All Jacked Up: Romantic Comedy (Beach Pointe romance Book 3)

by Mysti Parker

  “Uh, yeah, I gathered. I must have read the email wrong. I’m sorry. It was half off macchiatos at Starbucks. We were in line for almost an hour. It was a madhouse.”

  “Well, you got my hopes up and stomped all over them like a dirty cigarette. Thanks a lot.”

  “I said I’m sorry. Anyone could make that mistake. You know, you could still do it. Just get married.”

  “Just get married,” I mock. “You and Jeff got married easier than I ever will.”

  “Listen, I’ll come in early tomorrow and do inventory. I’ll buy you lunch. I’ll give you a foot massage or something. Just calm the hell down and get some sleep. The world isn’t going to end over a contest.”

  “Fine, then. I want Chinese.”

  “You would. You know they use MSG.”

  “Don’t care.”

  “All right, Your Highness. Preservative-laden rubbery chicken it is. Night, Ave. Get some sleep.”

  “Night.”

  I end the call, screech, and fall back on the couch cushions, letting the phone plummet to the rug. Why does he always have to be so…so…sensible? Sighing heavily, I drape my arm over my forehead in an overly dramatic and useless way. Glen’s right. The world won’t end for some contest I can’t enter.

  But it sure would make things easier. It doesn’t help that I already had the plans drawn out for a new shop with a photography studio. They sit in my desk drawer away from prying eyes and my mother, who insists on visiting every other Friday to “check in on me.” In other words, to see everything I’d screwed up since her last visit. I could ask my parents for the money and probably should, but sleeping in my car would be better than hearing them say they told me so for the umpteenth time.

  Oh, they told me all right, that I’d never make it on my own with my scrambled brain and without a good husband. My mom could have been transported from the sixteenth century with her a-woman-needs-a-man philosophy. A woman’s job is in the home, pushing out babies as quickly as she can while keeping everything meticulously clean and making everything from scratch. Doris Price is like an Amish Martha Stewart.

  My dad, Lorne, is a retired army vet. Served in the Gulf War, lost an eye in combat. Now he owns a medical supply and prosthetics business that mostly rents oxygen tanks to geriatric smokers. But it’s enough to provide a good living, so that’s what they want for me and my three sisters – a man who’ll bring home a nice paycheck so we don’t have to work.

  Two of my sisters have mostly met those expectations. Allison, the second child, has even popped out three kids and is expecting another. Andrea, the firstborn, has the husband, but hasn’t reproduced yet, much to our mother’s dismay. Astraea, the third-born, has neither husband nor kids, but is serving in the army, so that gets her a free pass for the time being. Our only brother, Adam, the baby, is a freshman in college. He’s works summers and weekends for our father delivering oxygen tanks and such, well on the way to fulfilling our parents’ dreams.

  And then there’s me. The only real holdout. If anyone should be married, it should be the sibling who owns the town bridal shop. The only steady man in my life is Glen, who is both married and gay. The few men I’ve dated didn’t last much longer than, “Your place or mine?”

  They just didn’t do anything for me, which meant one of two things, according to the parents – I’m either lesbian or more brain-damaged than they first thought. I know the first one isn’t true, but maybe there’s something to the second. Maybe my head injury keeps me from seeing the relationship potential in guys.

  But how does that explain Jack? I can’t stop thinking about him – the smooth timbre of his voice, the ever-present five o’clock shadow, the expensive smell of his cologne. Of the few guys I’ve dated, he’s been the only one so far that I really wanted to take home.

  And the only one who has zero relationship potential.

  No matter how much I try to deny it, Jack Maddox isn’t into me beyond a sexual thing. Not that I expected him to be, but maybe I got too attracted to his looks and money.

  “Whatever.” I toss the phone back on the rug, turn on my side, and pull my grandmother’s wildcat blue afghan from the back of the couch. Something hard falls on my face. I grab it up, and what do you know? It’s the remote. I lay it on the coffee table and give it the finger.

  A tear squeezes out from the corner of my eye, but I refuse to give in to the urge to eat a pint of Ben and Jerry’s. I have work tomorrow, and will for as long as my lease holds out. I might go down with the ship, but at least I can say I tried.

