by Lili Valente
“Two eggs—scrambled—toast, and your answer,” I say. “I’ll take it all to go.”
She rolls her eyes before bringing pen to pad, muttering beneath her breath, “At least it’s not illegal.”
“Not at all.”
“I wasn’t talking to you,” she says with a glare that is more cute than menacing. “Your total is eight seventy-six. Have the money ready when I get back. I want you out of here.”
“Why?” I ask, lifting a wry brow. “Am I distracting you?”
“You’re annoying me,” she says, but she doesn’t sound annoyed. She sounds intrigued, and I know she’s going to give in even before she returns with my breakfast in a brown paper bag and plops it down in front of me with a curt nod.
“I’ll do it.” She holds up a finger, stopping me before I can respond. “But I want payment up front, in cash. I’ll have to take off work at the theater tomorrow night, and I can’t afford to do that unless I’m sure I’m getting paid. And I go straight home after. No…other stuff. Strictly business.”
“You’re blushing,” I say, loving the fact that she’s flustered by our relatively tame history. But maybe she’s never begged a guy to make her come before. I hope not. I wouldn’t mind being the first man to show Caitlin how fun playing dirty can be.
“I’m not blushing.” She rolls her eyes again, and her cheeks grow pinker. “Agree to my terms, or it’s a no go. I told you, I don’t have time to play.”
But you will, if I have anything to say about it.
Aloud I say, “It’s a deal. I’ll pick you up at six.”
“Fine.” She tears the ticket off her pad and drops it on the table beside the bag. “But don’t come to the door. I’ll meet you in the driveway. I don’t want to have to explain you to the kids.”
“They don’t usually meet your dates?”
“I don’t date,” she says as I pull my wallet from my jeans pocket. “I don’t have time, and I don’t plan on making any, so don’t get any ideas.”
I drop a twenty on top of the check. “I’ve never had an idea in my life.”
Her lips quirk, but she doesn’t allow the twitch to become a smile. “Yeah, right. You’re full of ideas. All of them bad, as far as I can tell. You know your parents are going to hate me, right?”
“Why’s that?” I ask, though I know exactly why, and know she would have been right, even a few months ago.
“I’m a high school dropout who works as a waitress,” she says in a matter of fact tone, obviously not ashamed of who she is, “with a father who’s been arrested for drunk and disorderly more times than I can count. Your parents will probably be scared to death you’ll get me pregnant, and they’ll be permanently tied to the tackiest family in Giffney.”
“How can I get you pregnant if there’s no ‘other stuff’ allowed?”
She swipes the twenty and the check from the table and mumbles, “Your parents won’t know that.”
“I could tell them,” I say, not wanting her to go. “I could tell them you’re a virgin who’s saving herself for marriage. My mom would love that, even if she is already talking grandchildren.”
“Tell them whatever you want,” Caitlin says in a chilly voice. “As long as you’re paying me, I don’t care.”
“Maybe I will.” I smile, some perverse part of me enjoying pissing her off.
“Fine,” she snaps. “I’ll be right back with your change.”
She spins so fast her skirt swirls higher on her legs, making the old man settling into the booth across from mine inhale sharply and his eyes bulge in his red face. I watch her hips twitch as she storms across the restaurant and behind the counter to the register, knowing I should feel guilty for making her angry. But she’s even prettier when she’s angry, with her cheeks all red and those green eyes flashing.
Besides, I’ll make up for being an asshole later, when I treat her like a princess all evening and my mother spends the entire dinner falling all over herself to welcome Caitlin to the family. There was a time when my mother wanted only the best for me—which, in her mind, included a girlfriend with money, ambition, and the proper pedigree—but now she just wants to see me in love, to see me so gone on a girl I’ll have a reason to fight to reverse my life’s sudden downward trajectory.
My mother still believes in happy endings. She thinks I’ll convince the university that those failing grades and missed classes back in March were excusable lapses in judgment, and they’ll welcome me back to school in the fall with open arms. She talks about the grandchildren I’ll bring home to Darby Hill for long visits in the summer, despite the fact that all signs—and my failure to commit to any of the girls I’ve casually dated—point to grandchildren as being the stuff of fantasy.
