She remembered the way he’d come home on Friday afternoons and start the frantic search for his lucky purple sweatshirt even though it was always folded up neatly in his dresser drawer. She used to find his zeal endearing. Now she just wondered if he did his own laundry these days, or if he’d conned Libby into doing it for him. “Evening, Bradley. Are you enjoying the game?”
He eyed the profusion of blossoms on her chest and gave a noncommittal shrug. “Sure, if they keep the running game going we should be able to put this one in the win column.” He always sounded like he was doing an interview for sports radio when he talked about Everson football. He nudged her over so he could sit beside her on the bleachers. In a pained voice that said he was only doing this for her own good, he warned her, “You seem to be making quite a spectacle of yourself lately, Marla Jean.”
She scooted away from him. “You’re one to talk. What’s that thing on your head?”
He touched the beret self-consciously. “At present I’m exploring 19th century French literature—you know, Flaubert, Dumas, Hugo—but enough about me.”
“I didn’t know reading required costumes,” she quipped.
He wouldn’t allow himself to be distracted. “Don’t change the subject. I want to talk about you. First Donny Joe and now this. Look at that ridiculous thing you’re wearing. Not to mention Coach Beal running through the stands before the game, waving it behind him like he was flying a dad-gummed kite.”
Resentment strong and powerful flooded her body. The gall of the man. She suddenly decided her big-assed mum was the prettiest thing on the face of the earth. Harry had gone out of his way to do something special just for her, and okay, so he’d gone a little overboard, but she’d be damned if she’d let Bradley dismiss it as ridiculous. Damn him, anyway.
She unclenched her jaw and smiled sweetly. “Wasn’t that just the dearest thing you’ve ever seen?” She picked up a ribbon and held it out for his perusal. “Look, Bradley, this ribbon has Harry’s name on it, and this one has mine in glitter. It’s been years since a man gave me flowers.” A nice shower of iridescent glitter settled on his pants leg.
He seemed affronted by her statement. “I used to give you flowers.”
“Yeah, as I recall, the day you told me you were leaving me for Libby you brought me a big bunch of daisies. And I threw them in your face. That doesn’t count.”
“Being bitter doesn’t become you.” He tried brushing the sparkles from his pants, but they clung stubbornly to the grooves in the corduroy.
“I’m not bitter, Bradley. I’m moving on, just like you did. I would think that would make you happy.”
“So, this thing with you and Harry Beal is serious?”
“I hope not.” She winked and gave him her best saucy smile. “I’m not in the market for serious.”
He looked like he’d swallowed a June bug. “You’re certainly not the woman I married, Marla Jean.”
It was all she could do not to pull out one of the long pearl-tipped pins holding the mum in place and jab him smack dab in the cornea, but she managed to hold onto her dignity by the skinniest of threads. “No, but I’m the woman you divorced. You better get on back to Libby, now.”
He didn’t move, but sat watching her like she’d sprouted feathers. She stared straight ahead. If she ignored him long enough, he was bound to go away.
Another voice got her attention. “Hey, Marla Jean, are you two-timing me with Harry Beal?” Donny Joe Ledbetter stood at the end of the aisle smiling like the very idea tickled him pink. “By the way, that’s some hood ornament you’re wearing there.”
Marla was delighted to see him. “Hey, Donny Joe.” Finally, a man who didn’t take everything so seriously. “You know me. I like to keep a spare man handy for emergencies.”
Donny Joe thumbed the brim of his cowboy hat up and winked. “I hear ya, sugar.”
Jake came trotting back to the seats loaded down with a full drink carrier in one hand and nachos and popcorn in the other. Fighting with the ribbons, she stood up to help him before he spilled it all. He took one look at the other men surrounding Marla Jean and said, “Why don’t you get lost, Donny Joe. You too, Bradley.”
“Well, well,” Donny Joe declared. “If it ain’t Jake, the bodyguard.”
Bradley threw up his hands and scooted out of the aisle glowering at Donny Joe on his way past. “I can see I’m wasting my time here. I’ll see you tomorrow night, Jake.”
