Drop Dead Lola
Page 22
I knew my cheeks were bright red. “But I didn’t pose! I got the call about Marnie coming out of her coma. Megan took them while I wasn’t looking.”
“They look like movie stills,” he said, then scrolled to the third and final shot. This one was in black and white. Megan had caught the movement of me walking away. My hair swayed. The robe had slipped down off one shoulder revealing a sliver of skin. He was right. It did look like it was a still shot from a movie. If I had to put a word out there to describe it, I’d say the image was haunting.
He scrolled back to the top of the email and read the message from Megan Watner, Photographer.
Lola, I had to share these with you. You are a natural. I hope you’ll come back when you have more time. Leti and the others all seem so excited about theirs and happy with the results. I’d love to photograph you properly.
Best,
Meg
Jack looked at me. “Leti took boudoir shots?” Shock laced his words.
“It took some doing, but yeah, she did. And the pole dancing. Oh my God, she loved that!” I slapped my hand over my mouth. I did not mean to tell him about the pole dancing.
He raised his eyebrows at me. “Did you say pole dancing?”
“Lucy and Elli planned the bachelorette day. It, uh, started with pole dancing lessons, then the boudoir photos, then dinner and drinks and…I don’t know what else. I missed the rest of it.”
“What do you say to a personal show?” he asked with a suggestive smile.
I stammered. “In front of you?”
His smile grew. “Who else?”
I shook my head. “Oh no, no, no. I can’t do that.”
Could I?
I could dance in risqué outfits with the Sacramento Royals in front of an arena full of people, I could dart around a nudist resort almost sin ropa, and I could dress as a sexy school girl for a Halloween party, but I didn’t know if I could give Jack a private pole dancing show.
He slid his arm around my shoulders and lowered his lips to my neck. “Mmm, are you sure?”
Was I?
“It could be fun,” he murmured against my skin.
I shivered. It could.
Father Barry pronounced Leticia and Mark Landry husband and wife at 3:33 in the afternoon. Leti, I knew, would consider that a good omen. Not as good as it might have been if it had happened at, say, 11:11, pues she was still going to interpret the three-three-three as good luck.
The reception hall bloomed with shimmery balloons, twinkling lights, white table cloths, and floral arrangements on each table. It was straight out of a John Hughes movie set. She was radiant. Or really, I thought, she was glowing. I didn’t think I’d ever seen her happier than she looked right this very minute.
“Hey. Lola.”
I turned as Antonio sauntered over to me. “Hey, hermano.”
He looked me up and down, smirking. “Nice dress. Did you rob a cotton candy truck?”
I glared at him, resisting the urge to smack him. Somehow I managed to force a smile instead. I’d do anything for my family, including wearing the dress my cousin had picked out. “Didn’t have to. It came right from the bridal shop.”
“Lucky you. Looks like it should be in one of those Brat Pack movies you guys used to watch.”
He’d hit the nail on the head with that one. “Shouldn’t you be manning the buffet?”
“Did the dress scare Jack?”
This time my will won out over my self-restraint and I backhanded him on the arm. “You’re hilarious.”
“And you miss me,” he said.
If he’d been smug about it, I would have backhanded him again, but he wasn’t. His smile was almost sentimental and softened the bad boy look his goatee gave him. And, curse him. He was right. I did miss the guy. He was living his life, cooking at the restaurant and Netflix and chillin’ at his cool downtown apartment while I was living the dream as a PI, but also still living under my parents’ roof.
Jack sidled up, a plate of food in his hand. He clapped Antonio on his back. “Good food, man.”
Antonio beamed. “I know, right? The margarita quesadillas are muy delicioso, eh? The lime and butter make it.”
“Yeah, man, but the black bean nachos.” He pulled a chip free and popped it in his mouth. “Dynamite.”
Someone clinked a wine glass. We turned to see my tío Nacho, Leti’s dad, standing at the front of the room with a lifted champagne glass in his hand. The room fell silent as my uncle launched into a heartfelt speech about his baby growing up and marrying a gringo. That got a good laugh, but tía Roselia blinked back tears. She swatted tío Nacho. “Cállate, viejo. This is Leti’s wedding…and Mark, he is a good man,” she said.
“Por supuesto, mi amor.” Tío Nacho bent down and muttered something to her, brushed his lips over her cheek, then stood tall again and looked at Mark and Leti. “Me? I am an old man. Well, not that old, pero old.”
People laughed and he continued. “I have raised my daughters. Mark, Leticia is in your hands now. And Leticia, you are a good woman, m’ija. You take care of each other, yes? You will have a long and happy time together—” He gave tía Roselia a wink. “—like your mother and me.”
If it were my father talking at my wedding, he’d be saying that my husband was one lucky man to have won my heart, and he’d be telling me to be strong and stay true to myself. I’d started—finally—to wear my mother down about my independence, but my dad? He knew who I was. Tío Nacho was old-fashioned, but my dad accepted me and my career.
Mark and Leti held on to each other, nodding. Happy tears streamed down Leti’s face.
“Buena suerte y mis mejores deseos,” tío Nacho said, raising his glass.
The wedding guests toasted. Jack raised his glass, but also raised his eyebrows at me in a question.
“Good luck and my best wishes,” I translated.
Antonio laughed. “Poor Mark’s going to need all the luck and wishes he can get with tía Roselia as his mother-in-law.”
I laughed. “He is.”
Jack slipped his arm around me. “Your mom’s cool. She’d probably be a good mother-in-law.”
The corner of Tonio’s mouth lifted and he slugged Jack’s arm. “That would be a crapshoot. Willing to play the odds?”
Jack raised his eyebrows.
With my heels on, I met him eye to eye. “That’s a good question, Callaghan. Are you?”
Jack cracked a smile. “I’d call it a sure bet, Cruz.”
I kissed him—because, why not? “Por supuesto,” I said, because, of course, Jack Callaghan was a bet I’d take any day of the week.
About the Author
Melissa Bourbon is the author of the Lola Cruz Mystery series, A Magical Dressmaking Mystery series, and the Bread Shop Mystery Series, written as Winnie Archer, as well as a few top secret projects. She lives in North Carolina with her husband, children, and cuddly dogs: A pug, Bean, a chug, Dobby, and a mountain dog, Jasper.
The Lola Cruz Mystery Series
by Melissa Bourbon
LIVING THE VIDA LOLA (#1)
HASTA LA VISTA, LOLA (#2)
BARE-NAKED LOLA (#3)
WHAT LOLA WANTS (#4)
DROP DEAD LOLA (#5)
Henery Press Mystery Books
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