Racked and Stacked

by Lorelei James

  “Luckily for him the law around here is very familiar with the ladies’ shenanigans,” he said with a laugh.

  “And so are the bail bondsmen. I’m pretty sure Tobin believes the Mud Lilies will forget about it and move on to something else.”

  “I hope so. I hate Vegas.”

  Riss tipped her head back and looked at him. “Seriously? Why?”

  “Besides the fact I don’t gamble?”

  “Dude. There’s lots to do in Vegas besides gamble.” She studied him. “Isn’t Vegas a stock contractor’s dream? Standing on the podium at the national finals in December? Aren’t the national finals an annual destination for all the folks who put on rodeos across the country? I’d think you’d be jumping at the chance to do a meet and greet there. Especially since Hugh is based not more than four hours away in Cali, right?”

  She’d totally busted him. Now he had to backtrack. “Hugh couldn’t get meetings with the event coordinators he’d been in touch with throughout the year. So we opted not to and decided to push harder for meetings next year, after we’ve got a few successful events under our belts.” Ike shifted to face her. “Will you be bummed if you don’t end up in Sin City for a belated bachelorette party?”

  “Yes. And no. I mean, most people have that ‘what happens in Vegas’ mind-set only when they’re on the Strip. I prefer to put half-truths into everyday life.” She laughed at his alarmed expression. “You don’t do that?”

  “Do what?”

  “Mess with people? Strangers mostly, but sometimes even friends?”

  “Explain ‘mess with,’ Thorpe.”

  “Say you’re out of town and you’re in a C-store to feed your craving for Funyuns, Reese’s peanut butter cups and Fanta grape soda. You’re in line to check out, and the woman behind you says, ‘Bad breakup?’ So instead of telling her to mind her own business, you complain good-naturedly that you wish, but the truth is your wife is pregnant with twins and she gets ridiculous cravings late at night. That you’re glad not to be buying something super weird like last time, when she craved stewed tomatoes and Three Musketeers and ate them together.”

  Ike couldn’t believe how fast Riss had whipped up that story.

  She poked him in the chest. “See? Even you’re intrigued about that weird-ass craving. So the Nosy Nelly who began the conversation will either ignore you from that point on, or she’ll start telling you about what she craved during pregnancy.”

  “And if I run into Nosy Nelly again?” he prompted.

  “You won’t.”

  “So you just flat-out lie to people?”

  “I prefer to call it creating an altered reality.”

  “In other words . . . you lie.” Ike leaned closer and caught a whiff of Riss’s coconut perfume. How in the hell wasn’t he supposed to imagine oiled-up bodies in tiny bikinis when that damned tropic aroma teased him?

  She poked him in the chest again. “Oh, lose the judgmental look. You used to be a salesman—a professional creator of alternate reality, whereas I’m merely an amateur.”

  He couldn’t pull off indignant so he laughed. “Have you ever created an altered reality with me?”

  “Besides this whole ‘truce’ thing? No. Are we messing with our friends by not telling them about our truce? Absolutely.”

  “Is that how you ended up with the big Johnson? Created an altered reality and he bought into it?”

  Riss groaned. “I wish. That’s a perfect example of why I should always veer away from using my real name.”

  “I don’t want to know how many times you’ve created an alternate reality, do I?”

  “Probably not. But you could tell me the most spontaneous thing you’ve ever done.” She tugged on his tie. “Bonus points if it’s a dirty sexual scenario.”

  “No judgment?”

  “None.”

  “Coming up with the idea of buying out Renner Jackson and taking over JSC,” he said in a rush, not having the guts to add that it was the worst idea he’d ever followed through on.

  “Interesting.” She toyed with the ends of his bolo tie. “Your answer is business related and it hasn’t been about business between us for months.”

  He chucked her under the chin until her gaze collided with his. “I wish I had done something spontaneous and cool in my life to wow you with, Riss.”

  “It’s not too late.” Her vivid green eyes issued a challenge. “The next time you have a chance to act out or act up . . . don’t hesitate. Be impulsive.”

