by Tracy Wolff
His hands slid up her rib cage to cup her breasts while his fingers toyed with her nipple rings. It was more than enough to have her reaching over to the nightstand and opening the drawer where she’d stashed a box of condoms when she’d decided two days ago that she was going to seduce Dalton. She pulled out the condom box. She shook it. Nothing rattled around. It was empty. “We’re fresh out.”
He grabbed the box and looked inside. “We went through an entire box. Wow, I’m amazing.”
“A legend in your own mind.” She sat back and reached for him. “It was a small box. Don’t get too cocky.”
“Too late,” he said with a smirk.
She’d obviously let him get away with too much already, so she slid her hand around his very hard length and began to stroke.
“I can think of a few things we can do that don’t require a condom.”
“Hot damn. I do love a woman with imagination.”
She’d just rolled over and started to kiss her way across his very built chest when a soft knock sounded at her closed door.
“In case my boss is in there, please remind him that we have a seven thirty breakfast meeting with the team owner. Also, you might want to mention that showing up in last night’s clothes is only acceptable in college.” Heath’s signature drawl came through the door, loud and clear. “Also, I really hope all of that banging I heard earlier coming from your room has put the boss man in a good mood. Okay, I’m gonna go back to my room now and wait there for the next fifteen minutes so we can forgo that whole awkward bumping into each other over the coffepot thing. Oh, and Harm, can you bake some of those blueberry muffins that are so good they make me cry? I seem to have worked up an appetite of my own last night.”
“You grew up with him. Was he always like this?” Dalton’s grin had both his dimples popping out. She had the first inkling that she might be in trouble when it took way more willpower than it should have to resist leaning forward and kissing his dimples. Or licking them. Or—she cut herself off before she went too far around the bend. Especially since it looked like orgasm number eight was going to be a bust.
Dalton solved the problem by leaning forward and kissing her, hard, before reaching to grab his shirt off the floor.
“No. Usually he’s much worse. We try not to hold it against him, though. Heath had it hard growing up. His mom ran out on them and his father dove inside a bottle of tequila and never made it back out.” She rolled off the bed and shrugged back into last night’s T-shirt.
“Why don’t you go back to bed?” He stood and slid on his shirt. “You didn’t get much sleep last night.”
“Can’t, I’m a morning person. I’m a baker, remember?” She smacked him on his very fine ass. “Sounds like I’m making blueberry muffins for breakfast. Are you staying?”
“I wish. Save me a couple.” He picked up his suit pants and coat. “Have you seen my boxers?”
She stood and helped him search. “I thought I brought all the clothes in, but they might still be in the kitchen.”
His face turned fifty shades of red. “Oh God.”
“I’ll go get them. I’d hate for you to leave with zero dignity left.” She headed to the kitchen and yes, his shorts were next to the kitchen table, right where they’d left them.
Ten minutes later, she was at the front door kissing him good-bye. Normally, she was a love ’em and leave ’em gal, but something about Dalton made her want to stick around for a while.
“Dinner tonight?” He cupped her face. “My place, since it’s my turn to cook for you. Say six?”
“Deal.” She slid her arms up his chest and fisted his shirt, pulling him in for another kiss. “Should I bring a date? I am #HotGirlNeedsDate.”
“Not if you want him to live.” He waved as he walked to his car. “See you tonight.”
She waved and waited for him to pull out of the driveway before she walked back inside and closed the door.
An hour later, she sat at the kitchen table beside Lyric eating blueberry muffins and drinking lattes.
“Mother called you too?” Lyric took a sip of her latte. “When she finally got through she screamed at me for a good ten minutes until Heath took the phone from me and hung it up. How come I always get the blame?”
“In case you haven’t noticed, our mother is a bitch.” Harmony studied her glow-in-the-dark-pink toenails. “But I am sorry you keep getting blamed. I’ve played the good girl for so long that no one believes me when I try to be myself.”
Lyric studied her. “Why aren’t you always yourself?”
