“What?” I wasn’t sure if it was Masyn or me who said it first.
“Can you guys try to play nice until we leave Sunday, please? It means a lot to me.” Beau was never one to beg. He was also never one to put Masyn and me in a box and try to cover us with a lid.
Masyn looked at me for approval. I studied Beau. Something was going on, even if he wouldn’t tell me what. “You sure you don’t have something you want to share? We could grab a couple of beers, head out to the patio, and kick back and shoot the shit. No one will miss us.”
Beau stared at the exit that led to the golf course. Longingly. Then he clapped me on the shoulder, plastered the Chastain smile across his face, and faked happiness. “Nope. I’m good. You guys take a seat. They’ll be serving dinner soon.”
The instant he was out of earshot, Masyn pulled on my hand to get my attention. “What was that about?”
“Not a clue.”
***
I was grateful there weren’t assigned seats for this shindig. I couldn’t handle being paired with Felicity’s friends for a four-course meal. Luckily, Masyn and I ended up at a table for ten with seven other people we’d known for years—even if we weren’t close to them—leaving one remaining seat next to me. I’d hoped it would stay vacant, yet just as I was about to release the breath I didn’t realize I’d been holding, Peyton’s hand landed on my shoulder.
“Is anyone sitting here?” Peyton directed her question to me, but others answered, and she pulled out the chair.
It didn’t escape my attention that she wasn’t assigned to a seat with her sister or anyone else in the wedding party; I just chose not to address it. I might not be from her side of the tracks, but I wasn’t raised in a barn, either. I introduced everyone at the table to Peyton, and in a few minutes, I was surprised by how readily she engaged the people sitting with us. Even Masyn talked to her with ease. By the second course, I had to admit, she wasn’t nearly the wench her sibling was, nor did she seem to be cut from the same designer cloth.
Peyton was in the middle of a story that had the entire table laughing, including me, when Masyn tapped me on the forearm and pointed over to the corner of the large room. Beau and Felicity had pulled away from the crowd, and Beau appeared to have a severe case of hives again—he’d better stock up on Benadryl before he left the country. His chest heaved, and the red splotches were turning more of a purplish-blue than crimson. If they continued to grow, the patches would become one, and someone might think he wasn’t getting oxygen—Felicity metaphorically strangling the life out of him.
Peyton hit a lull in the conversation, so I leaned over to whisper in her ear, “Any idea what’s going on between the two of them?”
She was startled by my closeness and turned toward me. When I pointed back to her sister, she looked at them and took a deep breath.
“Not a clue. But whatever it is, it has my mother in as big an uproar as it does Felicity.” Peyton didn’t take her eyes off the couple as she spoke. “Every time I come into the room, they stop talking or change the subject with zero finesse. It’s like they think I’m daft and don’t know they’re hiding something.” Her fingers rolled the stem of her wineglass while she stared at her sister.
“I take it you two aren’t close?” I didn’t mean to sound as incensed as it came off, and the sharp huff at the end didn’t help.
Peyton sipped her wine, still staring at Beau and Felicity. Her throat moved gracefully when she swallowed, and then she scoffed, “Hardly.” A chink in the Holstein armor.
“Somehow, I got the impression you were.”
Her attention finally drifted back to me, and she angled herself slightly in the chair, turning her knees toward me. “I’m sure. Any version of a story Felicity tells will spin her in a positive light. She’d never admit to anyone that we don’t even remotely like each other, even with her hand still holding the knife she’d just stabbed in my back.” She crossed her legs, took another sip of her wine, and rolled her eyes in an unladylike fashion that had me grinning. “But if you find out what it is that’s going on over there, I hope you’ll let me in on the secret.”
Masyn peeked her head around my shoulder to talk to Peyton. “You think there’s something wrong, too? See, Lee? It’s not just us.”
Peyton shrugged and finished her wine before setting the glass down on the table. “All I know is Beau tried to call off the wedding several weeks ago when I was home from school. I kept waiting for someone to tell me they’d broken up or, at the very least, postponed this illustrious event”—she shifted her gaze and indicated the spread of lavish waste around us—“but it never happened. There’ve been a lot of closed-door conversations between Felicity and my parents, though. That much I can confirm, although that’s all I can tell you. I’ve been in New York at school.”
