by Marina Adair
He raised his beer in salute. She tried smiling back, instead shifting uncomfortably in the chair, her legs sticking to the cheap vinyl, which matched the cherry-red tablecloths.
Josephina looked back to her friends and blinked. Charlotte, wearing black slacks, a lavender cardigan set—angora, no less—and pearls, looked as if she should be sitting on that church pew, not a bar stool. And Spenser was in ripped jeans, motor oil, and a black tank top that said LUBE THIS. Her hair was thrown up in a messy ponytail.
Suddenly Josephina’s off-the-shoulder, silky shirt and hooker-high boots seemed wrong, on so many counts.
“Remind me again why I’m the only one dressed for this hunt? A hunt that was supposed to be a team effort?”
“The only kind of hunting I do is with a gun,” Spenser said around bits of chewed hushpuppy.
“This is my hunting outfit.” Charlotte placed an affectionate hand on Josephina’s and gave it a few friendly pats. “Of course, it’s also my Sunday tea outfit, since this is a small southern town, and when a woman does something like this, although I admire it greatly, people talk. And I can’t have my mama hearing the prattle come morning.”
Josephina froze, a heat burning up her neck, and forced herself not to look around to see who was staring at her. “People know?”
“Honey, this is Sugar,” she said. “Everyone knows everyone’s business, and yours is particularly interesting, seeing as you’re Letty’s prodigal niece. Her single niece.”
Josephina looked around the bar and found everyone staring back. Everyone.
“After a while, you’ll get used to everyone being in your business,” Spenser said with a sigh that wasn’t all that convincing.
“Oh, God,” she mumbled, resting her head on the bar top. “What was I thinking?”
“That he has a great ass.”
“That you are a beautiful, single woman in desperate need of some s-e-x.” Charlotte needlessly lowered her voice for the last part. Over the steel guitar and Friday night commotion, not to mention the humiliation pounding through her ears, Joie could barely hear her.
“I need to find a new candidate.” Which was not going to happen. Casual sex was one thing. Casual sex with a stranger. No way. “I mean, what if he knows?”
“Oh, honey, he knows. The chemistry between you two could power the cotton mill on the outskirts of town.”
“It’s not chemistry. It’s called irritation.”
“It’s enough to split atoms,” Spenser said, smiling.
“Will you stop frowning. It causes wrinkles.” Charlotte pressed her two index fingers to either side of Josephina’s forehead and tugged. “Wrinkles over a man you are destined to have a fling with, I might add.”
“I think he’s busy.” She was frowning again, damn it.
Charlotte peered around Joie, and through the crowded bar. Brett was surrounded by several scantily clad, adoring fans. All female. All attractive. All ready to go.
“Don’t get tied up on their account. They can’t help themselves. And Brett, well, that’s just what happens to McGraw men. They sit down, women line up. It’s like some bizarre magnetic force that they were born with. Even after their daddy, God rest his soul, married a northerner, women still adjusted their pearls and took notice when he came into town.”
“He married a Yankee?” Josephina asked, rather shocked.
“No, their mama was from Atlanta, which was sinful enough since there were willing women right here in Sugar.”
“Well, I’m not the line up kind of gal. Did that once, didn’t even know there was a line, and somehow I ended up at the end.”
“That’s why you need to do this. The man wants you. See how he’s listening to Darleen, nodding and smiling and doing all the things a southern man does because his mama raised him right?”
Darleen. Even her name sounded like southern royalty. “You do realize that is the same southern charm that had some bimbo riding him like a bull and showing her goods on national television.”
Spenser stopped chewing. Charlotte’s eyes narrowed, her mouth pursed delicately in anger.
“What?”
“Those McGraw men do love women, but Brett would never purposely record something like that on film. We may live in a small town and talk a little different from big-city folks, but we are good southern people,” Charlotte said, her eyes glassy with hurt.
“I didn’t mean it like that,” Josephina said.
“All right then, my mistake,” Charlotte said, her voice as sunny as if Josephina hadn’t just offended the entire South and a good part of the Midwest. “Now, look how he keeps frowning at Jackson standing behind you.”
