A Shot of Sultry

by Macy Beckett

  “No, ma’am.”

  “Well, we’re all gonna miss you.”

  “Thanks, that means a lot.” He’d miss this town too, but he didn’t want to dwell on it. Not now. Nodding toward the hallway, he asked, “Colton around?”

  “Yeah, honey, go on back.”

  He gave her shoulder a playful squeeze and strolled around the reception desk, his rubber-soled work boots squeaking against the waxed floor tiles. Making his way down the hall, he peered at the flyers peppering the wall—an odd combination of FBI Most Wanted posters and vehicles for sale by owner. He passed the restrooms and continued to the open room in the back where half the deputies of Sultry County hunched over their desks, dutifully completing paperwork…except one.

  Colton had kicked back, boots resting on the corner of his desk as he squinted at a widescreen computer monitor. At the sound of Trey’s noisy footsteps, he glanced up and waved, then immediately minimized his browser. There was only one reason a guy did that.

  “Watchin’ skin flicks on the job?” Trey asked. If Colt was using one of those free sites, his laptop probably had more viruses than a hooker’s toilet seat. Not that Trey would know or anything. “As a taxpayer, I’m outraged.”

  Colton chuckled to himself. “Unclench, Lewis. This is actually law-related.”

  “Uh-huh.” Trey tossed his friend’s house key onto the desk. “Hot, naked cops?”

  “I wish.” After leaning to the side to verify the sheriff’s office door was closed, Colton showed Trey what he’d been hiding. And it sure wasn’t porn. Hell, what Trey saw made his wang shrink back in fear.

  “Crazy-eyes,” Trey breathed. Or, according to her record, Barbara Lee. And her mug shot was scary as balls. Crimped, snarled tufts of blond hair framed one side of her dirt-streaked face as if she’d skidded, head first, into home plate right before getting arrested. Her wide, bloodshot eyes smiled maniacally, right along with her fuchsia lips, and her nostrils flared like she’d smelled Trey’s fear—and liked it. Goddamn. “What’d you get yourself into?”

  “A clusterfuck, that’s what.”

  Trey hated to say I told you so, but…“Told you she was nuts.”

  “Thanks. That’s real helpful.” A frown tugged at Colton’s mouth. He slid a glare at Trey. “Maybe next time she comes around, I’ll give her your number. Since you’ve got all the answers and all.”

  Actually, Trey did have the answer. He couldn’t believe Colton hadn’t thought of it first. “If my granddaddy were the county judge, I’d ask him to sign off on one of those restraining orders.” He leaned in to peer at the screen. “What’s on her rap sheet?”

  “Shh!” Colt whipped a glance over both shoulders. “Back up, man. I’m not supposed to show you this.”

  Trey held up both palms. “She got a history of stalking?”

  “A few charges, but nothing stuck.” With a groan, he dropped both feet to the ground. “Maybe if I keep ignoring her, she’ll go away.”

  Right on cue, Colt’s cell phone chirped, alerting him to a new text message. Trey leaned over his buddy’s shoulder to snoop.

  From Boobalicious Barb: Hey, big daddy! Hit me up.

  “Yeah,” Trey said, “I don’t think she’s goin’ anywhere.”

  “Maybe if I—”

  Chirp! From Boobalicious Barb: Why haven’t you called?

  “Or, I could—”

  Chirp! From Boobalicious Barb: QUIT IGNORING ME, ASSHOLE!

  “I’m gonna have to—”

  Chirp! From Boobalicious Barb: I’m sorry, baby. Didn’t mean to yell. Luv u!

  “Try blocking her number,” Trey said.

  Colton took his advice, and precisely five seconds later, his desk phone chimed out, startling them both. They exchanged a wide-eyed glance, clearly sharing the same assumption. There was no escaping this whacko.

  “You answer it,” Colt pleaded. “Say you’re Deputy Horace.”

  At the sound of his name, the real Horace turned his head and arched a questioning brow. Like that horror movie, Scream, the shrill clangor added to the tension, making Trey’s arm hair stand on end. Someone had to answer, or she’d just keep calling. After the fifth ring, Trey shrugged and picked up the phone, hoping this didn’t count as impersonating an officer.

