A Shot of Sultry

by Macy Beckett

  A few quick knocks that sounded like the intro to Queen’s “Under Pressure” rapped from the front door. Only one person used that code. “Gotta go,” Trey said. “Colton’s here.” He craned his neck to check the time on the microwave. “At eight o’clock in the morning?”

  “Probably to bum a condom for some chick he wants to bang on his backseat. You’re keeping him away from my sister, right?”

  No, not at all. Bobbi didn’t mind spending time with Colton. It was Trey she held at an arm’s length these days. “Doin’ my best.”

  “Thanks, bro. I owe you one.”

  The guilt that’d been gnawing on Trey’s gut ripped off a huge chunk in its razor-sharp jaws. Luke wouldn’t feel so grateful if he knew all the dirty things Trey’d done with the woman he was supposed to be guarding from the perverts of Sultry County. He’d made Colton look like a choir boy.

  After hanging up the phone, Trey opened the door to the good deputy, who nodded a greeting, linked arm-in-arm with a skinny blond guy in handcuffs. Clarification: a naked skinny blond guy in handcuffs—and high as a giraffe’s eye to boot—twitching and darting glances at the empty space that separated Trey’s house from the neighbor’s.

  “Thanks for thinkin’ of me, Colt.” Trey scratched his bare chest and tried to keep his gaze away from the perp’s trouser snake. “But I gave up tweakers for Lent.”

  “It’s not Lent, and you’re not Catholic.”

  “For this, I’ll convert.”

  Naked dude’s eyes went wide. “I gotta gopher in the hole!”

  “You gonna let me in?” Colt tore off his Stetson and used it to cover the guy’s backside when Mrs. Ray gasped in horror from the sidewalk.

  “Depends on what you want.”

  “To borrow a pair of drawers. I gotta take him in, but not bare-assed on my backseat. I use that seat, you know what I mean?”

  Trey nodded. Colton probably spent more time in the back of his cruiser than the criminals did. “You pick him up around here?”

  “Two doors down.” Colt tipped his head, pleading with his eyes. “C’mon, man.”

  “Fine.” Trey stood aside and ushered them in. “But don’t let him sit down.”

  While Colt and the druggie waited in the foyer, Trey jogged to his bedroom for a clean pair of underwear, choosing a pair of striped boxers he’d never worn. He preferred boxer briefs—more support for his boys. When he returned, Colt had already helped himself to a cup of joe.

  “Here.” Trey handed over the garment. “I don’t want these back.”

  Colt took a sip and immediately spat it back into the mug. “Christ, you make bad coffee.” He dumped it into the sink, then fished around for the handcuff’s key. After finding it, he freed the naked guy’s hands, leaving the open cuffs dangling from one wrist. He grabbed the man by his elbow, dragged him to the hallway bathroom, and shoved the boxers at him. “Put these on.” Holding one finger in the perp’s face, he added, “If you pull any shit, I’ll accidentally tase you in the balls.”

  “I can smell colors!”

  “Shut up.” Colt slammed the bathroom door. “Goddamn meth-heads.” Leaning against the wall, he crossed one booted foot in front of the other. “You hear about this speed-dating crap Bo’s got planned for us tonight? Oh, wait—” he held up one hand and grinned. “She’s not givin’ you the time of day, is she?”

  Trey tugged his brows low. “She’ll come around.”

  “If I have my way, she’ll come around my anaconda soon.” He brushed one thumb against his lips, the smug, smirking bastard.

  “Watch it, Colt.” In bare feet, Trey took three massive steps and closed the distance between them.

  “I can’t wait to get her down on those pretty little knees. If she did it for you, she’ll do it for—”

  “Shut up!” Trey’s blood rose, and his head flushed with heat. Without thinking, he balled his fist and punched his friend hard in the sternum, sending him stumbling back in the hallway.

  “I mean it.” Trey’s heart pounded so loudly in his ears, he almost couldn’t hear his next words. “Watch your friggin’ mouth.”

  To his surprise, Colt didn’t charge him or fight back. Instead, he flashed a wide grin that said he’d gotten exactly what he wanted. He picked up his fallen hat and rubbed his chest. “I knew it! You’re falling for the Bodacious Gallagher.”

