Panty Dropper

by Shawn, Melanie

  “And there’s more.”

  “More?!”

  “Yep.” She popped the p sound. “Word is he hooked up with someone at the will reading.”

  I started to shake my head. Things had been strictly professional between us at the will reading. Well, I had had some dirty thoughts, but there was no way anyone knew that.

  “Or should I say, before the will reading. In the supply closet.”

  I gasped, “Daisy.”

  Nadia grimaced. “Yeah.”

  It all made sense now. Why she’d done a one-eighty and acted like I ran over her dog. If rumors were swirling around me and Billy, and she hooked up with Billy that recently, of course she would be upset.

  Wait. He’d had sex with her in the afternoon, and I’d gone home with him that night. For the first time since this affair began it felt dirty, and not in the good way. I wanted to go home and take at least ten showers.

  “Apparently, he’s been dipping his pen in your company’s ink.” Nadia stated flatly. “And not just with you.”

  Jimmy returned with our food, and as delicious as it looked and smelled, I had no desire to taste it.

  When he left I picked up my fork as I stared down at my chicken fried steak and mashed potatoes. “I think I lost my appetite.”

  CHAPTER 41

  Billy

  “Last call!” I shouted to the dozen or so patrons still in the bar.

  Normally, midweek crowds were scarce, and Wednesdays were one of our slower nights. But during spring break, there were no slow nights. Since I’d unlocked the doors at five, I hadn’t had a minute of downtime. Sadly, that hadn’t stopped my mind from being consumed with other things. If I wasn’t thinking about the journals that were still sitting in the box in my garage untouched, I was thinking about the woman I’d found them with.

  When I felt my phone vibrate in my pocket, I pulled it out and, for probably the hundredth time in the past few days, I was disappointed to see the sender of the message was not Reagan.

  This time, it was Cheyenne asking if she could borrow my truck to go out to an early morning workout at my friend Harlan Mitchell’s place. He’d stopped by a few days ago and asked if it was okay to put up fliers in the bar, and since I had a soft spot for Meemaw Mitchell, I’d caved.

  Since I didn’t trust Harlan as far as I could throw him, I texted her back that I’d take her. It’s not like it’d be interrupting my sleep. The past few days, I’d spent my time in bed tossing and turning, trying not to obsess over the woman that haunted my every waking and sleeping thought.

  On Sunday, Reagan had insisted I drop her back off at Mrs. B’s. I’d wanted so badly for her to come home with me or invite me in, but she hadn’t done either. It was so strange not to have any idea what she was thinking or what she wanted.

  I’d texted her Monday and didn’t hear back, but I figured she was busy. Then I texted twice yesterday, still no response. I even dropped off flowers at the boarding house during a break last night. She hadn’t answered, but I knew she was there. When I went to text her this afternoon to ask her if she found the flowers I’d left at the door, it looked so pathetic having three unreturned texts that I broke down and called her. It went to voicemail after two rings.

  I didn’t need to see a rom-com or ask Greg Behrendt to know that she was making it clear she just wasn’t that into me.

  I’d tried not to jump to conclusions, and had even gone as far as to make excuses for her radio silence. She had a demanding job. We weren’t anything official to each other. But when it came down to it, I knew better than most that if someone is interested, they make the time. She wasn’t.

  She was supposed to be picking up the keys for the house on Saturday and I was wondering if that was still going to happen. Three days of zero communication didn’t bode well for either our friends-with-clauses or landlord-tenant relationships.

  After making sure everyone at the bar was served their last drinks, I walked into the pool table room to clean up.

  “Panty dropper,” Skittles squawked.

  When I heard the laughter behind me I knew exactly whose benefit it had been for. Jimmy had trained the damn bird to call me that. She only ever did it whenever my dumbass brother was around.

  “Good girl, Skitts. You’re such a good girl.” Jimmy cooed.

  I grabbed several bottles and motioned to the high tops in the corner that needed clearing. “Make yourself useful.” I barked. I hadn’t meant to, but my patience was running on empty these days.