  “Sultry County Sheriff’s office,” he said, adding a little twang to his voice. “Deputy Sheriff Horace speakin’.”

  Silence.

  “Hello?” he pressed. “Anyone there?” If he listened closely, he could just make out light breathing on the other end of the line.

  Trey was about to hang up when a woman’s voice whispered, “I know he’s there. I can sense him.” Before he had a chance to respond, she disconnected.

  Oh, man. Colt was so screwed. “It was her, all right.” He set the receiver back in its cradle and gave his friend a consoling pat on the arm.

  “Damn.” Colt raked a hand through his hair. “Maybe you’re ri—”

  He was interrupted by a soft ping! from his laptop. They huddled around the screen, where an instant message had popped up.

  From Barbie91: Playing hard to get, big daddy?

  “Oh my god.” Colton pinched the bridge of his nose. “I didn’t even know I had an IM account.”

  Ping! From Barbie91: That’s okay, sweet cheeks. I love the chase.

  “You’d better call your grandpa,” Trey said. “Sweet cheeks.”

  Ping! From Barbie91: Bad boys get punished. How do you want to be punished?

  In one swift motion, Colt closed his laptop and shot to his feet. “Enough of this shit.” As Colt tugged on his Stetson, Trey heard him mumbling, “She wasn’t even that good.”

  Trey watched his friend charge out the back door, realizing this was what his late grandma used to call a natural consequence. Like touching a hot stove. Sure, it burned like a bitch, but you’d only make that mistake once. Best way to learn lessons in life.

  Though Trey felt awful for Colton, the gigolo was long overdue for a little maturity. Actually, a lot overdue. He wished his friend the best of luck and headed to the community center. The sooner he finished installing the track lighting, the sooner he could head home and start dinner for Bobbi. He should probably vacuum too—spruce up the place. Maybe buy some flowers.

  A wide grin stretched his cheeks as he strode, lighter than air, back the way he’d come.

  ***

  Bobbi circled downtown Sultry Springs to lose the sedan that’d been tailing her for the last half mile. When its driver pulled into the Sack-n-Pay parking lot, she exhaled with relief and turned off Main Street toward Trey’s house.

  After checking the rearview mirror to ensure she hadn’t been followed, Bobbi barreled into Trey’s open garage at twenty miles an hour. Slamming on the brakes, she screeched to a halt beside his Chevy and immediately punched the spare garage door opener he’d leant her. The metal door closed behind her one slow inch at a time, and her gaze followed, scanning for traffic or passersby who might identify Bruiser, her notorious purple clunker.

  The cloak and dagger act brought a nervous snicker to her lips. She was more paranoid than Bong after a blunt run, but it only took one nosy neighbor to tattle to her brother. When she returned to California, she intended to leave Luke and Trey’s friendship intact.

  She stretched up to check her reflection in the mirror, smoothing an errant lock of hair she must’ve missed with the flatiron. Half an inch of blond roots had grown along her part, contrasting with the artificial red, but with any luck, Trey would be too distracted by the plunging neckline of her skintight blouse to notice. Heart racing, she wiped her clammy palms on a discarded McDonald’s napkin from lunch. She hadn’t felt this nervous since her first date at age fifteen. It’d been like this all day too. Her fingers had trembled so badly, she’d barely been able to zip her skirt.

  It wasn’t only eage
rness to see Trey that had her in knots. Bobbi was 99 percent sure she was pregnant.

  Before she could obsess for the thousandth time about how to break the news to Trey—or more importantly, what the hell they were going to do—he stepped into the garage and stole her breath.

  Electric-blue eyes shone at her above a wide smile and dimpled cheeks. He must’ve just stepped out of the shower, because his damp, sandy hair had dripped onto the broad shoulders of his white T-shirt, rendering the fabric nearly transparent and revealing the tanned skin underneath. In his faded jeans and bare feet, he was infinitely sexier than the polished metrosexuals she’d once admired in LA. Now she wondered what she’d ever seen in those men. Trey waved her inside, probably wondering why she was still lingering inside her car.

  If they’d made a baby, she hoped the little guy was the spitting image of his father.

  Wait, no. She mentally slapped herself.