  “And if I don’t have the balls to follow through with it, then I should lie my ass off to you anyway?”

  Riss smirked. “Now you’re getting it, Palmer.”

  A throat cleared behind him. Ike turned to see Tilda, the tiniest and flightiest of the Mud Lilies studying them suspiciously. He said, “Hey, Miz T, what’s up?”

  “I was sent to bring you over to our table so you can settle a bet.”

  “No can do. Tobin warned me about them pixie dust shots. And as far as I know, the bartender ain’t supposed to be serving them to any of you—regardless if Garnet is the grandmother of the bride.”

  “Oh pooh. Our question isn’t about booze. It’s about sex.”

  Chapter Three

  Ike’s deer-in-the-headlights look . . . Priceless.

  No way was Riss letting him get out of this.

  “Go on.” She nudged him hard and smiled at Tilda. “He’d love to help out. He just needs a little encouragement.”

  “Aw, it’s sweet that he’s shy,” Tilda said.

  “Shy?” he sputtered. “I ain’t shy. Not at all.”

  “Here’s your chance to prove it.” Then, over Tilda’s head, she mouthed, “Be spontaneous, remember?”

  A wolfish smile creased Ike’s face. “Now, darlin’, what kind of man would I be leavin’ you here to fend for yourself?”

  She waved him off. “I’ll be fine.”

  “No. Really. I insist you come along.” Ike snagged Riss’s hand.

  Tilda took a step back. “We don’t want no trouble because of you two.”

  “Because of us? Like we’re trouble?” Riss demanded.

  “The two of you together spells trouble. Don’t pretend you’re unaware of your reputation for combustible behavior around each other,” Tilda retorted.

  “It’s in the past,” Ike assured her with a smile. “We’ve dealt with the issue maturely and privately. So I can promise that you ladies will want input about sex from the woman around these parts most likely to put out, won’t they, sweet cheeks?”

  Damn punny man. She’d argue that point . . . but it was true. “I don’t want to horn in where I’m not wanted, sugar pie.”

  “Didn’t stop you earlier.”

  “Didn’t stop us earlier. I’m not takin’ all the blame for that.” She scanned the crowd. Speaking of the bride and groom . . . “Did you see where they went?” she said to Ike.

  “Nope. Dammit. Should we—”

  “You should come to our table right now.” Tilda urged them both to huddle down and stage-whispered, “Fair warning. The discussion might get a little steamy.”

  “Nothin’ fazes him,” Riss confided with a wink. Then she smiled at Tilda. “Lead the way.”

  Ike said, “Jesus, you’re a menace,” under his breath as he followed her.

  The Mud Lilies’ table was farthest from the main door and closest to the bar. Vivien, the youngest of the bunch, smiled graciously. “Lovely that you could join us also, Riss.”

  “Ah bloody hell. You ain’t gonna rat us out to Bernice?” Pearl demanded.

  “Why would you ask that?” Riss demanded. “What did she say about me?”

  “Nothin’,” Pearl retorted. “Just gotta CMA.” She elbowed Garnet. “CMA means cover my ass.”

  “We know what it means,” Garnet, Tilda, Vivien an
d Miss Maybelle said simultaneously.

  “I am not a snitch.”

  Ike’s fingers—which were somehow interlaced with hers—squeezed in warning and he murmured, “Easy, darlin’.”

  “Besides. Aunt B ain’t here. Vegas rules apply.”

  “Hot damn,” Miz Maybelle said with glee. “Pop a squat.”

  Once they were seated, Ike said, “Tilda said you want me to settle a bet?”

  “Actually . . . first we have some questions.”

  “About?”

  “Oh, a lot of stuff, sonny, so get comfy. You’re gonna be here a while,” Garnet said.

  Pearl said, “Hush up, Garnet, you’ll scare him off.” Then her focus zoomed back to Ike. “Them online dating places. They’re not really for finding a date. They’re for finding sex.”

  Oh boy.

  “Sign up and sex is guaranteed, right?”

  Ike opened his mouth, and then closed it.

  Twice.