She didn’t have to ask who Jackson was, since the sexy sheriff stopped chalking his pool cue to flash her a smile that was heartthrob worthy. Not that her heart—or any other part of her for that matter—throbbed.
She watched Brett take a sip of beer and over the rim of his glass send Jackson a hard look. The sheriff, however, cracked the balls, sending two solid-colored ones into the corner pocket while simultaneously sending Josephina a wicked grin and a wink.
She spun back around on her bar stool. “He just winked at me.”
“Well, of course he did. The fact that it surprises you means you’re worse off than we originally thought.”
“The fact that you’re entertaining hooking up with Jackson means you need your head checked,” Spenser grunted.
“Ignore her.” Charlotte shot Spenser a reprimanding look. “Now turn back around and smile.”
Josephina did, and to her amazement he smiled back.
“Well, aren’t you popular,” Spenser mumbled.
“Oh, God.” Josephina’s hand flew to her mouth. “Are you and Jackson—?”
“What?” Spenser nearly swallowed her tongue whole, she was sputtering so much. “Me and JD? No way. I like my men good-looking and with a sense of humor.”
Charlotte laughed. “Those two have had it out for each other since childhood. Spenser spent most of her money in high school buying eggs and toilet paper specifically for Jackson’s car.” Charlotte lowered her voice and without turning around, leaned closer to be heard over the game playing on the flatscreens around the bar. “So don’t listen to her, because Jackson is a major catch who up until tonight has shown zero interest in getting caught. He is currently single, lives in that gorgeous blue and white Victorian off Maple, carries a gun, and is rumored to use his cuffs in and out of uniform.”
“If he doesn’t date how do you know he likes it kinky?”
“Before he married, he spent a lot of time with the two older McGraws, which meant he was quite the ladies’ man. Oh, and like Brett, he’s had his eye on you since you stepped into the bar.”
“He has?” Jackson was hot. With sun-kissed hair, a lip-smacking body, and wearing dark jeans and a Stetson, he looked as if he’d fallen off the page of some Hottest Cowboys Calendar. Maybe Mr. July. But she was more interested that Brett had been staring.
Jackson tipped said Stetson and his smile widened. At the southern gesture, she blushed—well, tried to—as Jackson rearranged his hat and took a step in her direction. She waited for that heat to build in her belly, for a zing of awareness to make her melt.
Josephina sighed. Not even a tingle.
Jackson was only a few feet away when he hesitated and stopped. His smile faded to a frown and Josephina realized it was because she was frowning.
All she could picture was him and those cuffs, and she started hyperventilating—not in a good way. Armed, handsome, and kinky didn’t do it for her. His brows raised in question, not that she blamed him, as she was sending off all kinds of mixed signals.
Josephina spun back around. “Oh, my God. What am I doing? I saw something glimmer on his belt and thought handcuffs and freaked out. I suck at this.”
“No, you’re just out of practice. You’ve spent the last few years using moves from college on a guy who wasn’t interested.”
Ouch.
>
“I don’t think I’ve ever had moves. College or otherwise.” She looked up and down the bar. What was taking so long with the drinks?
“Oh, you’ve got moves. That whole wild child wrapped in suffocating sophistication.”
Spenser snorted. “Says the woman wearing pearls and a sweater set.”
“It was a compliment.” Charlotte glared at Spenser, then pointed Josephina in the direction of the mirror behind the bar. “You are a woman with womanly needs. There is nothing wrong with two consenting adults partaking in some good old-fashion adult fun.”
“He is sexy as hell.” Spenser held up a finger and began ticking off all the reasons to say yes. “Smells like a good time and, most important, wants you. Which works in your favor, because you are in desperate need of a lay. It’s simple. No commitment. No getting to know each other. No broken hearts.”
It sounded so easy when put like that. Problem was, for Josephina nothing that involved emotions worked out easy, and Brett seemed to stir up more in her than just lust. “I don’t think I can go through with this.”
“Take back the control, honey,” Charlotte said, squeezing her hand. “Be bold.”