Marla looked from Bradley to Jake and back again.
“Yeah, sure,” Jake said, looking out of sorts.
Bradley nodded curtly and started the climb back up to his perch at the top of the stadium.
Before Marla could sit back down Donny Joe grabbed her hand. “Any chance you’re gonna be at Lu Lu’s tomorrow night?”
She hesitated. “My plans for tomorrow night aren’t exactly nailed down yet.” She should probably stay home and give the good folks of Everson a chance to gossip about somebody else.
He leaned into her space smelling like spice and good times. “Well, if you happen to end up at Lu Lu’s, save a dance for me. Okay?”
“Sure thing, Donny Joe.” And maybe some wild, uninhibited woman would invade her body tonight while she was sleeping so she could take him up on what he was offering, but she wasn’t holding her breath.
He kissed her hand, winked at Jake, and whistled as he sauntered down the stadium steps.
Jake watched him go and then shook his head at her in disbelief. Before he could start up about Donny Joe and her choices in men she asked, “What did Bradley mean when he said he’d see you tomorrow night?”
He looked embarrassed. “Bradley and Libby invited my mother and me to have dinner at his house tomorrow night.”
“Oh.” She didn’t know why it bothered her. It wasn’t as if she expected him to cut off all contact with his aunt. She raised her chin and faked a pleasant expression. “That should be nice.”
Jake sat down and swiveled around to face her. “Nice? It won’t be nice. It’ll be a colossal pain in the backside, but I promised my mother I’d go and be polite, so I will.”
“Oh, how bad can it be?” She laughed at his long-suffering expression. “But seriously, Jake, if your aunt is trying to make things work with Bradley, you won’t be able to avoid them forever.”
“Are you gonna give me advice on how to handle him? It seems kind of strange to be getting counsel from his ex-wife.”
She shook her head. “No, I’m not giving you advice. I’m just saying I think he might really love her, so of course he wants a chance to prove himself to her family. Bradley’s big on needing approval.”
He tilted his head to the side and studied her. “It seems to me that love is an easy promise to make, but not such an easy promise to keep.”
“When did you get so cynical?” This was a side of Jake she didn’t know.
“I’m not cynical. I’m realistic. How many happily-ever-afters do you see when you look around? Your marriage couldn’t even make it to the seven-year itch, and my parents’ marriage was no walk in the park, that’s for sure.”
“What about my parents—”
He held up his hand, cutting her off. “And your parents don’t count. Their relationship is some kind of freak of nature.”
“Okay. Well, there’s Lincoln and Dinah.”
He shrugged. “They show potential. Check back with me in ten years.”
“Wow. I’m the one that’s been burned, and you’re the one that wants love to come with some kind of ironclad guarantee.” She understood caution. After all, a serious relationship was the last thing she wanted right now, but that didn’t mean somewhere far, far down the road she wouldn’t be ready to try again.
“I just believe in playing the odds. That’s all, kiddo.” He handed her one of the drinks from the carrier beside him.
Her fingers brushed his, and this time she felt the jolt in places she was too polite to think about in public. She hid her reaction and managed to t
ake the drink without dumping it in his lap.
After finding her composure, she said, “If you ask me, Jake, I’d say you’re afraid to play at all.”
It was meant as a lighthearted taunt, but he fired back as if she’d struck a nerve. “And I’d say you’re ready to play with anyone who asks, Marla Jean.”
Marla looked up to see Jake’s date standing at the end of the aisle listening to their conversation. Genna was wearing an expression that would curdle cream cheese when she asked, “And what exactly are you two playing?”
Chapter Eight
Jake pushed open the door to Romeo’s pizza place, allowing Genna to walk in ahead of him.
“Thank you, Jake.” She looked back at him, gracing him with one of her full-blown man-killer smiles, a smile she normally wouldn’t bother wasting on him.
God help him.
He smiled his I’m-gonna-pretend-you’re-not-acting-weird smile. “Sure thing, Genna.”
