Twist of Fate

by Louise, Tia

  “Hey, big boy!” I drop to a knee, scrubbing his neck.

  He lifts his chin, closing his eyes as he breathes a loud purr. I’m about to get started when a banging at the back door makes me jump.

  I’ve been the only person living here since Valentine’s Day, when my aunt remarried, and I’m not expecting any visitors.

  “Sly?” A deep, male voice rolls through the kitchen, and I’m on my feet at once, smoothing my hands down the front of my dirty overalls and pushing my hair back. “Anybody home?”

  The voice grows louder as it gets closer. Whoever just walked right in is headed in this direction fast.

  Clearing my throat, I stand on the bottom stair behind the massive mahogany banister post. “Who’s there?”

  “It’s me, Scout. Ms. Regina said you might need some… help.”

  He rounds the corner, and his voice trails off when our eyes meet. Scout Dunne.

  I haven’t seen him since high school, and he hasn’t changed a bit—which means I’m momentarily struck dumb.

  In an instant, I take him in, tall, slim, impossibly gorgeous with messy, surfer hair and bright blue eyes. As always, he’s in jeans and a tee. Today it’s light blue, stretching across his broad chest and making his eyes glow even brighter. I didn’t even know that was possible.

  His biceps are perfectly rounded, and lines of muscle trace his forearms. He’s an anatomical marvel with a killer smile and the most impossible dimple in his cheek.

  My cheeks get hot when I realize I’m staring. Only, he seems a little off balance as well.

  “Daisy?” His voice is quiet confusion. “What are you doing here?”

  “I was going to ask you the same thing.”

  He extends a large hand, and the memory of his strong grip holding my waist as we danced at homecoming flashes through my mind. I shove that memory away and grab the reins.

  I’m acting like a silly school girl. All that was a long time ago, and it’s not like anything happened. We were just friends.

  “I’m helping Aunt Regina fix up the place. She’s turning it into a bed and breakfast.”

  His dark brow furrows over those sexy eyes as he looks around. “She told me Sly needed help moving shit.”

  My cousin started out wanting to be a florist, but not just any florist, mind you. Sly wanted to be the kind that decorates massive floats for parades and floral statues as centerpieces for balls and corporate events.

  She did a couple for our high school dances and sporting events, which required hauling and welding scrap metal. It’s why Scout and J.R. were with us in Owen Pepper’s junkyard that day years ago.

  “I doubt my aunt said shit.”

  “Okay.” He winks. My panties heat. “She didn’t say that exactly, but she told me to come over and help out.”

  “Why are you always moving things for my cousin? I thought you were at Clemson.”

  His lips curl into a playful grin—the one that leaves a trail of swooning females in his wake. “Trust me, I don’t know how I got roped into this gig. I’m home for a few weeks before I go to LA. Your aunt called my gran and said I needed to come here.”

  His grandmother… My aunt’s best friend.

  I wonder what those two old biddies are scheming. They can think again, because the last thing I’m doing is staying in Fireside.

  “Well, it’s just me here, and I don’t need help moving anything.”

  He studies me a beat before turning his attention to Cosmo. “Hey, big guy. Are you helping this grumpy lady out?”

  “I am not grumpy.” I cross my arms over my chest, but it’s more of a defensive posture.

  He takes a knee on the stairs to scratch the enormous feline around the ears. Cosmo purrs even louder, and I try to remember what I was doing before this sexy stroll down memory lane appeared.

  “Why are you still here?” He glances up at me, and it’s a squeeze in my chest.

  “I’m not still here. I graduated from USC in December, and I’ve been helping Aunt Regina with this place while I look for a job.”

  “I can’t believe it’s been four years.” Blue eyes travel from my cheeks to my hair and around to my lips. “You’re still wearing your hair that way.”

  When we were in high school, Sly cut my stick-straight blonde hair into a pixie-bob right at my ears and showed me how to sleep on pin curls at night to give it a little wave. It made my otherwise stringy locks a little more interesting.

  “It’s easy.” I shrug, not knowing what else to say.