  Chapter Four

  Jack

  The spring concerto ringtone on my phone wakes me up before daylight. I poke at the snooze button until the alarm finally shuts up. Usually, I drift right off for another nine minutes of catnapping, but my eyes are wide open. They burn, too, from lack of sleep.

  "Ah, fuck it," I grumble then roll to my side and sit up, rubbing my eyes with the heels of my hands.

  The guinea pigs are rustling around in their cage by my closet. Earl the iguana smiles up from the heat rock in his tank. I lift up the wire mesh top and take out his water dish to refill it. He shuffles over, staring at my hands expectantly.

  "I'll feed you in a minute." I head to the bathroom, fill up his dish, and return to find him halfway out of the tank. "Oh no you don't. I can't spend all morning looking for you."

  Hurrying over, I grab him before he makes a run for it and set him back inside. I'll have to fix that mesh top again. It keeps coming loose. For now, I set a couple of heavy books on top that should keep him contained for the day at least. Earl is an escape artist, which is why his previous owner surrendered him. The iguana kept winding up in bed with his elderly mother and scaring her almost to death.

  I yawn and stretch, then head for the kitchen. Mrs. Gonsalves is there, chopping vegetables for the critters.

  "Buenos dias," she says, not looking up from the cutting board. "I made coffee. Toast?" She nods toward a plate of dark-toasted bread already spread with butter.

  "Thanks." I pour a cup of coffee and grab a piece of toast. It's a little crunchier and darker than I prefer, but I'm too tired to complain.

  "Omelet?"

  "Nah, I'll just grab a bowl of cereal."

  "Sí, whatever you wish. Do you have a lady friend who needs breakfast?"

  "No, not this morning."

  In the breakfast nook, Reggie the raccoon shakes his cage bars. He's strewn torn newspaper, kibble, and bits of withered apples all over the floor. Who needs a breakfast nook anyway? Certainly not a single vet who more often than not enjoys breakfast with only his elderly housekeeper and animal roommates.

  I let Reggie out to stretch his legs and fill up his bowl with fresh fruit and dry dog food. While I wait for Reggie to eat and use his litter box, I lean back against the counter and sip my hot coffee.

  Mrs. Gonsalves says, "You need a woman, Doctor Jack, a wife. Soon, you'll be old and bald, and the pretty girls won't come around."

  "Sure they will. If Donald Trump can land a supermodel, it proves women care more about money than looks."

  She harrumphs. "Not all women. Eduardo was very handsome when we met, not a penny to his name."

  "And he's old and bald now."

  "Yes, but not rich. His good looks won me over back then. Don't waste your good years."

  Pouring myself a bowl of raisin bran, I contemplate whether my good years are already over at twenty-seven years of age. Women never walk out on me, and now I’m up to two in one week. Once clothes are shed, it’s pretty much a sealed deal.

  Avery had been all gung ho about it, so what was the deal? I glance down at the slight bulge in my pajama pants that indicates my morning wood. Not that I compare myself to other guys, but my dick isn’t something women usually shy away from.

  Perhaps it was the thong Avery found that came from Missy Whatsherface. She's a waitress at the bar who'd been cozying up to me for a couple of months. I brought her back here one night after her shift was over,
a few nights before my coffee date with Avery.

  It had all gone downhill from there. Cue flashback or whatever:

  ∞∞∞

  Missy was a little too skinny for my taste, with bony elbows and knees that made her feel more mannequin than woman. Her hair was one of those fake but fascinating red colors, almost purple, and she wore matching lipstick. All the way here, she’d teased me about what she could do with her mouth and bragged about being so flexible that she could cross her legs behind her head. All of which had gotten me excited to the point of pain, but as we kissed and fondled on the sofa in the den, the excitement waned.

  She shimmied her black leather mini skirt up a few inches, her fingers disappearing under the hem. They emerged a moment later with a scanty red thong, which she wiggled down her long, skinny legs.

  Laughing, she spun the thong around on her index finger, then gave it a fling, sending it over my head to wherever Avery had found it. She latched onto me with wet, eager lips. I could have fucked her and sent her on her way within five minutes, but my dick might as well have been a limp noodle.