Harm had never really thought about it before. “I don’t know. You always had Daddy, so that left me with Momma. The only way she approved of me was if I was the good little girl, so that’s what I became.”
“That’s not true, Daddy loves you just as much as me.” But Lyric looked like she was sifting through memories looking for any evidence that Harmony had a point.
“Yes, Daddy loves me, but he worships you.” Harm held up her hand like a traffic cop. “I’m not jealous, believe me. After everything Momma put you through when you were little, you deserve someone always on your side. I’m only saying that Daddy prefers you and you prefer him. The two of you are so alike. Don’t get me wrong, I’m happy for you.” She shrugged. “Only, that left me with no one but Momma, which meant I had to be the good little girl …” At least, she did if she wanted any attention.
Lyric pondered it and sighed long and slow. “I see your point.” She pulled Harm in for a one-armed hug. “I’m so sorry. I never looked at it from your perspective. Daddy was always my refuge, and you had, well … Momma.” Her lips curled on the last word. “I was always jealous of you and Momma.”
“I was always jealous of you and Daddy.” It was hard to believe that they’d never talked about this before. Since they were being honest, Harmony felt like letting it all out. “I was always jealous of your brilliant mind. I’m not stupid or anything, but I’m not Lyric genius smart either.”
“That’s not true. Our IQs are exactly the same, only you have more street smarts. I wish I had more street smarts. And you are kind of a badass. I’d like to be a badass.” Lyric took a bite of muffin.
“I’d love to believe that we have the same IQ, but I’m okay with what I have. It was hard growing up in the shadow of the famous Lyric Wright.” She’d never said it out loud, but it was time.
“You think that was hard, try growing up with the perfect Harmony Wright. You always made friends so easily and also managed to keep them. I’d like more friends, but sometimes I get so wrapped up in my work that I forget I’m supposed to get together with them. After the third or fourth time, they stop calling me to ask to go out.” Lyric had always been oblivious when it came to maintaining a social life.
“I still hate you for solving my Rubik’s Cube in twenty seconds flat. I was so proud of myself for figuring out how to take it apart and put it back together like I’d solved it.” Harmony had often thought that together they made the perfect person—with Lyric’s brain and Harmony’s canniness, they had most of the bases covered.
“I’ve always hated how you can walk into a room full of strangers, make friends instantly, and manage to remember everyone’s name.” Lyric shook her head. “Can’t figure out how you do it.”
“Simple, my brain isn’t busy trying to figure out the mysteries of the universe like yours is.” She tapped on her head. “Plenty of room to remember names and faces.”
“I never thought of it that way.” Lyric made it sound like she’d just figured out one of the science mysteries she spent way too much time working on. After a bit more thought, she shoulder-bumped Harmony. “So Dalton spent the night. I want details.”
“Not much to tell. We had a lot of sex, ran out of condoms, and he left.” Harm didn’t like that her heart went all high school crush when she thought about Dalton. “But he did mention something interesting. He said we should take some pictures of you and me standing side by side and post the
m on social media. That way people will see my tattoos and know I’m not you.”
Lyric shrugged. “Okay.”
Thirty minutes later, Harmony posted several photos online with the #HotGirlNeedsDate tag. Now it was just a waiting game. All she needed was for her mother to disown her. But it was proving harder and harder to do.
Harm’s phone buzzed, so she pulled it out of her pocket. She didn’t recognize the number but answered anyway. “Hello.”
“You gotta come back home, Harmony. We can’t take it anymore.”
“Is this Mr. McDonald? What’s wrong?” She’d known Lucas MacDonald since she and her mother had opened the bakery, and she’d never heard him sound so panicked.
“Your Momma is insane.”
“Tell me something I don’t know.”
“I’m serious. She’s the meanest woman I’ve ever met. And she’s ruining the coffee club.”
“What did she do now?” Harm had been ignoring texts from the morning coffee club for a few days. It wasn’t that she didn’t want to help them, it was more like they were a bunch of whiney little girls, so it was hard to tell truth from exaggeration.
