She tilted her head. “What do you mean?”
“Well…You know, uh, agreeing to take you on as a couple after I’d done individual work with you.”
“And?” Bradley prompted, grinning like a fool.
Hunter’s face turned a delightful shade of red. “Shut up, Bradley,” he said through clenched teeth.
“Oh, come on, Dr. Hayes,” Bradley cooed. “You’re always touting the importance of being open and honest.”
When Hunter remained tight-lipped, Grant just had to know what made his psychologist so uncomfortable. “Turnabout is fair play, Dr. Hayes. Answer the question.”
A look of betrayal swam in Hunter’s eyes, then his mouth turned down. “Fine.” He cleared his throat. “I…I, um…used to have a crush on you, Grant.”
He felt all eyes on him, gauging his reaction. Again he was flummoxed, without a clue of how to respond, and this time it looked like Sophie wouldn’t swoop in and rescue him. Finally he smirked. “Used to have a crush on me? Why the hell don’t you still have a crush on me?”
Relieved laughter flowed out of Hunter. “It’s Sophie’s fault,” he said. “Every time I saw you two make out on the therapy sofa, it knocked the attraction down a notch.”
“Breeders,” Bradley added with disgust. They all laughed.
“I’ll be heading downstairs now,” Hunter sighed as he backed away. “I couldn’t be more mortified.”
After they left, Sophie tucked herself into Grant’s chest, clasping his collar. “That was hilarious. Poor Hunter.”
He plucked a carrot stick off the tray and held it up. “Sexy vegetable?”
“Ha! Where’s Rog? We have to terrorize him.”
He looked up to the bridge but saw only the DJ and one of Roger’s new employees driving the ship. “Let’s head downstairs—maybe he’ll be there. I want to make sure Ben’s okay too.”
“But Ashley’s here to keep an eye on him,” Sophie said as she followed him down the metal steps.
“Thank goodness.” He stopped by the table near the bottom of the stairs. Colorful gifts stacked on top of each other, and a donut-shaped life raft rested next to the gifts. He picked up a permanent maker and noticed some writing on the white raft. “What’s this?”
“It’s your guest book,” Cheri explained as she appeared next to him. “Guests sign the raft, and you can hang it in your home after the wedding.”
“Aw.” Sophie leaned into read a few best wishes. “What a great idea for McSailor.”
He chuckled. “Thanks, Cheri. Is everything going as planned?”
“Yes, as long as Roger stays out of my hair.” Grant followed her scowl to a table where Roger sat with Jerry, Marilyn, and another woman. “If he threatens me one more time about a wedding guest causing damage to his ship…”
“He’s harmless,” Sophie said. “Just ignore him.”
Cheri breathed out. “I’ll try. How about you two grab a bite, and then we’ll have you cut the cake?”
“Sure.” Grant followed Sophie to the buffet, but she stopped short when Tanya reached up from her chair and tapped her on the elbow. Grant smiled at Kirsten, Anita, and Tanya sitting in their matching bridesmaid dresses. “Hello, ladies. Having a good time?”
Kirsten and Anita nodded, but Tanya whispered in Sophie’s ear. Kirsten said, “Try the Thai noodles, Grant. They’re yum!”
Sophie straightened and subtly gestured to a table near the bow where Agent Bounter sat with Agent Thompson. “Grant? Is Bounter single?”
He glanced down to find Tanya squirming in her chair. “Maybe.” He gave Sophie an innocent look. “Who wants to know?”
“Grant!” Tanya cried. “Stop torturing me.”
“Okay. I’m pretty sure he is single,” he told her. “You know he works for the FBI, right? I don’t think he has much time for a relationship.”
“Who wants a relationship?” Tanya retorted. “I’m a college professor. I don’t have time for one either.”
Sophie and Kirsten cracked up.
“We’ll leave you to it, then,” Sophie said. She grabbed a plate off the buffet and beckoned for Grant. “What can I get for you, my husband?”
“A little of everything, please.” He nudged her hair to the side and smooched the back of her neck. “You smell so good.”
“Thank you.”
Once she loaded the plate, he took it. “Want to meet Rog’s girlfriend?”
