Panty Dropper

by Shawn, Melanie

  Shit, I hadn’t even thought about what it might be like for her to wake up in a strange house with no friendly face in sight. That might be really scary, especially when added on to what I was sure would be a head-crushing hangover. So, after taking just a second to duck into the kitchen and finding it empty—to my immense disappointment—I sat down on the edge of the coffee table and gave Cheyenne’s shoulder a little shake.

  “Mornin’, sunshine.” I grinned.

  Cheyenne opened her eyes, immediately squeezed them shut again, and covered her head with her hands, a low and drawn out groan emanating from her throat.

  If it were one of my brothers lying on my couch, I would’ve opened the blinds and made as many loud sounds as I could manage—but it was different with Cheyenne. I didn’t want to do anything to add to her discomfort. I wanted to take care of her, I’d always felt that way about her. It was all coming back to me, flooding my heart, the feelings of protectiveness I’d had for the sassy yet fragile little girl who’d been my little sister so many years ago.

  “You feelin’ it this morning?” I asked, patting her shoulder to provide a little comfort.

  “Oh, God. Please just let me die,” she mumbled. “No lifesaving measures necessary.”

  I chuckled. “Yeah. A good hangover’ll make you feel that way, for sure.”

  “There’s nothing good about this.”

  “Come on,” I said, nudging her elbow. “If there’s one thing I know, it’s how to cure a hangover. Greasy food and a hot cup of coffee will do the trick.”

  She peeked out from between her fingers, her face still scrunched up. “Really?”

  “Oh, yeah. Believe you me, I may not be prepared for much in this house. Hurricanes. Tornadoes. Earthquakes. Floods. All of those would catch me with my pants down. But a hangover? That’s an eventuality I am well-stocked-up for.” I motioned for her to follow me. “Let’s get you fixed up.”

  She threw off the blanket and stood, wobbling a little as she found her feet. Everything in me just wanted to reach out and wrap my arm around her, guide her into the kitchen like she was still the five-year-old little girl I’d last known her as.

  The feeling overwhelmed me so much, in fact, that it choked me with emotion, and I turned and stomped ahead of her into the kitchen to escape it.

  Fuck, I hated emotion. I wasn’t a deep kinda guy. That was why, when it came to romance, I had boundaries. That way no lines would be blurred.

  I’d always thought my preference for affairs of the extremely short variety sprang from my unwillingness to choose from the steady stream of high-quality talent that populated the bar night in and night out, and my aversion to any sort of drama. But now I suspected it grew more out of an unwillingness to get real with someone.

  Was that why, with Reagan, I was suddenly open to all kinds of things I never had been before, like bringing her back to my place and letting her spend the night? Because my father’s death and the sudden reappearance of my sister was opening me up?

  Or, hell… Maybe I’d just never met someone who tempted me to get real before I’d met that brilliant and beautiful woman. That was more likely. Because, damn. She affected me like no one ever had.

  And she was gone. She must have crept out this morning quiet as a church mouse, because I was a light sleeper and I hadn’t heard a thing.

  I’d just set the skillet on the stove when I heard the chair scrape at the kitchen table behind me, which told me that Cheyenne had followed me in and was getting settled. I couldn’t quite stand to look at her, wasn’t ready to face the emotion that seeing her looking so disheveled and vulnerable brought up in me. All these feelings that had been surfacing since yesterday were not something I was quite ready to deal with. So I busied myself, brewing coffee and frying up some bacon and eggs.

  When they were ready, I set a steaming mug and plate full of food in front of her and then carried mine over to the table to join her.

  She leaned forward and breathed in the aromas coming off of the food and coffee, closing her eyes and losing herself in them. I smiled, warmth flooding my chest. I’d forgotten how good and simple and just plain satisfying it felt to take care of someone. But hopefully I’d have plenty of opportunities to remind myself in the future.

  “Smells good but it tastes better,” I said as I sat down with my own plate.

  She leaned back in the chair and let out a long, contented sigh. Then, as if suddenly coming to life, she pulled her legs up and crossed them on the seat of the chair as she leaned forward, grabbed the fork I’d set on the edge of the plate, and dug in.