“Wait, don’t your parents live in New Jersey? How has Felicity been home when she goes to school in Atlanta?” Masyn’s interest in Felicity’s whereabouts only detracted from the issue that actually mattered—Beau tried to call off the wedding.
“My dad flies her back any time she wants to come. Company jet.” Again, Peyton flitted her eyes in irritation, as if Felicity jet-setting was a joke, and we’d missed the punchline.
I didn’t have a clue that Beau had tried to stop the nuptials. Masyn didn’t either—that was evident from the little gasp that had escaped her mouth when Peyton shared that tidbit.
“Why don’t you just ask your mom?” Masyn thought all families were like hers—close-knit without secrets.
“Are you kidding? My mom would help Felicity bury a body, and then send the police on a manhunt for some schmuck who didn’t exist. And even if she answered, I couldn’t trust that anything she told me was truthful.” Peyton’s tone was indifferent, though I could tell she spoke from experience.
My dad and I certainly didn’t have a perfect relationship, and my definition of family was a tad dysfunctional; even so, I knew beyond a shadow of a doubt, none of them would lie to me. It wasn’t until Beau got caught up with Felicity that I’d ever believed he’d even hidden anything from me, and that hadn’t happened until this past Christmas.
“Surely, between the three of us, we can get an answer before the wedding tomorrow.” Masyn was on a mission to save our friend from a fate worse than death—divorce. “I can’t bear the thought of Beau marrying someone he doesn’t want to because she’s holding something over his head.”
Suddenly, Masyn and Peyton were fast friends, and I wondered if Peyton would be coming home with us. That might be hot. When they got up to go to the bathroom together, I was done. They’d bonded over secrets, a dislike for Felicity, and merely having nothing better to do than meddle. Masyn didn’t have female friends, and I’d never witnessed her gossip.
I’d tuned out of the conversations around me to eavesdrop on one taking place not so far away between Mrs. Chastain and Beau’s aunt Bonny when Masyn smacked me for no apparent reason and out of thin air. The music was too loud for me to hear anything beyond our table anyhow.
“That’s brilliant. Lee, you should see what information you can get out of Mrs. Chastain. She loves you. I bet she’d give you the key to her deposit box at the bank and combo to her safe if you asked for it.”
“I am not asking Beau’s mom for gossip. Forget it.” I used this as my opportunity to get up. “I’m going to take a piss.” I’d spoken a little louder than intended, and several people at the table laughed—hence the reason I usually said I was “going to the head.”
Masyn feigned annoyance with fluttered lids and muttered something to Peyton, who giggled. I ignored them both, headed down the hall, and took my time relieving myself in the swanky bathroom. It had an attendant who handed out terrycloth towels instead of there being a paper towel dispenser on the wall. Just as I tucked my junk back in my pants and raised the zipper, Beau happened to make an appearance.
I’d had more than my fair share of alcohol. I also knew this wasn’t the time or place to hav
e a conversation. Still, I wasn’t able to let my friend piss in peace. “Nice party.”
“Thanks. I’ll tell my mom you enjoyed it.”
I couldn’t say for certain—probably because of the alcohol running rampant in my veins—but I’d bet money that he’d emphasized the word “you” to indicate he was glad at least one of us had.
I leaned against the wall and stared at the side of his head. An odd thing to do when a man was taking a leak. Yet even recognizing that it was weird, I didn’t stop. Go figure. “What the hell is going on, Beau?”
“It doesn’t matter. I just need to get through this weekend.”
“Why won’t you talk to me?” I doubted I had any viable solutions to his problems other than to tell Felicity to go fly a kite, or to drop her off in the middle of Lake Martin with weights tied to her ankles and tell her to swim to shore. I wanted Beau to recognize he wasn’t alone in whatever this was.
“I’ll tell you about it when we get back from Paris. Now isn’t the time.”