“Absolutely. And save Jerry and Marilyn too.”
Grant carried the plate over to their table, and the two couples stood when he and Sophie arrived. He studied the fit, older woman at Roger’s side. Her black hair was up in a high ponytail, and her fuchsia dress dipped low at the bust. “You must be Ana,” he said as he reached out his hand.
“Ay yi yi,” she fussed as she shook his hand, then smacked Roger on the shoulder. “Why didn’t you tell me how fucking cute this boy is?”
“Ew.” Roger shuddered. “As if I’d look at him that way. So he’s tall. Big fucking deal.”
Grant could tell Sophie was trying not to laugh as they sat. Was it possible Roger’s girlfriend had an even worse potty mouth than Roger himself?
Marilyn patted Sophie’s hand. “Are you having a good night?”
“The best.” Sophie bit into a shrimp.
“Listen to this joke I just told your PO, Madsen,” Roger said.
Grant glanced at Jerry, who did not appear amused.
“Why do ex-wives make great parole officers?”
“I have no idea.”
“Because they never let anyone finish a sentence!” Roger chortled, and Ana cackled.
Sophie smiled. “Good one, Rog.”
“Tell ’em the other one,” Ana urged.
Grant grimaced. There’s more? He shoveled a bite of pasta into his mouth and discovered Kirsten had excellent taste.
“Why do divorces cost so much?” When nobody answered, he yelled, “’Cause they’re worth it!”
Ana’s laugh was high-pitched. And loud.
“What a great joke to tell at a wedding,” Jerry growled. He stood and told Marilyn, “I’m getting us more wine.”
Sophie giggled.
Grant nudged her. “Do you want more champagne?”
“I’m good for now.”
“No, Roger!” Ana smacked his hand, and he set down the forkful of pasta that had headed toward his mouth. Ana offered him a carrot stick dipped in salsa instead.
“Just one bite?” Roger pleaded. “You know we’ll be dancing all night.”
“One bite, you little bastard.”
Marilyn leaned closer to Grant. “I hear they found quite a stash in the Russian house. Including the location of the submarine in Baja.”
“Yes, ma’am.” He grinned. “And the FBI took care of the Russians’ girlfriends. They’re safe now.”
“You did good.” She smiled at them. “You too, Sophie.”
Jerry set a glass of red wine in front of her and sat back down.
“Is that dance music I hear, mamacita?” Roger asked Ana.
“Sí.” She nodded. “Time for the samba, papacito.”
As Roger stood, his head tilted toward the table where Hunter and Bradley sat. “Those two are as gay as a three dollar bill.”
“I thought it was a two dollar bill?” Grant said.
“Inflation.” Roger slapped his shoulder and headed upstairs with his girlfriend.
Marilyn shook her head as a pleasing silence drifted over the table.
“Imagine working for him for a whole summer,” Sophie said.
Jerry narrowed his eyes. “Surely that had to be worse than hawking hotdogs at the Cubs games, Taylor.”
She stroked her chin. “It’s a tough call. What do you think, Grant?”
“Your buns are pretty warm,” he said with a straight face.
She smiled. “Don’t you forget it.”
Ben approached the table with two flutes of champagne. “What’re you doing serving alcohol?” Grant de
manded.
He shrugged as he handed a glass to him and set one down in front of Sophie. “Uncle Joe sent me over here—ask him. I didn’t drink any, I promise.”
“Thank you, Ben.” She took a sip.
He swept down in a bow, and when he straightened again he was grinning. “May I get anything else for the lovely couple?”
“How gracious, Benjamin.” Her hand fluttered to her chest. “No, thank you. I want you to enjoy your time with Lindsay and your friends. Are you having fun?”
He nodded. “This wedding rocks!”
Grant smiled. “Have you gotten a new dog yet?”
“Did your dog die?” Marilyn asked as her hand covered her mouth.
“Nope.” Ben hung his head and kicked his foot on the deck. He explained how Mullens had stolen Dot, and when Ben had returned her to her owners, they’d paid him one hundred dollars as a reward. His mom had promised to get him a new dog.
Sophie chuckled as he dashed off to the table filled with teenagers.
“Why did he invite so many friends?” asked Jerry.
