Ain't Misbehaving (9781455523801)

by Cannon, Molly

  But the idea of getting involved with someone she could come to care for scared the blue dickens out of her. Everyone in town would be at the pizza place after the game though, so it wouldn’t really count as a date. “Sounds like fun. We can celebrate your victory with pepperoni and extra cheese.”

  He grinned like he’d landed a three-foot bass. When the music stopped, she thanked him for the dance, but before she could make it back to her table Greg Tucker asked if he could have the honor.

  After that she danced with Johnny Dean, Fergus Barnes, and Tommy Lee Stewart. They flirted, and she flirted back. No big deal. A bunch of small town wannabe Romeos checking out the lay of the land. She was smart enough to know her sudden popularity was born of a burning curiosity about her divorce. They all asked basically the same thing, “How ya holding up, darlin’?” and let her know with a wink and a sashay around the dance floor, they’d be more than happy to help her out if she needed anything at all.

  She smiled, said “thanks,” and kept on dancing.

  That is until she saw Donny Joe headed her way, and she made a beeline for the ladies’ room. She wasn’t ready to go another round with him, or for that matter, to be reminded of her miserable attempt at playing the loose woman.

  She splashed cool water on her flushed face and used her fingers to fluff up her hair. Smiling at her reflection, she realized that despite everything, she was having fun—even if she hadn’t managed to get laid.

  Even before Jake’s interference she’d known she couldn’t go through with her plan. Damn it all. It had sounded so simple in theory, but in practice she’d run smack dab into reality. For her, sex was tied up with love, and love wasn’t something she was likely to find at Lu Lu’s on a Saturday night. Not that she was looking. “Love” was a dirty word as far as she was concerned. So while on one hand, she was right back where she’d started—all alone and frustrated—on the other hand, she’d had a blast dancing her fanny off with every man in the joint, and now she had plans that included football and pizza next Friday night. All in all, it hadn’t been a complete waste of time.

  Wandering back out into the bar, she decided she was ready to call it a night. Jake still lounged on his barstool, but now Wanda Lee Mabry sat by him on one side and Rhoda Foster sat on the other. Both women seemed to be vying for his attention, making it much easier for her to slip out unnoticed.

  Walking over to the corner table she’d claimed earlier in the evening, she searched the area for her purse. It wasn’t on the table, and it wasn’t on the floor, and if somebody was dumb enough to steal it they wouldn’t have gotten anything but her driver’s license, a twenty-dollar bill, a tube of Ripe Cherry Red lipstick, a just-in-case condom, and her car keys. At the moment, all she cared about were her car keys.

  Then it dawned on her. She remembered touching up her lipstick right before she’d gone outside with Donny Joe and having her purse when she got in his truck. Dag-nab-it, she’d bet all the beans in Boston she’d left it on the floorboard of his pick-up. Jake’s high-handed meddling had ticked her off so much she hadn’t given her purse a second thought when she’d scrambled out of that truck. She looked around the room for Donny Joe but didn’t see him. The dance floor was still packed with people, so she stood on her tiptoes to see if she could see his head above the crowd.

  Lana and Warren Sanders danced by. “Hey, Marla Jean,” they said in unison.

  “Hey guys. Have y’all seen Donny Joe?”

  “Donny Joe Ledbetter?” Lana asked, not hiding her surprise. “Not lately. Sorry.”

  “That’s okay. Thanks, anyway.” She moved on around the room asking if anybody had seen him, but she finally gave up and walked over to the far end of the bar, the end farthest away from where Jake still sat surrounded by women. The bartender spotted her and moved down to her end.

  “What’ll it be, Marla Jean?” An older man with gray hair pulled back in a ponytail and an eye patch over one eye, Mike Benson was as much a part of Lu Lu’s as the gravel parking lot and the odor of stale beer.

  “Mike, have you seen Donny Joe? I know he was here a minute ago.”

  He picked up a bar towel and started polishing glasses. “Yeah, he was dancing with Irene Cornwell, and I saw them leave together.”

  “How long ago was that?”

  “Oh, I don’t know. A few minutes, maybe.”

