“Bad vodka?” Allie asked. “Did you have one of your brother’s shots?”
Jackson kept ordering various shots, trying to outdrink Thatcher, using going to the bar as an excuse to talk to the pretty blonde, but where Jackson got progressively more lit, Thatcher acted like he was throwing back sweet tea.
“No,” Micah said weakly, fanning herself again. “Just the two whiskeys. And Gabi’s pizza.”
“You had pizza?” Drew asked. “Thanks for inviting.”
“Gabi ordered it to stay home, but I made her come so we ate it in the car,” Micah said.
“You ate it in the car,” I said. “I was too—” I stopped myself. “I just wasn’t hungry.”
“You weren’t coming?” Thatcher asked, the mischief in his eyes telling me he knew why.
“Nope,” I said, giving him a full-on look, chin up.
“Scared?” he whispered.
Oh, the nerve. I let a grin pull at my lips so that his eyes would drop there.
“Smart,” I mouthed.
He chuckled and turned away.
“I planned on a movie night for the last night of normal in my house,” I said. “Your sister kidnapped me and ate all my pizza.”
“My siblings tend to do that,” he said, with a pointed look at Jackson, who gave him an inebriated version of innocence. “Eat everything. Drink everything. Don’t clean up after themselves.”
“Hey,” Micah said with a frown.
“You’ll miss me when I’m gone,” Jackson said, pulling out his phone when it dinged. Glancing at it, his brows furrowed, and he knocked back another large gulp of his drink.
“Slow that down,” Thatcher said.
“What, so you can keep up?”
“No, so you can drive us home,” Thatcher said. “What’s going on?” he asked, nodding toward Jackson’s phone.
“Nothing,” Jackson said, his fingers tapping out a text. “My neighbor’s letting me know there’s some guys hanging around.”
“That’s not good,” Micah said, leaning forward, blinking to focus.
“He’s the sheriff, he’ll take care of it,” Jackson said, his thumbs still tapping.
“The sheriff lives next door to you?” Drew asked.
Jackson smirked as he finished up. “Sometimes it has its perks.”
“Mayor Anderson!” said a shrill voice behind me that made me jump and groan, and every other woman at the table grimace. A tall, buxom redhead with a cloud of perfume and body glitter that seemed to waft in her wake clomped around the table on three-inch heels to side-hug Bash and Nick’s heads at one time. The size of her chest made it look as if she had four boobs. “How are two of my favorite guys tonight? Are you drinking on the house tonight, Mayor?” She giggled. “It’s so weird to call you that.”
“Yeah, it’s still hard to get used to,” Bash said, raking his dark hair back after she’d messed it up. “No, I’m paying like everyone else. How’s it going, Kat?”
She had a gold nametag pinned to her shirt.
“Are you working here now?” I asked her.
Katrina Bowman was a slut of all trades. Married to the female version of her, Alan Bowman, a sleazeball with a car salesman smile, she tended to land herself in various roles, from party-thrower, to jewelry-maker, to an independent event planner, to evidently now a bar waitress.
Last year, she’d thrown herself at Nick, prompting Lanie to flash her boobs at her in public to back her down. She’d hit on Bash for years, drooled all over Sully when he first came back to town, made sure to drape herself over Leo routinely when he and Micah got here, and was now eyeing Thatcher and Jackson like new meat she needed to sink her pointy little teeth into.
“Part time, yes,” she said, flashing said teeth. “I still have my event planning business and it’s doing fabulously,” she emphasized. “But until I build a more significant customer base, I need to supplement a tiny bit.”
“Awesome,” Lanie said, deadpan, and Katrina cut her eyes briefly in Lanie’s direction. There was no love lost there.
“After last summer’s speed dating event they held here, and the karaoke night that stuck, the manager here decided that having me on staff to bring in venues would be an asset,” she said.
“I’ll bet,” Allie said sweetly, leaning her elbows on the table.
“So, I suggested to the ladies over there that they should book their game nights here,” Katrina said. “And here they are!”