“She took our coffeepot away. She says if we’re going to take up real estate in her bakery, we have to drink her coffee.” He ground out a breath. “It tastes like cinnamon.” He made cinnamon sound like toxic waste.
“Just do what I do and ignore her, then do what you want. If you want to drink your own coffee in the bakery, bring it in a thermos.” Harmony picked up a bottle of black gel nail polish, shook it, and unscrewed the cap. Her toenails needed some black polish. The neon pink was getting on her nerves.
“We tried that. She put up a sign that says no outside food or drink can be brought in. She’s vicious. I thought my late wife was mean … Compared to your mother, my wife was a saint.” He was genuinely upset. She could hear it in his voice. “You know, your mother has been a thorn in my side for decades, and it’s not fair that I have to spend what little time I have left on this earth being tormented by that woman.”
Livinia had been Mr. McDonald’s student way back when he was a history teacher. Thirty years later, he’d been Lyric and Harm’s teacher too. Harmony didn’t know what had happened between Livinia and Mr. McDonald, but whatever it was had had him crossing himself every time she or her sister walked into his classroom for the first two months of junior year.
“Now it’s time for payback. Be a thorn in her side.” She loved her little old men’s coffee club. Most of them were widowed and lonely. If they didn’t have the bakery, she didn’t know what they would do with their time, and no way was she going to let her mother ruin it for them.
“She smacked me on the knuckles with a spatula just ’cause I put my elbows on the table. Can you believe that?” He was on his way from upset to full-on mad. “I survived the jungles of Vietnam and being married to the second meanest woman in Texas. If I want to eat with my elbows on the table, I should be able to do it. I’m an old man, and she hit hard enough to leave a bruise.”
Harm brushed black polish on the tips of her toes, like a French manicure gone wild. “I won’t be back for a couple of weeks, so y’all are going to have to sort this out yourselves. I think you should stand your ground. Don’t let her push you around. If she comes near you with the Evil Spatula of Doom, you put your elbows on the table, look her directly in the eye, and tell her that it’s bad manners not to respect her elders. Or better yet …” She finished her left foot and moved on to her right. “Out manners her. Wait for her to slouch or put her elbows on the table and make sure to point it out. Then start critiquing her baking and her clothes. She doles out criticism really well, but she can’t take it at all.”
“Okay, wait a minute, let me get my glasses so’s I can take notes.” There was shuffling on his end, like he was patting down pockets. “Oh no, be quiet for a minute. She’s coming. I’ll give you the okay when the coast is clear.”
Harmony wasn’t sure if he was talking to her or someone else in the room, so she stayed quiet.
A couple of minutes passed.
“Whew, that was a close one.” It was another male voice in the background. “We almost got busted.”
“Who’s with you?” Harmony added a second coat to her toes.
“Stan Laramey and I are hiding out in the storeroom, waiting for her to leave for the day. We’re gonna steal her cinnamon.” Mr. McDonald was all covert ops.
“You do realize that without cinnamon, she can’t make sticky buns, snickerdoodles, cinnamon twists, and several other things?” She loved their enthusiasm, but their plan could have been better.
“Oh.” All of the wind went out of Mr. McDonald’s sails.
“Now, what you can do is mix things up. Momma likes order, so if you want to mess with her head, go the spice rack and move everything around. Then go into the dining room and move the tables around. Last, take all of the pictures and plaques off of the walls and hide them behind the counter. Tomorrow morning, she’ll be too busy baking and fixing things to care about your Folgers coffee or your elbows on the table.” With any luck, Momma would also be so beside herself about how disgraceful her perfect little Harmony was acting that she wouldn’t care about anything else.
“Good idea.” It sounded like he really was taking notes. “What else?”
“You survived Vietnam and taught high school for a million years. I’m sure you can come up with some pretty creative ways to mess with Momma.” Harm had faith in her little old men.