  “Damn it, I’ve got to catch him.” Hitching up her skirt she took off toward the front door. She burst outside, skidding to a stop on the gravel, and scanned the parking lot for his truck. If she was lucky Donny Joe and Irene would just be going at it like squirrels in his front seat. It wouldn’t even bother her to catch them in flagrante delicto. She’d ask them to forgive the intrusion, grab her purse, and tell them to carry on. They probably wouldn’t even notice.

  She hurried toward the place where he’d been parked earlier, but she could see before she got there the spot was empty. Son of a bitch. She couldn’t believe this. The sound of a racing engine caught her attention, and she spotted his truck at the far exit getting ready to pull out onto the highway.

  “Wait, Donny Joe, come back,” she yelled, waving her arms about wildly. Hitching her skirt even higher, she took off at a sprint. If she could just get his attention it would save her a world of trouble in the long run. “Donny Joe, hey, Donny Joe, don’t leave yet,” she hollered at the top of her lungs, but it was no use. She stumbled to a stop and watched his red taillights recede into the dark night. “Crap, horse feathers, and double doo-doo.” Cursing her luck and panting, she stood bent over with her hands braced on her knees, trying to catch her breath.

  “For God’s sake, Marla Jean, don’t chase after the guy. Have some pride.”

  She whirled around at the sound of Jake’s voice. He’d followed her out of the bar, obviously, and now he thought she’d lost her mind.

  “You!” She pointed a finger and started marching toward him. A smart man would have shown some concern, but he stood his ground until her finger was poking him in the chest. “This is all your fault, mister.”

  “My fault?” The idea seemed to amuse him.

  “Entirely, altogether, and completely your fault.” She crossed her arms and stomped her foot like a bratty kid.

  He moved closer and leaned down until they were nose to nose. “You should be down on your knees thanking me, missy. I kept you from making a God-awful mistake with Donny Joe earlier this evening. And now this? You go racing across the parking lot screaming like a banshee when he’s got another woman in the truck with him? Come on, Marla Jean. You’re obviously not yourself.”

  For the second time that night she marched across the parking lot with Jake hot on her heels. “At the risk of repeating myself, I’ll make all the God-awful mistakes I want. And what I am, you big dolt, is stuck.”

  “Hold up, Marla Jean—”

  “I was chasing after Donny Joe, because thanks to you,” she turned to glare at him for emphasis, “I left my purse and my car keys in his truck. If I don’t seem properly grateful, you can bite me.”

  “Does that offer involve your rosy, pink butt?”

  She marched on, trying for the umpteenth time that evening to yank her skirt back down where it belonged. “Go to hell.”

  “Before or after I offer you a ride home?” He stopped by his little yellow Porsche Boxster. “Hop in.”

  “Yeah, right. I’ll go ask Harry Beal for a ride.”

  “That should make his night. He’ll think he’s hit the jackpot.”

  She hesitated. She didn’t want to give Harry the wrong impression. “I’ll call a cab.”

  “That’d be a waste of good money, if you had any on you. Just get in the car.”

  She stopped and let out a strangled groan. “Maybe I’ll walk. It’s not that far.”

  “Were you always this stubborn? Let me explain something to you, Marla Jean. I don’t care if you call a cab, hitchhike, or crawl on your hands and knees—but I’ll be driving right behind you, no matter what.�
�

  “Now who’s being stubborn?”

  He shrugged. “I’m not about to tell Linc that because of me, you walked home from Lu Lu’s at eleven-thirty at night.”

  “Linc’s got you on a pretty short leash, doesn’t he?”

  “I owe Linc a lot, and he never asks for much, so for everyone’s sake, please get in the car.”

  She sighed for what seemed like the millionth time that evening, a world-weary, put-upon sigh, and then stalked over to the car. He opened the door for her and didn’t even try to pretend that he wasn’t looking at her legs when her skirt rode back up to mid-thigh. She was going to go home and burn the stupid dress in the fireplace. After closing her door, Jake loped around the car, and she watched while he managed to fold his big frame into the compact driver’s seat. “Wouldn’t you be more comfortable in a bigger car?”

