Honeytrap

by Crystal Green

  Mom turned off the water, shaking the moisture off her hands. “Can you find a moment to get the mower today? I’ll give you the money you’ll need.”

  “No problem.” I’d just tell my hormones to roll with it. “I can go this afternoon.”

  I expected her to lecture me again about Micah, but she only smiled once more and left the room. The rest of the club watched her as we heard Mom’s footsteps on the stairs, then a door closing.

  Frannie leaned toward me. “Someone’s got a love life, and it sure isn’t anyone sitting at this counter.”

  Juanita’s turn. “Are you talking about Shelby and that Micah kid? He’s not her type, Fran. She’s a college girl and has a lot more in store for her than that.”

  That? Was that how she saw Micah?

  It was funny, how some people interpreted others. True, Micah didn’t exactly put off a master of the universe vibe, but I hadn’t been on top of the world lately, either. I’d been feeling so dirt-low that I didn’t feel entitled to any kind of respect from anyone, even Mom’s girls. But Juanita’s comment told me that there were people who still saw me as someone with potential. At the same time, though, the knock against Micah sort of bugged me.

  Frannie cut in. “I think Micah has a future, even if it’s not a regular one. He’s got that Camaro, and they say he rebuilt it from near scratch. That takes some talent.”

  “Yeah,” said Rainey, eyeing me with a sunburned sparkle. “They say he’s great with his hands.”

  I was just shoveling in a spoonful of cereal, and it took all I had to keep from spitting it out.

  I had to be blushing ten ways to Sunday, because the girls tittered at me. Then Juanita sighed.

  “To be Shelby’s age again. What I’d give for it.”

  Frannie used the last of her pancake to swipe the syrup off her plate. “Speak for yourself. I might be drying up in some places, but I’ve got a lot of juice left in me yet.”

  “Disgusting, Fran,” Rainey said, sliding off her seat and clearing her plate.

  I’d finally finished chewing my cereal, swallowed, then said, “I’ll tell you what—if y’all don’t stop drinking those bottles of wine every night, you’ll be dried up before you know it. That stuff dehydrates like mad.”

  Juanita flipped me off in the nicest way possible, and I flashed her a sweet smile. Evie’s ringtone sounded on my phone—Beyoncé singing about single ladies—and I dropped my spoon, jetting out of the kitchen and outside to the gaping pool where I had privacy.

  By the time I got there, the ring had stopped, so I called her back. “Hey.”

  “Hey. Is it a pool day or what?”

  “Heck, yeah. Eleven-ish?”

  She was fine with the time, but as she launched into a complaint about how her mom was already making her feel like she was in high school again by sticking her nose in everything Evie did, I started to wonder if this was a good time to tell her about Micah. Since I’d discovered that I should’ve told Evie everything about the Lana Peyton deal upfront, I’d decided to not keep anything from her again. She wasn’t going to judge or hate me.

  After she told me how her mom had been poking around her undies drawer while quizzing her about birth control, I closed my door and sat on my bed.

  “I kissed Micah Wyatt,” I whispered, starting off slow. I’d build up to the rest.

  “What?” I could tell Evie was hopping around her room. “How? When? What was it like?”

  I gave her the details: the kiss in the theater, the under-the-sweater stuff, the sneaking into my room and fooling around on my bed. As she squealed, I had to remind her that Mom wasn’t a fan, so please don’t tell anyone. Also, there was the entire bet thing to consider.

  “Like I was going to post a meme,” she said, and if a voice could do an eye roll, she would’ve nailed it. “So Micah really told you that you’re gonna fall for him one day? Oh my God, that is the most romantic.”

  “It was slightly delusional.”

  “Whatever it was,” she said, “this is the most exciting thing that’s happened to me since . . . ever. In a vicarious way, but, still. And it’s perfect—you did just enough with him so that he can’t say he won any bet he still might have going. I say make him your secret puppet love-boy, but don’t give him bragging rights. Be a woman and roar a little.”

