Operation Sex Kitten

by Tess Summers

  She grabbed a water bottle and took a sip. With a deep breath, she walked out the pool house door just in time to see the patio furniture get thrown into the pool.

  Oh, hell no.

  Watching the table and two chairs sink to the bottom, she stormed past Grace and grabbed the bag of keys off the side table next to her lounger. Her sister, who, judging by the look of surprise on her face, seemed to have forgotten her oldest sister was even there, yelled after Ava as she marched into the house. The elder sister put her hand up in the air and kept walking. Pushing her way into the main house, she hesitated only briefly before following where the very loud music was coming from, and was strangely happy it was from her parents’ stereo. At least she knew how to operate that. When she shut it off mid-song, it created the dramatic effect she was looking for. Having everyone’s attention now, she was in full-on bitch mode.

  With a loud, stern voice she yelled, “Listen up. This party is over.” Everyone groaned. She held the bag of keys up. “Unfortunately, you aren’t going anywhere until I’m convinced you can drive. If you’d like to fight with me about this, I’m happy to have an officer of the law explain your options as he drives you to jail.” More groaning from the crowd. “Don’t push it, the chief is one of my closest friends and I have his personal number on my speed dial.” Okay, that was a lie. She knew the chief, but certainly wasn’t his close friend and she definitely didn’t have his personal number. “If you have a cup with alcohol in it, dump it.” When she saw people start chugging, she raised her phone, intimating she was going to dial the police. “Do you think I’m joking? I said dump it. Now.”

  To her surprise, they obliged, lining up at the sink to dump their drinks, some still sneaking sips as they waited their turn.

  She continued, “Now, the music will stay off and once you’ve sobered up, come see me for your keys.”

  People started milling out to the pool area and before she knew it, the pool was full of teenagers. She had a few people approach her for their keys; three were still intoxicated and three were not. After giving the clearheaded kids their keys, she told the other three they needed to sober up first. Only one argued, citing he had a curfew. “I guess you should have thought about that,” was her only response before turning to check on the rest of the house.

  She went upstairs to find her parents’ bedroom suite still locked and untouched. Her parents always locked their suite when they went out of town. Her father had heard too many horror stories of fellow attorneys’ children letting their friends in the house and important client information disappearing. The lock wasn’t an interior door lock either. It was a deadbolt with a keypad. Her parents had finally given her the combination code when she listed the house for sale in order for her to be able to properly show the entire home to prospective buyers.

  After inspecting all of the upstairs, she made her way through the rest of the house, still clutching the bag of keys. She had made the rounds through the kitchen and living room when she realized there was still the keg out by the pool.

  Shit.

  Running out to the bar by the pool, she started rolling the keg out the gate to the driveway, where she was planning on opening the tap and letting it drain onto the grass. It was pretty heavy and she was struggling to roll it straight. Her sister’s friend, Jill, stood in the front doorway, calling her name.

  After almost getting the barrel of beer to the other side of the driveway, she called out to the girl, “Honey, I’ll be there in a sec.”

  She made one more rotation with the keg and looked up, startled to find a grown man frowning at her, but even more startled at how amazingly good-looking he was. The dark hair by his forehead was lightly tousled, like he’d run his fingers through it out of frustration. She knew the feeling. He was dressed as though he’d been out for the evening—shiny black shoes, black slacks and a cobalt-blue button-down shirt that matched the color of his eyes almost exactly. His shirt was unbuttoned at the neck and his rolled-up sleeves allowed her to see his very expensive TAG watch. She imagined he’d probably been wearing a tie and jacket earlier in the evening.

  “Who the hell is in charge around here?” he growled.

  Seriously, dude? Save it.

  “I guess that would be me, at the moment,” Ava responded coolly. She wasn’t in the mood, and gorgeous or not, she wasn’t about to put up with his shit.

  His eyes flashed a little. “So you’re the one who is holding my nephew against his will.”