“Here they are.” I nodded. “Did we lose our other waitress?”
Allie snickered and I clamped my lips shut. Oops.
“So, introduce me to your friends,” Katrina said after shooting me a not-so-nice look, drawing out the last word in a sing-songy voice.
“Not friends,” Micah said, pushing her drink away. “My brothers, Thatcher and Jackson.”
“Thanks a lot,” Jackson said, nudging her. “And why am I always second? J comes before T.”
“Age before beauty,” Thatcher said.
Jackson pointed at him, his eyes starting to have the heavy blinking affliction of the greatly inebriated. “That must be it. I am the pretty one.” He looked over his shoulder at his new friend, who was indeed agreeing with every ounce of feminine body language.
Katrina zeroed in on Thatcher, however, with all the subtlety of a train wreck. “You’re both pretty,” she said, smiling at Thatcher, her hands still on Nick’s and Bash’s shoulders. Warmth like a thousand suns heated my back as his hand moved up to the back of my neck and pulled me closer. Possessively. Protectively. Or maybe it was playfully, and just all part of his game tonight. Ugh.
Drew narrowed her eyes with a little head tilt at me. I’d explained the whole fake date thing the first time one of the ladies made a comment, but she was studying more than I preferred.
Katrina caught the move, too, her keen eyes absorbing more than her ditzy manner advertised.
“Yeah, Mrs. Boudreaux said you were back in the saddle, Gabi,” she said, doing a little circular move with her hips as my jaw hit the table. “Way to go.”
“Oh my God,” Allie said, laughing behind her hand.
“Seriously,” Lanie whispered under her breath.
“I—there’s no—” I stammered. “Saddles. We’re just on a date.”
“Third date,” Audrey Mason said, as she scooted past us, her Bunko shirt blinged out with rhinestones so it looked like her boobs were glowing. She giggled as she patted my shoulder. Audrey was one of the drugstore Masons, and perpetually giggled or laughed in every situation or conversation. I always suspected she was a little too happy to be normal. “We’re so happy for you, Gabi. You know, with that hideous wedding going on and all.”
Katrina put her hands on her hips.
“Dixie’s wedding is not hideous,” she said. “I’m doing it myself. Not that the Graham’s was any help in a pinch.”
I opened my mouth to ask her if she’d lost her mind, but Drew beat me to it.
“Excuse me?” Drew said, finger combing her dark hair back. “Did you really expect us to take that job? I mean seriously.”
Lanie chuckled. “It explains so much.”
Katrina leveled a look at her, ignoring Drew. “Meaning?”
“Meaning finding out that you’re doing it,” Lanie said. “Cheap. Gaudy. Embarrassing.”
“Don’t poke the beast,” Nick whispered through unmoving lips.
“I don’t care, I’m pregnant,” Lanie said. “The only time in my life I can say exactly what I want and get away with it.” She smiled back up at Katrina, who had gone redder than her fake hair. “Go away, Kat.”
“I hope your baby comes out with fangs and talons and tears your tits apart,” Katrina spat.
Lanie raised her eyebrows, at a loss for a comeback for a few seconds. “Well, I’ll give you points for originality,
anyway. Thank you, Kat, I’ll be sure to send it to your house afterward.”
Katrina stormed away, extra sass popping her hips. Something about her doing Dixie and Bart’s wedding and knowing it would be a hot mess and would horrify Mrs. Dartwell, and make poor little perfect pregnant Dixie cry—made me feel better. I was probably going to hell for that. Then again, that wasn’t even the worst of my sins lately.
“Guess she’s not taking our order,” Bash said, amusement dancing on his face. “Man, I know I’m supposed to like everybody now, but she just drives me crazy.”
“You just have to like people to their face,” Allie said, kissing his. “No one can be expected to really like the Bowmans.”
“Here here,” Nick said, holding up his drink.
I held up my drink and toasted her retreat, sucking in a deep breath as Thatcher pulled my head to him.
Jesus. Yeah. This was the worst.