He’d half expected her to ask him to take her straight home after the game. She’d been in a snit the whole second half, but now she’d decided to go the flirty, territorial route. Her long red nails sank into the leather of his jacket as she grabbed his arm. He didn’t like women who were territorial, especially not when it was Genna—queen of having a good time and playing the field. That’s why they normally got along so well. Over the years they’d agreed on three things—no strings, no baggage, and no expectations.
But damn if Genna didn’t seem to be expecting something from him tonight. Ever since they sat down at the game with Linc and Dinah, and by default, Marla Jean, she’d been acting downright jealous. Maybe it was all the attention Marla Jean was getting lately. Genna didn’t like playing second fiddle to anyone, and what with Marla’s divorce and being newly single, Genna would naturally view her as competition. Which probably explained her sudden clinginess. He was sure she’d heard about his tussle with Donny Joe. Everyone else in town had. And she’d probably heard that Marla Jean was the reason, too.
But he didn’t owe Genna any kind of explanation. Period. End of subject, as far as he was concerned. Accountability had never been a part of their relationship. Despite their understanding, he didn’t think she was seeing it that way tonight.
The pizza place vibrated with loud conversation and hoots of laughter as the town folks got busy celebrating the team’s victory. Jake spotted Linc and Dinah already at a table in the corner and herded Genna in that direction.
Linc waved at the chairs across from them. “Sit down, guys. I ordered a pitcher of beer. If you want anything else to drink, you’re on your own.”
Genna actually simpered when she said, “I’ll take a diet soda, please Jake.”
Jake held out Genna’s chair while she sat and said, “You got it. I’ll be right back.”
Jake made his way through the tables full of people to the counter and ordered Genna’s drink. Marla Jean and Harry Beal weren’t there yet. Not that he was keeping track. He saw Bradley and Aunt Libby in the next room sitting at a big table with their friends. He’d avoided speaking to his aunt at the game, but he knew he should at least say hello. He was going to put that off for a while longer if he could.
Shouts of congratulations greeted members of the football team as they came straggling in, their hair still wet from showers, their faces flushed with the thrill of winning the big game.
“Way to go, boys.”
“Great game, fellas.”
Coach Beal came in next with Marla Jean on his arm. Jake thought he looked like he’d won more than a football game. She came in weighed down by that stupid mum, smiling at Harry like he was some kind of conquering hero. Something in Jake’s gut tightened. She looked ridiculous. She looked beautiful. She looked happy.
From across the room she caught his eye and lifted her hand in a brief greeting. He raised an eyebrow in acknowledgment before she was swept off into the crowd of football players.
Determined not to give Marla Jean Bandy another thought, Jake grabbed Genna’s diet soda and headed back to the table. It was Linc’s fault he’d gotten dragged back into Marla Jean’s life in the first place, but that wouldn’t stop him from trying to kick his butt if he knew the kinds of thoughts he’d been having about his baby sister the last couple of days.
Genna sat quietly, not joining in the conversation—not at all her usual life-of-the-party self. And he felt guilty about that, because if nothing else, he and Genna had been friends for a long time. Besides, he’d been raised to dance with the one who “brung” him. Whatever the hell was going on in his mixed-up, sideways brain, he needed to get his act together, pronto.
Marla Jean sat beside Harry as he relived every play of the game in exacting detail, and found with surprise she was enjoying herself. Harry’s pride in the team, and his excitement about the win, was contagious. When they arrived he’d insisted that they sit at a table away from the players since they were supposed to be on a date. A date. At first she cringed at the implication, but what the heck, she might as well give in and call it what it was. A duck by any other name would quack as loud and all that. She sighed. It was definitely a date.
That’s what her new, big life plan was all about, wasn’t it? Getting back out there. Stepping up to life again and Harry was attentive and entertaining. He told her how he’d anguished about whether to call a screen pass or a run on the crucial third-down play in the fourth quarter, and it was actually kind of touching to watch him talk about something that meant so much to him. He gave everything to his job and the boys on the team. That was clear. Who knew quiet, steady Harry Beal had such passion inside him?
