A Shot of Sultry

by Macy Beckett

  “What sucked about it?” Bobbi asked. “One woman wasn’t enough?”

  “Actually, they cheated on me.”

  “Oh.” She blinked a few times and turned to Colton. “How about you? Ever been in love?”

  With those words, Colt froze. A dark cloud moved over his face, erasing his teasing smile. He pressed his lips together and got a far-off look in his eyes, and Trey knew he was thinking about Leah McMahon, the preacher’s daughter. Best thing that ever happened to me, he’d said one night after half a bottle of whiskey. And I screwed it up. She’d left Texas years ago, and no one had heard from her since, not even her father. Colt never talked about her sober, and he didn’t elaborate now either.

  Eventually, Bobbi grew tired of waiting, so she asked Trey about his first love.

  “Mindy Roberts,” Trey volunteered. The memories didn’t faze him anymore, so he didn’t mind sharing. “Hooked up with another guy and sent me a Dear John while I was in basic training.”

  “Ouch.” She made a sour face. “What about the second girl?”

  “That’d be Trish.” Thank God she’d left her job at Shooters. She may have gotten their friends in the breakup, but he’d won the bar, and that’s what counted. “She’d been crushing on me for years, and your brother kept bugging me to give her a chance. The whole thing was an epic bore, right up until the night I walked in on her riding the Heineken delivery guy like Seabiscuit. Believe it or not, I felt relieved when I caught ’em. Gave me an excuse to dump her without looking like a prick.”

  “Maybe you’re connecting with the wrong kinds of women. What’s your type?”

  Curvy, uptight goddesses with thick thighs. “Don’t have one.”

  “Hmm.” Bobbi tipped her head, studying him. “You guys are completely transparent. You’re afraid of commitment because you think everyone cheats,” then pointing to Colton, “and this one’s been hurt. Badly.”

  Whatever. If she wanted to buy into that psychobabble crap, let her.

  “And what about you?” Trey pushed off the counter, landing on his feet with a thud that stung his right leg. “Why’s there no ring on that pretty little finger?”

  “Because I’ve got bigger plans for myself.”

  “Oh, yeah?” he asked. “Like following me around with a camera while I try to get laid?”

  That hit the mark, just as intended, and Trey bit back a laugh. Pissing her off was too much fun. He loved watching the color rise in her cheeks, her breasts heave as she folded her arms beneath them, and those thighs jiggle when she planted her feet apart. He’d promised Luke he wouldn’t screw Bobbi, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t screw with her. By the end of summer, maybe he could get her to loosen up a little.

  Her green eyes practically glowed with fury. “This is just temporary, so I can spend some time with Luke.” Then she scratched her nose, the little liar.

  “Sure, Bo Peep.”

  “And stop calling me that.”

  “Sure, Bo-dacious.”

  She pulled in a deep breath and geared up for a good, old-fashioned bitching, but then Carlo came shuffling into the room with a box of donuts tucked under his arm like a football, and she missed her chance.

  “Little Hammer,” Colton said with a mock salute.

  “Hey, pig.”

  Trey smacked Carlo upside the head. “Respect.” The gravy drippings on the boy’s shirt told Trey he’d eaten, but despite that fact, his stomach rumbled again. “Still hungry? You got a wooden leg?”

  “Maybe worms,” Colton said.

  Glaring at the “pig,” Carlo tossed the box of donuts onto the counter and plucked one out. He bit off a huge chunk and mumbled, “I ain’t got no worms.”

  “Don’t have any worms,” Trey corrected and then clapped him on the back. “Check my cooler; I packed you an extra lunch. Then go around and get everyone’s time sheets.”

  “Okay, boss.”

  As soon as Gopher’s footsteps retreated out of earshot, Bobbi bit her lip and gazed at Trey with a crooked grin curving her mouth. He glanced over his shoulder to see who the hell she was smiling at because it couldn’t be him, but he found no one.

  “What?” he asked.

  “Nothing.” She fingered one button on the front of his shirt, but made no move to take it off and return it to him. Something flashed in her eyes—damned if it didn’t look like approval—and she continued beaming while she told Colton to take her home.