  “This isn’t a car. She’s a beloved member of the family, and she handles like a woman in love.” He started the engine and turned to face her. “Marla Jean, meet Lucinda.”

  “You name your cars?”

  “Don’t you?” He backed out of the space and headed for the nearest exit.

  “Of course not. Well, I did have that clunker in high school we called ‘Buck’—for bucket of bolts—but these days I try not to get personally involved with my vehicles.”

  “Hmm.” He looked at her as if her answer gave him some important insight into her character before returning his attention to the road.

  After the divorce she’d moved into her parents’ old house on Sunnyvale Street. They’d retired a few years back and moved to Padre Island. After that, her brother Lincoln lived there until his recent marriage, and then he moved into his bride’s place since it was newer and bigger.

  The last thing Marla wanted to do was stay in the house she’d shared with Bradley, and her folks’ house was empty, so it seemed like the perfect solution until she could find a place of her own. Sometimes, though, moving back to the house she’d grown up in made her feel like she’d failed her first attempt at being an adult.

  It was a short drive home, and since Jake grew up on the same street, he knew the way without being told. She closed her eyes and tried not to think about the man sitting by her side. Even when they were kids, he’d always been able to throw her off balance with a look or a word. Apparently, that hadn’t changed.

  He pulled into her driveway, and she let him walk her to the door. She figured he’d insist anyway, and she was too tired to argue. On the way up the walkway, she remembered her keys, and the fact that they were spending the night in the floorboard of Donny Joe’s truck. Jake seemed to realize the problem at the same time. Without missing a beat, he reached into the third hanging basket from the left and pulled out the spare key—the same place the spare key had been hidden the entire time they’d been growing up.

  “It’s nice to know some things never change.” He unlocked the front door and pushed it open. “If you need any help picking up your car tomorrow, let me know.”

  “Thanks, but I’ll manage.” It suddenly felt so familiar to be standing in the dark talking with him on the front porch. He was bigger and taller now, but he was still Jake. “Good night, Jake.”

  “Good night, Marla Jean.” He reached for her hand and pressed the spare key into her palm. “Try to stay out of trouble.”

  She pulled her hand out of his and resisted the urge to stick out her tongue. “Try to mind your own business.”

  He laughed and brushed his thumb across her cheek. “You haven’t changed, either, Marla Jean.”

  Before she could ask what that was supposed to mean, he bounded off the porch and was gone.

  Chapter Three

  Thank heavens it was Sunday morning, and she didn’t have to get up and go to work for two whole days. Marla Jean drew the covers up to her chin and nestled deeper into her goose down pillow. MJ’s Barber Shop still observed the traditional Sunday/Monday weekend, so she could sleep all day if she felt like it.

  That was one nice thing about being single. No one could bug her about getting up and doing something productive. Bradley used to have their Sundays planned to the minute. He’d bribe her with doughnuts and fancy coffee to get her out of bed, and then they’d tackle some project around the house until it was time to watch football.

  There was a certain comfort in the routine, but now she could be as lazy as she wanted and not have to answer to anybody. She turned over and spread out, taking up the whole bed. Another advantage to being single—the bed was never crowded, and after last night, that wasn’t likely to change any time soon. A downright depressing thought if there ever was one.

  She pulled the sheet over her head and shut her eyes. Maybe she’d stitch up a sampler. The ABCs of singlehood. Alone time, bored time, crying time…

  She could admit she missed her ex-husband Bradley, or at least she missed the idea of him. They’d been high school sweethearts, and when they got married after college it seemed like the next logical step. They’d made a nice life together. Nothing earthshaking, but nice. At least she’d thought so. It turned out Bradley wanted more than nice.

  But even if he had a change of heart and begged her to let him come back—a fantasy she tried not to indulge in more than once a week—she knew down deep in her heart the marriage was over.

  The sound of someone pounding loudly on her front door interrupted her woe-is-me ruminations. She threw off the covers, shoved her feet into furry kitty-cat slippers, and made sure the Dallas Stars hockey jersey she’d slept in was pulled down far enough to cover all her important parts. Then she stumbled out of her bedroom, ready to kill whoever was disturbing her peaceful morning. She peeped out the peephole and groaned. She must have conjured him up, because Bradley stood on her front porch holding a big box of doughnuts.