  “It’s cute.” He pushes off the stair and rises to his full six-foot-two height, almost a foot taller than me, then he frowns. “What happened here?”

  He touches my arm, and I look down to see the bright red gash across my skinny bicep. “Oh,” I exhale a little laugh. “Hazards of the trade. That rooster got me with his beak.”

  “What rooster?”

  “This one.” He follows me into the kitchen, where the metal sculpture is positioned behind the table. “I had to carry it in the house from my Bronco. He’s kind of awkward.”

  “So, you do need some help.”

  “Fifteen minutes ago.”

  “Well, I can at least doctor your arm. Where’s the first aid kit?”

  “It’s really not necessary.” Shaking my head, I look down at the slightly raised scrape. “I’ll wash it in the shower. It’s fine.”

  “Never mind, I remember where it is.”

  He takes off down the hall towards the half bath, and I chew my lip as I watch his tight, perfectly square ass move in those jeans. How is it possible for one man to be so fine?

  The noise of cabinets opening and closing precedes his calling out, “Found it!”

  Returning to the kitchen, he guides me to the chair to sit while he takes out a small tube of Neosporin and a long gauze pad. His nails are neatly trimmed, and I can’t help noticing his fingers are slim and elegant. I guess it’s why he’s so good at catching the football all the time.

  Every touch is a little sizzle of electricity. His brow furrows as he smears ointment on the scratch then covers it with gauze, taping the sides loosely.

  He smells like he always did—citrusy soap, fresh linen, spicy man. His cheekbones are like flint, and I remember the time I considered sneaking a photo of him on the chance it would be really valuable one day. I still think it might.

  “That isn’t going to stay on my arm.” I look down at the gauze barely hanging onto my skin.

  “It’ll protect it while the medicine soaks in. The antibiotic will kill any germs.”

  “You’re pretty good at this.”

  He blinks up at me, and when our eyes meet, it tightens my core. “I’ve had my share of injuries.”

  It’s an odd confession, but I let it go. I can’t imagine Scout Dunne has ever been hurt in his life.

  “Well…” I exhale, slapping my palms against my thighs as I stand. “It’s good to see you again. I was just about to head up and take a shower.”

  He stands and slides his hands into his back pockets, stretching that tee so nicely across his chest. “You going to be around for a few days? Maybe we can get together or something.”

  I’m momentarily startled. Is he asking me out? Do I want that?

  Focus, Daisy.

  “Ah… I’ve got to finish up this job. Then I’m hoping to get on with Antiques Today.”

  “I don’t know what that is.”

  “It’s this company that has like a magazine and a podcast and they do like antiques shows and appraisals.” I realize I sound like a total amateur right now. “I have a friend who works with them. I’m hoping he can help me get a job.”

  Scout’s chin lifts, and he studies me a moment. The way his blue eyes move around my face is distinctly different from how it feels when Spencer does it.

  When Scout looks at me with that mixture of curiosity and interest, every hair on my body rises. Heat sparkles beneath my skin.

  Which is ridiculous. I have no chance with som
eone like him, and even if there was the remotest possibility I did, I’m not staying here to find out. Neither is he for that matter.

  “Okay. Maybe I’ll see you around.” He crosses the kitchen, returning to the door where he entered. “Maybe I’ll stop by and see if you need any help moving shit. Keep you from getting any more injuries.”

  “I think sometimes injuries are part of the process.”

  “They don’t have to be.”

  One last grin, a last flash of that impossible dimple, and he slips out the door as fast as he appeared. I collapse against the wall, doing my best to remember how to breathe. My heart is beating so fast, and it’s so silly.

  I’m smart. I’m focused, and I’m not getting sidetracked. Or distracted, no matter how tempting Scout Dunne might be. I don’t need his help.

  Two

  Scout

  “You turned down the Chiefs?” My brother leans against the bar, and I watch as he picks at the label on his Imperial lager.

  J.R. is only a year older than me, but he’s darker, quieter. He keeps to himself, and I’m pretty sure I’m the only person he talks to when he needs to get something off his chest, which is rare. He’s not in that mood tonight, even though it’s been a while since we’ve talked.

