Oh my gosh, that was close. My heart barely has time to find a normal, relaxed beat when I hear the squealing of tires on asphalt. A quick peek through the greenery confirms my worst fear. The car’s backed up and stopped right in front of my hiding spot. The door to the Bugatti swings open and the quarterback god unfolds from the interior. Oxygen gets stuck in my lungs, from fear or the sight of him, who can say? But the lack of H2O to my brain is making me light-headed.
Cash moves to the pile of my supplies I dropped. He picks up the rolling paint brush and touches the business end gently with his index finger. The digit comes away wet with black paint. He drops the tool back onto the heap and glances up at my handiwork.
An owl hoots and something scurries against my leg. I swallow a shriek and try to adjust my position without making any noise.
The nosy quarterback pulls out his phone and shines the flashlight my direction. It’s dark where I am, so I stay hidden. After several long seconds, he gathers up my graffiti tools and loads them into the back of his overpriced vehicle. With one last glance toward the bushes, he gets in his car and drives away.
Well, crap. I should probably be flattered that he cares enough to confiscate those things, but at the moment all I feel is annoyance. I’ll have to replenish my supply. That stuff wasn’t cheap, and I’m a delinquent on a budget.
Twenty-Three
Cash
Every muscle in my body is screaming. Not a good sign since I just woke up and my feet haven’t even touched the ground. It’s nothing new, but it is getting old fast. I postpone getting up for several minutes.
But my need to piss requires me to get up sooner rather than later. I suck in a deep breath, then push to a sitting position. My vertebrae sound like the drumline at a high school football game. It’s a contagion of pops and snaps. The door seems really far away, so I think I’ll just sit for a minute more. The mystery of the billboard bandit’s supplies in the trunk of my car filters through my mind. Why would the person responsible for vandalizing Tiger’s image leave them behind like that? I have no idea.
Despite how my body aches, I did sleep well. I left the team party early and headed back to Ryder hoping to see Tiger, but she was gone. I’m embarrassed to say how disappointed I was by that turn of events. I waited for an hour, then went to bed.
My bladder makes it impossible to put off the inevitable, so I rise to my feet while my knees snap, crackle, and pop. Once I take care of business, I glance out the window but don’t see a light on at Tiger’s place.
Again, with the disappointment.
Did she spend the night somewhere else last night? Is she seeing someone? I never thought to ask. I don’t like the dark places that the idea of her sleeping in someone else’s bed takes me.
Not my business.
If I keep repeating it, maybe the concept will seep into my brain.
I brush my teeth and splash water on my face. My stomach growls with the ferociousness of a bear after hibernation. I wonder if it’s been long enough for my mom to forgive me and fix me breakfast. I haven’t spoken to her since she kicked me out. After another rumble from my belly, I figure I’ll take my chances. If she won’t let me in, then I’ll go to the B&B where Duke’s staying and have breakfast there.
I grab my keys and take another look at the pool house as I walk to my car. The ride to my mom’s is short—there’s very little traffic in Ryder at this time of the morning. I pull up to her place and see her car parked in the drive. That’s weird. Why isn’t she parked in the garage? Nan and Joe probably have another of their crafts taking up the space. Another reason why they should all move to Wayland Estate.
I shut down that line of thought pretty quickly. I’m hungry, and I don’t want to jeopardize my chance at breakfast by bringing up my new real estate purchase. The concern that my mom is still mad at me has me sitting in the car for a few extra moments.
“Nut up, King, and go face your mom.” I put on my game face and make my way to the front door.
For a moment, I don’t know if I should knock or not. But that’s ridiculous. She’s still my mom. I slide my key into the door and let myself in. The deliciousness of bacon and coffee hits my nose, and I consider begging her to forgive me.
A grin slides across my face because she’s clearly expecting me. I should’ve known she wouldn’t stay mad at me. She’s always said that I’m her one and only. Warm honey surrounds my heart at the memory of her crooning that to me when I was little and upset. It’s always been the two of us against the world. I inhale the delicious scents of breakfast, and the tightness in my chest unspools. My mom’s already forgiven me.