  As soon as she opened the door he barreled his way inside. Shoving the box at her like a battering ram, he demanded, “What the hell’s going on, Marla Jean?”

  “Excuse me?” She shoved the box back at him and tried pushing him back out the open door. “I don’t remember inviting you over, Bradley, so if you don’t mind—”

  “I’m not leaving until you explain why Donny Joe Ledbetter answered your cell phone this morning.” His chin did that jutting out thing it did whenever he decided to dig his heels in about something.

  “Why do you care who answers my cell phone?”

  “I was worried—”

  “It’s not your job to worry about me anymore, in case you’ve forgotten.” A few months ago she would have been touched by his concern—a signal that he still cared. Now it seemed more like an unwelcome intrusion.

  “I realize that, Marla Jean, but I was on my way over to the Hole-In-The-Dough to get doughnuts for Libby this morning when I saw your car sitting there big as life in Lu Lu’s parking lot.”

  “You mean these aren’t even for me?” She slapped at the box in his hands. He had a lot of nerve. “Isn’t Libby going to wonder what’s taking you so long?”

  “Now don’t go trying to change the subject. I was worried half to death, and then, when Donny Joe answered your phone, I didn’t know what to think.”

  “Think whatever you like. I don’t owe you or anyone else in this town an explanation. Sheesh.” She gave him a harder push and this time managed to get him back out onto the front porch.

  He sighed, and his shoulders sagged. “You know I still care about you, Marly Jay.”

  Marly Jay had always been his pet name for her, and she couldn’t believe he had the nerve to invoke it now. Dull pain washed through her insides, leaving a raw ache where her heart used to be. She wanted to scream, or maybe kick him in the balls. Neither seemed like a good option, so she counted to ten and studied the man she’d loved off and on since high school. He’d always been nice looking in that friendly, puppy-dog kind of way, and the years hadn’t changed that. His blond hair ruffled in the breeze, his cheeks were slightly pink from the cool autumn morning, and his blue eyes fairly dripped w
ith sincere concern. She’d always felt secure with Bradley, and his devotion was the one thing she’d thought she could depend on. That had been a big mistake. One she wouldn’t make again.

  She knew he still cared about her, but right now his concern felt more like pity, and she wanted to take his Hole-In-The-Dough doughnuts and cram them down his two-timing gullet.

  “Go home, Bradley.” Before she could shut the door, the object of their conversation roared up the street and parked in front of her house.

  “What’s Donny Joe doing here, Marla Jean?” Bradley’s face and neck had taken on the color of a medium rare T-bone steak.

  She ignored his question and walked outside, waiting on the porch while Donny Joe climbed out of his truck holding her purse. Even carrying her red-sequined clutch, he still looked like God’s gift to women as he strutted up the walkway toward the house. He wore a tan cowboy hat at a cocky angle, tight jeans, and a red plaid flannel shirt open over a white T-shirt. Dark shades covered his spring-green eyes, but his entire face broke out into a dazzling grin when he caught sight of them on the porch. Marla Jean heaved a sigh and wondered again what was wrong with her. Everything about the man said, “Use me and abuse me,” but she just hadn’t been able to do it.

  Donny took off his sunglasses, bouncing up the steps two at a time. “Hey, Brad, old buddy! Read any good books lately?” He slapped Bradley on the back and winked at Marla Jean. Then in a voice that probably peeled the clothes right off most women, he said, “Mornin’, sugar. I thought you might need this.”

  He held out her purse, and she snatched it away. It was downright silly, but her cheeks flamed like he’d just handed her a pair of crotchless panties.

  “Thanks, Donny Joe. I’m awfully sorry you had to drive all the way over here for this.” After all, nothing that happened at Lu Lu’s had been his fault.

  “Anything for you, Marla Jean. Last night things got kind of wild, and I figured your purse was the last thing on your mind.” He spotted the Hole-In-The-Dough box Brad was holding, and his eyes lit up. “Hey, you wouldn’t happen to have a spare cruller in there, would ya, buddy? I worked up quite an appetite last night.”