by Sara Whitney
“I’d love that.” He ran his thumb over her knuckles, and they both shivered.
The ride back to the station was quiet. Jake spent the drive picturing all the things that could develop that weekend and hoping like hell that Mabel was too.
Nine
Mabel couldn’t pick an outfit on Saturday, which wasn’t at all like her. Usually she was dress and go, but tonight she tried on basically everything in her closest, waffling over which ensemble was best before settling on the first thing she’d put on twenty minutes earlier: a short black skirt and a loose-fitting sparkly silver top that draped over one shoulder. It required a strapless bra, but the effect was worth it.
She started to tug on flats, then reconsidered and reached for a pair of impractically tall, impractically red heels. She almost never wore them, but if not now, when? She slid them on and checked herself out in the mirror.
“You’re dressing for yourself,” she told her reflection sternly. Her reflection didn’t look 100 percent convinced though, so to shut that hussy up, she dug into the back of her makeup drawer for the tube of candy-apple red that she used sparingly. But tonight cried out for red—for herself and no one else. Certainly not for Jake.
But when she smiled at her ruby-lipped reflection, it was Jake she was picturing, trying to blend in with the dressed-down Beaucoeurians in his usual suit and perfectly knotted tie. She absolutely shouldn’t be imagining him getting a good look at her in this eye-popping outfit, but making safe, smart decisions where he was concerned had become impossible. Something between them had shifted during their shopping trip. His usual warmth and good humor were still there, but it had all been overlaid with a sharp intensity that she’d never seen from him before. It left her breathless with anticipation and desperate to know what was going on in his orderly brain.
Maybe those flats were the smarter choice after all. They’d keep her grounded, remind her that she was a practical woman who didn’t throw caution to the wind with any guy who caught her fancy. Then again, Jake wasn’t just any guy. He was her friend and her biggest temptation, and she still wasn’t sure what to expect tonight.
The crunch of Ana’s tires in the driveway brought an end to her shoe debate. Looked like she was headed out in the killer heels.
“Va-va-voom.” Ana winked as Mabel climbed into the van.
“Thanks!” she said, buckling her seat belt. “And thanks again for the ride.”
When the Moo Daddies played a show, Dave generally caught a ride with Skip so they could set up early, and Ana picked up Mabel so the Chiltons could escort her home at the end of the night—never a bad idea when she was going to be surrounded by fans and alcohol.
“My pleasure.” Ana glanced at her once more before reversing out of the driveway. “You all dressed up for Jake?”
Mabel crossed her arms over her admittedly generous neckline. “Can’t a woman look good for herself?”
“Of course.” Ana smiled a Sphinx smile and let the subject drop until they were a block from the bar. “So let me just say, if all that”—she circled her hand over Mabel’s body—“doesn’t convince Jake to sneak you away for a quickie tonight, he’s legally dead.”
Heat twisted low in Mabel’s belly, but she forced out a flat laugh. “Hardly. He touched my hand on Thursday, and I almost hyperventilated. We’re not… I mean, I’m not…” She groaned. “Okay, I like him, Ana. Really like him. Like, a lot.” As her best girlfriend, Ana would understand how significant that was.
“Nothing wrong with that,” Ana said as she wedged her car into a spot in the back corner of the overflowing parking lot.
“It’s not that easy,” Mabel protested. “You of all people know that. I mean, did you want to move away from Florida?”
“I love you,” Ana said with a sigh, resting her fingers on the door handle, “but you’ve got to stop using that as an excuse to keep yourself shut down.”
She slid out of the van, forcing Mabel to scramble after her. “I don’t!”
“You do.” Ana eyed her under the buzzing fluorescent lights illuminating the outside of the squat bar. “Jake’s just working here short-term, right? And then he’s back to Chicago?” Mabel grudgingly nodded, and she laughed. “Well, that’s perfect. Get your beak wet, chica!”
“Beak? Yuck.”
Her friend patted her shoulder. “Stop overthinking it and stay open to new possibilities.” Then she turned and headed toward the bar.
