Bad Reputation

by Melinda Di Lorenzo

  “Whoever she is? You didn’t get a name?”

  “Not yet.”

  “And did she hire Bomner on retainer? Or pro bono?”

  “I’m not sure. Pro bono if I had to guess.”

  “What’s the name of the nonprofit?”

  “Greenleaf Gardening.”

  My dad’s expression became amused. He wasn’t the kind of guy who would feel threatened by a company with such a cutesy name. It bothered me a bit that he seemed so relaxed and self-assured.

  “I think she’s tougher than the name would lead you to believe,” I told him. “She looked determined.”

  At least she did until she saw Mark.

  I hesitated. For some reason, I didn’t feel a need to expose her emotional vulnerability to my father. Just the opposite, in fact. I wanted to protect her. It would just make him even more confident that he was going to win than he already was. Besides that, I didn’t really have anything specific to tell him yet.

  “How old?” he asked.

  “What?”

  “The girl. How old is she?”

  “I don’t know. My age?”

  “A girl your age. Determined to save a crappy little community center, and not able to be swayed by your usual charm,” my dad said thoughtfully. “I want you to find out exactly who she is, and what it’s going to take to stop her.”

  I shoved down my reluctance. “I’m on it.”

  He was looking at me thoughtfully, scrutinizing my expression. What could he see?

  “For my sake?” he asked. “Or yours?”

  Was I so transparent?

  “C’mon, Dad,” I said. “I just got off the phone with her twenty minutes ago. Do I ever let you down?”

  “I don’t usually ask you to hassle pretty girls.”

  “I didn’t say she was pretty.”

  “Didn’t have to.”

  “Fine,” I said. “She’s hot as hell.”

  My dad chuckled. “Good. I won’t have to pay you a bonus this quarter.”

  I rolled my eyes. “This girl hates me. You should probably pay me extra.”

  “I’m sure you can find a way to get her to give you more than her name,” he told me.

  “You want me to seduce her, Dad? That’s a new low.” Once again, I kept my tone light, but my conscience was nagging at me.

  He laughed again. “I’ve seen the company you keep. Call this a promotion.”

  “Please,” I scoffed. “I’ve never needed your help picking a woman.”

  As soon as the words were out of my mouth, I regretted them. They were too damned close to home. His hatred of Beth, his resentment of what she’d done to me, and to our family, was as fresh as if it had happened days earlier rather than years ago.

  An almost-frosty silence hung between us.

  “You know what, Joey? Do this, and I’ll let you out of your contract. It’s worth that much,” my dad finally said, and slapped me on the back. “And you know what that means…your trust fund reverts back to you.”

  My heart tightened. The money in that fund was supposed to have come to me on my twenty-first birthday, but my father had clawed it back after everything that had happened five years earlier.

  “You think I can be bought?”

  Maybe that was what he thought. After all, when I walked into his office a year and a half earlier, wasn’t that essentially what he’d done? Found my price and paid it.

  My dad shrugged. “Maybe not so much with cash. But I’m quite sure you want the freedom that comes with that money more than you want to cling to your tiny bit of integrity.”

  He turned and walked away, and I couldn’t make myself call him back.

  Tucker

  Liandra flipped her notebook shut, stomped over to my side of the room, grabbed my phone, and shook it at me.

  “If you’re not going to answer the damned thing, at least turn it off.”

  “I can’t. That’s the number I gave out for the gardening fundraiser. Clients might call.”

  “Then at least tell whoever’s calling to stop,” my roommate begged.

  “I already put it on vibrate,” I reminded her.

  “Yeah, and it’s almost worse. I can’t study with the incessant buzzing.”

  “Besides. I did tell him. Twice, and I think that’s enough¸” I replied.

  Liandra sighed. “Then at least tell me how the stalking started so I have something to tell the police when they come looking.”

  “He’s not stalking me.”

  “How many times has he called?”

  “I don’t know. I’ve been ignoring him.”

