by K. A. Tucker
What an idiotic idea, that tiny voice warns in the back of my mind. What a completely juvenile, stupid, likely regretful idea, that a smart, well-adjusted, educated, thirty-year-old woman—a teacher!—knows better than to entertain.
I stuff that little voice of reason into a corner where it can’t distract me, take a deep breath, and cut through the crowd toward the bar.
“This asshole soaked my jock in aftershave before a game!” Steve stabs Dean in the arm with an angry finger. “My balls were on fire. I had to leave five minutes into the first quarter!”
“You weren’t there to screw up the plays. That’s why we won the game,” Dean counters.
A cackle of laughter escapes me. “Oh my God, I think I remember that!” Steve hobbled off the field, looking like he’d been riding a horse for seven days straight and yanking at his crotch. “I heard it was because you had an STD.”
“People were saying I had the fucking clap! My mom brought me ice all night and kept insisting I show her how bad it was. I know she’s a nurse and all, but no fucking way am I dropping trou so my mom can inspect my sack!” Steve says with horrified flair, earning our boisterous laughter.
I don’t know how these guys are feeling after three shots of Jim Beam in quick succession, but my head is swimming, my emotions have numbed, and I’m suitably distracted for the moment.
“I thought you were nicer than that.” I lean against Dean’s broad chest to give him a playful nudge with my shoulder. He smells like soap. It’s not bergamot, but it’s far from unpleasant. Neither is being this close to him. I’m not normally attracted to guys this muscular, but Dean has a handsome, chiseled face. Plus, I know I won’t fall for him, so he’s safe in that regard. Does he still like to screw around like he did in high school? He never was one to have a girlfriend, though he was practically mounting Virginia Grafton at every opportunity that summer Shane and I were together.
“I am nice. Not to this guy, though.” He juts his chin at Steve. “He’s a jerk.”
“He was a jerk to me in high school,” I agree somberly.
“That’s why I did it. For you, Scarlet.” He peers down at me with mock seriousness for a moment before a playful, crooked smile touches his full lips.
“I guess I owe you a thank-you.” Flirting with Dean is surprising easily. “Thank you, for burning Steve Dipshit’s balls for me.”
His eyes twinkle as he chuckles, and the deep sound vibrates through my limbs.
I give him a second nudge and this time, his arm curls around my body in an affectionate squeeze. He relaxes his grip, but his arm remains slung lazily over my shoulder. His gaze remains settled on my lips.
“What’s so funny?” Shane’s voice suddenly sounds behind me.
Despite my best effort to remain calm, my body stiffens.
“Just reminiscing about the old days,” Steve says, pounding the bar with his meaty fist for another round of shots. It’s an obnoxious move but the bartender doesn’t seem to care. He must be used to Steve.
I stall against the urge to turn and acknowledge Shane for one … two … three seconds. When I finally dare to look, I find his attention on Dean, his eyebrow arched in an unspoken question. I check behind him. Susie Teller is nowhere to be seen.
Thank God.
I can’t read what’s being communicated between the two men, but I note how Dean’s arm flexes, pulling me in a touch closer.
“You guys look like you’re getting into it tonight.” Shane peers at the fresh line of shots. “How many have you had?”
“Who’s counting?” Steve holds one out for him.
Shane shakes his head. “Nah. I’m good. I gotta be at work at eight in the morning.” He nods toward Dean. “So do you, dumbass.”
“Yeah, but I can handle my liquor better than you,” Dean answers smugly, taking the proffered shot.
Shane levels Dean with a warning look, his eyes skittering over Dean’s arm that’s curled around me. I catch the faintest clench in his jaw.
Does this bother you, Shane? I hope so, the wounded voice that’s trying to be indifferent mewls in my head.
“One for the lady.” Steve thrusts a shot into my hand, and a few drops of the sticky liquid splash over to coat my fingers. “Cheers.” The three of us slam the round back.
The emotions I managed to quell momentarily with engrossing stories are rising once again. Despite my better judgment, I meet Shane’s gaze.
Fool me once, shame on you. This second time, though? That’s all on me.