“Mornin’.”
I jerk my head to the right and see Duke sprawled in the big leather recliner where I usually sit when I stay at my mom’s. His hair’s a mess, and he’s wearing my robe, a pair of slippers, and eating a bowl of cereal.
In. My. Chair.
“What the hell, man?”
“I came by to see your mom yesterday, and she insisted I stay here.” He points down the hall with his spoon. “She said she had an extra room.” He pops a spoonful of cereal in his mouth and chews while he grins at me.
I’ve never wanted to hit someone as bad as I want to knock that stupid smirk off his face. “You’re sleeping in my bed?”
“Yep.” Still with the infuriating grin.
Nan comes into the room carrying a cup of coffee and hands it to my ex-best friend. “Can I get you anything else, Duke, darlin’?”
“I’m good, Nan. Thank you.” He points his spoon at her. “You should rest up. Don’t think I didn’t hear you and Joe last night.”
My grandmother flushes red as a tomato and giggles, while Joe, who’s sitting on the sofa, chokes on his coffee.
Duke winks at the old man. “You alright there, Joe? You old dog.”
Joe’s wheezing laughter fills the room. “You got that right.” At the same time Nan says, “Boy, you are so bad.”
Neither one of them acknowledges my presence. “Hello. I’m standing right here.”
“Oh, hello, Cash. How are you this morning?” Nan’s loving expression would soothe the insult I’ve walked into, if she wasn’t also draping an afghan over Duke’s legs.
I ignore her question and address the buffoon in the recliner. “You’re in my chair.”
“Am I?” Duke shovels another spoonful of cereal between his amused lips. I recognize the cranberry oat mixture. It’s the organic cereal that my mom orders especially for me.
I look around in case this is some colossal practical joke. “I’m tellin’ my mom.”
“Dude, she knows I’m here. Did you miss the part where she insisted I stay?”
His words barely register through the hurt and anger buzzing in my brain. My mom kicked me out, then let Duke stay in my bed … wear my robe … eat my cereal. The delectable breakfast I smell cooking is for him, not me.
I march to the kitchen. “Mom!”
She flips a pancake then turns to give me her attention. “What?”
I jab my finger in the direction of the living room.
Her focus goes back to the pancakes. “Use your words, Cash.”
Oh, my God, she’s actually baiting me. “He’s eating my cereal!” I pace away from her, then come back to her side. “You let him stay here, and you kicked me out? That’s low, Mom. Really low. I know you’re mad at me, but I’m your son.”
She doesn’t say anything for a long moment. But I can see the guilt swimming in her eyes. She did this on purpose. I knew she had, but it still hurts. Finally, she points to the table. “Sit down, honey. I’ll get you some food and we’ll talk. I have bacon.”
If she thinks she can smooth things over with me with bacon, then she’s pretty smart. She knows my weakness is food. Particularly bacon.
I’m having a real dilemma here. On one hand I’m insulted that she kicked me out and waltzed Duke right into the house. But on the other hand, I’m hungry, and I’m beginning to see how I might be able to use that fla
sh of guilt to my advantage. Plus, I love my mom and can’t stay mad at her or Duke for very long. So I sit.
She grips the back of the opposite chair with both hands. “You’re right, honey. I went too far, and I’m sorry.”
I chew on my lip. I’m not completely over it, but I can’t not forgive her. She’s forgiven me many, many times. “I know, Mom.”
She sits and places her hand over mine. “What can I do to make this right?”
“I don’t know. You don’t have to do anything.” This is where I shamelessly use this situation to my benefit.
“Yes, I do.” She stands and moves to the fridge. “Do you want some juice? I have that nice orange juice you like.”
“No, thanks. But maybe …”
“What?”
I lower my head and give it a shake. “Never mind.” My finger traces the woodgrain of the tabletop.