“Men do it all the time,” Spenser added. “You came to Sugar to start over, find adventure. Well, your adventure starts here. Tonight.”
“Look at him,” Charlotte whispered. Josephina did, and her adventure looked mouthwatering. “Do you think Brett is sitting over there feeling guilty as sin because he’s looking at you as though he wants you to take off everything but the boots?”
“Making whoopie is not sinful,” Etta Jayne cut in, setting down two beers, a shot of bourbon, and enough pointed stares to advertise that she’d overheard—no appletini, though. “What’s sinful is that top of yours.”
“What’s wrong with my top?” Josephina looked down. It was slinky and sexy and she’d thought it was perfect for the occasion. Plus looking at her top caused her hair to curtain her face, hiding the embarrassing red tint in her cheeks and giving her something to think about other than Etta Jayne telling Hattie she was planning on seducing her grandson.
“It’s gold.”
Josephina looked at Charlotte, who managed an elegant eye-roll. Together they had picked out this outfit because Josephina had wanted to make the perfect statement. Although her darling new boots didn’t quite say sexy cowgirl as she’d intended, the whole ensemble worked well with her figure and purpose.
Spenser, however, had taken one look at her top and burst out laughing.
“Now, Mrs. Allan, that shade is fitting for Josephina. Look how it makes her skin just glow.”
Etta Jayne, in obvious disagreement, gave Josephina a disgusted look and turned to leave. The bar was suspiciously short on appletinis.
“Excuse me,” Josephina said, not wanting to start another feud but really needing a shot of liquid courage. “I think you forgot my drink.”
“That there’s a drink, isn’t it?”
“Yes,” Josephina said, straightening and trying to emulate Charlotte’s elegant take-no-shit posture. “I’d prefer something a little more fruity.”
Etta Jayne narrowed her eyes and leaned in really close. “You want fruity? Then go to the Gravy Train. They’ve got pie.”
She snagged a hot basket of hushpuppies from a passing waitress and slammed it on the bar. Josephina did her best not to squeak.
“Maybe order a backbone while you’re at it.” Etta Jayne leaned in as if imparting national secrets. “You’re wasting your good years letting that pansy fiancé of yours still run things.”
“Ex-fiancé,” Josephina corrected. “And he is not running things.”
“Child, my Ralph died while making love. To another woman, a stripper, in church.”
“In church?”
“Sugar Baptist Church,” Etta Jayne said with a single, firm nod. “It wasn’t a Sunday, mind you, but he was a deacon, with key privileges, which he thought gave him other privileges. So I dragged that pew of sin in here and placed it right next to those poles as a reminder. I could have let his cheating ways ruin my life, but I didn’t. Cuz then he’d win.”
“Etta Jayne,” Charlotte chided. “You know that Ralph isn’t dead. He’s living over in Mobile.”
“With that stripper. Same as dead.” Etta Jayne dug her hands into her meaty hips. “So what I was getting at before I was interrupted was when the itch takes over, I say scratch it. No shame in that. Why even your aunt Letty, God rest her soul,”—Etta Jayne nodded to the WILD TURKEY WEDNESDAY HALL OF FAME—“she used to say that falling in love’s like a roller-coaster, at first it’s exciting, thrilling. But in the end, all you wind up with is bugs in your teeth, ratty hair, and a queasy stomach.”
Josephina squinted at the collage hanging behind the bottles of liquor and smiled when she got to the faded Polaroid, third one from the top. Sitting on the bar and giving two drunken thumbs up was a sun-weathered woman surrounded by eleven empty shot glasses, two young bucks, and a crowd of Stetson-wearing silver foxes. “Is that Letty?”
“Yes, ma’am. Still holds the county record.” Etta Jayne gave a semiwelcoming smile. Well, she wasn’t baring her teeth as she had been a minute ago. “She’d say skip the queasy part and go for the good stuff.”
“You are absolutely right, Mrs. Allan,” Josephina said, feeling freer than she had in months. She could be carefree. No-nonsense. She didn’t even have to think like a man in order to have a one-nighter. She just needed to think like her great-aunt’s niece and be Joie, the woman who runs her own life and takes crap from nobody.