“Now that I put my mind to it, I’ve got a couple of ideas.” His confidence and craftiness were back. “I’m gonna call you back tomorrow and tell you know how it went. I gotta go before we get busted back here.”
“Good luck.” Harmony screwed the cap back on the fingernail polish and then hung up.
It looked like Momma was about to have her hands full. And, God willing, Harmony was going to add to the chaos.
* * *
Chapter 16
* * *
An hour later, Harmony not so patiently watched her phone for any new tweets. All of her social media accounts had been suspiciously silent. The twin pics had been out in the world for close to two hours and … nothing. Considering she had a hefty number of followers from her time on Cupcake Cage Match—and by virtue of being Heath Montgomery’s sister-in-law—it made her nervous.
Before she could check Facebook for the fiftieth time in the last half an hour, the doorbell rang.
“I’ll get it.” Harm rushed to the door. Maybe it was a reporter coming to do a piece on Lyric’s evil twin. She opened the door wearing her brightest smile in case they were rolling live.
No lights, no camera, no action. A short, thin man stood there wearing an American Airlines flight attendant’s uniform, lots of attitude, and a name tag that read “Tre.”
“Wonder Woman, I got here as fast as I could.” Tre pushed past Harmony, pulling a black carry-on bag behind him. “I hope I’m not too late.”
Harm fought the urge to look around for Wonder Woman. “I’m sorry, who are you?”
Tre analyzed her face like he was looking for signs of brain trauma. “Oh no, you really are on drugs.” He pulled her into a tight hug. “Well, I’m here now.” He patted her on the back and then let her go. “Let’s get you cleaned up.”
“Okay.” She looked down at him. “I think you’re here for my sister, Lyric.”
“It’s okay, you don’t have to pretend, it’s me. I’ve seen you at your … um …” His eyes passed down her body and then moved back up again. “Actually, I think today’s look is worse than the missing dress from the plane.”
“Lyric, someone named Tre is here to see you.” Harmony nodded for him to follow her. “Let’s see if we can find her.”
“What?” Lyric called from the kitchen. “Did you say Tre?”
Tre pushed passed Harmony again and rushed into the kitchen. He parked the bag by the pantry door and ran toward Lyric, who was sitting at the kitchen tabl
e working on her laptop.
“There’s my Wonder Woman.” He threw his arms around her and then pulled back. “Let me look at you.” He took in her sister’s baggy jeans and brown T-shirt with a wanted poster of Schrödinger’s cat on the front. “It looks like I got here just in time.”
Lyric smiled up at Tre. “Harm, this is the flight attendant I was telling you about. He saved me on the flight back from Hawaii when he duct-taped me into a dress.”
“Baby doll, it was my pleasure.” He pulled up the chair next to Lyric. “Now, what’s this about you turning to prostitution to support your drug habit? Is there trouble in paradise?”
Lyric turned to Harmony for translation.
Harmony was surprised she didn’t know. “The bar fight the other night. Somehow, the tabloids think you’ve turned to prostitution to pay for your drug habit.”
Lyric looked like she was replaying the words in her head, trying to make sense out of them. “I don’t understand.”
“Then it’s not true?” Tre fanned himself. “Thank Jesus.”
Lyric smiled at him. “Sorry you came all of this way for nothing.”
“It was no trouble. I live close to DFW.” His phone buzzed. He pulled it out of his vest pocket and looked at the screen. “Did y’all just post some photos?”
Harm pulled out the chair next to him. “Yes. Why? Is there a post about them?”
Tre didn’t seem to notice the urgency, so she grabbed the phone out of his hands.
“Now hold on, Little Miss Grabby Hands.” He wrestled the phone from her. He was a lot stronger than he looked.
“That’s an interesting selfie to take.” Tre examined the picture she and Lyric had taken with them holding today’s newspaper. “It looks like a proof-of-life pic kidnappers use when they send the ransom email.”
“That’s what I told her.” Harmony pointed to her sister. “She insisted we needed today’s newspaper. We had to borrow it from the neighbors.”
