by Avery Flynn
“You think I care what you think?” Constance asked as she tossed the balled-up towel into the trash can, her gaze studiously avoiding Lucy’s as her chin started to wobble.
“Yeah, I think you do,” Lucy said, working to keep her voice neutral when all that was going through her head was thoughts about how someone who had been through something as life-altering as Constance had could still be such a royal bitch all these years later. “I think you care what everyone thinks, and it’s killing you to see everyone back here again and realizing that you missed out on everything you wanted your life to become. I’m sorry you were sick. I’m glad you’re better. Don’t worry, I’m pretty damn shocked by that feeling, too. Still, who you were and what happened to you before doesn’t have to impact who you are today and how you act now.”
The only sound in the bathroom was the buzz of the fluorescent lights as she watched her high school nemesis’s face go mottled with emotion.
“Why don’t you just—” That’s all Constance got out before the dam broke and tears started rushing out. Maybe it was because Lucy was the only one there, maybe it was because Constance needed something solid to hold onto in the crazy whirlwind of her life, but she rushed to Lucy, wrapping her arms around her and holding on as she sobbed. “The doctor has diagnosed my daughter as having the same aggressive breast cancer gene I have,” she said, her whole body shaking. “It runs in the family. It’s my fault.”
And everything clicked. If the reunion had been a reminder for Lucy about all of the crap she’d lived through, it was just as horrible of a reminder for Constance. Add to that her daughter’s diagnosis and…yeah, being a raging bitch may not be the best way to react to that kind of news, but it was understandable, if shitty.
“Oh God, Constance,” she said, squeezing the other woman tight. “I’m so sorry.”
They stood there—former high school enemies, holding onto each other in the girl’s bathroom under the harsh lights. It wasn’t the most bizarre hug Lucy had ever been a part of—that would be the five-way group hug between warring defensive linemen whose angry grudge match had nearly brought their team to its knees—but it was pretty close. Who would have thought it? Her and Constance? Hugging? It should have been weird, but it wasn’t. It was proof that they both could move on, move forward—maybe even be friends.
“I don’t know what to do,” Constance said when they moved apart, and she dabbed her face with another damp paper towel. “How do I tell her that it’s gonna be okay when it may not be? What if she has to give up on all her dreams like I did? What if her future is over before it even began?”
“What do the doctors say?” Lucy asked.
Constance’s jaw tightened, and she set her shoulders as if she was getting ready to go into battle. “To do monthly self-exams, get checkups, and to pray.”
“So let’s do that.”
And they did, holding hands right there in the middle of the bathroom. Lucy didn’t pray often—to be honest, she didn’t remember the last time she had—but this was a moment that called for it. If adding her voice to Constance’s was all the comfort that she could offer, then Lucy figured God would listen. After they were done praying and finished touching up their makeup, their gazes locked in the mirror.
Constance gave her an apologetic smile. “I’m sorry for everything—for this week, for last night, and for back in school. I let my own bitterness back then and fear for my daughter now find an outlet by picking on you. It was wrong. Can you forgive me?”
A few days earlier, Lucy’s reaction may have been different, but tonight she didn’t even have to think about it. “Absolutely.”
Peace treaty signed with another hug, they walked out together into the deserted hall. There was a crowd gathered just inside the open double doors leading to the gym and a god-awful sound coming out. It took Lucy a second to process, but once she did she rushed inside the gym. There, sweating in the spotlight onstage, mic in hand, eyes glued to the karaoke screen like a man staring down the headlights of a runaway semi, was Frankie doing his best Danny Zuko bragging to his boys about summer loving. It was the worst singing she’d ever heard, and she loved it.
She loved him.
Oh shit. That couldn’t be right. It wasn’t smart, it wasn’t—anything she could change, she realized with a sinking sensation. She’d fallen for the guy who’d slept his way through most of the women in Waterbury and had driven across the country to take her on a pity date.
This was bad.