  Liandra gave me a look and I tried to explain about almost tripping over Joey in the dorm hall on Friday morning, and about running into him and Amber at the market. I ignored the expression on her face as I told her about actually tripping as Joey chased me across the commons. It all sounded close to ridiculous, and it happened to me.

  “And then I came home,” I finished, and lifted up my pant leg to show her my lightly wrapped ankle.

  “Either I’m missing something…or you’re not telling me something,” Liandra said.

  “Pretty sure I told you everything,” I replied. “Except for the part where I almost agreed to go on a date with Mark.”

  “You did what?”

  I winced at the high pitch of Liandra’s voice.

  “It’s nothing,” I told her. “And I said almost.”

  “I’m assuming we’re not talking about the same Mark, then,” my roommate stated. “Because it wouldn’t be nothing to be almost going out with the Mark who cheated on you, who made you move out of your—wait a minute. What is he even doing here?”

  “He got an engineering internship at the city.” I shrugged. “It’s what he was going to school for, so it makes sense. It’s not that big of a deal.”

  “Do you hear yourself? What would you do if I told you that I was going on a date with my ex-husband?” she asked.

  “This is less complicated.”

  “It is not.”

  “Are you really going to make me say, is too?”

  “This is a bad idea, Tucker.”

  “Can we drop it? I almost fell. Then I did fall. Some guy tried to save me. He was a jerk. Mark needed a favor. I said no. He’s a jerk, too. End of story.”

  My mind flashed back to the momentary, irrational attraction I’d felt when Joey put his arm around me. I tried to push down the embarrassing memory, but it didn’t want to go. Joey’s green eyes flashed through my thoughts, and my body tingled in a betrayal-riddled response.

  “Speaking of saving…did you ask this other guy—Joey—why he followed you?” Liandra asked.

  “Kind of,” I said, glad she’d dropped Mark from her interrogation. “He works for the school paper. Maybe he was pissed off that I wouldn’t give him an interview.”

  “Did he seem pissed?”

  “Not really,” I admitted.

  It was true. He’d shaken his head at me, and Amber had seemed unimpressed. But Joey had seemed…what? Not mad. Cocky? Indifferent?

  I ran through the possible descriptors in my mind, dismissing each one before a final, involuntary adjective came to mind.

  Sexy.

  I forced it down and settled on persistent, instead.

  “I wonder what he wanted.” Liandra’s voice cut through my embarrassing thoughts. “Maybe he wanted to ask you out.”

  “No!” I almost yelled, then tried to regulate my tone. “After I’d seen him sleeping outside some girl’s room? In my own dorm? And knowing about him and Amber? I don’t think so. Even this guy can’t be that dumb. He’s just desperate for a story.”

  “Some guys have an awful lot of self-confidence.”

  “That wasn’t it,” I insisted. “All he did was offer me a ride home.”

  “And you didn’t take it? Even with your sprained ankle?”

  “Why would I?”

  Liandra rolled her eyes. “Tucker, you’re nothing if not practical. And f
ull of self-preservation. It makes way less sense that you didn’t take that ride than if you had taken it.”

  “We were super close to home. And he said it wasn’t sprained,” I told her defensively.

  “Oh. Well. If Dr. Joey said it, it must be true.”

  “He’s not a doctor,” I protested.

  Her eyes widened. “Geez. You’ve got it bad.”

  “If I wasn’t too sore to stand, you would get it bad,” I informed her. “I’m not the least bit interested in a guy who has a minimum of two girlfriends, who thinks he can chase me down and charm me with his ridiculously dimpled smile while naming ankle parts like they’re ice cream flavors.”

  Liandra laughed. “So bad.”

  “Shut up. If you still want me to come out with you tonight, you have got to let me get this homework done.”

  “So you are coming out?”

  “Maybe if you leave me alone for more than five minutes.”

  “I’m not the one with bat-shit-crazy boyfriend blowing up my phone.”

  “Blowing up my phone?” I said, deliberately ignoring her use of the B-word. “Really, Liandra?”