He frowns. “You okay, Scar?”
“Why wouldn’t I be?” I was going for aloof, but I hear the bitchy tone lacing my words.
Steve holds the remaining shot up for Shane, who’s already shaking his head. “Going once … going twice …”
“Thanks!” I snatch it from Steve’s hand and down it, earning his and Dean’s laughter.
“I like this version of you.” The soft pad of Dean’s thumb skates soothingly back and forth over my bare biceps, causing gooseflesh to erupt. Yes, I think I’ll enjoy this man’s hands and lips all over my drunk body tonight just fine.
Shane watches me intently, as if he’s waiting for the moment the intoxicating buzz of two back-to-back whiskey shots takes over and my inhibitions weaken. Too late, I want to tell him. Because that’s now five shots and I’m primed to do something that is undoubtedly stupid but will feel damn good while it’s happening.
“Hey, I think your friends are looking for you,” he says carefully. “Maybe you should go and check on them.”
If that isn’t a dismissal … My anger flares. “They’ll find me if they need me.” Shane definitely doesn’t want me hooking up with Dean. Well, too bad. I set my jaw to hide the fact that my next words sting to acknowledge. “But hey, I think I saw your little blond friend looking for you a minute ago. Maybe you should go and check on her.”
Shane cocks his head. “Who, Susie?”
The one you’re trying to screw.
Shane’s jaw drops, and I realize I just said that out loud. Apparently five shots of Jim Beam will loosen my tongue faster than any sci-fi truth serum ever could.
I don’t notice when Dean removes his arm from my shoulder—or maybe it’s me who pulls away from him—but suddenly I’m squared off against Shane in the middle of the bar, boozy courage flowing through my veins.
“Scarlet, I—”
“After all the shit you’ve been saying to me these past few weeks, how dare you try to play me again?” I jab his chest with my finger, making him flinch. “Once wasn’t enough?”
“What?” His eyebrows pop. He has the nerve to act surprised. “How am I playing you?”
“Have fun on your date.”
Realization flitters across his face.
Yeah, that’s right, asshole. I heard what was going on.
He falters on his words. “She asked me out.”
“Oh, well, by all means, then, enjoy.”
His head falls back with a sigh of exasperation. “Fuck, I can’t win with you, can I?”
“What? I’m sorry, you thought you’d ‘win’ with me”—I air-quote the word with an exaggerated crook of my fingers—“by hooking up with someone else in front of me?”
He sighs, looks around, as if he’d rather be anywhere but here. “Come on, it’s just dinner, with a friend.”
“Yeah, a friend who can’t keep her hands off you!” I accuse, even as a glimmer of hope stirs in my chest that I’ve misunderstood this as quickly as I misunderstood Penelope at Shane’s front door. Maybe these dinner plans with Susie are just friendly plans, after all. Maybe he’s not trawling to get laid on one end of the bar while sweetly flirting with me on the other.
“You’re one to talk.” He shoots a pointed glare Dean’s way.
“Oh, I haven’t even begun to touch him yet.” I make a point of smoothing my palm over Dean’s torso, over the hard ridges of muscle, and then letting my finger hook over his belt, giving it a slight tug before letting go. Bu
t it doesn’t elicit a spark of response in me. I’m too furious with Shane to feel anything—physical or otherwise—for anyone else.
Shane’s eyes narrow as they follow the move and then he glowers at his friend.
“Whoa. Hey … Innocent bystander here.” Dean throws his hands up in surrender.
A dark glint flashes in Shane’s eyes as he turns back to me. He’s angry. “What is this, anyway? You’re the one who said you didn’t want to complicate things between us.”
“How am I complicating things?”
“Because you’re chewing me out for going to dinner with another woman when you’re the one who keeps turning me down. Do you understand how unfair that is?”
Not just a friendly dinner, after all. That momentary blip of hope is deflated by a sharp prick to my chest. “I told you, I don’t care who or what you do!” Thankfully, the band is loud and drowning out our shouts for anyone but Dean and Steve, who are watching with obnoxious, amused smiles. “And you don’t get a say in anyone I decide to hook up with either!”