“We wanted to have a few people on my side of the church,” Grant said.
“Hey—my side was mostly my father’s business associates,” Sophie countered. “You had a fair number of guests. If all the women from Capone’s knew you were getting married, the church would’ve been packed.”
Grant shook his head as he lifted his champagne glass. “Now I only have my nephew buying me drinks.” He watched Ben laugh at something Lindsay said and could tell he was smitten. “Sophie, I thought you told me Lindsay wouldn’t date Ben. Why’d she change her mind?”
“I don’t know.” She shrugged. “Ben wouldn’t tell me.”
Jerry cleared his throat, and Grant looked up to see him nudge Marilyn. “What is it?” he asked.
“Lindsay’s father works for the CPD,” Marilyn said. “I may have said something to him about Ben being a good guy.”
Sophie smiled. “Thank you, Marilyn.”
“Thank you for sticking up for Ben, ma’am.” Grant kissed the detective’s hand.
She fanned herself. “I think I’m going to swoon. Do you have the smelling salts, Jer?”
“Back off my woman, Madsen.”
He grinned. “Yes, sir.”
“So, we have a gift for you two,” Marilyn said. She reached into the pocket of her black suit-jacket and placed a small wrapped box on the table.
The detective seemed strangely embarrassed. “Want to put that on the gift table?” Grant asked.
“Um…no.”
“We want to make sure you have it…tonight,” Jerry added.
“What is it?” Sophie wondered.
“Go ahead and open it,” Jerry said.
“Wait!” Marilyn sprang to her feet, and Grant stood as well. “Not while we’re here. C’mon, let’s go for a spin on the dance floor.”
“I hate dancing, Mar.”
“Then let’s check out the architecture.”
Jerry rolled his eyes. “Fine.” Before he followed, he lowered his voice and said, “We have a pair of these ourselves. We thought you’d enjoy them.”
Grant sat down and felt as confused as Sophie looked.
“That was weird.” She shrugged, then scooped up the present and tore off the paper. “Oh, my God.”
“What is it?” He tried to see, but she’d hidden the box under the table. She passed the box to him, and when he looked inside, he laughed.
Handcuffs.
“Who knew how kinky law enforcement types could be,” she marveled.
He waggled his eyebrows. “I like it.”
After they cut the cake and fed each other a few bites, they headed up to the converted dance floor on the deck. A fast pop song played, and Sophie’s stylish moves got Grant in the spirit. They joined Kirsten, Tanya, and Anita, and soon Bounter and Agent Thompson moved into their circle. Grant wondered if “YMCA” was next.
“And now it’s time to slow it down,” the DJ announced. “Couples, please come to the dance floor. We have a special song for Grant and Sophie.”
Sophie’s head cocked to one side, listening to the song, as she stepped into his waiting arms. He didn’t recognize the opening piano melody, but she groaned. “Bless the Broken Road,” she told him. “A required song for anyone getting married over the age of thirty.”
His hand caressed the small of her back, and his other hand clasped her fingers. She swayed in his arms while he listened to the lyrics. “But this song is particularly true for us.” He twirled her, and she came right back to him. “Our road’s been destroyed, smashed to pieces…but still, it led to you. I’m blessed.” He felt no pain as he nuzzled her nose before planting a kiss on her waiting mouth. She tasted of champagne and sweet icing—of dreams and possibilities.
The ship was now out on Lake Michigan, cruising past the majestic Chicago skyline. He drew his bride closer as he checked out the other couples on the dance floor. She kissed his neck. Her soft lips brushed his Adam’s apple, and her warm breath lingered on his skin as he inhaled the soft notes of her perfume. He closed his eyes, hoping he’d remember this moment the rest of his life.
He felt Cheri by his side, and he snuck the microphone from her grasp. He looked up at the DJ who gave him the thumbs up before fading the volume of the current song.
“Thank you for being here, everyone,” he said into the microphone.
Sophie stepped back and stared at him with surprise.
“You thought I wouldn’t sing to you tonight?” he teased. “I was just waiting for the right time.” He scanned the deck and found all eyes on him as the ship approached Navy Pier. He backed up to the railing for support and locked eyes with his bride. “So, Sophie and I met at our parole officer’s door. Isn’t that right, Officer Stone?”