It was really bad.
But she wouldn’t think about that now, not while he was standing up on stage and singing—badly—for her. She’d deal with the rest later.
Really, it would all work itself out when they got back to Waterbury, and he went back to the women with legs for miles who never got called out by strangers for eating cheeseburgers.
Until then, she was going to pretend that the world outside of Antioch didn’t exist.
…
There were two things universally acknowledged in the Hartigan family. One, the Ice Knights were the best hockey team in the league. Two, a drowning cat’s desperate caterwauling sounded better than Frankie’s singing. Standing up on the stage, hearing the hideously out-of-tune sounds coming out of his mouth blaring over the sound system, he had to agree with the family. So why was he up in front of everyone showing his ass figuratively, if not literally? For the look Lucy was giving him right now.
A happy amusement tugged at the corner of her full, lush mouth as she watched him from the doorway where she stood with Constance. Sure, there was a general shell-shocked haze to it, but there was no denying the soft appreciation on her face that bordered on something more, something that made him belt out the line about summer lovin’ a little louder than necessary—much to the wincing misery of the people sitting at the tables surrounding the dance floor.
“Take pity on these poor people,” he said into the mic during an instrumental break. “There’s no way you’re worse than me.”
Thank fuck, she took him up on it. The real shock, though, was watching her hook her arm through Constance’s and bring her up on stage with her. The two made it up in time for Lucy to sing the line about the boy she met over the summer and for Constance to join in on the chorus when she asked Lucy to tell her more. He was pretty damn sure there was a story behind this truce, but he couldn’t say he was surprised.
Lucy had a way of making things happen.
It showed in everything she did, from her job wrangling misbehaving athletes to how she handled Gussie to the way she’d managed him. There wasn’t another woman like her in the world.
He needed to send a case of beer to that asshole in Marino’s because if it hadn’t been for him, Frankie may not have ever gotten to know this amazing woman.
By the time the final chorus came around, more than half of the women in the gym were singing along with Lucy and a solid quarter of the dudes were singing along with him. And after the final notes were sung, he grabbed Lucy’s hand and got off that stage faster than the one time he’d exited a burning building with an armful of newborn puppies.
“I’d rather get my nuts waxed than ever do that again,” he said before downing the cold beer the guy working the bar set back into the corner had given him.
Lucy, who was obviously not dealing with the aftereffects of a singing-in-public freak out, sipped her brew. “Then why did you do it?”
He could tell her that it was because he didn’t have a choice, that he was forced at gunpoint onto the stage. He could tell her it was because she deserved to win that crown. He could tell her it was to get back at Constance for all of the shitty things she’d put Lucy through. All of those would have been true—well, except for the part about the gun—and he could have done that. Instead, the truth came out.
“I did it for the look on your face right now.”
Her eyes lit up, and everything in the known universe shifted for him. He was a selfish fucking bastard. He hadn’t made a total ass
out of himself for her. He’d done it for him, because he wanted to be the guy who made her feel like she did right now. And he wanted to do it again. And again. And again. He wanted to do it until they were old and yelling at the youths to get off their lawn.
“Wow. They’re going to be talking about that performance for a long time around here,” said the guy who was working the master of ceremonies job, practically stepping right between Frankie and Lucy. “But you better get a move on. They need you both onstage.”
The guy strutted off toward the stage in his mint green tuxedo that would give an eye sore to an eye sore. Hand-in-hand, they made their way up to the stage, where all of the other participants in the reunion decathlon were waiting. One by one, each couple was introduced, scores given, and polite claps offered as they were sent offstage until it was only him and Lucy and Constance and Bryce left.
Considering it all came down to the popular vote on who sang better during karaoke, he wasn’t holding his breath. He’d given it his best shot, and if Lucy really wanted a crown, he’d go buy her one.
“And the king and queen of the Antioch High School reunion are”—the master of ceremonies paused for a recorded drum roll—“Frankie Hartigan and Lucy Kavanagh!”