Shane crosses his arms over his chest as he looms over me. “Fine! Just not him.” He nods at Dean.
I match his defensive, arms-crossed stance in a challenge. “And why not?”
“Because …” He grits his teeth as if trying to keep his words from coming out. “Because you just don’t want to, trust me.”
“Dude! Come on.” Dean gives him a cocked “what the hell” look.
Shane matches it with a severe look of his own. “Don’t, man. I’m serious. It’s not cool. She won’t be okay with it.”
“I wouldn’t be okay with what? Banging the hell out of him tonight?” I make a point of ogling Dean from head to toe. “I beg to differ.” That last shot is really hitting me now.
Dean grins at his friend. “See?”
Between the boozy fog and the growing tension swirling around us, I don’t notice the platinum blond until she’s snaking past me, her hands pawing muscular male arms in a fraudulent act of trying to gain space as she sashays toward the bar. Lo and behold, they part for her like the Red Sea did for Moses.
“Mom?”
She glances over her shoulder at me and offers a lazy smile. “Fancy meeting you here, darling.”
Great. She’s in that magical drunken sweet spot, in between being annoyed-sober and belligerent-drunk, where I’m her darling, her honey, her sweetheart.
I try to even my tone. “What are you doing here?” McTavish’s was always her Friday-night hangout. She’s certainly dressed for it in her skintight, too-short, cleavage-baring velvet black dress that she insists traps men like flies in honey.
“What do you think I’m doing here?” She flashes the bartender a playful smile. “The usual, babe.”
He nods. “Sure thing, Dottie.”
I grimace. As if this night weren’t bad enough, now I know my mom is on a first-name basis with the bartender here too. I should have expected as much.
With a glass of chardonnay cradled in her bloodred-clawed hand, she turns to appraise the wall of chest on either side of her. “Hello, boys.”
Steve grins wide as he peers down at her. “Having a good night?”
“Much better now that you’re here, Steven.” She winks at him.
Ugh. Mom.
And Steve—fucking Dipshit!—actually blushes. “You know I’m a happily married man.” He waggles his ring finger in the air to show off the simple gold band.
“I know. Too bad for me.” She mock pouts before turning her sparkling blue gaze to Dean. She quirks a well-drawn brow. “What about you, big boy? Care to show me what new things you’ve learned?”
I want to crawl under a table and die. I need to get out of here right now, with or without Dean. But in the back of my mind, her words roll around, gaining purchase.
What new things he’s learned?
What does that mean?
New things since the last time?
A tingling sensation trickles down my spine. When Dean glances at me and I see the sheepish look on his face…
“Oh my God!” My jaw drops as the cold wash of realization hits me. “You slept with my mother, didn’t you!”
The band ends their set at that precise moment, and my shrieking accusation carries in the sudden silence as surely as if I’d been shouting into a megaphone. Suddenly we have an audience of wide-eyed, gaped-mouth onlookers, barely stifling their titters.
Dean winces. He doesn’t bother denying it, though. He would have gone home with me tonight, without mentioning the fact that he’s ridden the Dottie Reed train?
Nausea stirs in my gut as curious spectators eagerly gobble up this small-town soap opera. If people around here had forgotten, or if they hadn’t known, now everyone knows. Yes, the infamous Dottie Reed is my mother. It’s like childhood all over again, except now I’m an elementary school teacher. My reputation is that much more important to me.
I shove past Shane and push through the crowd, past our table without a glance to Justine or Becca, and out into the night. The rain is still falling steadily, and in seconds I’m soaked, but the cold quells the overwhelming urge to bend over and purge my stomach’s contents.
I make it halfway across the dark, deserted side street beside the bar before a strong hand grabs hold of my biceps.
“Come on, Scar, stop,” Shane pleads. I hadn’t realized he followed me out.
“Stop calling me that. I hate that!” I don’t really hate it—not when it’s coming from Shane—but I’m too upset to think clearly right now. I jerk my arm away. “And let go of me.”
“Okay, okay.” Shane lifts his hands in surrender. “Just … you shouldn’t be walking home. Let me drive you.”