  Riss took pity on him and answered. “Maybe you should clarify for us which online dating sites. Like eHarmony? Match.com? Matchmaker?” Sexy Singles over Seventy? Was there even such a site?

  “No, no and no,” Garnet said. “We’re talkin’ about phone apps. Where you punch in your location and it tells you if any horny honeys are in the same vicinity. Like that Tingle one.”

  “For the tenth time, Garnet, there’s no app called Tingle. It’s Tinder,” Vivien retorted.

  “Well, it oughta be called Tingle if your girlie bits want male attention that makes them tingle,” Garnet volleyed back.

  “There’s one called Grindr and I think that says what we all want,” Pearl said. “Some hot grinding action.”

  Riss couldn’t have held back her grin even if she’d tried. “Hate to burst your bubble, ladies, but Grindr is for gay men.”

  Miz Maybelle slapped the table and pointed at Pearl. “I knew them guys were too hunky to be straight. Lord, even the old fellas were wearing banana hammocks in their profile pictures.”

  Do not glom onto that mental image, Riss. Leave. It. Be.

  “Is there a lesbian dating site?” Tilda asked. “Only seems fair. But it’s probably got a name like Strap-on. Or Nipplr.”

  “Or Foxy Taco,” Garnet tossed out.

  Ike heaved a sigh beside her. “Ladies . . . I think—”

  “This is a lot to process,” Riss inserted. “Ike and I could both use a fresh drink before we get into the down-and-dirty details.”

  “Excellent idea.” Garnet placed her fingers in her mouth and whistled loud enough to wake the dead.

  The bartender practically came running. “Yes, ma’am?”

  “Champagne. The good stuff in the back cooler. And seven glasses. Real champagne flutes. None of them plastic ones.”

  “Right away.”

  Then five pairs of eyes zipped to Riss.

  “Do you use them dating apps?” Miz Maybelle asked.

  Ike murmured, “Ironic, isn’t it, that they’re askin’ for dating advice from the woman who doesn’t date? This oughta be fun. Your advice oughta be real helpful.”

  She kicked him under the table.

  “Well, that was a dumb question.” Pearl snorted. “Just look at her, Maybelle.”

  Riss froze.

  Just look at her.

  . . . she’s a red-haired freak.

  . . . she’s a tomboy.

  . . . she’s a dyke.

  . . . she’s a two-bagger.

  . . . she’s a fatty.

  . . . she’s butt-ugly.

  Her stomach churned with memories of those words flung out like poisoned arrows. Words that had hit the bull’s-eye and burrowed in, annihilating any chance of building self-confidence in her younger years. Words that retained power over her today.

  “A girl with rockin’ hair like that? And with that kinda cleavage and curves bustin’ outta the seams of her dress? And the don’t-take-crap-from-anyone attitude? Lord, I’ll bet she has her pick of men, don’t cha, sweetheart?”

  She was so floored she couldn’t speak.

  Shoot, she might actually bawl again.

  “They got you down pat, don’t they?”

  Automatically she turned to glare at Ike, but she realized he wasn’t being sarcastic.

  That was freaky. And a little unnerving. Just like earlier when Ike had said she looked pretty. He seemed as shocked that he’d said it as she’d been to hear it.

  Didn’t mean she hadn’t liked the heated look of male appreciation in his eyes, though.

  She sent Pearl a smile. “Thanks for that. But the truth is, I don’t really . . . date. I’m more the ‘hump and dump’ type.”

  Silence.

  As usual she’d taken it a step too far.

  Tilda leaned over and whispered, “You done it now.”

  “What? Offended them?”

  “Heck no. Now they’re gonna want all of your humping secrets. And they ain’t above plying you with money and booze to get us some action.”

  The champagne arrived.

  Vivien raised her glass for a toast. “Here’s to our future. May we all swipe right at least once.”

  “Even if he dresses left,” Pearl added with a snicker.

  Ike choked on his drink.

  She sipped her champagne. Damn. They were keeping the good stuff for themselves.

  “So hit us with your best nondating dating advice,” Miz Maybelle said to Riss.