  I broke free from her sucker hold and scrambled off the sofa. “Look, I’m sorry, um….”

  Her lips drew into a tight line, while one eyebrow arched. “It’s Missy.”

  “Yeah, Missy. You know, I really need to get up early, so let’s call it a night. How about a rain check?”

  “A rain check?” Missy shot to her feet and shimmied her skirt back down. “You’re the one who asked me over. What’s the deal?” Her eyes widened, and she backed away. “Are you demented or something? Planning to murder me and cut me up into little pieces like that one guy did to that one girl that time?”

  “No, though I’m pretty sure it’s happened more than once.” I couldn’t resist. She left herself wide open for that dig.

  “You’re gay, then, because honey”—Missy did that side-to-side head wobble thing that girls do to look sassy—“if you got a piece of this, you’d never want to get rid of me.”

  “Well, baby, if you knew me better, you’d know that isn’t true. I’ll call you a cab.”

  “A cab? A stinky old cab?”

  “I’ll request the best-smelling cab they have on duty.” I fast-dialed the Get There Quick cab service. “Help yourself to a drink. There are snacks in the kitchen.”

  “I’ll pass.” Missy yanked up her handbag and buttoned up her purple blouse, hiding the negative A-cup bra I’d unearthed minutes earlier. It was white. She hadn’t even worn matching underwear. She stormed toward the front entryway then took an about-face toward the kitchen. “On second thought, I’m taking a bottle of wine.”

  “Go ahead. Take whatever you can carry. Cab’ll be here shortly.”

  ∞∞∞

  The truth is, the whole five minutes Missy was here, I kept thinking about my upcoming coffee date with Avery and picturing what I might be doing with her on the sofa instead. Clearly I'm off my game, now zero for two in the same weekend.

  There's not a huge roster of available candidates left. Most of the women in Beach Pointe are either married or trying desperately to enter that state. I've gone through the few who shared my non-committal philosophy. Some of those have been repeats, but I have to be careful. The longer we hook up, the more they get that dreamy look in their eyes. And that's my cue to go.

  I know guys who have led women on for years with hopes of marriage and kids, only to dump them when their biological clocks had almost run out. That's an asshole move. At least I never string them along.

  But I've never let any woman break past my defenses before.

  This situation with Avery is more troubling than I care to admit. She had gotten visibly upset over the question of me noticing her in high school. I had noticed her. Sort of. Kind of like I notice the ambient creatures in my yard. She was just there, like squirrels and cardinals.

  Maybe last night was retaliation because of the way I’d ignored her in high school, or maybe she had just chickened out.

  Or maybe I'm just a dick.

  ∞∞∞

  Only a few people are on the road at this time of the morning, like farmers, nurses, teachers, and first responders. I like to go in early so I can look in on all the sick pets before more come in. It helps me gather my thoughts so I can focus when things get chaotic. But focusing on anything will be a challenge today. I’m still picturing Avery’s flushed cheeks, the way her eyes widened when she saw me naked. Her laugh – I liked it. Her smile – I liked that too. It was genuine, despite her obvious nervousness.

  Then it all fizzled out, and I’m not sure whether to feel angry or guilty or chalk it up to shitty luck.

  Tires squeal. A horn blares a moment after. I swerve in time to miss a pickup truck at an intersection, barely avoiding a side impact. I stomp the gas and speed along a straight stretch to release the adrenaline of the near miss. That was too damn close. There’s not even a scratch on this car, and I plan on keeping it that way.

  My cell phone rings. After a few tries, I finally turn on the speaker phone. “What?!”

  Jesse laughs. “Whoa, don’t bite my head off, big brother.”

  “Sorry, just avoided a wreck.”

  “You okay?”

  “Yeah, just pissed that I almost wrecked my baby. What’s up?”

  “If you need me to come out –”

  “No, deputy, I’m almost to the clinic. Can you make it quick?”

  “Okay.” Jesse pauses as though reconsidering his call. Then he blurts out, “I’m getting married.”