  She burst out laughing, expecting him to as well. He had to be teasing. Didn’t they have some comradery being sober grown-ups in the midst of the intoxicated teenage drama? However, he was still not smiling. Was he actually serious?

  “Well, if by ‘holding against his will,’ you mean not letting him drive drunk and plow into an innocent family of five, then yeah, I’m guess I’m the guilty one.”

  He continued snarling. “I guess you should have thought about that before providing alcohol to underage kids. I don’t appreciate being called away from a date to fix someone else’s bad decision making.”

  She opened to her mouth to let him have it, but couldn’t find the words and stammered a little more. Who the hell does this guy think he is? Just then, Jill was standing next to her and tapped her on the arm. “Ava, I got sick in the den bathroom.”

  Stroking the girl’s arms up and down, Ava asked, “Did you make it to the toilet?” Jill nodded and Ava brushed the upset teen’s hair out of her face. “So, sweetie, are you okay? What’s wrong?”

  “The toilet in the hall is overflowing.”

  Ava closed her eyes. This night kept getting worse. She sighed, then looked back at Mr. Gorgeous Asshole.

  “Since we’re sharing our evenings, Mr.—”

  “Travis.”

  “Since we’re sharing our evenings, Mr. Travis. Let me tell you about mine. I was at home, nestled in my bed and getting ready to watch Justin Timberlake on the Tonight Show. I had just gotten cozy and comfortable when my phone rang. The dear, sweet, elderly lady from next door,” she motioned toward Mrs. Marten’s home, “was on the other end, scared out of her wits because of the raucous party taking place at the Ericsons’. Now, since I am the responsible daughter and my parents are out of town, I felt compelled to come over and deal with the situation. So here I stand, in my pajamas no less, getting ready to dump a keg full of beer, while patio furniture sits at the bottom of the pool and the inside of my parents’ home is trashed—the house which, by the way, I have an appointment to show tomorrow afternoon to potential buyers. In the meantime, I’m trying to keep track of fifty teenagers to make sure they don’t cause any more damage or worse, get on the road and kill themselves or someone else and scar me for life with guilt. Oh, and to top it all off, apparently I now have an overflowing toilet I get to deal with. So please, give my condolences to your wife, girlfriend, business partner, priest, or whomever for interrupting their evening out. But as far as you’re concerned, to quote an old country song, my give a damn is busted.”

  Jill looked at Ava wide-eyed. Ava knew Jill had never seen her mad. It probably didn’t help the girl was still intoxicated. Mr. Travis, on the other hand, wasn’t fazed a bit by her tirade.

  With a smug grin, he asked, “Where might you be keeping my nephew, in order to keep him off the road and, as you put it, not kill someone and scar you for life?”

  The look she shot him was filled with daggers. “Look around,” she said while gesturing at their surroundings as if to imply he was helpless and she wasn’t about to enable that. “I’m a little busy at the moment.” With that, she headed into the house.

  Sure enough, there was water flowing from the hall toilet onto the bathroom floor. The river hadn’t made it out the door but there was enough water to make a nice sloshing sound as she made her way to shut off the valve. Unable to get it all the way shut off but close enough that it was now a slow trickle, she looked down. Thank God there wasn’t anything too disgust
ing that appeared to be causing the problem. She’d just need to plunge it and since it was no longer flowing steadily, that could wait for a few minutes.

  She made her way back to the kitchen where Mr. Gorgeous but Grouchy was now standing and Jill was sitting at the island.

  Approaching her sister’s friend, Ava inquired, “Can you do me a favor?” Jill nodded. “Will you make a sign that says, out of order and tape it to the hall bathroom door?” Jill said she would, but Ava knew the chances of that actually happening were slim.

  On to the next problem. “Did you find him?” she asked the still frowning, handsome man.

  “He’s looking for his shoes,” he responded, exasperated, and she began fishing through the bag of keys.

  “What kind of car?”

  “I have no idea what kind of car he drives.”