  “There’s an app called Bumble. It’d be a good fit for all of you.”

  “Why? Is it for old folks who are bumbling around with this computer dating junk?” Garnet asked.

  “It’s an app where women make the first move, first contact, whatever you want to call it.”

  “Ike, you wanna jump in and share your experience?” Vivien said.

  “That’s easy. I don’t have any experience. I’m more old-school. If a woman catches my eye, I approach her right then. You might say . . . I swipe her off her feet.”

  “That’s boring,” Miz Maybelle chided. Then her gaze turned shrewd. “Unless you avoid apps because you’re technologically challenged?”

  “What? No. I know how to use them . . . I mean, I don’t have to use them, but I could if I wanted to.” His knee nudged Riss’s under the table in a plea for help.

  Rescue him or let him flounder?

  He’s been complimentary to you tonight. You owe him.

  “I’ve seen Palmer the Charmer in action, ladies. Trust me. Within fifteen minutes this smooth-talking hottie with more charms than Pandora has lined up his options and backups to his options.”

  “Does that make you jealous?”

  Why would Tilda ask that? Weird. “Jealous that Ike’s been blessed with that type of sexual magnetism? Yes. Some of us have to work harder for it. So, I’ll admit . . . I’ve used Tinder when I’m on the road.”

  “Does it really work?”

  Riss nodded at Tilda. “It does for me, since I’m only looking for a night or afternoon or morning of hot sex.”

  “And is that the real reason that you don’t date?” Vivien asked.

  What the hell? “Excuse me?”

  Then Miz Maybelle jumped in. “Or maybe you’re telling everyone you don’t date because you’re already involved with a guy and you’re keeping it a secret.”

  “I . . . have no idea what you’re talkin’ about.”

  “A guy everyone thinks you despise,” Vivien added. “The same guy feigns that he can’t stand you either. It’s all an act, isn’t it?”

  How much had these ladies been drinking? Because they weren’t making any sense.

  Pearl gestured between them. “We wanna know what the devil is goin’ on with the two of you. So spill it, sister.”

  “The two of us?” she repea
ted. “As in . . . me and Ike?”

  “Yes, you and Ike. Listen, girlie. We got eyes. We see the sparks fly between you. Heck, I saw the two of you yelling at each other in the parking lot of the Prickly Cactus last summer and it sure as shootin’ looked like a lovers’ quarrel.”

  Riss and Ike exchanged a startled look.

  Then Ike said smoothly, “Why was a classy lady such as yourself hanging out in a dangerous dump like that?”

  “Don’t you never mind,” Pearl said prissily. “We all got our little secrets. This is about you two.”

  “We’re snoopy old broads,” Garnet confided, as if that was a secret. “We wanna know if you two are nasty to each other because you’re doin’ the nasty.”

  “We’re not that nasty to each other!” Riss protested.

  Every single one of those women laughed.

  Ike shrugged. “You have called me some nasty names in the past, sweetheart.”

  Jerk. Next time she’d let him flounder. She started to say he’d done the same to her, but dammit . . . that just proved the point.

  Vivien delicately drummed her fingers on her champagne glass. “I consider myself hip to the language of today, but can you explain the term ‘douche canoe’? You yelled it at Ike in the Buckeye parking lot.”

  “And define ‘twatwaffle’ while you’re at it,” Tilda inserted. “I’d never heard it before you used it, but I’m pretty sure it has nothing to do with breakfast food.”

  “Lilies.” Pearl tapped the center of the table. “We’re getting off track.”

  “So give up the goodies,” Garnet said, rubbing her hands together. “Because I’ve got a thousand bucks riding on this bet.”

  “The one I told you we needed you to settle,” Tilda reminded Ike when he looked confused.

  “Wait.” Ike still seemed confused. “The bet wasn’t on whether certain dating apps guaranteed sex?”

  “Nope,” Tilda said gleefully.

  “Well, sonny, we really were curious about that and we wanted the truth from the horse’s mouth, so to speak,” Miz Maybelle said.