Shock Me: An Opposites Attract Standalone Romance in the So Wrong It's Right Series

by Casey Hagen

  She spotted the worry in her mama’s eyes. “I wouldn’t say my father was led astray, but yes, Mrs. Carnes, I’ll heed your warning.”

  Her father had done his due diligence. He’d sought references and went with a man who’d been considered above reproach. Unfortunately, the man in question had only just begun dabbling in the gambling and drugs that sent his life circling down the drain, the church’s money circling with it.

  Willette Baptist had been reimbursed. It had taken two years, but they had been made whole. Now, if the congregation could all just move on and practice some of that forgiveness they preached, they could all be happy.

  “Hi, Gran, I found your shawl,” a familiar redhead said, stepping up beside Mrs. Carnes.

  “Oh, thank you, dear child. I’m not sure you’ve met Mrs. Montgomery and her girl, Mabel Lee Montgomery. This is my granddaughter, Julia.”

  Julia smiled, and images from the night before flashed in Mabel Lee’s memory. The woman from Big Shift who’d had her eyes on Viper. The one he’d danced for before disappearing. The one with the lust-filled eyes who’d gone braless under her tight tank top.

  “Hmmm, I actually think I might have met you somewhere?” Julia said, her pursed lips and gleam in her eye leaving no doubt that she remembered exactly where. “Gosh, it was recently I think.”

  Mabel Lee gulped, her gaze going to the trash can right by the cookie station. The last thing she wanted was her mama confiding in the old gossip about what Mabel Lee had claimed to find in the collection plate, and it was precisely the kind of juicy gossip that the group salivated for. Especially when Julia had definitely sat impatiently on the side lines and witnessed Mabel Lee’s time with Viper.

  A showdown when it came time to rummage through the trash wasn’t on her agenda.

  She’d swear the condom sent out a beacon only she could see and hear that would soon be covered by day-old Danish and stale coffee. “I do a lot of volunteering at the library. You might have seen me there.”

  “Hmmm, I don’t think that was it. Gosh, at some point it will come to me,” Julia chirped with a shrug of her freckled shoulder.

  That was exactly what she got for wanting something…anything to redirect the conversation about her late father.

  Careful what you wish for Mabel Lee.

  Where did it go?

  Two hours later, Mabel Lee sifted through the garbage can, but found nothing other than frosting coated plates, chicken bones, a can that should have gone in the recycling, disposable cups, silverware, crumpled napkins, and Mr. West’s hankie wadded up with dried up snot that he must have mistakenly dropped in the trash with his plate.

  She shivered and ran for the sink, pumping five globs of soap onto her palm. Right after she rinsed, the memory of crunchy fabric had her doing it all over again.

  They’d had at least seventy-five people milling about, laughing, eating, pretending they weren’t spreading idle gossip, and that all meant she had a hunt through mountains of trash on her hands if she wanted that number off that condom.

  And why wouldn’t she?

  Yes, for all she knew, some playboy had tossed it in her bag at some point. But her sudden shallow breaths and lightheadedness told her just who she thought might have put it there.

  And if it had been Viper…she wanted that number.

  Once she got it, she’d find the nerve to call it. Worst case scenario, she had friends who’d bolster her courage if she even thought of chickening out.

  Spinning around, she looked for another can, but that was it.

  Darn it! There had been more.

  “The last of the leftovers are packed and off with Mr. Johnson. He’s ecstatic. Hopefully he finds his denture. He’s going to need more than just the bottom set for the rest of that fried chicken,” her mama said as her gaze wandered over the room.

  “He lost them again?”

  “Yes, well, you know him. As long as we never find it in the pulled pork again, I’ll be happy. It’s likely wrapped in a napkin tucked in his pocket, and Dolores will find it while he’s napping.”

  “Why don’t you head on home, and I’ll lock up here?” Mabel Lee said, hoping the condom was a distant memory for her mama, but then how could it not be with the new denture dilemma?