  “You crazy jackass.” Trey shook his aching hand, still shocked that Colt had taken a blow to the chest to make a point, though it shouldn’t have surprised him. “Just ’cause I won’t let you talk smack about her doesn’t mean—”

  “You look at her like a preacher watching the collection plate.”

  “So what? She’s gorgeous. I’ve seen you checking her out too.”

  “Not like that.” Colt tapped one finger between his brows. “You get a big-ass wrinkle right here when you’re lookin’ at her.”

  Trey self-consciously brought two fingers to his forehead. “Yeah, well I’ve got a little wrinkle up there now, but that doesn’t mean I wanna have your baby, Crazy Colt.” He pounded his fist against the bathroom door. “Hurry up in there.” Trey’s company had officially overstayed their welcome. “I’m not gonna lie. I like Bobbi, but it doesn’t go any further than that, so don’t run your mouth to anyone about this, especially not Luke.”

  “Hey, no worries.” Colt tossed his Stetson atop his head. “Discretion’s my middle name. And since you don’t have any feelings for Bo, you won’t care if I sleep with her, right?” While Trey’s back tensed hard enough to crack a vertebra, his friend delivered a challenge. “’Cause if you’re not gonna make a play, I will.”

  “She’s Luke’s kid sister.”

  Colton shook his head. “She’s a consenting adult. And if you’re too stupid to go for it, then step aside and let someone else take a shot, Lewis.”

  “All right, I’ll give it a try,” Trey lied. “Now leave her alone.” He had no intention of “going for it.” Not only had he promised to stay out of her bed, but the timing sucked too. He’d spend the next two years in Dubai, and absence made the heart grow colder, not fonder. Mindy had barely lasted six weeks. But if this convinced Colton to back off, it’d make Trey’s job of watching over Bobbi a whole lot easier.

  “Good. Let me know if you change your mind.” With a satisfied nod, Colt opened the bathroom door a crack and peeked inside. “Ah, son of a bitch.”

  Trey pinched his temples. “Do I wanna know?”

  “That the perp handcuffed himself to your towel rack and pissed his new boxers?” Colt clapped him on the shoulder. “No. You’re gonna want to bleach that floor though.”

  ***

  “Hey, boss,” Carlo mumbled around a massive chunk of turkey sandwich, “how come that pretty lady don’t come ’round no more?” He shifted on the countertop, never able to sit still longer than two nanoseconds. “She got nice legs.”

  “She has nice legs,” Trey corrected. Which was the understatement of the century. “Bobbi’s got work to do…like us. Now watch.” He pressed a strip of tape into the drywall seam, added a few smears of mud, and pulled his putty knife against it. “See? Nice and smooth.”

  “Sealed up tight,” Carlo parroted.

  “Exactly. I want you to be able to do this by the time your hours are served. If you can master stuff like this, you’ll make three times the minimum wage while you’re still in school.”

  “Can I come work for you?” Glancing at the half-eaten sandwich clutched in his grubby fingers, he added in a rush, “I wouldn’t eat too much or cause no trouble.”

  All the excitement in the kid’s voice made Trey feel like he’d swallowed a frozen bowling ball. “I know you wouldn’t.” He wiped off one hand and patted Gopher’s back. “You’re the best guy on my crew.”

  “So that’s a yes?”

  “I’d love to hire you, but you’
re still too young. Plus, I’m moving to the Middle East in a couple months.”

  At those words, Gopher’s shoulders rounded forward. By the look on his face, you’d think Trey had just announced that Santa died. Well, not that a thirteen-year-old believed in Saint Nick, but still.

  “Hey,” Trey said, “I’m gonna tell my partner, Luke, what a great worker you are. I’ll make sure he brings you on board next summer when you’re old enough for part-time, okay?”

  That didn’t seem to help. Carlo widened his already wide, brown, puppy dog eyes. “But you’re comin’ back, right?”

  Trey hesitated, then decided to tell the little guy what he wanted to hear, even though the answer might change. “Yeah, sure. In two years.” That was a lifetime to a kid. Carlo will have forgotten Trey ever existed by then.