  Trey leaned against the door frame and stared at her legs as she clicked across the parking lot, wondering what had just transpired. Women. He didn’t pretend to understand them.

  She was a strange bird, all right, just like he’d told Miss Pru, but he hoped he dreamed of her again tonight. Minus the oil.

  Chapter 5

  Bobbi had made a few key observations during her first week in Sultry Springs. She’d learned that grits, for example, tasted just like warm, buttered popcorn. When June’s grandma had baked them with mild cheddar cheese and diced jalapeños, Bobbi’d had a foodgasm right there at the kitchen table. And speaking of Amazon Granny, she still watched Bobbi like a warden, but her smiles had warmed, softening her attitude into something akin to acceptance, which was wonderful…now if she’d only quit trying to recruit Bobbi for her dwindling church congregation.

  Another important find, she’d discovered Blessed Brew, a quiet coffee shop in town, which had become her second home. Whenever June and Luke started nuzzling each other’s necks and giggling, Bobbi fled the love nest before they embarked on another of their earsplitting sex marathons.

  “Here ya go, hon.” A teenaged redhead wearing frosted pink lipstick, bless her misguided heart, set Bobbi’s breakfast order on the table. “Great dress, by the way. Where’d you get it?”

  Bobbi handed the waitress one of Daddy Bruce’s business cards and relaxed against the vinyl booth to sip her coffee. The wide front windows of Blessed Brew gave her a view of “the square,” a small fountain flanked by park benches, right in the heart of Sultry Springs. As she absently watched a young family toss pennies into the fountain, she reflected on her most important realization to date: she’d misjudged the rough-handed golden boy, Trey Lewis.

  Oh, he still had issues, make no mistake—he got his jollies from irritating her, and don’t even get her started on his fear of commitment—but he wasn’t the chauvinistic simpleton she’d once thought. Over the past several days, she’d observed him on the job while Bong and Weezus had filmed preliminary footage, taking a special interest in the way he mentored young Carlo. That boy gazed at Trey with an unadulterated case of hero worship, which spoke volumes about Trey’s true nature. Assholes didn’t take the time to teach stinky teenage boys the precise way to tape and float drywall, patiently demonstrating the technique all afternoon, nor did they casually offer food and clothes in a way that didn’t emasculate or offend.

  And when it came to her clothes, Bobbi’d worn the skimpiest tops in her wardrobe to the community center each day, knowing full well Trey would remove his shirt, wrap it around her shoulders, and work bare-chested for the rest of the afternoon. Judas Priest, her battery-operated boyfriend had gotten plenty of play after eight hours of watching Trey’s hard, sweaty body in motion. Too bad she couldn’t indulge in a discreet summer fling with him, but it was the height of unprofessionalism to sleep with a subject, especially considering what’d happened the last time. If only Luke hadn’t insisted his best friend participate in the documentary…

  Bobbi’s cell phone vibrated inside her purse, and she reached in to check the caller ID.

  “Shit.” Yet another text from that sleaze, Garry Goldblatt. She’d hoped he wasn’t the kind to micromanage a project.

  Sex in the Sticks going ok?

  Fine, she replied, stretching the truth a wee bit. Meeting w/crew in five minutes.

  Keep me abreast. Better yet, keep me two.
:)

  What a douche. She tucked the phone inside her bag and glanced out the window for any sign of Bong’s white van. She needed a brainstorming session with her guys in the worst way.

  It’s not like she’d really lied to Garry—the project wasn’t tanking—but she’d begun to worry how to capture two promiscuous commitment-phobes finding love, especially in a way that didn’t bore the viewer. This wasn’t like filming weddings. She needed drama, which was rooted in conflict, something that didn’t seem to exist in the daily lives of her carefree bachelors. Bobbi figured she had a choice: dig up trouble or manufacture it, and she greatly preferred the former. Maybe it was time to find out what Trey had been hiding.

  The cowbell hanging above the door gave a distorted tinkle, and she spotted Weezus and waved him over to her booth. Every single head in the café turned as her cameraman shuffled by in his oversized Birkenstocks—a nearly seven-foot-tall Asian guy with dreadlocks the color of ripe blueberries tended to have that effect—but he paid them no heed. Surely, he was used to the attention by now.