Someone on the screen must have made a touchdown, because the bar erupted into a chaos of cheers.
“I’m going to have sex with Brett and then tomorrow go back to being Josephina Harrington, successful proprietor and capable businesswoman.”
And there went the teeth. “You’re setting a love trap for Brett?”
“Nope.” Love implied gas. “A sex trap,” Josephina corrected, raising her voice enough to be heard over the sound of the sports fans behind her.
“Is that kind of like a Yankee snipe hunt?”
Josephina shifted on her stool, knowing it was Brett behind her by the way her thighs quivered. This was not how she’d envisioned her night going.
“It’s stupidity is what it is,” Etta Jayne snapped, and waddled off. And here she thought she was making friends and influencing people.
Old ladies, two. Josephina, zero.
“Well, if you will excuse me, I think I just saw someone I know walk in.” Charlotte, the worst wingman in history, sent Josephina a not-so-sly look.
Brett laughed. “Charlotte, you’ve lived here your whole life. I don’t think there’s anyone in town you don’t know.”
“Isn’t that fabulous,” Charlotte sang, sliding off the stool, grabbing Spenser, and effectively leaving Josephina to face Brett alone.
Almost able to hear him smile, she remained facing the bar, kicking herself for thinking she could pull this off and wishing he would take a hint and leave. To her vast disappointment he didn’t.
She kept her eyes glued to her beer, watching the foam slip slowly down the side and pool on the counter. She wanted to forget the whole thing, drive home, crawl under the covers with Boo, and die silently of embarrassment.
Hiding from her mistakes was what she was good at.
How else could a woman of thirty hold multiple degrees and yet have no career to speak of? It was why she found it easier to grab on to other people’s dreams, because then she couldn’t mess up her own.
She felt him slide onto the stool next to her and reach out, taking her fingers with his. Tugging her around, he adjusted their bodies so that they were facing each other and their knees were brushing.
“Hey there.”
“Hey,” she whispered back, peering up at him and knowing that despite the dark lighting he could see her blush. He wasn’t so much smiling as looking concerned.
“I was going to offer to buy you a dr
ink, but seeing as you already have one, how about a dance?” His accent, she noticed, got thicker every time she saw him.
She knew she should let go of his hand, it was making what should be nothing feel like something, but she liked how his fingers fit around hers. “I figured your dance card would already be full. Wouldn’t want you to let down your adoring public.”
He shrugged. “The only girl I’m interested in dancing with tonight is you.”
She cringed at the reference that put an expiration date on what she was feeling. Although that was silly. Brett was a master at casual and she was trying to master the concept, so the honest remark should’ve made her relax. It didn’t.
“Brett—”
“Well, you finally admit to knowing my name.” He was smiling, but for some reason he seemed nervous.
With his free hand, he reached out and followed the neckline of her shirt, from one shoulder, across her collarbone, to the other arm, pulling the fabric farther down as he went. Her brain went fuzzy.
“Don’t let anyone give you a hard time about your shirt. Gold looks good on you. Even if you are in Falcon territory.”
Josephina looked around and took in the red paraphernalia, the sea of Falcons’ jerseys, and closed her eyes. Why couldn’t she, just once, make the right kind of impression?
“And I’m guessing gold would be—”
“Saints color. New Orleans Saints. The Atlanta Falcons’ biggest rival. Actually, it is one of the longest-standing rivalries in southern football history.” Before she could come up with some sophisticated comeback, he asked, “Why are you always wearing those ridiculously high shoes?”
“They aren’t ridiculous! I will have you know that I…that…they’re darling,” she said stiffly, shoving at his chest.
He didn’t budge, except to capture her hand again and hold it there. The bar was alive with excitement, people cheering and clinking mugs so hard that beer sloshed over the rims and onto the floor. But all Josephina could focus on was the frantic strum of his heart as it vibrated against her palm. Everything else disappeared until it was just them, and she felt her embarrassment fade, her body relax, and something inside her go all warm and mushy.