  “Sure—oh, wait, here, let me take the last of the garbage out,” her mama said, heading for the can.

  “No!”

  Her mama skidded to a stop and gave her a sharp glance. “I can handle the garbage, missy. I’ve already taken four bags out to the dumpster. What’s one more?”

  “I’m not saying you can’t, Mama. You’ve done so much already, and I can just grab it right now while you head on home. You deserve to go, put your feet up, and maybe do a little cross-stitching on the porch. There’s a wonderful breeze; I think you’d enjoy it.”

  Her mama’s face softened, and she smiled. “You know what, darlin’, you’re right. You sure you’re all set now?”

  “Of course. I’m sure.”

  “You’re a good girl,” her mama said, tucking a set of keys in her hand. “Do me a favor and just leave these on Preacher Dawson’s desk before you go. He’s working on a project he’s in the back room, and I don’t want to disturb him.”

  “No problem, Mama. You go on now,” she said, patting her mama on the shoulder and absolutely not nudging her out the door.

  Okay, so maybe a little.

  She watched as her mama made her way down the front steps of the church before ducking back in and grabbing the lone bag.

  It had to be in there. Had to be.

  But her mama had taken out four other bags.

  Which meant if she didn’t find it in there, she’d be sifting through the dumpster.

  Mmmmm, how bad did she really want that number?

  The memory of the feel of his finger gliding over her jawline flared to life stealing her breath. “When I kiss her, I want her stone-cold sober and with me for every last second of it.”

  Okay, so she wanted that number. No matte what. The last thing she wanted was to be sitting in this church on Sunday, at Mildred’s age, wondering what if from one single night more than fifty years prior.

  She glanced down at her pink polka dotted dress and white pumps and cringed.

  Please be in the bag. Please be in the bag.

  Spotting the cross looming over the room and whispered a silent prayer as she dug past sticky waste, the scent of sweet creamed coffee mingling with the brown sugar from the baked beans and the underlying scent of last year’s batch of Dolores’ garlic pickles.

  Rolling up her sleeves, she narrowly avoided the food bits and liquids staining her dress. After ten minutes of frantic searching, she came up empty.

  The dumpster.

  She ran outside and around the corner, teetering to a stop next to the massive green bin with scrapes and dents on the outside.

  Flies buzzed, and the putrid scent of rotting garbage turned her stomach.

  Oh, please don’t let it be full.

  Wait. If it was full, she could just reach in and grab the bags her mama had taken out.

  Please be full. Please be full. Please be full.

  She grabbed the black plastic lid with a napkin and took a peek inside. The revolting stench hit her twice as hard and a cluster of flies flew up in her face. Four white bags sat near the bottom, out of her reach, on a bed of wet cardboard and rotting garbage that had clearly fallen out of old bags and stuck to the rusty metal.

  Oh God.

  Okay, there had to be a way to do this. She scooted back inside and searched frantically for something, anything that could help her. Rolling her lips inward, she headed for the closet where the choir kept their robes.

  They wouldn’t miss one, right?

  Sifting through, she found one that covered her to her ankles.

  The heavy fabric hadn’t been in use since the Christmas before and had grown musty. She brushed the sleeve, sending dust into the air.

  Achoo!

&n
bsp; A thick veil of her hair fell in her face with the sneeze. She needed an elastic. Checking her wrist, she came up empty. She’d taken the spares out of her purse before she’d gone out last night and hadn’t replaced them before leaving that morning.

  And if she hadn’t been battling the after effects of alcohol from the night before, she would have pinned her hair up for services and this all would have been a non-issue. The trail of consequences after a night drinking truly had no end making her wonder why people did this more than once.

  The jewel-encrusted crown left behind from a play a couple years earlier winked up at her.

  There was no use for it. It was all she had.

  Tucking her hair up, she squashed the crown over her twisted locks, effectively pinning them in place.

  On her way back out, she snatched two plastic shopping bags, her clean slotted spoon waiting to be brought home, and the step ladder behind the thick oak door.