  My phone buzzed again in her hand. I ducked as she threw it at my head and it landed with a thump on my pillow. I grabbed it, glanced at the call display, and then buried it under my homework.

  * * *

  I looked around the bar and groaned.

  “This was a bad idea,” I said to Liandra.

  She handed the coat-check girl our jackets and grinned at me. “It was sure as hell better than sitting around watching you mope.”

  She had wrapped my ankle haphazardly, “lent” me a prescription painkiller to dull the ache, fed me a pre-club shot to ease my nerves, and herded me out before I could fight back.

  “I wasn’t moping,” I replied. “I was plotting.”

  My roommate rolled her eyes and dragged me through the crowded room. It was Irish night, and the place was packed. We stopped at table full of rowdy guys dressed for the occasion in Ireland jerseys, sláinte T-shirts and cable-knit sweaters.

  “Move,” Liandra commanded to a heavyset dude in a ball cap that read Kiss My Irish Arse. “My friend is injured and needs some space.”

  He took a quick look at my foot, then slid over and gestured for me to sit down. I perched myself on the edge of the crowded bench. I tried to smile gratefully, but he was already turned the other way, chanting “DRINK! DRINK! DRINK!” at his buddies as they downed something fluorescent green and sticky-looking.

  “Fun, right?” Liandra asked with a grin.

  “Riiight.”

  I might’ve added something more, but a lively Celtic band—complete with harp and lute—began to play a noisy song. A waitress in a ridiculous leprechaun suit slammed down a round of green-tinged beers, and I took a cautious sip of the one in front of me.

  I couldn’t help but wonder how the real Irish would feel about this display.

  “And it’s not even Saint Patrick’s Day,” I muttered as I took another swig.

  “Stop grumbling and I’ll get us some beer that doesn’t look like sewer water,” Liandra offered, and disappeared before I could argue.

  It was suddenly hard for me to care, though, because across the room I spotted a familiar, unwelcome face.

  “Dammit, Mark,” I said under my breath.

  Why, of all the places in the world, had he come to the city where I lived? It was like having my past thrown in my face. It made me sad and angry at the same time, and I wished desperately that I’d stayed at home. I decided that I had to get out of the bar before my ex noticed me.

  I stood up and my head spun.

  Maybe gulping green beer after consuming a strong painkiller wasn’t the best choice of the evening.

  I teetered a bit on my sore ankle, and made it only halfway across the room before he saw me.

  Mark’s face lit up with a surprised smile.

  “Tucker!”

  I braced myself as he approached me. He came in for a hug that lingered for several seconds too long, and rested an overly friendly hand on my hip. I wanted to pull away, but I made myself stand my ground.

  “Mark, I think I’m a little tipsy, and I don’t want to talk to you right now,” I told him.

  I sounded cool enough until I hiccupped.

  Dammit. Stupid green beer.

  “I’ve had a few myself,” he replied. “Which actually makes it good time to talk, I think.”

  “What I meant was that I don’t trust myself to talk to you at the moment,” I explained.

  He laughed, and the familiar sound weakened my guard. I fought the urge to relax and let him talk.

  Habit. I shook off the feeling.

  “You never really understood too much about trust,” I reminded him.

  The words came out sounding sad and quiet, not firm and meaningful as I intended.

  Mark was still holding my hip, and he pulled me closer.

  “Let me go,” I tried to say, but his lips were on mine, smothering me.

  “I’ve said it before…we were good, Tucks,” he mumbled against my mouth.

  I could smell liquor on his breath, and it immediately brought back the pain of catching him in the arms of that other woman. Mark was holding me too tightly, and I couldn’t break out of his grasp.

  “No,” I gasped, and a warm hand gripped my elbow, pulling me away.

  “What the hell?” Mark protested loudly.

  Whoever was holding me was also forcefully shoving back my ex. I swung my head up to get a better look. He was tall, and wide-shouldered and he had a poor boy cap pulled down low over his face. He wore a black vest overtop of a faded T-shirt, and jeans that gave away the muscular nature of his legs.