  A live band is playing behind us, and we’re at the Tuna Tiki, an old-school beach hangout in Oceanside, about fifteen minutes from home. It’s early May, a month before the tourists will start jamming up the place, getting drunk, and making it too obnoxious to hang.

  I’m not hating. I’m just saying tonight I prefer it like this, when we’re pretty much the only people here.

  I take a pull of my Corona. “I didn’t like their offer.”

  “Didn’t like it?” He glances up at me with those blue eyes, same as mine. “I heard they offered you starting quarterback.”

  “Quarterback.” I exhale a bitter laugh as I look towards the stage. “You’re the quarterback. I’m the receiver.”

  “You could play whatever you wanted. Hell, you probably still sleep with a football under your head.”

  “You turned them down first. Why are you busting my balls?”

  “I turned them down because Becky got pregnant.” He adjusts the cap on his head, but he’s still not smiling. “I didn’t want to be gone all the time. I wanted to be a dad.”

  “Yeah, that’s what you said.”

  Becky St. John was the bitchy head cheerleader when we were in high school, and now she’s a bitchy sister-in-law. I’m pretty sure she only wanted to be with my brother because he was the star quarterback. She’s a walking cliché.

  Still, she held onto him through college, even though I know he would’ve ended things if she hadn’t turned up pregnant last year, his senior year at Clemson. Everybody said she did it to hold onto him because she thought he was going pro. I only know it takes two to tango, and nobody was holding a gun to his head.

  He’s a damn good dad, though. Works hard, takes Jesse everywhere, while Princess Becky lounges around the house or complains if he wants to do anything like hang out with me for an hour or two on a Tuesday night.

  Jesse James Dunne makes up for everything, my brother likes to say. I’m happy for him being a dad and all, but they don’t look like a happily ever after to me. Not that it’s my business—unless he wants it to be.

  He’s looking dark, so I shove his shoulder. “Well, I’m not interested in your sloppy seconds offer. It’s not my position.”

  I learned that loud and clear senior year when coach tried to follow up our state championship by sticking me as quarterback. We didn’t win a single game.

  “You had a shitty team.”

  “They weren’t shitty. I don’t have your arm.” Picking at the label, I think about those years we played together and won. Every. Single. Game. “It’s not the same without you.”

  He doesn’t answer, and all this dragging up senior year causes my thoughts to go to Daisy Sales and our run-in this afternoon.

  I thought for sure she’d be long gone by now. Hell, when we were seniors, all she ever talked about was getting out of Fireside. It was the one thing we had in common.

  Today, when I walked in that door and saw her in those giant overalls with her short blonde hair curling around her ears, I almost forgot why I was there.

  She’s cute as ever, with those smart brown eyes sizing me up. She’s the only girl I’ve ever known who wasn’t falling over herself trying to suck my dick. She’s sassy and cute, like one of those pixies. Tinkerbell or something.

  She’s also focused and serious and always knows the right answer, even if she does that thing where her face gets all red when we talk. I don’t know what to make of it, but it’s cute as fuck.

  “What are you grinning about?” My brother’s sharp voice snaps me out of my daydream.

  Clearing my throat, I signal the bartender. “I wasn’t grinning.”

  “You were.” J.R. pushes off the bar. “I’m taking off. I said I’d be back in an hour.”

  “What’s Becky’s problem? Jesse was asleep when we left.”

  “Doesn’t matter.”

  “We’ve only had one beer.” I start after him. “How’s it going with Dad?”

  He exhales a bitter chuckle, and I can guess. Those two are oil and water. They have been since Mom died.

  “Jesse’s doing good? I need to get over and see him.”

  “He’s good.” That gets me a brief smile. “Being a dad is the best thing I’ve done.”

  With that he heads for the door, and I’m left feeling shitty for talking about football and walking away from it just like he did. Or maybe I’m still self-conscious about my reasons, wondering if they’re dumb. My brother walked away to be a dad. I’m headed to Hollywood.