  “Okay.” Gopher nodded, inky-black hair brushing his jaw, and crammed the rest of his sandwich into his mouth. With one cheek bulging with food, he declared, “I’ll wait till you’re back.”

  “Nope.” Trey shook his head. Carlo was a good kid, but he could easily get into trouble if left with too much time on his hands. “I want you working with Luke while I’m gone. By the time I get back, I expect you to know how to raise a barn.” He elbowed Carlo in his bony ribs. “Besides, how’d you expect to get a girlfriend with no spending money?”

  “Is that why the redhead don’t come around?” Carlo picked up a putty knife and practiced his technique. “You didn’t buy her nothin’?”

  “Anything,” Trey corrected with a sigh. “And she’s not my girlfriend.” He gave Carlo a sideways glance, sizing him up for the first time. With a little meat on his bones, he could be popular with the senoritas—not necessarily a good thing. “Come to think of it, stay away from the ladies for a while. They’re trouble.”

  “Whatever you say, boss.” Biting his lip in concentration, Gopher produced a flawless seam.

  “Nice! I think you’ve got it.”

  Speaking of trouble, Trey’s cell phone vibrated in his back pocket, and he retrieved it to find a text message from Bobbi. This was the only way she communicated with him now, probably because she knew he wouldn’t respond.

  Galley Cat bar @9pm. Speed-dating. Dress up.

  Like hell. Enough of this immature bullshit. If she wanted him to cooperate, she’d have to meet him in person. It took fifteen minutes and a little help from Gopher, but Trey eventually managed to send a simple No.

  What do u mean NO?

  Come on me and we’ll talk.

  Oh, snap. He’d meant to type “come to me.”

  Not funny, a-hole.

  Sry. Come *here* and we’ll talk.

  No. Will c u at bar.

  Damn it, what was her problem?

  If u want me there, come talk. Switching off.

  Trey had no intention of turning off his phone—it was the only way to reach him at the community center—but he ignored the seven furious follow-up texts Bobbi sent over the next half hour.

  He’d just sent the crew home and given up on Bobbi when his phone rang. An out-of-state area code he didn’t recognize flashed on the screen, and he almost didn’t answer. Reluctantly, he pressed “talk” and prepared to deflect a sales pitch.

  “Hello?”

  “Thank God.” It was Bobbi, and she sounded like someone had pissed in her Cheerios. “I haven’t been able to get ahold of anyone.”

  “So, what does that make me, Bo Peep?”

  “Shut up and come get me. I blew a tire about five miles from Luke’s place, and the spare’s ruined. Triple A can’t come get me for hours, and it’s a thousand degrees out here.”

  “I didn’t hear the magic word.”

  Bobbi fell silent for several seconds, and Trey could almost see the steam rising from her pretty, red head. “I’ve got six magic words for you. I’ll tell Luke what we did.”

  Dang, she hit below the belt. “Be there in a few.”

  ***

  By the time he reached her, Bobbi’s flaming, red locks clung to the sides of her face with sweat, and the front of her white blouse was so damp Trey felt like he was judging a wet T-shirt contest. She looked insanely hot, both literally and figuratively. He pulled onto the road’s grassy shoulder and parked behind Bruiser, then left the engine and air conditioner running when he stepped out to meet her.

  Bobbi stood from her seat on the rear bumper, brushing her hands against her jeans. She’d picked a bad day to skip the shorty-shorts. With her gaze trained on his boots, her full mouth pulled into a frown. “Thanks for coming. I didn’t want to—”

  “Go wait in the truck.” Trey brushed past her, nudging her shoulder with his elbow on his way to the driver’s door. “Before you get heat stroke.” He found the lever to pop the trunk and returned to the rear of the car, where Bobbi still stood with a puzzled expression on her flushed face. “I mean it,” he half growled. “And drink the Pepsi in my cooler. You’re probably dehydrated.”

  “I already told you; the spare’s no good.”

  “I wanna see for myself.”