As the gym erupted into cheers and clapping, he turned to Lucy, who mouthed “Oh my God” to him and was holding onto his hand like he was tethering her to earth. He didn’t want to let go of her hand, but he relinquished it anyway so she could receive her crown.
Thank God he didn’t have to wear one, because that was so very much not his thing. But dancing with Lucy? That really was.
Moving in an easy rhythm to a slow song, he couldn’t help but draw her in close so he could feel her against him. She felt good, right in his arms. This might be Lucy’s reunion dance, but he sure as hell didn’t want it to end. The fact that it was going to, though, hung over him like a thirty-pound anvil.
“So, did you have a good class reunion week?” he asked before he could stop himself.
“Yeah I did,” she said softly, raising herself up on her tiptoes as they swayed to brush her lips across his cheek. “Thanks to you.”
“I just acted as your eye candy.”
Did that sound defensive or humble? He wasn’t sure which one he meant it to sound like. The truth of it was that he was done being the good-time guy, and the worst thing would be for Lucy to think of him that way.
“Eye candy?” Lucy asked, shaking her head. “You were a lot more than that.”
“And when we get home?”
Fuck. He didn’t mean to ask that question—not here, at least—and judging by the guarded expression on Lucy’s usually open face, she wished he hadn’t, too. He wasn’t sure exactly what to say next, so he just stared into her soft brown eyes. But he couldn’t shake the itchy sense of impending doom he’d learned to listen to the first time he’d stepped foot into a house on fire. If a firefighter didn’t listen to that sixth sense, the chances of coming out crispy went up exponentially.
“Being here this week, this isn’t real life,” she said, her voice so soft he had to lower his head to hear her more clearly. “It’s a little cocoon.”
True, but he wasn’t ready to give into that just yet, tingly sense of danger or not. “And what do you think will be different back in Waterbury?”
Before she could answer, the music changed to a fast song from years ago and people streamed onto the dance floor. For a second, they just stood there, staring at each other, the full weight of future possibilities pressing down against them. Then, Lucy gave a practiced smile that she’d probably used a thousand times to defuse tense situations in her office.
“A lack of potato sack races.” She grinned, then pulled him into a circle of people dancing along with the fast beat.
It was a good move—defensive without being obvious—but Frankie knew what she was doing and he wasn’t having it. There was more between them than just picnic games and hot sex.
All he needed to do was persuade her that this was more than just a temporary good time.
Chapter Seventeen
An hour later, Frankie was white-knuckling Scarlett’s steering wheel. There was dark, and then there was country backroads dark. He couldn’t see a damn thing except the little bit of road Scarlett’s headlights illuminated, a million stars, and Lucy next to him in the front seat. She was still wearing that sexy-as-all-get-out red dress that wrapped around her like a promise and a tease—oh, and a makeshift blindfold he’d made from the Antioch High School Queen sash she’d gotten along with the crown on her head.
“You know, I wouldn’t do this for just anyone,” she said.
The “this” being getting in his car without knowing—or being able to see—where they were going. It was a definite sign of trust from a woman so used to fighting her battles alone, one that he took as a very good sign for the trip back home tomorrow.
“It was my kick-ass singing abilities, wasn’t it?” he asked, turning left onto a narrow dark driveway after passing a small wooden sign that read Laughlin Hotel.
Lucy chuckled. “You’re horrible and you know it.”
“True.” He reached out and laid his palm on her thigh, watching out of the corner of his eye as she bit her bottom lip. “But luckily I have other talents.”
“And those include driving blindfolded women around in the middle of the night?”
The words may have been flippant, but her tone was all sexy kitten and he was so down for that. Fuck. He was beyond down, he was uncomfortably up for it. For her. Always. So, he let out a sigh of relief when the boutique luxury hotel hidden away in the woods like some kind of fairy castle appeared at the end of the long driveway. It was four stories tall and built to look like a castle. Booking the tower room had made his credit card cry, but it was going to be worth it.