“Yeah, and then it will be too late.”
Chapter Three
One beer turned into more than I could count, and by the time Masyn dragged me out of the rehearsal dinner, I was a hair away from telling Felicity where to shove it. She had Beau by the balls; I just didn’t know what with. I’d picked at dinner in favor of scoping her out, watching her interact with him and his family, trying to gauge her end game. Mrs. Chastain wasn’t buying her act, either. The way she pursed her lips anytime Felicity spoke to her—or near her—was a dead giveaway. Had I not consumed so much alcohol, I might be able to figure out why she was going along with the marriage of her son to a wretched witch. She didn’t care that much about name and clout even if she did want her kids to marry well.
“Give me your keys.” Masyn held her hand out, waiting for me to hand them over. The parking lot was nearly deserted, and only the hum of the streetlights broke the silence.
The keys were in my pocket. And my slacks were made of thin material. If she stuck her hand in there to reach for them, I’d get a cheap feel. It was wrong, but I’d done it so many times, Masyn didn’t think anything about it. I turned around—my back to her front—to make it easier for her to access.
Oddly, she hugged me from behind before diving her hands into my pockets. Her cheek was warm on my spine, and I wanted her in my arms. Yet turning to face her broke the spell, and she grabbed the keys quickly, without so much as a brush up. The warmth of her hand pressing against my chest quickened my pulse. If she just tilted her head, I’d have an invitation to taste her lips. Instead, she used me for balance to reach down and remove her heels one at a time. The girly shoes dangled from her fingertips when she rounded the front of the truck to take the wheel.
“You’re staying at my place tonight, right?” It was the deal, but I wouldn’t make her if she didn’t want to.
“A bet’s a bet.”
“I don’t want you to stay because you lost a bet. Not to mention, you have to dance with me to pay that debt off—staying here had nothing to do with it.”
She moved the seat up, buckled her belt, and adjusted the rearview mirror to account for our height difference. Then she turned the radio down, although not off, and positioned herself to cup my jaw with her soft, cool hand. “You’re making omelets in the morning. That’s your penance for poor behavior and intoxication. Now put your seatbelt on.”
I hadn’t done anything I shouldn’t have other than consume a few too many bottles of beer. “That’s all you want?” I asked, fumbling around until I found the belt and got it clicked into place.
She nodded, turned the key, and took off out of the parking lot.
“You’re a cheap date.”
“And you’d be an easy lay. But we don’t all get what we want.” She shrugged indifferently and giggled.
The sound of the engine tried to cut off my thoughts as we merged onto the main road. Even drunk, I hadn’t missed that insinuation. “Wait, what?” The two words slurred a bit when I spoke, and the world around me might have shifted.
Now she decided to turn the radio up. To a deafening level. “I can’t hear you.” She mouthed the words and pointed to her ear.
To keep from getting sick, I needed to watch the road, but I was too lost in being an easy lay. “You want to lay me?”
An unsightly grimace drew her features in, and she gawked at me while we sat at a stoplight.
No. Wrong. I amended my crude words. “Sleep with me?” Still not right. “Sex. You want to have sex with me?”
Masyn winked and did a piss-poor job of concealing a giggle. “I can’t hear you.”
Now she was just fucking with me. “Are you mad because I’m a little inebriated?” I held up two fingers to indicate the tiny space that existed between me and sobriety. This was punishment for all the times she’d begged me not to get drunk and I’d done it anyhow.
She turned the stereo down a few decibels. “Yes, you are drunk. And no. Why would you think I’m mad?”
“Why would you say ‘we don’t all get what we want’?”
Masyn could have me anytime—she just had to say the word. Hell, she didn’t even have to say it. She could take her clothes off, and I’d get the hint.
“I didn’t say that.”
“You did!”
“Stop yelling. We’ll be home soon.”
“Why?”
“Because you don’t live far from here.”
“No, why did you say that?”
“Say what?”
I swear to God, this woman would be the death of me.
“I’m just messing with you. I know it’s not like that between us. You said I was a cheap date. Everyone in town knows you’re an easy lay.”