  She nodded slowly and backed away, still refusing to make eye contact. Trey watched to make sure she followed orders before rooting around the trunk for a jack and the tire iron. He tossed them onto the grass and pulled out the spare, frowning at its cracked rubber. Holy dry rot. No way this thing would last the five miles back to Luke’s house. When Trey bounced the tire against the ground, it gave a soft pop and lost what little air had been trapped there since the eighties, or whenever this ancient clunker had come off the assembly line.

  Wiping his palms on a rag he’d found in the trunk, Trey jogged back to his truck and climbed inside with Bobbi. Even though two solid feet of bench leather separated them, she scooted away until her back hit the passenger door.

  “You’re right.” He shut his door and gestured for Bobbi to fasten her seat belt. “I’ll drop you off at Luke’s and go pick up a new spare from Lloyd’s Auto. While you’re home, I want you to take a cool shower and drink plenty of water.” He pulled onto the main road and repeated, “Water, you hear? No booze.”

  From the corner of his eye, he noticed Bobbi rubbing her nose, and he wondered if she was nervous, or getting ready to lie to him.

  “What’s wrong?” he asked.

  Scoffing, she gave a barely perceptible shake of her head. “It’d be easier to tell you what’s right.”

  “Talk to me.” After shifting into overdrive, he tried patting her hand, but she pulled away.

  “Judge Bea issued a temporary injunction barring me from filming anywhere in Sultry County. I’ve been summoned to his office.”

  Trey didn’t know whether to whoop with joy or curse Bea’s name, because while this project was an epic pain in his ass, he could tell it was important to Bobbi. “Guess that means I’m off the hook for speed-dating.”

  “For now.”

  “Well, for what it’s worth, I’m sorry. And I’ll help out any way I can.”

  “Thanks. Speaking of help, I assume you’ll come get me when you’re done with the tire so I can drive home.”

  “Nuh-uh.” He didn’t like the deep red staining her cheeks, and he wanted her to stay home and cool off awhile. “After I change the tire, I’ll chain Bruiser to my Chevy and tow it.”

  “Why?” She turned her upper body toward him, right along with her warm, green gaze.

  “’Cause I want you to rest.”

  “No, I mean why are you doing it?”

  He shrugged. It wasn’t complicated. “’Cause you need me to.”

  “People only do nice things when they want something.” Leaning forward, she readjusted a vent to blow cool air on her throat. “So what is it you want?”

  It took Trey a few extra seconds to form his reply. The air-conditioning had circulated Bobbi’s scent throughout the cab, and even sweaty as a linebacker
, she smelled good. Like sugared cinnamon. How’d she manage to make his mouth water after baking in the sun for so long? At the end of a typical workday, he smelled like roadkill.

  “I get why you feel that way,” he finally said. “From what you told me last week, it sounds like a lot of people took advantage of you as a kid. But I don’t want anything.” Glancing over, he added, “This is what friends do for each other.”

  “So we’re friends now?”

  “Sure, why not? I like you.” He reached over and tugged a lock of her hair. “And sometimes you even like me back.”

  She pushed his hand away. “No touching. We can be friends who don’t touch.”

  That brought a smile to his lips. “How ’bout friends who touch over the clothes? That’s the best kind.”

  “No deal, Golden Boy.”

  “All right, all right.” He walked two fingers in her direction and stopped just short of her hip. “I won’t touch you till you ask me to.”

  “Until I ask you to? You’re pretty sure of yourself.”

  “Well, considering what’s already happened…” Like that relationship doctor on TV always said, the best predictor of future behavior was past behavior.

  “Don’t get your hopes up.” Bobbi took a swig of his Pepsi, and he took his eyes off the road long enough to watch her swallow. Even the way she drank was sexy as hell. “I’ll never ask you to lay a hand on me again.”

  Sure you won’t. Trey kept his thoughts to himself and grinned as they drove on—no need to poke the bear—but based on his passenger’s rigid posture, she wanted his hands all over her right now.

  God help them both; it really was gonna be a long-ass summer.

  Chapter 8

  Judge Bea liked fishing better than sex. What’d led Bobbi to this conclusion? A plaque hanging directly above his law degree, proclaiming Ten Reasons Why Fishing is Better Than Sex. Leaning forward in her leather armchair, she squinted to read number one on the list. A limp rod is still useful for fishing. Classy.