  J.R. would never tell me what not to do, but I’m sure he has his doubts just like everybody else. Everybody except one person…

  “Want me to walk you out?” I start to go, but just as I stand, I see something that knocks the wind out of me.

  A hostess leads Daisy through the restaurant and out to the patio where the band is playing.

  In the light-blue twilight, she seems to glow. She’s wearing a strapless yellow dress that flairs out at her waist. Her hair is in curls around her ears, and tonight, instead of glossy pink, her lips are deep red, full and kissable.

  My cock stirs in my pants as I imagine them puckered around the tip of my dick. I don’t know where that mental image came from, but I like it a lot.

  Right behind her is a guy dressed in a tan suit. He’s about my height, and his dark brown hair is cut short and smoothed back from his face. He puts his hand on her lower back like she belongs to him—and I don’t like that.

  My brother signs the check then pauses, glancing from me to where my eyes are drawn like magnets to her.

  He puts a hand on my shoulder. “Stay. It’s early.”

  Swallowing the thickness in my throat, I grind my jaw. “I’d better go. I’m only here for two weeks.”

  “What’s wrong with having a fun two weeks?”

  Blinking up, I meet his eyes. He’s a year older than me, but sometimes it feels like we can read each other’s minds like twins. We’ve been this way since Mom died, since Dad only saw us as a gravy train he rode all the way to the bank.

  “More like playing with fire.”

  “You never get over the one that got away.”

  “She didn’t get away. She was never mine.” My voice is quiet. “It was only one dance.”

  “Even worse.”

  He grins, shaking his head as he starts to go, but I’m right behind him. “Do you ever feel like you’re being pulled in two directions?”

  “All the time.” Stopping at the exit, he catches my shoulder. “Night, bro.”

  With that, he gives me a slight nudge away from him, back into the bar. “I came here for you.”

  “You’ll have time for me.”

  He’s gone, and I’m standing in the middle of the patio with the
band playing to my left. Daisy looks up from the table, and her eyes flare when they meet mine. A flush of color fills her cheeks.

  I figure I might as well make the most of this. Walking to the table where they sit, I slip a hand in the pocket of my jeans. I’m still wearing what I had on this afternoon at her aunt’s house.

  “I didn’t expect to see you here.” Holding out a hand to her date, I smile. “Scout Dunne. Daisy and I went to high school together.”

  “Senior year,” she quickly corrects me, seeming nervous. “It was just one year.”

  The guy’s brow furrows, but he shakes my hand. “Spencer Carrollton. Charleston.”

  He’s a dick. I can tell by the way he says his name, he’s more interested in himself than in her, and I’m curious why they’re even here together.

  “Are you working in Oceanside?” Maybe he’s a developer.

  “No.” He seems offended by the suggestion. “This young lady asked for my expert advice then completely ignored it. I’m only here for the night.”

  Perfect.

  “Then you won’t mind if I ask her to dance? This is our song, isn’t it?”

  Daisy’s mouth drops open. The band is playing “Red, Red Wine,” which I happen to know she hates, but I want to talk to her. I want to know if she’ll say yes.

  “Of course not.” Charleston waves us away. “I’ll order wine and this Love Boat combination platter.”

  “Just no crunchy or creamy,” she says, and I cover her hand with mine, leading her to the small dance floor where two other couples are swaying side to side.

  Daisy’s stiff as I put my hand on her waist, holding her other hand in mine. She doesn’t meet my eyes. Instead, she focuses on my shoulder, not smiling. She’s working so hard to pretend she’s uncomfortable, I can’t resist.

  “Who’s the douche?”

  Brown eyes snap to mine. “He’s not a douche. Spencer is the friend I told you about. I’m hoping he’ll get me a job at Antiques Today.”

  Just what I needed to know. “He’s a douche, and you don’t need his help. You’ve always been smart enough to make your own way.”

  The song is just slow enough that I can slide my hand a little further around her waist, moving her closer to my chest. Her small breasts rise and fall faster, brushing the hardness of my chest and filling my mind with dirty thoughts. I want to back her into the shadows and ruin that red lipstick.