My mother’s more likely to find a unicorn frolicking in the back forty than a kid in my future, but there’s no reasoning with Deborah once she’s got her mind set on something.
That’s why I need Caitlin. I could have found another girl to pretend with me, but I wouldn’t have been able to trust her the way I trust Caitlin. We committed a felony together. After that, deceiving my parents will be a walk in the park. I know I can trust her not to mention any of the forbidden topics I’ll list on the way to dinner, to stay on task, and to keep her emotional distance and not be drawn in by my mother’s attempts to worm her way deeper into my girlfriend’s life.
I’m truly looking forward to getting on with my summer agenda without any blind dates on the horizon, but having an excuse to spend time with Caitlin is an excellent bonus.
“I’m ready to order, sugar,” the old man in the booth across from mine says in a syrupy voice as Caitlin hustles back to our corner of the restaurant.
“I’ll be right with you, Mr. Noel. Just one second.” She turns to me, and starts counting out my change, but I’m still looking at Mr. Noel, who is looking at Caitlin’s ass in a way no man old enough to be her grandfather should be looking at her ass.
Hell, in a way no other man should ever be allowed to look at her ass. Caitlin may not be mine, yet, but she will be, and the unapologetic lust in the geezer’s faded blue eyes is enough to make my blood boil.
“Hey, friend,” I say, venom in my tone. “Keep your eyes where they belong.”
The old man blinks, his gaze drifting from Caitlin’s ass, to me, to Caitlin’s ass, and back again before he seems to realize the words were meant for him. “Excuse me?”
“Keep your eyes on her face, or you’ll regret it.” I slide out of the booth and stand, staring down at him with a hard look I hope makes it clear this isn’t an idle threat. “She deserves your respect, and her ass isn’t on the menu.”
“Gabe stop,” Caitlin hisses behind me. She grabs my elbow and slips around my left side, inserting herself between me, and the creep scooting to the edge of his booth. “I’m so sorry, Mr. Noel. My friend is crazy, he—”
“I’m not crazy. Mr. Noel knows he was out of line.”
“I’ll get pancakes somewhere else,” the man mumbles, his eyes on the ground and his spotted hand clutching his chest as he shuffles toward the door.
“Good idea.” I watch him go, half hoping the pervert has a heart attack on the way out. He’s already had more than his fair share of time on Earth, and his death would mean one fewer slime ball oozing around the planet.
But it seems like the worst people are the ones who stick around the longest. The files in my father’s office are full of old men and women who have lived long, shitty lives.
They say only the good die young.
I’m not sure that’s true, but the evil certainly seem to linger.
The old man is nearly to the door when the other waitress rushes over, laying a hand on his back as she leans in to ask him if he’s okay.
“I’m fine, Gretchen, sugar.” His anxious eyes shift my way. “Just know when I’m not wanted.”
“What?” Gretchen turns, pinning me with an outraged look before her eyes slide to Caitlin and freeze over. “Caitlin, come
apologize to Mr. Noel. Right now.”
I snag Caitlin’s elbow as she starts forward. “He should be the one apologizing.”
“Let me go.” Caitlin tugs her arm away and points to the exit, adding beneath her breath, “Just leave. Please. You’ve caused enough trouble for one morning.”
“I’m trying to help.” I snatch the bag containing my breakfast from the table. “You’re better than this. You should quit.”
“Leave,” she repeats, putting a hand between my shoulder blades, urging me toward the exit with more strength than I expected. “This isn’t helping. Not even a little bit.”
“All right, if you won’t listen to reason…” I amble to the front of the restaurant, holding the older waitress’s cool gaze as I move, making it clear I’m not sorry for calling out the pervert she has tucked protectively under her arm.
Gretchen gives as good a glare as she gets, but Mr. Noel seems determined to keep his focus on the ground until I’m gone, so I’m forced to settle for a whispered—
“Remember what we talked about.”