Mabel took a moment to collect herself. She’d been veering between elation and indecision since she’d impulsively asked Jake to meet her tonight, and she still wasn’t sure how she wanted the evening to end. It couldn’t possibly be as simple as “not technically coworkers, so remove clothes immediately,” right? The thought heated her cheeks despite the early-autumn chill in the air. Weeks and weeks of lunches and laughter and chemistry for miles, and here she was contemplating that forbidden leap.
It was madness. And it thrilled her.
“You coming?” Ana asked from the entrance, and Mabel scurried after her, no closer to making up her mind.
Once they were inside, Ana headed off to find Dave and the band in a room at the back where they were fidgeting and tuning up while Mabel walked to the bar to see if Jake had arrived yet. The Moo Daddies had become a popular local cover band since they formed a few years ago, so she wasn’t surprised to find the Elephant already packed with fans of all ages. Her eyes swept over the groups of Rayman College kids, the middle-aged couples on dates, and the clusters of gimlet-eyed women near the stage, vying to be the chosen lady of the night for the Moo Daddy’s famously beautiful drummer, Aiden. No Jake to be seen, although she had no idea what his civilian clothes looked like. Maybe all he owned was suits.
She leaned against the bar and traced her fingers over the mosaic of broken pottery as she waited for the three women next to her to scoop up what looked like two dozen bottles of beer for their table.
Once the crowd had thinned, Tammy the bartender shot her a gap-toothed grin. “Hey, Miss Mae. The usual?”
“Absolutely!” she chirped. She needed to sand down the edges of her nerves.
Tammy, a tan, leathery woman who could be anywhere between forty and seventy, owned the Elephant with her wife, Joanne, the free spirit responsible for the bar’s weird, artsy vibe, from the mismatched vintage-kitsch glassware to the Jackson Pollock-esque walls in the bathrooms. Tammy flipped her graying-brown ponytail out of the way as she set to work on Mabel’s favorite drink, a Harvey Wallbanger. She knew it was a silly thing to pick as her usual, but the vitamin C in the orange juice always made her feel virtuous about the vodka.
Ana joined her as she waited for Tammy to grab the juice from the fridge.
“The band’s all ready to go, and they saved us a table up front. Skip’s already sweated through his shirt.” She wrinkled her nose, then brightened at spotting something over Mabel’s shoulder. “Ooooh, can we invite those guys to sit with us? Guapísimo.”
Mabel turned to see that the crowd at the bar had shifted to reveal a group of extraordinarily buff men who knew how to put the free weights at the gym to good use. “Guapísimo indee—” she started to agree. Then her voice compressed into a strangled croak.
Holy hell. The guy with his back to her was the one she’d been looking for since she walked in, and Lord have mercy, he looked good. His soft, broken-in jeans hugged his long, strong thighs, and the arms of his gray T-shirt curved around the bulge of his biceps. The muscles of his back flexed as he brought a beer bottle to his lips, the fabric pulling across his broad shoulders, and Mabel swallowed a whimper.
“Good luck!” Ana whispered before disappearing, leaving Mabel to snatch up the glass that Tammy had just set in front and down a big swig.
At that moment, as if his Mabel-senses started tingling, Jake turned and cocked his head, shooting her a lazy grin. “Well, hello.” He leaned an elbow against the bar top and ran his tongue along the inside of his lower lip as his gaze traveled down her body
. “Looking good there, Mae Bell.”
She almost dropped her glass. “H-hello,” she managed to squeak. “You look, um… casual.”
He threw his head back in a laugh while she absorbed every devastating aspect of weekend Jake. His body was both leaner and thicker than she expected, if that were possible. As well cut as his suits were, they didn’t do justice to the way his wide shoulders tapered to his trim waist, and they cruelly concealed the muscle definition that his T-shirt was revealing: biceps, pecs, traps, the whole deal. She bet he had a six-pack under there. Maybe even an eight-pack. He oozed sex appeal in a suit and tie, but his weekend wear may have just annihilated her last defenses against him.
She swallowed hard as her eyes traveled to his face, where he was watching with amusement as she ogled him. Oh, fuck her luck, he had a hint of dark stubble on his jaw. She was doomed.