  My eyes widened. “Oh shit, you used to do that all the time when you were a kid! I totally forgot about it until just this minute.”

  She tilted her head to the side, her eyes drawn together in puzzlement.

  I jutted my chin toward her legs, still crossed on the seat of the chair. “That,” I clarified. “Every time you got so excited about the meal in front of you that you just couldn’t contain yourself, you’d pull your legs up and do crisscross applesauce right before you started eating.”

  She glanced down, surprise covering her face, as if her legs weren’t a part of her body but rather something completely outside herself. “Oh, God! I’m so sorry. That’s such awful table manners. Grandmother and grandfather would be horrified if they saw me doing that. It’s such a terrible habit—”

  I cut off her self-deprecation. “I don’t see either of them around here. This is my house and you do whatever makes you feel comfortable. That’s my definition of good table manners. Besides, I’m kind of enjoying watching you Hoover up the breakfast I cooked and loving every last drop of it. Makes a cook feel appreciated. And it’s nice taking care of my baby sister again.”

  She smiled, the warmth of it lighting up her entire face and filling my heart with one fell swoop. Her shoulders relaxed. Damn, I hadn’t even realized how tense they’d been until she relaxed them.

  After a few minutes of eating in silence, a sly little mischievous glint appeared in her eyes as she peered at me through thick lashes. “So, I woke up about halfway this morning when I heard some shuffling around in the living room and the front door opening. Was I still dreaming, or did I see Reagan sneaking out of here in the early dawn hours?”

  I was silent for a long moment, trying to figure out what the right response would be. It was nobody’s business that Reagan had spent the night, even if Cheyenne had caught her.

  When I didn’t answer, Cheyenne shrugged and went back to eating her breakfast. Between bites, she clarified, “Then again, what do I know? I’m pretty hungover. Maybe I dreamed it.”

  The smirk I spied after she said that let me know that she didn’t believe those words any more than she’d believe the sky was purple, but it was a sweet way of giving me an out so I wouldn’t have to say anything about it.

  Yeah. She’d always been a sweet kid. I was happy to see that all those years hadn’t changed her. Emotion welled up in me as I said, “Hey, Shadow?” She looked up, face open and expectant, and I smiled. “I’m really glad you’re home.”

  Tears glittered in her eyes, tugging at my big brother heartstrings, and she said, “Thanks, Billy. So am I.”

  My phone vibrated in my pocket cutting our brother-sister Folgers coffee moment short. I pulled it out and was disappointed when I saw that it was a message from Hank. I hadn’t even realized that I’d been hoping it was Reagan until I saw my brother’s name. I’d never felt like this the morning after. I read my brother’s text as questions about Reagan populated my mind.

  What time had she snuck out?

  What was she thinking about last night?

  Did she really want it to be a one night only event or was she willing to consider an encore?

  “Everything okay?” Cheyenne asked.

  I nodded. “What do you have planned for today?”

  “Um, I’m not sure.” She looked down at the clothes that she’d slept in, the same ones that she’d worn the day before.
“I’m going to need to go back to my room, shower, and change.”

  “Well, Hank called a family meeting so add that to your to-do list.”

  Her forehead crinkled. “Are you sure he wants me to come? I mean, I’ve been gone—”

  “Shadow, you’re family. Doesn’t matter if twenty years or fifty years pass. You are a Comfort.”

  The smile that spread across my little sister’s face took away a little bit of the sting I was feeling from Reagan’s disappearing act this morning. I may not have known what the hell I was doing with lawyer lady, but when it came to family, I knew exactly what to do.

  CHAPTER 20

  Reagan

  As soon as I entered the Dreamy Bean I saw Nadia seated at the same table we’d shared the day before. She’d texted me to meet her there before work and I assumed she must’ve wanted to do a postmortem on her date just like we’d done in college.

  “Hey, Nad!” I gave her a quick hug and sat down in front of the drink she’d ordered for me. “Thanks! Soooo, how did it go with full-head-of-hair man?”