  She shouldn’t be thinking like that—assigning the fetus a gender or imagining its pudgy, dimpled face. Having a child right now would mean disaster. What about her career, and Trey’s impending deployment? What would Luke say? And Trey’s mother? She’d probably claim Bobbi had gotten knocked up on purpose. This cloud didn’t have a silver lining.

  Taking a fortifying gulp of air, she stepped out of the car and clicked across the cement floor on her high-heeled sandals, grappling for the right words to break the news. Trey met her halfway and scooped her into his muscled arms, twirling her in place as if they’d just reunited after a decade apart. He was warm and solid and smelled of sweet apples and spicy marinara sauce. He smelled like home. Wrapping herself around him, she buried her nose at the base of his throat and pulled in his scent.

  “I’m glad you’re here,” he said. “Been a hell of a day.” After lowering her feet to the floor, he took her face between his palms and kissed her, a light brush of lips that flushed her skin and had her raising onto her toes for more. He smiled against her mouth, then pulled away. Linking their fingers, he towed her through the doorway and into the kitchen, where the rich scents of tomatoes and garlic hung heavily in the air.

  “Mmm,” she said. “Smells like heaven in here.” The tiny, two-seater kitchen table was already set with salad, bowls of steaming pasta, and a bottle of Merlot. Oh, no. Could she have wine?

  “I hope you’re hungry.” Trey brought their linked fingers to his mouth and kissed her hand. “I figured spaghetti was safe. Is that okay?”

  “Safe?”

  “With all your allergies,” he explained.

  Bobbi’s heart puffed inside her chest like a toasted soufflé. She’d only mentioned her food aversions once, over a month ago. He’d listened and remembered. He’d put real thought and extra care behind this simple meal. Just when she didn’t think she could adore Trey any more, he outdid himself.

  “I love spaghetti,” she said. But instead of following him to the table, she freed her hand, then proceeded to scratch her nose. She had to tell him about the baby before she went insane or lost her nerve. Or both. “But let’s talk first.”

  His perpetual grin faltered, likely because nothing good ever followed those words. “Sure.” He leaned one hip against the counter and folded his arms protectively. “What’s up?”

  Bobbi swallowed hard. “I’m late.”

  His eyes darted to the stove’s digital clock. “No, you’re not. You’re right on ti—” His breath caught, the blood drained from his face like water through a sieve, until his typically tanned cheeks turned to wax. Returning his gaze to hers, he asked, “Late, late?”

  She nodded.

  “How late?”

  “About a week.” Which might not worry the average woman, but Bobbi’s meticulous, twenty-six-day cycle had never faltered. She’d never, ever been late before. “And my boobs are sore.” She cupped them gently, glancing at the cleavage spilling from her scoop-neck top. “And bigger, don’t you think?”

  Though his eyes had gone glassy, Trey gave her breasts a thorough appraisal. He held both hands out as if fondling her from a distance. “I guess so. Did you take a test?”

  “No.” But she’d wanted to. “Everyone knows my face. I was afraid it’d get back to Luke if someone saw me buying a pregnancy test.”

  “You’re probably right. It’s a small town, and folks love to gossip.” He inhaled deeply, his wide chest stretching the seams of his T-shirt. After considering a moment, he gave a decided nod. “I’ll do it.”

  “Buy the test?”

  “If there’s gonna be talk, I’d rather it be about me than you.”

  Bobbi brought a hand over her heart. To hell with opening doors and pulling out chairs—this was the most chivalrous thing any man had ever done for her. “Thank you.”

  His gaze danced back and forth between Bobbi and the supper beginning to cool on the table. Eventually, he decided, “I’d better go now. Before we worry ourselves sick.”

  “Good idea.” Maybe she should drink some water while he was gone. How much urine would she need for one of those tests? She had no clue.

  His eyes searched her face as he stepped forward and wrapped an arm around her shoulder. “You feel all right?”

  “I’m fine.”

  Ignoring her reply, he ushered her into the living room, where he insisted she take a seat on the leather sofa. “Here,” he said, grabbing a couple of throw pillows, “put your feet up.”

  “I don’t think that’s—”

  At her protest, he took matters into his own hands, grabbing her ankles and swiveling her into a reclining position with her heels resting on the pillows. Then he began unfastening her sandals.