  “Someone’s in a good mood,” he observed sarcastically, staying where he was, not making any effort to clean up.

  “What’s up, Jimmy?”

  My little brother never stopped by at closing time during tourist season because he had sunrise tours every morning. So seeing him here, now, was very out of character.

  “I’ve heard that you’ve been mopey.”

  “Mopey? What am I a dwarf?”

  The second the question left my mouth I wished I could take it back. At six foot two, Jimmy took great pride that he stood a half an inch taller than me and a full inch taller than Hank.

  “Yes. You are. I’ve been saying it forever, and I’m glad you’ve finally come to accept it.”

  Yeah, I walked right into that one.

  “So, Mopey. What happened with Reagan?”

  Damn, I wish I knew. “Nothing.”

  “Nothing happened?”

  “Nope.” I walked around Jimmy to the outdoor patio and he followed behind me. I removed the trash bag from the bin, tied it off, and replaced it.

  “So Hank comes home to find you two sneaking around in the attic on Sunday like two teenagers. He says you couldn’t stop looking at her long enough for him to put the fear of God in you, and convince you of the surefire certainty that he would kick your trespassing ass if you ever pulled a stunt like that again. I think he called it ‘Reagan Blinders.’

  “Cut to three days later and there’ve been zero sightings of the two of you, and you’re walking around like someone pissed in your Cheerios. And you’re saying those two things have nothing to do with each other?”

  “Yep.” I lied

  “Was it the curse?”

  “The curse?!” Even though my brothers and I never discussed the folklore associated with our family, I just assumed that they both thought it was just as much a steamin’ pile of horseshit as I did. “There’s no fucking curse.”

  “You don’t know that.”

  I turned to face my brother. “Are you serious? You actually think that there’s a curse?”

  “I don’t know.” He shrugged. “Maybe.”

  “Maybe? Has the sun fried your brain out on that boat?” I couldn’t believe what I was hearing.

  “Well, look at Pop, and Uncle Henry and Uncle Will,” he shot back defensively.

  “You never even met Uncle Henry or Uncle Will.”

  “Well, I lived with Pop, and he was a miserable son of a bitch after Mom died. Tragically, I might point out. And what about Hank? Do you remember that girl he dated in high school?”

  “Nothing happened to Melody or Hank. Last I checked they were both alive and well.”

  “I know. Exactly! Because they broke up.”

  “You’re an idiot.” I mumbled. “Maybe there was no brain there for the sun to fry in the first place.”

  “I’m thinking you’re more Grumpy than Mopey.”

  I was done with this conversation. A small part of me felt bad for being so uncharacteristically hard on the kid, but I had no desire to talk about Pop, Mama, Hank, Melody, the “curse”, or Reagan. And he seemed to have no inclination to leave me the fuck alone.

  Anyway, what would I say to her even if I did want to talk? After what I’d thought was one of the most special, intimate days I’d ever had with someone, she wasn’t calling me back or returning my texts. Not a whole lot to say about that. It was pretty much one of those “the thing speaks for itself” kinda deals.

  “So what’s going
on with Reagan? I know that you’re used to girls falling all over themselves to be with you and she’s not. Is that the problem?”

  I remained silent.

  “You really are turning into Hank.”

  “Shut the fuck up,” I snapped.

  “See.” Jimmy held his hands out as if my response was evidence of Hank-like behavior. “Look, I like Reagan, but I heard that she was engaged before she moved here. Maybe you were a rebound?”

  “Is that what you came here to tell me?”

  “Nah.” He crossed his arms, lounging against the railing as he watched me clean up the patio. “I just wanted to see for myself if you really were being a miserable bastard. Mission accomplished, I guess.”

  “Goodnight, Jimmy.” I said as I walked past him back into the bar to close up.

  “Night, Grumpy.” He gave me a quick salute, pushed off the railing, and hopped off the deck. As he headed around back to where his truck was parked, he whistled the song the seven dwarfs did in the Snow White movie.

  Dumbass.