“I’m getting another beer,” he said against my ear, sending warmth and all kinds of naughty sensations traveling warp speed over my entire body. “Do you want anything?”
A chuckle escaped my lips at the double entendre, and I slid my hand to his thigh under the table as I turned to face him. His mouth was closer than I expected, my hand landed higher than I intended, and his low growl of barely restrained lust was thankfully covered by background music and one of the ladies across the room yelling Bunko! at the top of her lungs.
Bunko, indeed.
Micah leaned forward, grimacing as she did but looking over at us with an eyebrow quirked. “You two sure are taking this pretend dating thing to a believable level.”
Oh, she had no idea. Hell, and all that.
I chuckled again, forcing myself to pull back from his face, his grip, the hard-on pushing against the side of my little finger.
“Go big or go home, you know?” I said breathily, pulling my clingy shirt away from my chest just in case my very turned-on nipples decided to rip my bra open.
He laughed, sounding like he was in pain, and shifted a little in his chair, moving his focus to his sister. I was doing the opposite, as my sister had her eagle-eyed stare going, and I didn’t dare meet it. It was like friggin’ x-ray vision.
“You okay?” he asked. “Need me to get you something?”
Jackson glanced at Micah as well, and rubbed her back. “Are you sure you aren’t having a baby, too?”
“That would be a shocker,” Micah said, stroking her throat.
“Oh hell, see that move?” Thatcher said, pointing at her. Micah froze, mid-stroke, and stared at him.
“What?”
“You used to do that when you were little right before you’d puke.”
She elbowed him and frowned. “Stop it, I’m not gonna puke.”
“And she did some doozies,” Jackson said. “Remember that time at the pool—”
“Can we please stop talking about it?” Micah said, patting her face again.
“Mom was so mad,” he continued. “She had that brand new sun thing.”
“It was a swimsuit cover-up,” Micah said. “It was cotton and polyester and perfectly washable, not made out of spun gold. But everyone placated her like they always did, letting her make me—the sick child—into the bad guy.”
“Someone sounds like a child right now,” Thatcher said.
“Seriously?” she said, turning sideways in her chair. “You’re still taking up for her, even now.”
“And you’re still bitching about her,” he said. “Honestly, Micah, let it go.”
“Okay,” Lanie said, beginning to push out of her seat. “Maybe you need a Coke to settle your stomach.”
And change the subject. The tension was getting uncomfortable.
“Let me go,” Nick said, scraping his chair back and laying a hand on her shoulder.
“I’ll go with you,” Bash said, rising as well.
“My God, it’s like pack mentality,” Allie said, watching them walk up to the bar together again. Even Thatcher glanced back as if he were missing out on something important. “And they say women do things in groups.”
As Nick and Bash left the table and chatting commenced, Lanie and Allie agreeing on probably heading out soon, and Jackson wandering off again to watch his pretty friend flip her hair and flash cleavage, Thatcher reached under the table and found my hand.
My heart fluttered in my chest as he placed my hand back on his leg and loosely held it with his. High enough on his thigh to be hot. Familiar enough to be comfortable.
Comfortable.
This game was getting riskier by the second.
CHAPTER TWELVE
Micah got greener by the second as well. Even in the weird orangey light, it was clear that her pallor was not good.
“Hey, why don’t we go?” I asked her. “You need to go home and—”
“Nah, just give it a minute,” Thatcher said. “See if the Coke works.”
Nick had come back with a Coke for her, and although both Lanie and Allie grabbed their things like they were ready to leave, he and Bash casually mentioned staying a bit longer. My spidey senses went up.
Even though none of my senses could truly be trusted at that particular moment, what with the holding hands two inches from Thatcher’s dick. In secret. I could feel the heat of his body through his jeans, and his fingers were drawing tiny random little lines on the sides of mine. It was maddening. I concentrated on that feeling. Maddening. Sensuous. Sexy. All the things that added up to not comfortable. I could just pull my hand away and get out of the predicament all together, but I didn’t seem capable of doing that.