  “You need anything before I go?” he asked. “Crackers, or…uh…ice cream, or Alka Seltzer, or something?” After tossing her shoes to the carpeted floor, he knelt by her side and pressed one palm against her forehead as if checking for fever.

  She couldn’t help giggling at his reaction. “I’m fine.”

  “Right, right.” He rubbed his hands together, practically vibrating with nervous energy. “I’m gonna go.” Hitching a thumb toward the door, he assured her, “It’s only five minutes to the Sack-n-Pay, but I’ve got my cell phone if you need me.”

  “Okay.”

  “You sure you don’t need any—”

  “Trey!”

  “I’m goin’, I’m goin’!” Without further ado, he scurried out of the house to his truck. Bobbi heard the Chevy start, then the garage door opening and closing, followed by the squeal of tires as he peeled down the street.

  Eight minutes and thirty-seven seconds later, he came tearing back inside, plastic bag in hand. “I got the digital kind,” he announced, reaching inside and producing said item. “Says it’s just as accurate as a doctor’s test.” He tapped the box with his index finger. “No lines, or plusses, or minuses. It’ll tell you ‘pregnant’ or ‘not pregnant.’” Then he felt the need to clarify, “I mean, it won’t actually tell you out loud, but the words—”

  “I know. I’ve seen the commercials.” The poor guy was even more frantic than she was. Wrenching the box from his grip, she stood from the sofa and walked on wobbly knees to the hall bathroom. But just before she closed the door, Trey stopped her.

  “Wait.” He followed her inside. “Before you take the test, I need you to know something.”

  Bobbi’s stomach dropped. She couldn’t handle any more emotional turmoil today. She hoped Trey wasn’t about to confess a secret girlfriend, or a few secret kids, or worse—a secret wife.

  “What’s that?” she asked.

  Using one finger, he tipped her chin until their eyes met. “No matter what happens,” he said firmly, “no matter what that test says, we’re gonna be okay.” He bent at the knees, lowering to her height. “I’m gonna take good care of you, Bobbi, and I want you to know that.” His thumb stroked her cheek. “Do you believe me?”


  Bobbi’s throat closed. She could only nod. When would she trust him and stop expecting the worst? She wanted to tell Trey he’d make a phenomenal father, but words still wouldn’t pass through her thickened airway. Instead, she kissed the tip of his nose and gently pushed against his chest until he backed out into the hall. Then she closed the door and tore open the package.

  The process was easier than she’d expected. Before long, she’d gingerly placed the used test stick atop a tissue on the counter. She never took her eyes off the results window while washing her hands. As the seconds ticked by far too slowly, her heart pounded so hard she feared she’d break a rib. It was pure torture waiting for this miniature Magic 8 Ball to determine her future. From beyond the door, the wood floor creaked beneath Trey’s pacing footsteps. He had to be dying too.

  Oh god! Something was happening in the test window! Words were forming, beginning to darken! Bobbi held her breath, bit her lip, and leaned closer, gripping the countertop for support so she didn’t pass out.

  Not pregnant.

  Not pregnant? She straightened, furrowing her brow. That couldn’t be right. The glare from the old fluorescent lights above the mirror had probably played tricks on her eyes. Bobbi placed a cap over the absorbent tip and held the test at an angle, away from the flickering glow.

  Not pregnant.

  Her heart sank. Maybe she’d done something wrong—used too much urine or not enough. Wasn’t she supposed to replace the cap before setting the test on a flat surface? Perhaps that had skewed the results. She shook the stick like a thermometer for a few seconds, then checked the reading again.

  Not pregnant. There it was, in black and white, refusing to change.

  She slumped down onto the toilet lid, still staring at the test in disbelief. The backs of her eyes stung. Her lungs compressed and felt heavy, bowing her over with their leaden weight. A wet sob worked its way up from her throat, and as the first plump tear spilled onto her cheek, Bobbi realized with shock that these weren’t tears of relief. They were of disappointment.

  She’d wanted that baby. Trey’s sweet, dimpled, blue-eyed baby. She’d never planned to have children, much less now, at age twenty-three, with her career in shambles, neck-deep in debt, swept up in an affair with her brother’s best friend. She should be bouncing with joy, not crying.