He parked Scarlett in one of the few available spots, cut the engine, and undid his seatbelt. Then, he leaned across and untied the sash around Lucy’s eyes. “We’re here.”
She blinked a few times, then looked around. Two beats after her gaze found the Laughlin Hotel, she turned to him a little slack-jawed with surprise and her eyes alight with glee.
“How in the world did you get a room here?” she asked, letting out a little mewl of approval. “They are booked for years in advance.”
Yep, that was exactly the reaction he was hoping for. Calling in his chips with his sister had been worth it.
“Felicia,” he said and got out of the car.
Lucy was out of Scarlett before he could make it around to open her door. “More, please.”
Taking her hand in his, he walked with her around to the trunk, where he’d stored an overnight bag he’d sweet-talked her into packing by saying they might want to change into something more comfortable after the dance for a trip back out to the lake.
“Well, her fiancé’s family has enough money and pull to help me get in at the last minute.” He popped the trunk and grabbed both of their bags before closing it. “Felicia did owe me a favor, and I called it in.”
“For what?” Lucy asked as they headed toward the front door. “Saving that crazy cat of hers from a tree?”
“Hell no. If Honeypot got stuck, I’d leave the feral animal there.” Okay, he wouldn’t, but Felicia did have one of the meanest cats ever to cat. “I helped her pick out a dress to wear.”
She pulled him to a stop outside of the hotel’s massive oak doors. “You were your sister’s wingwoman?”
Out of habit, he looked around to make sure no one overheard that little bit. “If you ever tell, I’ll deny it.”
She raised herself up on her tiptoes and wrapped her arms around his neck, bringing that luscious mouth of hers millimeters within kissing distance. If he hadn’t been holding both of their overnight bags, he would have had his hands on that round ass of hers and tugged her close so he could feel every inch of her.
Just a little taste, that’s all he wanted—at least until he got her up into that room.
>
“Like everyone doesn’t already know you’re a giant softie,” Lucy said.
“Not all the time.”
She lowered one arm and brought it between them and let her fingers graze over his dick. “And thank God for that.”
It might have just killed him a little, but he managed to hold onto his control and not drag Lucy to the closest horizontal surface. Instead, they walked into the opulent hotel reception area. All Frankie had to do at check-in was show his driver’s license and leave a credit card number for incidentals—and it still took too long. He needed to get Lucy into that room.
They couldn’t get to the elevator fast enough for him, but as soon as the doors slid shut he dropped the bags and had her pressed against the wall. Four floors wasn’t enough time to do much, but he still managed to get his hands under her skirt, skating up the outside of her thighs and over her full hips as he took her mouth, hard and with more than a little bit of a desperate edge.
Her nimble fingers were starting to work his suit pants button free when the elevator dinged and the doors opened to reveal a small foyer with two doors at the opposite end.
How he managed to tear his mouth away from hers before the door closed on them again, he had no fucking clue. All he knew was one moment he was inches away from touching the softest, wettest piece of heaven, and the next he had Lucy in his arms, holding the suitcases awkwardly in one hand, and was striding toward that lone door—which was the next obstacle to getting her naked.
Like an asshole, he’d put the room key in his suit pocket. A great plan so both hands would be free to touch her in the elevator, and a really shitty one when he wanted to keep her body plastered to his and open the door at the same time.
“If you don’t put me down so you can open that door, take me inside, and fuck me until I’m hoarse, I’m never speaking to you again.”
That was his Lucy. There wasn’t another woman out there like her.
“Yes, ma’am.”
He set her down, got the key out, slid it across the black key reader, and turned the knob of the door that wouldn’t unlock. Fuck me. He swiped again. Nothing. Just a little red blinky light. Meanwhile, Lucy had reached up under her skirt and slipped off her panties. Hell. Just looking at the black satin ball in her hand squeezed the air out of his lungs.