  She covered her pumps with bags, tying the plastic handles to hold them on. They crinkled as she climbed the three steps and swung her leg over the side.

  For the first time, she truly hoped that her father wasn’t watching over her. There was no need to see your own child sink so low.

  Wait!

  How was she going to get back out?

  She searched around the area and spotted two tall construction buckets. Aha! Climbing back down, she grabbed one, flipped it over, and held onto the dumpster as she stepped onto the base to test the sturdiness.

  Perfect.

  Just a foot and half shy of the third step, it might just do the trick to climb out.

  With the bucket handle draped over her wrist, she hoisted herself over the side.

  She winced at the sound of thick polyester ripping. She glanced down to find a foot-long tear in the middle of the borrowed robe because of course it couldn’t possibly happen at the seam.

  Too late now.

  She’d just stuff it in the dumpster when she was through and put extra money in the donation plate next Sunday.

  She grabbed the first bag and tore open the side, finding more of the same. She sifted through, scraping the trash aside with the slotted spoon.

  Sweat ran down her hairline, trickling under her clothes. She swiped at the drops that ran into her eyes, the makeup she finally wore at twenty-four years old—so how do you like them apples, Mom—rubbing off too and streaking the sleeve of the stifling fabric.

  A mouse ran across her bagged foot, and she jumped back, falling on her butt, something soggy and wet soaking through the robe, her dress, and her underwear.

  “Oh, do I even want to know?” she muttered pushing herself back up with one hand propped on the final bag and the other on a half-eaten roll slick with butter.

  Under her lay a soggy pizza with flies swarming the edges.

  “I told them I was going to hell and look how quickly I made it to my destination,” she muttered to herself tearing open the final bag, her heart plummeting with each minute she didn’t find what she was digging for.

  She swiped once.

  Twice.

  A third time.

  Aha!

  She spotted it…right there, stuck to Mr. Johnson’s teeth.

  If anyone saw her now, she’d never live it down. Her mama would have to sell the house and move.

  Maybe she’d have to change her name.

  “Who’s rummaging through there?” Preacher Dawson said in his booming voice reserved for putting the fear of God into the children misbehaving during service.

  Think fast, Mabel Lee. And don’t tell him what you’re really looking for.

  She reached for the condom only to have the keys her mama had instructed her to leave him land next to her in white sludge made up of who knew what.

  “It’s just me, Mr. Dawson.” She snatched the keys with one hand. Her other wrapped around the condom and the teeth. With no pockets in the robe and no way to reach the pockets in her dress, she shoved the condom and teeth through the neck opening, past the bodice of her dress and right into her cleavage.

  Swallowing the urge to toss her scones right there on her bagged feet, she shot a hand in the air. “I found ’em.”

  “Mabel Lee?”

  “The one and only,” she said, climbing on the bucket.

  She smiled.

  His gaze locked on the top of her head, and he frowned.

  The crown. Poop.

  Well, and the robe, too.

  She touched the piece on her head and winced. “I didn’t have a hair tie.”

  “How did my keys end up in the dumpster to begin with?”

  “Totally my fault. Mama asked me to leave them for you, and I dropped them when I tossed the last of the garbage in.”

  Well, look at those lies just rolling off her tongue.

  She climbed over the top of the dumpster and took his offered hand leaving butter in his palm.

  Better than some of the other things she found in there.

  Namely the bottom teeth digging into her left breast. Mr. Johnson literally had his teeth on her breast, thank God they weren’t in his mouth. The image left her biting back a horrified and nervous giggle.

  “I didn’t think you’d mind; I found this torn robe and used it to protect my dress. I’m happy to cover the cost to replace it.”

  He supported her elbow as she made her way down the stairs. “Absolutely not, Mabel Lee. You went above and beyond. Thank you. You’re such a treasure. You do your mama proud. Here, I can take that robe for you if you’d like,” he said.

  “Oh, no. No, it’s fine. I can take it from here. You’re a busy man,” she said, handing him his keys.