“It’s only seven blocks.” I walked that far every day, both in blistering hot and icy cold, when I was far too young to be doing so.
“Seven blocks, in the rain?” He squints up at the night sky, as if pointing out what I must not have noticed.
“I like the rain. It’s soothing,” I snap. I’m lashing out at him to keep from breaking down in tears. I know this, and yet I can’t help it.
“You know what? Fine. Scar—Scarlet. I’m tired of fighting with you tonight.”
I mean to start walking home, and yet I can’t seem to get my feet moving. “You knew, didn’t you?” That’s what Shane meant when he said I didn’t want to hook up with Dean. It had nothing to do with him not wanting me going home with his best friend. I cringe. “God. Why? Dean is sixteen years younger than her! He could have anyone else.” He almost had me. “He’s a giant dick for trying to pull that shit, by the way.”
Shane brushes a hand across his face to wipe away the rain. “It was, like, five years ago. He had a really bad day at work. He hit the bar hard and Dottie was there.”
“Dottie’s always there,” I grumble.
“Yeah. And she always lays it on thick for us. We usually just joke around with her, but that night, Dean took her seriously.”
It was one thing when my mother was having her dalliances with random older men but now she’s moved on to guys I went to school with? This is too much! “What was I thinking? I should never have moved back to this fucking town!” I yell into the night. Thanks to the rain, no one is out and the street we’re standing in the middle of ends fifty feet away, at a dead end before the river.
“Look, I don’t know what you want me to say.”
“Nothing. It’s not your problem. It’s mine. It’s always been mine.”
Shane hesitates. “It must be hard to have a mom who’s so …” He searches for the word.
“Promiscuous? Trashy? Scandalous?” I’ve heard all the labels, many times over, back when I didn’t know what they meant. I remember running home from the grocery store after one altercation between Mom and a scorned wife and looking up the word whore in the dictionary. I couldn’t understand what my mother could have done to make that woman so angry.
He grimaces. “I was going to say ‘sexual.’”
“
She’ll sleep with anyone. What is wrong with men? Where’s the appeal in that?”
“She actually gets around a lot less than you think. It’s mainly for show.”
I cringe. “How is that better? How would you feel if that was your mother in there?” I stab the air with a pointed finger, aimed at the bar, my voice shaky.
“I’d lose my shit,” he admits.
“See? So why is it okay because it’s Dottie Reed?” Why are my school peers entertaining her shamelessness, and right in front of me?
“Because she’s sexy and she’s not any of our moms?” He winces, as if he knows that’s a weak excuse. “I don’t know. There’s something about her.”
“Yeah, no morals and a serious dependency on alcohol.”
“Maybe.” He shrugs. “But it’s the way she carries herself, with confidence and no regrets. And she makes men feel good about themselves.” An apologetic smile takes over his face. “A lot of guys find that attractive.”
I’ve seen her in action. She’s a master of stroking male egos, though, truth be told, it doesn’t seem to take much to turn them into her lapdogs. But the way Shane is talking about my mother right now … My stomach drops with the horror. “Oh my God! Please tell me you haven’t slept with her—”
“No.” He shakes his head furtively and follows it with a soft chuckle. “I swear, I never even entertained the idea.”
The wave of relief that hits me is overwhelming. It’s quickly shadowed by the fact that Shane made dinner plans with his coworker, and he and I both damn well know it’s not platonic. He’s attracted to Susie.
The knot in my throat swells.
“What do you want from me, Scarlet? I’m not a mind reader.” Shane steps forward, closing the distance between us. “You said you just wanted to be friends. You know, because you’re Cody’s teacher and we’re neighbors.”
“Yeah. I know what I said.” He doesn’t have to remind me.
“Did you mean it, though? Because that reaction back in there? That says something completely different.” His brow furrows. “I’m trying to respect your boundaries, but they’re a moving target.”
“I just drank too much,” I lie, replaying the evening. Was he flirting with me? Or was he just being himself and I was reading more into it? Was I reading what I wanted into it? Nothing is clear to me at the moment. “Date whoever you want.” I back away. “Makes no difference to me.”