From the stern, Jerry raised his bottle of beer above his head.
“He doesn’t look like a matchmaker, does he?”
Laughter drifted through the night air.
Grant looked back at Sophie. “I was in a hopeless place…until I found you, Sophie Taylor. You’ve filled my world with hope.”
She pressed her forearms against her chest, her folded hands under her chin. Her eyes glittered with tears.
“So I wrote you this song to thank you for that hope. It’s titled ‘Con Me.’” He closed his eyes to collect himself, worried he’d start crying too. After a deep breath he connected with her again. His wife. His Bonnie.
We both knew a man—dark, beaten, and blue
But I never imagined he’d lead me to you.
If I could conjure a woman so warm, smart, and kind,
God would grant me a Sophie, at Jerry’s to find.
I held a conference between my heart and my mind.
I confess both chose you for the ties that bind.
Confirm me, convince me, conspire to own me.
Conceivably you’re first to confront me and know me.
Can you con me all over again?
You said unconditional love was hard to find.
I hadn’t known such connection until you were mine.
I concede that you knew me all of the time.
I concur that time spent with you is sublime.
Confirm me, convince me, conspire to own me.
Conceivably you’re first to confront me and know me.
Can you con me all over again?
I’ll write my prose and cons, concert of my heart.
You’re conduction, you’re confection, you’re breathtaking art.
And so to conclude, but never to end,
This contract that we so eagerly begin…
Congratulations to my lovely and stunning new wife,
For the conjugals that start our beautiful life.
Confirm me, convince me, conspire to own me.
Conceivably you’re first to confront me and know me.
Can you con me all over again?
As he finished, Sophie’s tears ran tracks down her cheeks. Am
idst applause, she skipped into his arms, and he breathed in her intoxicating scent as he held her tight. She snuggled into his chest. “I’ll con you every day, McSailor.”
“Good.”
There was a loud pop seconds before the dark sky filled with brilliant white and purple fireworks. A cheer went up from guests all over the boat, but Grant and Sophie heard nothing, saw nothing, but each other.
Acknowledgments
I’m so grateful to the fine women of Omnific Publishing for making The Conduct Series a reality! Their best behavior supported, encouraged, and improved my writing. My thanks to:
Jessica Royer Ocken: You are an extraordinary editor! I’ve learned so much from you about writing, and you’re a fun, kind person too.
Cindy Campbell and CJ Creel: What would I have done without your literary and legal knowledge? Sophie and Grant may have landed back in prison.
Elizabeth Harper: You’re a “psycho publisher” who’s got chutzpah for starting your own publishing company, featuring Romance Without Rules.
Coreen Montagna: You beautify my books and play a mean game of Words With Friends.
Micha Stone and Traci Olsen: Thank you for spreading the word about Bonnie and McSailor.
I’m also grateful to my pub sisters Nicki Elson, Lisa Sanchez, Carol Oates, Trisha Wolfe, Debra Anastasia, Cherie Colyer, and Jennifer DeLucy. Thanks for being such wonderful listeners on this journey!
And big smooches to supportive readers like Gwynn, Mitsy, Djeni, Roche (Uncle Joe lover), Cécile, Janine, Smash, Syrah, Darcia, Nora, Nancy, Amy, Lorne, Ina, Christy, Laurie, Victoria, Ana, Christina, Babs, Annette, and Sophia.
About the Author
People fascinate the psychologist/author (psycho author) known as Jennifer Lane. Her therapy clients talk to her all day long about their dreams, and her characters tell her their stories at night. Jen delights in peeling away the layers to scrutinize their psyches and emotions. But please rest assured, dear reader, she isn’t psychoanalyzing you right now. She’s already got too many voices in her head!
Stories of redemption interest Jen the most, especially the healing power of love. She is the author of The Conduct Series — romantic suspense for adult readers — of which On Best Behavior is the third and final installment. Streamline is her first foray into writing for young and new adults, but she’s found this sort of writing even more fun. A former college swimmer, Jen is able to put a lot of her own experiences into her books.
On Best Behavior (C3) Page 33