  Her nose scrunched. “He hit on our waitress.”

  “No, he didn’t.” I took a sip from the double mocha latte, extra whip cream and wanted to cry, it tasted so good. The coffee at Mrs. Beasley’s definitely left a lot to be desired.

  “Yes, he did. I felt like the third wheel.”

  “Ugh. I’m so sorry.”

  “It’s fine. Exhausting. But fine. What about you? How did it go at Southern Comfort?”

  Part of me wanted to tell her that I’d gone home with Billy. If we were still in college, that’s exactly what I would’ve done. But something stopped me. It wasn’t just the fact that Nadia and I were adults now, because honestly, our dynamic hadn’t changed. It was because what Billy and I had shared felt special to me. Sacred, somehow. Not the word I ever would’ve thought I’d use when describing a casual hookup.

  I wasn’t one of those delusional women that thought that one night together meant that we were going to walk down the aisle or anything. And I’d made it clear that’s all it was going to be. But there was something about being with him that felt extraordinary, in the truest definition of that word. And not just because the sex was mind-blowing. It was more than that. It was the man himself and how I felt when I was around him.

  “It was fine.”

  “Mmm, hmm,” she hummed before she sipped her coffee. “Is that all? Fine?”

  I could see that she was fishing for more info, so I thought it best to throw her off the scent. “I took a picture with Kevin. He kissed me.”

  Her jaw dropped. “He kissed you! I’m so jealous.”

  Just like I never thought I’d describe a one-night-stand as sacred, I certainly never would have predicted that a smooch from a pig would be the kiss that would inspire envy.

  “Is that the only lip-locking that went down?” Her right brow arched.

  When I didn’t respond quick enough, she leaned forward and spoke in a quiet voice. “Word is you left the bar with the Panty Dropper himself last night.”

  My eyes widened and I looked around the small coffee shop. People were seated, enjoying their beverages and treats. No one seemed to be paying attention to us. But, I still hadn’t been able to shake the feeling that someone was watching me, and now I was starting to think that I might be right.

  “Who told you that?”

  “It was on the Facebook page.”

  “On my Facebook page?” Had someone hacked my account?

  “No, the town’s.”

  “Firefly Island has a Facebook page?”

  “Of course it does.” She pulled out her phone and sure enough, there was a picture of me holding Billy’s hand as I climbed into the truck. Cheyenne was in the cab as well, but you couldn’t see that from the angle of the picture.

  “I helped him take Cheyenne home. She was passed out.”

  A single brow lifted. “He needed help taking his passed out sister home?”

  Instead of answering I circled back to something she’d said. “Wait…what is panty dropper?”

  She smiled slyly. “It’s a nickname that one Mr. William Comfort received in high school, and has lived up to ever since.”

  His nickname was Panty Dropper? I guess it made sense, I’d sure as heck dropped mine. It didn’t bode well for me thinking last night was special, though.

  “Oh.” I nodded and hoped she couldn’t see the roller coaster of emotion I’d been on since meeting Billy Comfort AKA Panty Dropper.

  She scooted her chair even closer to me and continued speaking at a low volume, which I felt was causing more people to look our way than if she’d just talked regularly, but I didn’t think it was my place to say anything.

  “Listen, Rea, I’m not going to pry, and you know I cosign on anything that will make you forget about Blah-Blah-Blaine, but in the spirit of full disclosure I feel like I need to warn you.”

  Nadia wasn’t dramatic, but she did love a good drama at others’ expense, so I took her words with a grain of salt. “Warn me about what?”

  “Well, from the nickname I’m sure that you can piece together that Billy has a reputation. It’s not good.”

  My eyebrows drew together. “A reputation? What is this, a sock hop in the fifties?”

  She laughed. “Trust me, I’m not trying to slut shame Billy Comfort. I just want you to know what you’re getting yourself into.”

  “I’m not getting myself into anything.” I spent the night with him. We were two adults that had consensual—and thanks to one very strong cup of coffee—sober sex. There was nothing wrong with that.