  As I cashed out the remaining patrons and finished closing up, I did my best not to let what Jimmy said get under my skin. Was I just a rebound to Reagan? It was possible.

  And worse, was I turning into my older brother? For so long, I’d skated through life on autopilot in the feelings department. Now, as soon as I tried to engage, I got moody as fuck because a girl that I thought I might be in love with was ignoring me?

  No. This was ridiculous. I wasn’t going to be that guy. I wasn’t going to end up like Hank, who wouldn’t crack a smile if he won the lottery. Or worse, like my Pop, who never recovered from losing my mama.

  If things with Reagan were meant to be, they would be. I didn’t believe in curses, hell, I wasn’t even sure I believed in love.

  But I did believe in what I felt when I was around Reagan and what she felt for me. If that wasn’t real, I didn’t know what was.

  CHAPTER 42

  Reagan

  “Five a.m. In the morning.”

  “I know, Nadia. Believe me. I know.” I yawned.

  “I mean…I don’t even know which one of those words to emphasize more, five or morning. Both of them are equally horrifying.”

  “I’m well aware.”

  “Reagan, my parents were dead set on one thing for my future. I was either gonna be a doctor or a lawyer. Do you know why I defied them both and chose teacher?”

  “Because you wanted to make a difference with the youth of today?”

  “It’s too early for humor.”

  “It’s never too early for humor,” I countered.

  From the glare she gave me, Nadia didn’t appreciate it. “Because the school bell rings at eight a.m.” she said in exasperation.

  “I know, and because you’re a teacher, you are on spring break, which means you can take a nap later,” I pointed out.

  “But you can’t. How are you this awake?”

  “You know I wake up at the same time every morning.”

  “Still?” she asked.

  It was a phenomenon that she’d been intrigued by when we’d shared a dorm room in college. Every day, no matter what, I woke up at five twelve in the morning. Which meant, technically, I would’ve been able to get a little bit more sleep this morning if I’d wanted to, but not much. Not that it would’ve mattered.

  The truth was, the second I closed my eyes, all I could see was Billy and Daisy having sex in the supply closet. It’s been three days since I found out about the hookup and for some inexplicable reason; I couldn’t seem to get over it.

  Billy had called and texted. He’d even showed up at Mrs. B’s with flowers and I’d pretended not to be there. I just couldn’t bring myself to face him. On Saturday I was supposed to be moving into the house he’d shown me, and I was coming up with excuses not to.

  I was being ridiculous. I knew that. He hadn’t done anything wrong. We were not in any sort of relationship. Not now, and certainly not in the hour before we’d even met!

  I had no idea why I felt so betrayed. It was strange that I was honestly more upset about Billy hooking up with Daisy than I’d been when I’d walked in on Blaine.

  It made zero sense.

  “It’s too early,” Nadia whined as her head fell back against the headrest. “Why in the hell am I in a car with you at this ungodly hour, driving out to Harlan Mitchell’s place to work out?” She said the phrase like it was a bad word.

  I looked over at her in the passenger seat and grinned brightly. “Because it’s bathing suit season?”

  “Nice try. Guess again.”

  “Umm…because Cheyenne roped me into it, and I guilted you into it?”

  “Ding, ding, ding. We have a winner.”

  “Come on. It’ll be fun.”

  “It won’t be. But I’ll stop bitching the minute we step out of the car. Promise.” She sat up. “Okay. Remind me again what this thing is we’re going to. I kinda mentally checked out after I heard the time.”

  “Cheyenne explained it as a small-town take on boot-camp workouts, or CrossFit. Something like that. We were talking about missing some things from city living, like green juice and group fitness—”

  “One of the many reasons I’ll never understand city folk. But please, continue.”

  “Anyway, Cheyenne saw a flier up at the grocery store about this class, and she thought it’d be fun. It’s called Farm Strong.”

  “So…lots of hitting truck tires with sledgehammers, then?”

  “I’d imagine.”

  “Good,” she grinned. “I’ve got some aggression I’d like to get out.”

  “Turn here.” Nadia pointed down a dirt path.