  Not surprising. I knew it was coming. Jesse and Leigh had fallen hard and fast. There really was only one way that could go. But I find myself at a loss for words, emotions rising up my throat.

  “Jack? You there?”

  “Yeah.” I pull off the road onto a dirt drive that leads to an abandoned barn. Not a great place to stop, but better than smashing my car into someone. “Um…congratulations.”

  “You don’t sound very happy.”

  Why should I be? Marriage hadn’t done anything good for our family, and the statistics show it doesn’t bode well for over half the population. But then again, Jesse and Leigh are nothing like Steve and Lori Maddox.

  I manage to force a smile into my voice. “I am happy. For both of you.”

  “I’d like you to be my best man.”

  “Sure, of course. Just give me a date. I’ll buy a new tux.”

  “Nothing fancy. It’ll be by the pond at night.”

  “With plenty of mosquitoes as guests.”

  Jesse chuckles. “I hope not. I’ve had the whole place sprayed, plus there will be enough citronella to choke a bear. And plenty of repellent for the human guests.”

  “Good. Listen, I have to go. But I’m happy for you, Jesse. Leigh’s a good woman.”

  “Yeah, she is. Talk to you later.”

  “Later.”

  I look both ways before getting back on the road. I can’t lose focus again and get slammed by a two-ton dually like every other person in the county drives whether they need one or not. But damn it, my little brother has fallen head over heels and is about to walk down the aisle. Big brothers were supposed to be the first to marry. Not that Jesse needs to wait on me, since I never intend to put a ring on anyone’s finger.

  Still…it irks me. Shouldn’t, but it does.

  “Is there a gene in our biological clocks that says ding, ding, time to get married!?” I complain to my empty car interior. Maybe I lucked out and wasn’t cursed with the gotta-get-married gene.

  At least Jesse and Leigh’s chances of staying together seem better than any other married couple I’ve known. And now here I am, worrying over a dumb situation I’ve gotten myself into with Avery Price. I’m having a hard time shaking it off, and that could prove very problematic.

  ∞∞∞

  “I’m just lost, Jack. Totally lost,” Penny whines.

  “Lost or not, do you think you could hold this dog still so I can get a decent X-ray?” I’ve
been trying to get images of a dog’s possibly broken hip and internal injuries after a mishap with a four-wheeler. The sedation’s wearing off, he’s starting to wiggle, and I still need three good films before I can make an accurate diagnosis.

  “I’m sorry.” She sniffs and rolls the dog onto his back, holding the rear legs apart. “I’m just… Ken isn’t keeping up with the car payments, and I’m going to lose my Lexus.”

  “You’re divorced. Pretty sure that’s your responsibility now. Right side, please.” Positioning the lighted crosshair just right, I take the X-Ray, remove the film, and replace it with another.

  “Um, okay, but can I get a raise?” Penny bats her eyes, which I’m sure has earned her many a piece of jewelry and designer clothing. To me, it looks more pathetic than sexy.

  “You know what, I’ll pay off your car if you can hold this freaking dog where he needs to be!”

  “Oh my God, you’re so wonderful, Jack.” Penny sings my praises way too loudly, most likely broadcasting it beyond the radiology room.

  Rumors have swirled for months about my supposed relationship with the sheriff’s now ex-wife. The sheriff himself hasn’t given me any grief over it besides a few dirty looks. The whole thing’s getting really old, like bad reruns of a shitty sitcom.

  “Right side, please.”

  “I’ll pay you back, if you want.” Penny glances down at her chest, but with the unflattering thick lead apron covering her willing curves, the gesture loses its intended effect.

  If her body had belonged to a different woman, I’d have had it a long time ago. Unfortunately, it belongs to a gold-digging, clingy, vain woman who turns me off more than you could imagine. It’s kind of like the old adage, when you name a stray, you’re stuck with it. If I slept with Penny Stanton, I’d be stuck with her. She’d never leave me alone. At least I can feel better knowing I’ve kept her at arm’s length, even if the whole town thinks otherwise.

  Whatever the case, I’ve had enough of her shit for one day.

  I stride to the door and stick my head out. “Jo!”