—as I slip out the door, instead of the moment of eye contact I would have preferred.
As soon as the door shuts behind me, I hear the older waitress snap at Caitlin, followed by the enraging sound of Caitlin apologizing. I want to turn around and kick Mr. Noel to the curb myself, but instead, I cross the small parking lot. I lift my face to the morning sun already glaring down from the sky, not allowing my eyes to drift toward the restaurant until I reach the Beamer.
When I do glance back, I wish I hadn’t. I could have done without seeing Caitlin with her head bowed and her spine curved submissively before Mr. Noel, like a dog with its tail tucked between its legs. She isn’t the strong, wild, fearless girl who climbed over a barbed wire fence with me now. She looks beaten, tired, and so much older than twenty.
Seeing her like this—so small and unable to fight back, at the mercy of the people she depends upon for this shit job—stirs up unexpected feelings. I suddenly want to take Caitlin away from this place, to hold her hand as I walk her to my car and apologize for making her life more difficult. I want to do something to make up for the crap people in the world, and be a better friend to her than I was this morning.
The past few months, I’ve done my best to dispose of my old friends. I don’t need to make any new ones, especially not a friend who dances like there’s no one watching, has a smile that makes me want to learn all her secrets, and kisses like the world is on fire.
Caitlin Cooney is dangerous, and starting to look less like the answer to my problems, and more like trouble I don’t need.
I should put an end to this thing between us before it begins. I should put the money I promised her in an envelope and stick it in her mailbox, with a note telling her I’ve changed my mind about dinner. I should delete her number from my phone, and forget I know where she lives. I should walk away from Caitlin Cooney and stay the hell out of her life.
But I won’t.
I’ve never been good at doing what I should. I don’t resist Temptation, I throw him a big, loud party and invite Trouble to D.J.
CHAPTER TWELVE
Caitlin
Even a small thorn causes festering. –Irish Proverb
Saturday night, I pace the length of the living room for the fifth time in less than ten minutes. I swipe the dusty blue curtains to one side, peeking at the empty driveway.
Gabe will be here any minute. Any freaking minute.
Why did I say yes to this? Why did I agree to this stupid, stress-inducing, fake date?
“Won’t he honk?” Heather, my best friend Isaac’s girlfriend, asks.
“He’d better not.” Isaac glances up from the bloody Xbox game he and Danny are playing while the little kids play outside. He sits up straighter on the couch, puffing out his broad chest. “He’d better come to the door and let me glare at him so he knows to behave himself.”
Heather laughs, twirling one of her tight brown curls around her finger as she keeps an eye on the pasta boiling on the stove. “You’re not Caitlin’s dad, Isaac.”
“Thank God,” I mumble, glancing toward the back door, half expecting Chuck to stumble in drunk off his ass and ruin this date before it starts.
I trust Isaac and Heather to watch the kids, but I don’t trust anyone to handle Chuck, but me. My dad has been known to get belligerent with non-family members—and occasionally gets rough with Danny if my brother insists on running his mouth—but my father has never raised a hand to me, not once in my entire life. I can always get him talked down from the edge and tucked safely into bed.
Chuck has ruined my plans many, many times before—he has a sixth sense that alerts him on the rare occasions when I’ve arranged to do something fun—but this time around a Chuck crisis might be a blessing in disguise.
I have no idea what I’m going to say to Gabe’s parents, or how I’m going to convince them that Gabe and I are in love. I barely know the guy, and considering how much trouble he caused at the diner yesterday, I’m feeling more inclined to punch him in the gut than hold his hand at the supper table.
Liar. Such a terrible liar.
I sigh, and busy myself laying out plates and silverware for the pasta dinner Heather graciously offered to cook.
I am a terrible liar. Hearing someone call out Mr. Noel before he could get a hand up my skirt was one of the highlights of my year, and totally worth incurring Gretchen’s wrath. Gretchen is always miffed with someone. By Monday, she’ll be pissed at one of the other servers and forget she threatened to fire me, but Mr. Noel won’t be putting his hands on me again. And I have Gabe to thank for it.