  She handed him the bag of keys. “Be sure to get them back to me before you go.” She turned to head back outside to empty the keg. When she got there, she found two boys refilling their red cups.

  “You have got to be kidding me!” She grabbed them both by the ears and marched them inside to the kitchen sink. She had no idea what had come over her but she had had enough of being disrespected tonight by men of any age. “Dump them!” She motioned to the beers they were still holding. They obliged and she released their ears, then held out her hands. “Give me your phones!”

  They both begrudgingly handed over their phones.

  “You!” She pointed to the taller of the two boys. “Who am I calling to come get you?” She started scrolling through his phone.

  He replied sheepishly. “My mom, I guess.”

  “Your mom? Oh, really nice. Your poor mom is going to have to get out of bed and come pick up her dumb ass son at midnight, because he’s too drunk to drive home.”

  He slunk down and said, “I actually rode with him,” gesturing to his companion.

  “You!” Ava now focused her attention on the shorter boy. “Who am I calling to come get you?”

  Mr. Travis stepped forward, looking amused at what he had just witnessed. “That would be me.” He growled at the two boys, “Wait for me by the front door.”

  She shot him another look. “Why did he call you and not his parents?”

  “My older brother, his dad, is a former Navy Seal and would kill him if he knew he was drinking. He thought I would be more sympathetic to his plight and the less scary option.” He leaned forward and said softly, yet, matter-of-factly, “He was wrong.”

  She suddenly felt a bit of sympathy for his drunken nephew and what he was likely to endure tomorrow, hungover and at his uncle’s house. Probably up at dawn for some intense chores or calisthenics, or both.

  “I almost told him to call his dad but then I was curious how my nephew could be trashed after simply spending time at his friend’s house and wanted to know who the idiot was that provided him with the alcohol.”

  She hoped he wasn’t implying she had been the hostess of this shindig. “Yeah, I’d kinda like to know that too,” she snapped back.

  He looked around at the disaster of what was normally a beautiful home and said almost civilly, “Well if you figure it out, you should make them in charge of clean up. Isn’t this place for sale?”

  Ava sighed. “Yes, and I have a couple that specifically called to see it tomorrow. Guess I’m going to have to find some alternatives for them to take a look at.” Why was she telling him that? It wasn’t like he was going to care.

  He handed her back the bag of keys and she asked, “Did you figure out what key you were looking for?” Too bad if you didn’t. Oh, who am I kidding? She had to get better at staying mad at people and being bitchier, even when they decided to play nice.

  Before he answered, it dawned on her. “Is there someone to drive your car back for you?” She was annoyed with herself for insinuating she would help. He could kick rocks and figure out something on his own. “Can your wife help you?” Damn it. That came out like I’m trying to find out if he’s married. Although, he was really good looking…

  He turned toward the entrance. “I’m not married, and I walked here. I live around the corner. Probably another reason he called me.” With an air of superiority, he called over his shoulder as he strode down the hall, “He’ll come get his car in the morning.”

  The water from the bathroom had seeped under the door and made its way to the entrance, where Mr. Travis’ very contrite nephew was waiting with his friend at the bottom of the stairs. Even intoxicated, the kid knew to be humble around this man. He motioned for the teens to follow him and walked out the front door, leaving the boys to follow, staggering and slipping in the water as they tried to keep up.

  “Bye! Nice meeting you too! You’re welcome for making sure your nephew didn’t kill himself!” She waved as the door closed. He had been dismissive of her and that had done the trick of getting her annoyed with him again.

  She surveyed the house. Red cups, bottles, and trash were everywhere, but that would have to wait until tomorrow. Besides, Gracie wasn’t getting out of cleaning this up. Heading back outside to try to empty the keg again, she saw a stack of unused cups on the counter and grabbed one. At this point, she might as well have a drink too.

  Holding the tap in one hand, letting beer flow all over the front lawn, and her cup of beer in the other, Ava realized it tasted gross and reminded her of the bad parties she had attended in college. Dumping it out, she suddenly remembered the overflowing toilet.

