You lent
us to them, knowing they carry weapons?” Monti asked Rachel, completely outraged.
Wilma shook her head. “We didn’t have the taser at the gym. It doesn’t fit in the pockets of our yoga pants.”
Mike cursed under his breath, and Rachel covered her face. Good, things were going from bad to worse.
Sara ushered them to sit and the conversation deviated to other matters that had nothing to do with the attack on Adrian, for which Rachel was profoundly grateful.
“Where do you guys know our sheriff from?” James asked.
“From his time as a detective in Boston,” XL answered. “He disagreed with our business vision.”
“Stripping cars and selling the parts isn’t a business vision,” Adrian said in a grunt. “I’ve been trying to rehabilitate these punks ever since. This time it seems to be sticking.”
XL snorted but turned to Rachel and smiled. Yes, it would stick. She would see to that.
“What you need is a girlfriend to soothe those grumpy edges,” Mike told Adrian. “How come we haven’t seen you with anyone?”
Ash spoke, his voice amused. “His girlfriend wouldn’t be caught dead in Alden.”
“Ex-girlfriend,” Adrian corrected him.
“Tell us what kind of woman you like, and we’ll find you the perfect match,” Wilma said, forgetting she was still in the doghouse where Adrian was concerned.
“Nothing special.”
“No, nothing special,” Ash said, sounding ironic. “Imagine Sleeping Beauty in her ivory tower. Add to that a passion for high-end accessories, fashion, cosmetic surgeries, and trips to Europe, and you got it.”
Wilma frowned. “Not sure we can find someone like that on the dating service. Not enough upgrades.”
Yeah, Rachel thought so.
They continued talking and eating and drinking beer. After dessert, everyone spread around. The OGs stayed talking with Nathan Bowen, asking about the Eternal Sun resort. Sara and the guys sat on the trampoline. The Bowens lay on Adirondack chairs, enjoying the spring sun.
Rachel noticed that the hammock near the lakeshore was empty. She lay there, basking in the warmth, swinging, until she heard someone clearing his throat. It was Adrian.