  “Where’s Bong?” she asked, gesturing for him to take the seat across from her.

  “Parking the van.” When Bobbi leaned around him to scan the half-vacant parking strip directly out front, Weezus clarified, “He didn’t want to park too close to the sheriff’s station, so he pulled around back.”

  She sniffed a little laugh. The courthouse and jail were both adjacent to the square, and she doubted the good deputies of Sultry County would like what they found in the glove box of Bong’s van. Except for Colton—he’d probably confiscate the stash and smoke it himself.

  A few seconds later, Bong jogged inside, drawing the eye of a few college-aged girls in line. At thirty, he still had that baby-faced, surfer-boy look, but he needed to shave his ridiculous, wiry soul patch. It looked like he’d dipped his chin in blond bean sprouts.

  “Hey.” He slid into the booth beside Weezus and pointed at Bobbi’s bowl of grits. “What’s that?”

  Before she could answer, the waitress reappeared, keeping a safe distance, as if the guys smelled bad. Which they totally did. They’d been on some all-natural crystal deodorant kick, and it wasn’t working. “Can I get you something?”

  Weezus frowned at the menu’s limited offerings. “Got any cage-free, organic eggs?”

  “Or a Green Monster smoothie?” Bong asked.

  Bobbi rolled her eyes. She loved working with this duo, but they were prima donnas when it came to food. “Right, because your bodies are such temples.” To Dionysus, maybe. “Just bring some black coffee and a few cinnamon rolls,” she told the girl, who nodded and hurried away.

  While her two-man crew grumbled from across the table, Bobbi got down to business. “Everyone knows there’s nothing real about reality television. It’s scripted and planned out beforehand, and any wild, unexpected stuff that happens is just a bonus.”

  They nodded in agreement.

  “We need to figure out how to bring some drama to the table. Trey and Colton are too laid back, and picking up women won’t be a challenge for either of them because they’re gorgeous.”

  “Yeah, where’s the tension?” Weezus asked.

  “Exactly.” Bobbi salted her grits and took a bite, closing her eyes to savor the buttery flavor. Not as good as Pru’s, but still tastier than Wheaties, her usual breakfast of choice.

  Bong stroked his pseudo-beard. “Once, I heard about this reality director who used to pay extras to stir up shit. Get them to start fights, things like that. What if we hired a pretty girl to get close to one of the guys, then paid someone to play her jealous husband?”

  “I don’t know.” Bobbi turned her spoon upside down and held it in her mouth while considering the idea. She pulled it out, shaking her head. “That sounds so seedy.”

  “Well, we are working for Goldblatt…”

  “True, but the last thing I need is another scandal.” Her career would never survive it. “Let’s try to keep everything on the up-and-up.”

  “Then I’ve got nothing.”

  Bobbi sighed. “They’re both hard-core bachelors, and we’ve got them testifying to it on camera. What I’d really love is to show a one-eighty by the end of the project—have them both in serious relationships.”

  “I’m not much of a matchmaker,” Weezus said. “Besides, I don’t see it happening with these two. I overheard Trey on the phone yesterday, and he said something about moving at the end of summer.”

  “Oh, yeah?” she asked, a spoonful of grits suspended an inch from her lips. “To where?”

  He shrugged. “And Colton’s crazy as a shithouse rat.” Leaning in, he lowered his voice and disclaimed, “I don’t know why a rat would hang out in a shithouse—I mean, they’re really smart animals, and cleaner than most people think—but I heard some redneck say that in the Sack-n-Pay last night.” Then he grabbed Bobbi’s fork and helped himself to a bite of her breakfast. “Anyway, I agree with the Bonger. We might have to make our own mischief.”

  So, which was worse, handing in a finished product that was dryer than saltines in the desert, or risking her reputation again? “Okay, look into it, but don’t pull the trigger yet. Let’s take the guys out tonight and see how it goes.”

  “You’re the boss.”

  The front door cowbell clunked again, and Pru walked in on the arm of an old man who looked uncannily like a balding Albert Einstein, minus the moustache. He stood at least ten inches shorter than his date, but he squared his shoulders and raised his chin proudly, seemingly unaffected by their height difference.