  She sighed and let out a few expletives before running to the front door. “Please have put the sign up, Jill!” she pleaded silently as she made her way to the downstairs guest bath. There was no sign on the door, but there was Jill, sleeping in a chair in the sitting area just outside the restroom door, with the sign she’d made still in her hands. Ava smiled at the sight of the girl, then grimaced when she opened the door. “Where the hell do they keep the plungers around here?” she asked out loud as she looked around. Probably the garage.

  Her wet shoes made a squeaking sound on the wooden floor as she carefully started to make her way to the garage. The last thing she needed was to fall and break something. As she passed by the front door, it opened. There stood Mr. Travis. He had not gotten any less grumpy in the ten minutes since she saw him last. If anything, he’d gotten grumpier.

  “Genius forgot to get his phone back.”

  She jerked her head toward the kitchen. “It’s probably on the counter.”

  He eyed the floor. “Why haven’t you gotten that mopped up yet? You need to get it cleaned up before someone falls.”

  Gee, ya think?

  “I’ll get to it in a second.” She didn’t like him telling her what to do. “I’m on my way to the garage to look for a plunger.”

  “No, you need to deal with the water first. Someone’s going to get hurt.” It wasn’t a suggestion, it was a command. She got the feeling that was how he usually dealt with people: demanding, not asking.

  “There’s towels in the hall closet. Knock yourself out.” She continued on to the garage.

  She was annoyed at his tone and the implication that she didn’t know how to prioritize. But shit, he was right. That irritated her. Here it was, twelve-thirty a.m. on a Friday night and I’m dealing with a clogged toilet. I shouldn’t be dealing with this, I should be home in bed; I have clients in the morning. No, actually, you know what? I should be out on a date, damn it. Then again, that would require her to actually have someone to go with. Unlike her ex, who apparently had plenty of women to go on dates with, there was not one prospect on her radar. Oh, not to mention that awesome reality check Brad gave her tonight. He couldn’t care less about her, in spite of having dated her for two years. So, the last thing she needed on top of everything else was this guy being right.

  She heard the front door open and close again before she reached the garage. Thanks for your help, jerk. Then her reasonable voice chimed in. You can’t be mad at him; this isn’t
his problem. But she wanted to be mad, at least at someone sober who would comprehend that she was actually pissed off. Not to mention, he was a jerk. Besides, he had been the only one she’d been in contact with tonight that she could be snotty with that would appreciate it.

  Except Brad. She should have been snotty with him. She should have been rude a year ago, standing in that apartment kitchen. She should have yelled, thrown things, swore, something. Instead she had just stood there, tears streaming down her face, asking why. He never did give her a sufficient answer, only that they were too different. He couldn’t see himself married to her. For the last year she had beaten herself up. Was she not pretty enough? Sexy enough? Sophisticated enough to be an attorney’s wife? She decided she might be on to something. Her father was a federal judge but had been a partner in a prestigious law firm before accepting his judicial appointment. Growing up, she had watched her mother get ready for charity balls, dinner parties, and the like. Her mother was drop-dead gorgeous and oh-so-sophisticated. Ava took after her mother in looks—blonde, green eyes, and petite, but definitely not in her sophistication. Ava was awkward and had absolutely no finesse when she talked. Her siblings were all blonde and green eyed like her, but they were tall, like any good Swede should be. Ava was a good seven inches shorter than the rest of her family. Her dad used to tease her that she must be the mailman’s child. She was going to keep working on the sexy and sophisticated part; it was the only way she even stood a chance to get Brad back.

  She scoured the garage’s neatly lined shelves, opened all the built-in cabinets, and even went through the gardening closet. No plunger. Then she remembered telling her parents to get rid of it when they cleaned out the house as they got ready to list it for sale. “It gives off a bad impression to potential buyers,” she told them. She’d heard that at a seminar she’d just gotten home from.