  “But the GPS says—” I pointed at the screen on my dashboard.

  “I don’t care what it says.” She grabbed the wheel. “If you want the Mitchell farm, turn.”

  I did as instructed and turned down a long, dusty driveway. As we rounded the corner at the end, I saw Cheyenne standing beside a barn. Her bright blonde hair was tied up in a perky ponytail and the huge smile and wave she gave was too energetic for that hour of the morning, even by my standards.

  “You were right.” I observed. If I’d followed the GPS, who knows where I would’ve ended up.

  “You sound surprised,” she said flatly.

  I chuckled as I pulled up next to a handful of other cars. As I hopped out, I saw something that stopped me in my tracks.

  Billy’s truck.

  What was he doing here? He didn’t close the bar until two in the morning. Why would he be at a workout class three hours later? My heart slammed in my chest as I began sweating. And not from exercise.

  Cheyenne bounced over, wide grin plastered across her face. “Yay! I’m so glad you guys made it. This is going to be the best!”

  Nadia let out a brittle, short laugh. “Don’t oversell it. I’m not awake enough to do the mental gymnastics necessary to adjust my expectations.”

  Nadia’s morning malaise did nothing to dampen Cheyenne’s enthusiasm. As for me, I was suddenly so full of equal parts dread and anticipation of seeing Billy that I had zero room for anything else. I didn’t have any idea what I would say to him. The last time we’d seen one another had been so raw and intimate, and then I’d avoided him.

  We followed Cheyenne around the back of the red barn, and who was the first person I saw? Billy Comfort. The sight of him hit me like a punch in the gut. It wasn’t even him so much—although it goes without saying that, even at that hour of the morning, he looked sexy as sin—but who he was with.

  Namely, two very scantily clad gym-bunnies who were each hanging all over him. This early, and they were decked out in fully coordinated spandex from head to toe (save for a broad stretch over their bellies, which were naked as the day they were born).

  Not only that, but to add insult to injury, they were both in full makeup. To freaking work out.

  I glanced down at myself. Plain black sneakers. Plain black yoga pants. A white sports bra with
a loose gray tank top layered over it. My hair was in a middling-to-messy ponytail. I had no makeup on.

  In short, I was dressed to actually work out. Not pose for pictures in a magazine advertisement about working out.

  All the insecurities from my early childhood came rushing back to me. It was the first time in my adult life that I sincerely felt vulnerable. Having Hal in my life had been the first thing that had built my self-confidence. But the real boost I’d gotten was when I legally changed my name. It had been like a new identity to me. Like I was a superhero.

  When other girls were going through the awkward pre-teen and teen years, I’d felt more confident and unaffected by other people’s opinions than I ever had because I wasn’t Fancy Cox anymore. I was Reagan York. There was nothing that Reagan York couldn’t accomplish. And that feeling had continued on into my young adult and adulthood. Until now, anyway.

  Now, a greasy, sick feeling settled in the pit of my stomach. I knew what it was. I recognized it well enough. It was the crushing weight of inadequacy. It was what I’d tried to outrun so hard in the past by following every rule, meeting every expectation.

  And look how well that had turned out.

  Actually…yeah. Look how well that had turned out!

  My life might not be going exactly as I’d planned, but it wasn’t a total failure. I was an attorney. I was employed. And as of Saturday, I would be living in a home. Life had knocked me down and I’d picked myself back up, dusted off, and kept going. If I wanted to break the pattern of not feeling good enough, no one was going to do that but me.

  I straightened my shoulders, which had the fortunate side effect of thrusting my tits forward. That was good, because I certainly didn’t mind how firm and perky they were looking in my sports bra, thankyouverymuch.

  With my metaphorical best foot firmly forward, I walked up to the group, which just happened to include Billy and the Bimbettes. Out of my peripheral vision I could see that it was clear from the trio’s body language that the girls were each trying to get something started with him and he wasn’t having any of it. Now that I wasn’t looking at the scene through the filter of a blazing haze of insecurity, it was obvious.