  The twinkle in her eyes and subtle smirk pulling at her lips told me she didn’t believe that for one minute. “Sure. Okay. But just know one thing – his nickname – he’s earned it. He’s aimed those charms at stronger women than you, my friend, and they have fallen to their knees under the power.”

  “Seriously?” I chuckled. “He’s just a guy.”

  I wasn’t sure if I was trying to convince myself or Nadia. When I’d woken up at four a.m. wrapped in his strong arms, for the first time in my life I felt totally content. I felt like I was exactly in the right place, a place I never wanted to leave. I was finally home. Whatever that meant.

  I’d never known what being “home” would feel like or how I would know it, but waking up with Billy cradling me in his arms made me feel safe, protected, and treasured. That was my first thought—I’m finally home. It had been so unnerving that I’d slipped out from beneath his grasp, grabbed my clothes off the floor, and gotten the hell out of there.

  It was all too much. From the intimate conversation in the kitchen, to the hot, dirty sex, to the emotions that starting my day in Billy’s bed and arms had stirred up in me…hell, it was just all too much.

  “Just a guy?” A pitying grin curled on Nadia’s lips, the kind of pitying smile you’d give someone when bowled over by their glaring naïveté. “Billy Comfort is no ordinary guy. He’s a legend. Casanova’s got nothing on him.”

  She was right, but I didn’t like being underestimated or pitied. “Don’t worry. I’m not going to be scribbling his last name all over my notebooks. I’m a grown woman, I have some self-respect and perspective.”

  Her lips parted in surprise as she inhaled sharply before a huge grin spread ear to ear. “Does that mean something did happen between you two?”

  Shit. I was a lawyer, and I’d basically just admitted that yes, something had happened between us. I never misspoke. Not even in social situations. I was guarded and never incriminated myself. She was right. Billy Comfort was no ordinary man.

  Her smile dropped and her tone turned somber. “Like I said, I’m all for anything that will put Blah-Blah-Blaine in the rearview, but this warning is twofold. It’s not just Billy’s reputation to consider, it’s yours as well.”

  My brow was getting some Olympic-level wrinkling practice during this conversation. Nadia had always been a level-headed, no judgment kind of person. It
was what I loved most about her. She loved gossip, but never when it tore someone’s character down. “What are you talking about? What reputation do I have?”

  “Well, you don’t have one yet. And if you want to keep working for Jennings Abernathy, then you should probably keep it that way.”

  “Isn’t one of his sons in rehab and another just got a DUI?” Unlike Nadia, Mrs. Beasley had no issue with tearing someone’s character down, and had given me the lowdown on the entire Abernathy family when I told her where I was working.

  “Yes, but as I’m sure you of all people are painfully aware, nepotism is real. People have double standards when it comes to their children.”

  “So you’re saying that I need to be a nun or I’ll get a Scarlet H for Ho pinned to my chest.”

  Nadia laughed. “Not me. I’m not saying that. You know my motto—let your freak flag fly! And if that freak flag happens to be a patchwork quilt of Billy Comfort’s boxers, so much the better. I’m talking about what everyone else will think.”

  A crease formed in my forehead. “Everyone else? Like who? Mr. Abernathy?”

  “Yes, him.” She gestured widely. “But also the town. I told you Firefly is different. It’s a small town, and it’s set in its ways. When it comes to reputations, a good one is damn easy to lose, but a bad one’s almost impossible to shake.”

  I wanted to argue, but I could see the truth of it plain as day. As much as I stood for sex positivity and female empowerment, I knew the hard way that small towns like this one could have much more provincial views on sleeping around.

  Growing up, I’d heard what people said about my mom. We couldn’t go to the grocery store, or farmer’s market, or movies without me hearing someone whisper home wrecker or slut. I’d seen the way that people looked at her, the way they judged her, and by association, me. I wasn’t invited to the birthday parties of my classmates because none of the wives wanted my mom around their husbands.

  As an adult, I’d come to the conclusion that everyone had known about my biological father and her. So why was he an upstanding member of the community with a successful real estate business, and my mom was shunned to the point that she’d tried to take her own life on more than one occasion?