She places her warm fingers under my chin and raises my face to hers. “Anything.”
“Well, it’d be nice if you’d come and see Wayland Estate.” I barely resist pouting. But considering I’m a grown man, that seems a bit much.
She narrows her eyes at me. There’s no doubt that she knows what I’m doing—that’s why I don’t have a ton of guilt about it. She also knows she deserves it. “Of course, honey.”
“Yeah?”
“Yes. I’d love to.”
“Really?”
“Yes, you tell me when and what time, and I’ll be there. Now, let me get you some breakfast.”
Suddenly, I’m worried. What if she hates it? Nervous anxiety replaces the hunger gnawing at my belly. I need to get back to the house and make sure Tiger has it looking the best it can for my mom. The chair legs scrape along the floor, as I push to my feet. “I just remembered something I have to do.”
She wraps me in a hug. And even though her head hits me mid sternum, I’m enveloped in her embrace. The scent of spring flowers and pancake batter fills my head. “I am sorry, baby.”
I return the hug and let her hold me. Sometimes a boy just needs his mama. “I know, Mom. It’s okay.”
Her chin rests against my chest and she looks up into my face. “Don’t be mad at Duke.”
“Yeah, don’t be mad at Duke.” The traitor in question leans a shoulder against the doorway between the living room and the kitchen.
That’s not something I can agree to. The fucker knew exactly what he was doing. I flip him off behind my mom’s back.
He laughs and blows me a kiss. “I love you too, sweetheart. Have your candy ass at the gym at ten for workout.” Then he disappears down the hall.
“Alright, Mom, I’m going to go, but I’ll call you later with the details.”
“Okay. Bye, baby.”
Once I’m in my car, I punch the accelerator. I need to make sure everything is as perfect as it can be for my mom’s visit. I also need to tell Tiger that I seized the vandal’s supplies last night.
Two things hit me at once when I pull my car to a stop at the house. First, there aren’t any vehicles parked in the drive, and second, Tiger Lyons in yoga pants is a sight to behold. But I can’t truly enjoy the sight of her butt wrapped in spandex because of the first thing. Where is everyone?
My feet hit the gravel path leading to the back porch where my project manager is bent into a downward dog position. “Morning.”
She rotates her head to see me, and her flushed face nearly knocks me to my knees. She’s sweaty, her naked face is red from the yoga position, and still, she takes my breath away.
“Oh, hey.” Her body curls up to a standing position. “What’s up?”
For a moment, I’m mesmerized by a bead of sweat that rolls down her neck and into her cleavage.
She crooks an arm on her hip. “Awww, there’s nothing like being objectified first thing in the morning. It really gets the blood pumping.”
“Huh?”
She points to my face then to her chest.
Pin prickles of heat sting my neck and cheeks. Crap, I just got busted, and that doesn’t sit well with me at all. Not that I got caught, but that she’s right. I was ogling her. “Sorry.”
One shoulder lifts and lowers, then she grabs a towel from the back of a nearby chair. “What’s up with you?”
I shove my fingers into my hair. “I’m just … my mom said she’d come and see the house.”
“Really?”
“Yeah, and I need everything to be perfect.” I look around. “Where is everyone? Shouldn’t they be here by now?”
“They’re at another jobsite that we’re starting in a few days.”
Her tone is so casual that I have to replay the words again in my head. “What?”
“Donny won the bid on a project he’s wanted for years and put me in charge of finding the new crew. I gave him mine, and I’m getting a new one for this job.” She flips the top on her water bottle.
I follow the motion of her throat but instead of being captivated by it, all I want to do is wring her delicate neck. “You what?”
She seems to get that I’m less than pleased with the news of the last few moments, and stares at me with those ridiculously blue eyes. “I just told you.”
My hands slam onto my hips like a toddler about to throw a fit, which isn’t far from the truth. “So, what? We’re supposed to wait around until your leisurely schedule accommodates hiring a new crew? Why wasn’t I informed of this?”