  His gaze dropped to the keys in his palm and the questionable chunks that clung to them. His mouth fell open, then snapped shut. His Adam’s apple dragged down his throat as he swallowed. “I’m just going to clean this up. If you’ll excuse me.”

  “Absolutely. See you next Sunday!” She waved and watched him slip into the church. Just beyond the door. Mr. Johnson and his wife Dolores shuffled down the sidewalk.

  Dolores spotted her and shrieked, her hands pressed to her chest.

  Mr. Johnson shaded his eyes and squinted at her. “Mabel Lee, is that you?”

  “Yes, Mr. Johnson,” she said with an exasperated sigh. Really. Why couldn’t she catch a break? Did anyone else want to show up and witness just how low she could fall from grace?

  “I don’t suppose you’ve seen my denture anywhere, have you?” he asked, shuffling toward her with his cane. “It’s the darndest thing. I know I put them in. There’s no gnawing one of Dolores’ cookies without them.”

  “As a matter of fact, yes.” Out of energy to care anymore, she pulled his teeth out of her bra and slapped them into his palm.

  His cloudy eyes shot open wide. His mouth fell open, setting his whiskery jowls to swaying.

  She’d just run fresh out of good girl. She wanted her car, her shower, then the number off that condom. In that order.

  And the girls.

  With the plastic still rattling around her feet, she marched past the Johnsons, slime stuck to her skin, the crooked plastic crown held on by knotted hair soaked with a bucketful of Georgia sweat.

  5

  Kellen stared at the drip of the coffee maker through bleary eyes. The damn A/C unit, practically brand new but installed by an inept shithead at best, plagued him until three in the morning.

  It wasn’t until he found the wire with a shallow slice in the rubber coating that he realized what had happened.

  A damn newbie had likely grazed the wire with a cutter and didn’t think it would matter since it hadn’t gone all the way through, but after several months of hot Georgia sun and severe weather courtesy of hurricane season, the thin rubber had cracked, leaving wires exposed to the elements.

  They were lucky it had juiced the compressor as long as it had. South Bend HVAC Installation and Repair had a reputation for rushing jobs and sloppy work. This was just one more strike again
st their reputation.

  Not that he’d be mentioning it. Not after what his father had done.

  He’d be keeping his head down and mouth shut. He’d finally turned a corner last year and stopped hearing mutters about his father conning clients out of tens of thousands of dollars, and the last thing he wanted was to go back in time to that mess.

  The coffee chugged as water slogged through to the grounds and a series of five beeps signaled that there was indeed an end to his zombie status in sight.

  Cup of brew in his hands, he grabbed his cell and headed for the front porch swing. He had maybe a half hour before the giant flaming ball rose high in the sky and scorched the earth. Shortly after, by ten, sitting outside would be like breathing water, and he did that enough Monday through Friday that he wasn’t putting himself through that torture on a Sunday.

  Wood creaked under his weight. He propped his foot on the porch rail and set himself to swinging as he scrolled through his phone.

  A text from Carla at Big Shift thanking him for saving their ass last night and a promise of a disgustingly high bonus that he wouldn’t turn down.

  His gaze darted to Rosie’s house next door.

  He could set aside the bonus money for the ramp she would no doubt be needing soon. He wanted her to be able to stay in her house as long as possible. Hell, if he had his way she’d never have to leave, but the stroke and series of mini strokes after left her in a precarious state that had him wondering if keeping her in her home was really the best thing, or if he didn’t want to let her go.

  She’d been his rock and saved his ass when his father fucked up the business, his mistakes spilling over onto Kellen and pitching him into a hole he’d been digging out of one way or another for the better part of a decade.

  He’d never have survived any of it if Rosie hadn’t stepped in to make sure he had food, a place to vent, and generally kicking him in the figurative ass whenever he needed it. For a while she was the only thing keeping him from losing his mind and doing something stupid that would only land him in jail.

  And for that, he’d do anything for her. Rosie was the family he chose.