Gabe, who sounded like he actually cared whether I was treated well at work, who sounded like he cared about me…
“But he doesn’t,” I mutter, tossing the final fork onto a napkin and heading back into the kitchen. “He’s a huge, asshole player.”
“Then why are you going out with him?” Isaac asks.
“Talking to myself,” I call out, snagging the salad I made earlier from the fridge.
“I don’t care,” Isaac says. “I heard it, and I want to know why you’re breaking your ‘no dating ever’ rule for some guy you don’t even like.”
“She didn’t say she didn’t like him,” Heather says, eyes dancing in her pale face.
She’s given up the Goth makeup she loved senior year of high school, but with her ivory skin, dark eyes, and thick brown curls, she still looks like the heroine of a vampire novel. She and Isaac, who is about as gothic looking as a cocker spaniel, are a mismatched couple looks-wise, but their personalities fit just right. They’re one of the most functional couples I’ve ever met, and I love having them around. It’s good for the kids—hell, for me—to see a romantic relationship can actually work.
“She said he was an asshole player,” Heather continues, a teasing note in her voice. “You can still like a player. I mean, I have dirty dreams about Howie all the time, and he treated me like crap when we were dating and broke up with me on my birthday.”
“Hey, I heard that.” Isaac glares across the room, making Heather laugh. “Seriously babe, I didn’t want to hear that.”
Heather shrugs. “I’m just saying, sometimes a girl can’t help falling for the wrong guy.”
“I’m not falling for him.” I plunk the salad down on the table, barely resisting the urge to go peek out the window again. “I’m doing him a favor. His parents want him to have a girlfriend, so I’m pretending to be his girlfriend. It’s like…a job.”
“Why do his parents care if he has a girlfriend?” Danny asks, his disdain for this “date night” obvious in his tone.
“Some parents actually care if their kids are going to get married and have a family someday,” Isaac says, the fact that he has to explain that to my brother making my chest feel bruised. “It’s a real thing.”
“I want you to get married and have a family someday too, D,” I say. “Someday far, far from now when you�
��re at least twenty-three and have a really good job.”
Danny snorts. “I’m not getting married.”
“You’ll change your mind,” Isaac says. “You’ll start liking girls sooner than you think.”
“I like girls fine.” Danny blows up a zombie’s head, filling the television screen with blood splatter. “I just don’t want to get tied down. I’m going to be an asshole player. Like Caitlin’s date.”
“You see this? This is what comes of talking grown up stuff in front of the children.” I step over to the couch and knuckle Danny’s head.
“Ow!” Danny smacks my hand away without taking his attention from the screen. “You’re not a grownup. You can’t even get into a club without a fake I.D.”
Before I can ask Danny how he knows about my fake I.D.—or check to make sure the I.D. is still in my purse, and my brother hasn’t “liberated” it the way he liberated the fireworks I hid in my closet last summer, or the six pack of Coke I tucked behind the bill box on top of the refrigerator in hopes of keeping a can for myself for once—there’s a knock on the front door.
My stomach flips and acid burns the back of my throat. I’m considering grabbing a roll of Tums before hurrying to the door to whisk Gabe away before anyone can meet him, when the door swings open, revealing a very dressed up Gabe. He’s wearing an expensive looking suit, and holding a red-faced, hiccupping Emmie in his arms. Sean and Ray are not far behind them, pounding up the stairs and into the house seconds after Gabe steps inside.
“What happened?” I hustle across the room, irritation that Gabe didn’t stay in the driveway forgotten in my hurry to get to Emmie.
“Sean let Emmie get on his old bike, even though I told him not to,” Ray said, words emerging in a breathless rush as I reach for Emmie and she dives into my arms.
I run my fingers gently over her face, wiping her sweat-damp curls off her forehead as my eyes skim the rest of her, finding no obvious injuries aside from a bloody knee and a scrape on her hand.
“I told him she was still too little,” Ray continues, “but he wouldn’t listen.”