She squares her shoulders and takes a step toward me. “First of all, you’re not my boss—”
“I own this house.”
“Second,” she continues, “if you have a problem with the way things are being run, then take it up with Donny. Third, the crew has been hired and will be here tomorrow. We won’t lose any time because we were ahead of schedule before this happened.” Another step into my space. “And fourth, let’s compare leisure schedules, shall we?” She swings the towel around and it nearly whacks me in the face. “If you’ll excuse me, I have real work to do.” The up and down perusal indicates that she’s evaluated me and found me very lacking.
“I’m not happy about this, and I will be speaking to Donny.”
Her phone is in her hand before the next word comes out of my mouth. She punches the number one on the keypad, and Donny’s name appears on the screen. “Leave it on the table next to my front door.” The phone drops into my hand, and I have to scramble to keep a hold of it.
“Hey, Tiger,” the disembodied voice of Donny Lewis comes through the line.
I fumble the phone but catch it before it falls and put it to my ear. “Donny. It’s Cash.”
“Where’s Tiger? Is she alright?”
“She’s fine.” I lean my good shoulder against the support pole of the back patio. “But I want to talk to you about her decision to give you the Wayland Estate crew and hire a new one for here.”
“Okay.” I can tell by the way he draws out the word that he’s not receptive to me questioning Tiger’s decision.
“I think it’s an irresponsible and shortsighted call. I need this house done before I leave town.”
“And it will be.”
“How? She’s taken the crew that knew everything about the job and replaced them with workers who will have to get up to speed. That can only prolong the project.”
“Have you asked her why she made that decision?” The words are ground out like rocks in a cement grinder.
“Well, no, but I did tell her that I was pretty unhappy with the decision.”
“You’re a moron.”
What the hell? “Do you talk to all your customers like this?”
“Only the ones acting like morons.” He spits out a gust of air. “Listen, Cash, talk to her. I’m sure she’ll explain everything to you. But in the meantime, I can assure you that she hired people who will be up to speed before you can pull your head out of your ass. I trust her, and you should too.”
“How can you know that?” But my question is met with silence. I glance at the phone and see he’s hung
up on me. That’s going in my Yelp review. These people need to learn a thing or two about customer service.
I make my way to Tiger’s, determined to get some answers, but when I knock on the door, there’s no reply. “Tiger. I know you’re in there. Open up.” All I hear in return is the music from inside the house being turned up so high it rattles the windows. The growl that rumbles up my throat is pure frustration. I place the phone on the table and notice a vase of flowers sitting there. It’s the arrangement I had Helen send as an apology. The card is on one of those plastic stick things, but the first part of my message isn’t legible because Tiger’s written over the I’m sorry part with a red marker and replaced it with You’re still.
So, it now reads, You’re still an ass.
Twenty-Four
Tiger
“After the day I’ve had, this is the last place I want to be.”
“Would you like some cheese with that whine?” Maggie shoves me in the back. “Now, move it. We’re going to be late.”
“Fine.” I yank open the door to the Clayton room at the community center where the committee for the Ryder Days event is meeting. The room is already full, and Carmon Allen, the chairperson for the event, is walking to the podium.
“Here,” Maggie whisper-yells as she takes a seat in the last row.
I drop into the chair next to her like there are weights tied to my body. I don’t even know why we’re here. Carmon’s refused to delegate any of the major responsibilities. The only tasks she’s given up are things like parking, volunteer coordination, and cleanup. Maggie and I are the volunteer coordinators.
“Glad you all could make it.” Carmon directs her comment to me.
Carmon was the other senior I beat when I won homecoming queen, and she’s never quite gotten over the loss. Sad really, considering how little it actually meant to me. Especially because the two reasons I wanted to win—to get closer to Cash and gain my parents’ approval—blew up in my face.
I give Carmon the syrupiest smirk I can muster. Kill ’em with kindness.
Homecoming King Page 14