  “I think my girl said no,” he stated, and I immediately recognized his voice.

  His girl?

  That claim should have annoyed me, but instead it sent a little shiver up my spine.

  He tilted his face toward me, lifted up his hat, and for one second I was staring into Joey’s breathtaking green eyes. My heart thumped, and I didn’t know if it was from the sight of them or from the beer. Then he flipped the hat down again and turned back to Mark.

  “I didn’t know she was here with someone.”

  “She is.” Joey’s tone dared Mark to counter his statement.

  My ex’s eyes went from me to Joey, and he put his hands up in a surrendering gesture.

  “We’ll talk later,” he promised, and stumbled off in the other direction.

  Joey stared after Mark, and his shoulders didn’t relax until he was completely out of view. As Joey moved to face me, I decided I’d better get out of the bar before my situation got even worse. I managed to get all of two steps away before I had to grab a table to steady myself.

  “Hey there,” said Joey’s voice in my ear. “Didn’t I tell you to take it easy? Your ankle’s not going to heal on its own.”

  His hand was on my elbow again, and this time I was even more conscious of the heat there. I was also aware that I’d somehow backed us into a sparsely populated corner of the club. We were behind a tall back wall that insulated us from the throng of people and reduced the music to a low pulse.

  “Thanks for…uh…intervening,” I muttered. “It was chivalrous. In a chauvinistic way.”

  He didn’t release my arm or step away. “What makes you keep such questionable company?”

  “We used to date.”

  Joey’s eyes darkened to a forest green. “Were you thinking of revisiting that relationship?”

  “Not at all.”

  He smiled. “Good.”

  He moved closer and I caught my breath as the full height of him loomed over me. He smelled delicious. Clean, alcohol-free and lightly spiced.

  Fantastic.

  I took a little step back, trying to calm my too-fast heart.

  “You followed me here,” I accused.

  He tilted his head to one side, and shot me a crooked smile.

  “Technica
lly, I was here first,” he replied. “So you followed me.”

  “Liar. You knew I was going to be here. I told you.”

  He was right. I had told him. Why? I didn’t have long to dwell on an answer.

  He brought his hand up slowly, trailing his fingers along my bare leg, stopping below the bottom of my skirt. I was torn between regretting that it was so short and wishing it was a little shorter.

  And why not give in to it? I wondered.

  He was attractive. Clearly interested. I needed to blow off steam. And eighteen months is a long time to be alone.

  I shifted slightly, allowing the hem to rise another inch, and Joey made a thoroughly unsettling, thoroughly pleasing noise in the back of his throat as his fingers quickly closed the gap I had created. His free hand came around my waist, settling in the small of my back. I arched myself against him in an involuntary response. He was turning my insides to a sluggish liquid that throbbed in time with the muted beat of the not-too-distant music.

  “Oh,” I heard myself say, and then he pulled away, leaving me wanting.

  “You were saying that you had to go,” he reminded me in rough voice.

  “Yes,” I whispered back.

  “So go.”

  A small, lucid part of my brain knew that I should listen to his command. But the other portion—that was making me tingle all over from his mere touch—was begging me to stay. Telling me that a very small dose of spontaneity never killed anyone. That was the side that was winning. And besides that, Joey was blocking my way.

  “I can’t move,” I confessed.

  Joey chuckled and then caressed my face with a single finger. I shivered.

  “I’ll go instead then,” he said.

  Whatever I’d been about to say was lost as somebody ambled into our secluded spot, slammed into me, then stumbled away as I slipped and crashed into Joey.

  “I am going to kick that guy’s ass,” Joey growled.

  He started to move me back, but as his hands met my shoulders, his eyes also met my gaze, and he went still. Then very, very slowly his fingers slid down my arms, leaving a heated trail.

  He grasped the soft sides of my waist in a way that made me ultra-conscious of the fact that I was more or less straddling one of his legs.

  I should get away.

  But I didn’t. Or I couldn’t. And maybe I didn’t really want to.