“Wow,” she said faintly, gulping another slug of her drink and trying to rally. “Did you feel weird leaving home without a tie?”
He leaned close to mock-whisper, “Would you believe that I still feel weird with one on?”
She assessed him briefly. “Nope. I think you were born with a tiny power-stripe around your neck.”
He laughed again, his white teeth practically glowing in the dim bar lighting. “Ties took some getting used to, believe me.”
She nervously rattled the ice cubes in her glass and pointed toward the stage. “We’ve got a table waiting for us up front.”
“Lead the way.” He grabbed his beer bottle off the bar.
“Miss Mae?” Tammy’s voice stopped her. “Here. I think you’ll need this.”
She slid another Harvey Wallbanger across the bar to her and sent a pointed look toward Jake. Mabel flushed and hoped her brain-scrambling waves of lust weren’t obvious to every single person in the vicinity.
“Thanks,” she muttered, finishing her first drink and plucking the second one from the bar. She was keenly aware of Jake’s presence behind her as she led him across the crowded room. Between fans of the station and fans of the Moo Daddies, much of the crowd tonight knew who she was, so she nodded and smiled when people waved to her, trying to tamp down her nervousness at being someplace so public with Jake. Where was his head about tonight? She had no idea if he was as confused about the possible shift in their dynamic as she was. So far he’d been his usual friendly self, if a little loose with that hot gaze on her body earlier. But that wasn’t an answer either way.
By the time they were settled into their seats, Dave and the band were onstage and Mabel had sucked down most of her second drink in an attempt to keep her mouth occupied so she wouldn’t blurt out any of the things she wanted to say. Things like, “Isn’t it a little hot for all these clothes?” and “Why can’t I stop thinking about kissing you?”
Thankfully, the band launched into “Rockin’ in the Free World” and kept her from saying anything unwise. Dave played lead guitar and sang while Skip played bass and Aiden Murdoch, who had the body of a Greek statue and the morals of an alley cat, bashed the drums. By the end of the night, Dave would be wasted but still nailing every song, Skip’s cue ball head would be glistening with sweat, and Aiden would have picked out the lucky lady of the night.
As the crowd went wild after the first song, Jake turned to her and hollered, “They’re really good!”
“I know!” she hollered back with a grin.
He glanced down at her half-empty glass and jumped to his feet. “Be right back.”
As soon as he was gone, Ana leaned across the table and yelled over the music, “My God, his arms are huge. Are you seriously telling me there have been no quickies at all?”
Mabel frantically shushed her. “Stop! Nobody’s having any quickies!” At least they wouldn’t be if she couldn’t get a handle on what they both wanted. Ana merely leaned back in her chair with the delighted laugh of a happily married woman, the lucky bish.
Jake returned within the span of one song with a beer for himself and another Wallbanger for her, and the simple brush of his fingers when he handed her the glass almost sent her over the edge.
She was a boat tossing on choppy waters, the churn courtesy of her fear over dropping the last of her protective walls. But if not with Jake, then what man would ever be enough? He was worth the risk. She was almost positive of it.
As the band plowed through its first set—covers of the Red Hot Chili Peppers, the Beatles, Cage the Elephant, a little bit of Alice Cooper—more and more people arrived, and the place got even noisier, making conversation impossible. Mabel sipped a fresh drink, this one courtesy of Ana, and willed herself to relax as the tingle of good booze spread through her midsection. She was in a packed bar while her best friend did what he loved, his eyes shut tight as his fingers danced across the strings of his guitar. At her table was his lovely wife alongside the man Mabel liked far more than she should, given the circumstances. There was no reason she couldn’t just float on this lovely cloud of vodka and music and energy from the crowd.
Jake looked relaxed too, sprawled in his chair with his long legs stretched in front of him. This loose, smiling man was night and day different from the tailored number cruncher she’d met in July, and a rush of affection for him flooded her chest when she realized he was watching her watching him.
“What?” she yelled over a particularly raucous version of “Mary Jane’s Last Dance.”
“Nothing,” he yelled back. “I just can’t get over how amazing you look tonight.”