  Bobbi waved at June’s grandma, which seemed like the friendly, small-town thing to do, and the couple ambled over. When they got within smelling distance of Bong and Weezus, they backed up a few paces.

  “Well, I’ll be,” the man said. “Tiny Bo Gallagher, all grown up.”

  “Bo?” Weezus asked with a snort. She kicked him under the table.

  Pru patted her date’s upper arm. “This is Judge Bea. He knew your mama.”

  At the mention of the word judge, Bong’s backbone locked, and his gaze flickered everywhere but the old man’s eyes.

  “A little too well, I’m ’fraid.” Bea spoke to her, but narrowed one eye at Bong. “She was a right regular customer in my courtroom.”

  “Oh, I’ve heard about you,” Bobbi said, turning the subject away from her crazy mother. “You’re Colton’s grandpa.” She remembered Trey insinuating nepotism had earned Colt his job on the force, and her interactions with Deputy Horndog left no doubt the accusation was true.

  “Mmm-hmm.” Now Bea turned his squinty pirate eye on her. “I hear he’s gonna be part’a your TV show.” The fact didn’t seem to please him.

  “That’s right.”

  “Listen.” He leaned into her crew’s odorous cloud as far as he was willing to go. “Your brother’s like family, but don’t think I won’t shut this thing down if I think you’re makin’ the town—or my grandbaby—look foolish. We clear?”

  Grandbaby? Colton was in his early twenties, like her. Bobbi wondered just how much coddling and law-bending the good judge had done for his kin over the years. That alone could make for an interesting piece, but she forced herself to let it go…for now. “Crystal,” she chirped with a forced smile.

  “I’ll be watchin’.”

  “Feel free,” Bobbi said. “I’ve got nothing to hide.” But that was a bold-faced lie, and from the wry grin on the judge’s lips, he knew it.

  After Pru and Bea excused themselves to a secluded table in the back, Bobbi sent Trey and Colton a text to meet her at Shooters at nine o’clock that night. As usual, Trey didn’t respond—he believed texting was for teenagers—but Colt messaged back almost instantly.

  Ok. Got a question 4u.

  What?

  r-u Irish?

  Think so, she typed. Why?

 
Got any Cherokee in u?

  No.

  Let me know if u want some.

  Damn, she walked right into that one.

  ***

  Later that night, she and the crew set up inside Shooters, and since Bobbi couldn’t afford special lighting for this project, June had thankfully agreed to keep all the overhead fluorescents on. The place was packed, and for the thousandth time, Bobbi wished she had an assistant to collect signed waivers from anyone appearing on camera and to corral drunken patrons out of the shot.

  Weezus stood on a chair above the crowd, filming Colton as he slow-danced with a voluptuous brunette, and Bong extended the microphone above the couple on his “fishing pole,” collecting what Bobbi hoped was spicy dialogue. It didn’t matter that the jukebox had fallen silent half an hour ago. Colt and his flavor of the minute seemed all too content swaying to the tune of clacking cue balls, cheers, and laughter.

  Bobbi glanced around for Trey, but she couldn’t spot him in the sea of bodies. After nudging her way to the bar, she waited for June to finish an order before asking, “You seen Trey?”

  “Yeah.” June tossed some ice cubes into a martini tumbler and gave it a shake. “I think he’s still in the office. Said he wanted to talk to Luke about something important.” Lines of concern wrinkled her porcelain forehead. “Neither of them looked too happy when they went back there.”

  Interesting. “I’ll go check on them,” Bobbi shouted over the din, “and make sure they’re playing nice.”

  In the five minutes it took Bobbi to inch to the back office, she collected several unsolicited phone numbers, not to mention half a dozen ass-grabs beneath her floral minidress. Not that she needed protection, but she finally understood her brother’s insistence on having Trey on the project. The good ol’ boys of Sultry Springs couldn’t take a hint, especially after they’d sucked down a pitcher of beer.

  The clamor faded once she reached the other side of the employees only door, soon replaced by muffled shouts coming from Luke’s office. Bobbi tiptoed through the hallway until she reached Luke’s door, but instead of playing referee, she pressed her ear to the oak and snooped. A bubble of guilt rose into her throat, but she swallowed it. After all, this was her job.