Still, something was up with the males at the table. Usually Nick and Bash were much more in tune with what their women wanted to do, Micah was ill, and with Lanie’s situation, Nick would have normally gotten her out of there an hour ago.
“Excuse me, can—”
“Bunko!” screamed a lady behind me, cutting off whoever was talking on the mike.
The voice laughed. “Congratulations, Miss Mavis.”
“What’s Leo doing at the microphone?” Micah asked.
Leo stood on the tiny stage that held the musical sound equipment, looking way out of place up there with the mic in his hand, shifting his weight from side to side.
He was a larger, rougher version of his brother, Nick, and where he had the hands of a performance artist when it came to slinging drinks, right now he looked like he was about to drop the microphone.
“Hey, I need just a minute of your time if y’all don’t mind,” he said, his deep voice rumbling through the room as it quieted. He smiled endearingly at the room, and I glanced over at Micah. She looked as befuddled as she did weak. “If you don’t know me, I’m Leo McKane, and—”
Appreciative female hoots and whistles went off all over the room, and he stopped to laugh. Micah grinned and rolled her eyes, and Nick clapped and hollered with them, setting off an ear piercing whistle that made Lanie duck.
“What is he doing?” I whispered to Micah, but she just shrugged in confusion.
“Thank you,” Leo said, laughing. “Um—I’m not one to get up in front of people much, unless I have a shot glass or shaker in my hand, and I’m not as eloquent as I’ve heard my brother be, but I have something to say tonight.”
Another round of applause that didn’t really seem to have a purpose other than making noise, but it appeared to make Leo relax.
“Bear with me,” he said. “This was supposed to be later, but there’s a change in plans. I only have a five-minute break right now, so I need to make every second count.” He cleared his throat. “Less than a year ago, I came rolling into Charmed with a large chip on my shoulder and a hot mess on the back of my bike.”
Laughter rippled through the crowd, and Micah laughed in spite of herself.
“Under a giant white dress and a t
on of attitude and baggage, was this beautiful, amazing woman,” he said, looking straight at Micah.
As if on cue, Thatcher, Nick, and Bash rose from their chairs (me yanking back my hand) and lifted Micah from hers.
“What the heck?” she said.
She literally wobbled on her feet, and Thatcher caught her, sweeping her up into his arms and carrying her up to the stage, followed dutifully by Nick and Bash, Nick grabbing a random chair on the way as the crowd cheered.
Setting Micah in the chair and then all of them bowing with a little flourish and backing away like it was synchronized, the room erupted in clapping and hollering. The Bunko ladies were shrieking.
“Oh my God,” I gasped, one hand clapping over my mouth.
“Oh my God oh my God oh my God!” Lanie exclaimed, grabbing Allie’s shoulder in one hand and Drew’s in the other, who were both watching as gape-mouthed as Micah was.
She didn’t even look aware of the crowd as she stared up at Leo. One hand clutched her stomach, and one rubbed her throat.
“Oh no, don’t throw up,” I whispered. I reached back to grab Lanie’s hand. “Pray she doesn’t throw up!”
“I love you, you crazy woman,” Leo said, running a shaking finger along her cheek. “You’ve taught me how to do that. How to love. How to trust. How to believe in another person. The day you climbed on my bike was the beginning of the rest of my life. This journey with you is forever. If you’ll have me.”
He sunk to one knee.
“He’s on one knee!” Lanie squeaked.
“Holy shit!” I choked. “Hurry up! Don’t throw up, Micah!”
Micah had tears streaming down her face as the whole room did a collective gasp and scream, alternatively shushing each other and whooping.
“Micah Lea Roman,” Leo said, his voice shaking either with nerves or emotion or both. “Will you—”
“Yes!” she shrieked, clapping a hand over her mouth.
“Marry me?” he finished, laughing.
Micah was nodding almost fanatically, her hand still over her—
Oh no.
“Yes,” she squeaked out, still nodding, just before she lurched over to her right, away from Leo, and hurled for all she was worth.
A Charm Like You Page 13