His eyes raked down her body again, and his thumb circled the rim of his beer bottle in a way that shouldn’t be suggestive but was somehow the hottest thing she’d ever seen another human do. And just like that, her heart launched into overdrive. That dumb organ in her chest had no chill. She was officially No-Chill Mabel, and No-Chill Mabel wanted to reach out and take what was right in front of her.
Then he made it worse by straightening in his chair and leaning toward her, bringing his mouth close to her ear. “And my God, you smell good.”
She choked back a small moan as all her southern parts clenched in anticipation. She leaned in, eyes fluttering shut, and—
“Mae Bell! Where are you? Somebody find that woman and tell her it’s time to sing!” It was Dave, slightly drunk and yelling into the microphone.
She jumped away from Jake and said shakily, “Can you hold that thought? Dave will pester me until I do this.”
“Do what?” Jake sounded confused.
“You’ll see.” She flashed him a grin, drained her glass, and bounced from her chair.
Ten
Jake watched transfixed as Mabel climbed onto the stage. His curiosity over what she was planning to do up there fled when her step up pushed that already short skirt even higher, making it look like she was at least 80 percent leg. She walked behind the drum set and grabbed a spare microphone from the kit stashed there, then turned around and winked at him like they were the only two people in the bar.
“I know nobody here needs any introductions, but what the hell, I’m gonna do ’em anyway,” Dave yelled over the cheers. “This is Mae Bell. Lots of you know her as that horrible woman who badgers me on the air every morning. Well, tonight she’s gonna be our backup singer. How’s that sound?”
The whole place roared as Mabel performed a straight-faced beauty queen wave. The lights illuminated her hair, turning it into a golden nimbus, and her silvery top glittered under the stage lights as it hung off her left shoulder, which he’d been fighting the urge to kiss, to lick, to bite, all night long. His mouth went dry.
Dave counted off the song, and the band launched into the B-52s’ “Love Shack,” with Mabel doing her best girl groupie impression, shimmying along and belting out the chorus. The song reached its peak when everything came to a dead halt as Mabel squinched her eyes shut and belted, “Tiiiiin roooooof! Rusted!” and the audience went nuts.
At the end of the song, she dropped into a small curtsy and started to set the mic back down, but Skip caugh
t the back of her shirt. “Not so fast. Dave, you ready for a break?”
“You know it,” he said, mopping at his sweaty face with a handkerchief. “Fill in for me, Mae?”
She stepped up to grab the mic from him with a faux shocked expression. “Me, pass up the chance to torture an audience? Never.”
The laughter from the crowd was drowned out as the band launched into the opening strains of the Kings of Leon’s “Sex on Fire,” and Jake’s brain stopped working entirely. He forgot where he was, forgot who he was. Forgot he was the guy with no room in his life for relationships. It was all he could do to keep from turning into a cartoon wolf and unfurling his tongue across the table while Mabel performed.
Was a visiting record-label exec going to steal her away from her radio career because of her singing? Probably not. But the joy she exuded with Dave and his bandmates was infectious; she was having a blast, and that energy was what the crowd responded to.
Dave’s wife caught his attention during a short break as Mabel conferred with the band. “Isn’t it crazy how comfortable she is in front of a crowd?”
He rested his elbows on the table and gestured toward the stage. “I had no idea she could do… that.”
Ana nodded sagely, then leaned closer to him. “She likes you, you know. She’s been completely closed off to any relationships since her last one, and she’d kill me if she knew I was telling you this, but it was a relief when I noticed her blushing every time she talks about you.”
She talks about me. Jake wanted to pound the table in triumph. Instead, he stayed still and waited for Ana to deliver some kind of warning about not hurting Mabel, which he assumed was coming.
“And?” he prompted when Ana didn’t continue.
“And nothing.” She blew Dave a lazy kiss when he saluted them from the stage. “I just wanted to tell you I appreciate your resurrecting her optimism in men. Or her libido at least.”
Libido. Jake’s eyes fluttered shut at the thought that Mabel might harbor libidinous feelings for him, and he didn’t open them again until Mabel spoke into the mic one more time.