Her brother’s distinctive laughter drifted in occasionally from the other room, and she tried not to wonder if Jake was laughing, too. She also did her best to ignore Bradley and Libby across the way. Her ex-husband’s face had turned into a thundercloud when she came walking in with Harry, and she’d made a point of not looking in their direction since then. If Bradley was going to act like a jerk every time she looked at another man, it was going to get old fast.
Harry nodded toward the extra chair that held her jacket and the giant corsage. She’d made an excuse about being warm and taken it off the minute they’d gotten inside. “So, I guess the mum was good luck,” he said.
She wanted to discourage that kind of thinking. “I really don’t think it was the mum, Harry. I think it was your coaching.”
“Well, just to be safe, I plan to get you an even bigger one for the next game.”
Marla tried to keep a neutral expression on her face. The next game. And a bigger mum. Good gravy. She hadn’t really planned on a repeat performance. Not that seeing Harry again was out of the question. Maybe a dinner date or a movie, but she didn’t really want the job as the high school football team’s good luck charm. That was way too much pressure. Her stomach made a loud growling sound.
Harry looked embarrassed. “You must be hungry, and here I am yammering on about the game. It’s not like you weren’t right there watching it the whole time. But I get carried away. What kind of pizza do you want?”
“Pepperoni’s my favorite, but I’ll eat anything except onions. I’d rather not have onions.”
“Pepperoni it is, then.” He waved at a waiter and leaned toward her and said in a low voice, “I’m with you. No onions unless we’re both eating them, right?” Then he winked.
It was so unexpected, so un-Harry like it took her a moment to realize what he was implying. “No, actually, I’m allergic. Onions make me break out in big welts, and I get violently ill.”
“Oh.” He straightened in his chair, looking a bit flustered. “No onions then. Absolutely.”
Damn it, he’d thought she’d been flirting. She wasn’t sure she remembered how. She needed to regroup. “Harry, would you excuse me for a minute? I’d like to freshen up.”
He stood and helped pull out her chair. “Of course, Marla Jean, and I’ll order the pizza while you’re gone.”
“Thanks, I’ll be
right back.” Smiling, she hurried off toward the ladies room.
She pulled the door open and rushed inside. Closeting herself in a stall, she closed the lid and sat down to think. She was lousy at picking up on the games men and women played. It had been too long since she’d had to bother. Like that thing with the onions. Obviously Harry was counting on some extracurricular activity after the pizza. At the very least, a good-night kiss. And it was a reasonable expectation.
It was just too weird, though—the idea that for the rest of her life she’d be kissing other men. Men other than Bradley. She’d kissed Donny Joe Saturday night, but part of the problem had been her brain wouldn’t stop analyzing the kiss long enough for her to enjoy it.
Bradley’s lips were the only lips she’d kissed for years and years. Okay, so maybe some of the old passion had faded, but it had been comfortable, like slipping into her favorite pair of house shoes. The ratty ones with holes that had been worn so much they molded to fit her feet. If that was her idea of romance, it was no wonder Bradley found another woman.
He’d moved on, and it was time she did the same. If she needed to kiss a bunch of men until she got the hang of it again, she’d just have to persevere. She was going to kiss Harry Beal tonight, and damn it, she was going to enjoy it. Filled with new resolve, she opened the stall door.
Just her luck. Genna Stanley stood in front of the mirrors touching up her lipstick. After blotting her bright pink lips on a tissue she faced Marla Jean with a glacial smile. “Marla Jean.” All semblance of friendliness was gone now that they were alone.
“Genna.” Marla acknowledged the other woman before sticking her hands under the automatic water faucet. She pumped out extra blue soap, working up a mound of lather, while hoping Genna would leave, but the woman evidently had a few things to say.
“It won’t do you any good, you know.” Genna’s tone was condescending.
Ain't Misbehaving (9781455523801) Page 7