She was wrong. I might play the field, but I didn’t sleep with random women—or any at all. Not to say I didn’t get my dick wet; it just wasn’t in anything other than some chick’s mouth. I wasn’t a virgin, but it had been several years since I’d had actual sex—oral didn’t count—I’d learned that from Sissy Starnick in eighth grade Sunday school. I’d never tell Masyn that. The last thing I wanted her to know was that I was as inexperienced as she was…or close.
Before Alex made his proclamation in the cafeteria in tenth grade, he’d laid claim to Masyn’s virginity with vivid details in the locker room. He was a senior, and we were sophomores. It made me mad as hell that Masyn dated him to begin with. Then, to hear him talk about the things they’d done sent me into orbit. In retaliation, I’d slept with Cynthia Green, the head cheerleader and Alex’s ex—two birds, one stone kind of thing. Although technically, it was just the one bird—Cynthia.
It went on for several weeks—Alex shit talking and me boning Cynthia—before Beau got pissed and confronted Masyn. She vehemently denied having done anything other than let Alex feel her up. According to her, she’d never even seen a dick in person, much less felt one. Seeing her expression in the lunchroom, it was clear she’d told us the truth and still held fast to her virginity. I never touched Cynthia again, but by that point, my reputation was established, and Masyn never believed anything different. Truth be told, I hadn’t tried to set the record straight.
Although, if she actually thought about it, she was with me most waking hours of every day, whether at work or outside of it. I had no idea who I could be fucking or when I’d be doing it without Masyn present to witness it. Bathrooms were great for a quick blowjob; they were not the place to take a girl against the wall…especially not the dives I drank at.
“I’m not an easy lay.” I sounded like a petulant child on the verge of tattling or throwing a temper tantrum.
She giggled and patted my head. “Oh? Do you make them work for it?”
“Who? Make who work for it?”
“I don’t know. Your entourage. The girls you call darling and sweetheart.”
I shook my head, trying to explain. “There’s only one.”
“Why didn’t you tell me you’re dating someone?” Her giddy
mood turned south real quick.
“I’m not. Jesus, Masyn. When the hell would I have time to date and you not be aware of it?” My tongue was thick and the words rolled into each other.
She pulled into the driveway and I hopped out. I stomped all the way to the door before I realized she had my keys and I couldn’t get in. When she caught up to me, she didn’t put the key in the deadbolt. Instead, her hands found my hips and turned me toward her.
“I’m sorry, Lee. I didn’t mean to upset you.” She stared up through the height distance, waiting for my forgiveness.
If I weren’t drunk, this would be the time to tell her she had it all wrong. The girls she’d seen on my arm or in my truck were nothing more than something to pass the time. Since I was inebriated, my confession would be seen as alcohol-induced rambling. And other than the comment she’d made five minutes ago about not getting what she wanted, there had never even been a hint that she felt the same way about me that I did her. So, I held on to my pride.
“No worries.”
She came in for a quick hug, and I inhaled the fresh scent of her shampoo. I still preferred the smell of oil on her to flowers any day. Her tiny frame pressed against my side warmed me from the core and spread throughout my body. I’d sell my truck to buy her affection if it were for sale. Once she opened the door, I stumbled over the threshold, nearly busting my ass in the entryway. The same way she’d done a hundred times before, she reached out to keep me from falling and helped me back to my room.
I closed my eyes to pray for the room to stop spinning, and I tried to pull my shirt over my head.
Her laughter reminded me I wasn’t alone. She took her hand away from her mouth to point to my chest. “You have to unbutton it first.”
When I lifted my lids, she was there in front of me. Her tiny fingers plied the buttons from their holes and then tugged on the hem. My arms felt like deadweight at my sides, and I swayed with her touch. Stopping her when she went for my belt buckle took a monumental effort. This dance would turn erotic, and I wouldn’t be able to stop. My mental function might be impaired, but my physical wasn’t. I concentrated on anything repulsive that came to mind to will my dick to lay low.
Label Me Proud Page 4