  Jeez, Evie made me think that I could do anything I wanted, but she’d buried some good advice in all her enthusiasm. Kissing was fine. So was a little grabby-grabby.

  But anything beyond that was definitely taboo . . .

  ***

  I put in some weeding time in the rain-dewed gardens, then dropped by Evie’s for an hour so we could slather on sunscreen and float on air mattresses in her pool. As expected, she wanted to know even more details about how Micah kissed and how he made his moves.

  But when it was all said and done, the mower awaited me, right along with the player himself.

  After going home, showering off, and putting on a breezy skirt, tank, and sandals—I swear I wasn’t dressing up for Micah—I drove to Deacon and Darwin’s shop and walked in like a boss. I had no idea what I’d say to Micah when I saw him. I mean, what do you say after a guy tells you you’re going to fall for him someday? But I wasn’t planning on sticking around for a long conversation.

  I’d roared a little yesterday, just like Evie said I should, and that was good enough for me.

  I entered the shop, the swish of the fans welcoming me and, like the last time I was here, I tried not to fidget after I rang the service bell. But I couldn’t help switching from one foot to the other, definitely fidgeting, then trying my hardest to stand still.

  Old Metallica was coming from the service door that led to the back of the shop, and I wondered if I should hit the bell again. But then Deacon, with his pirate-pierced ears, blue eyes, and tanned face, looked through the door.

  He broke into a big smile and cruised to the counter, whipping a rag out of a coverall pocket and wiping his hands. “Angel’s here,” he called out.

  Seriously? Micah had a big mouth. But my heart fluttered waiting for him.

  Yet the only person who entered the lobby was Darwin, rubbing his short hair and tilting his head at me. “How you doin’, Shelby?”

  At least he hadn’t called me Sunshine.

  “I’m good,” I said, waiting for the king of fling to arrive next.

  It didn’t happen, though, not even after Darwin went in the back for the mower and Deacon rang me up for the bill.

  Deacon slid me a look, then smiled. “He’s not in right now.”

  “Who?” Golly-gee-whiz, who could he be talking about?

  He chuckled. “Micah. He’s out on a call with my truck but should be back before he leaves for the day. We’re closing early for the Chamber of Commerce potluck.”

  I resisted asking just how everyone in the Chamber of Commerce liked Deacon’s earrings and Darwin’s tattoos. “I’m only here for my mower.”

  “All right then.”

  He told me the price and I handed over the cash. Through the front window, I could see Darwin putting my mower in my pickup, wrapping it in the tarp I’d brought. On his way back, he itched at his neck on the opposite side of his phoenix tattoo, and I realized there was a white patch there, like he’d cut himself shaving or was weaning himself off nicotine.

  Deacon closed out the transaction. “That’ll do it. I’ll tell my cousin you stopped by.”

  “No need,” I said.

  “He’ll want to know.”

  As I bristled, Darwin came in through the lobby door.

  “Really,” I said, “you don’t have to bother. I’m not one of his victims.”

  The boys laughed.

  Maybe my experience with Rex and his friends had brought something out in me that’d been sleeping before, but it was up and running now. At l
east as far as saying things went—we’d see about the doing.

  “Guys,” I said, gripping my wallet, “it’s bad form to bet on women, like you did with me and Micah. I’m sure he told you that I found out about your games.”

  Oh, now they looked embarrassed, shuffling their boots and clearing their throats.

  Darwin wandered toward the service door. “I’ve got to . . .”

  Deacon shot him a death glare, but Darwin still made his escape. Then, knowing he’d have to face the music for both of them, Deacon turned back to me.

  “You’re right,” he said. “But you weren’t supposed to know about the bet. I guess someone overheard.”

  “As they do in this town.”

  He straightened up, and I felt a little sorry for him, because it did seem like he was rethinking this bet thing. “We didn’t mean anything by it. Micah even dropped out of the bet the first night.”

  Hadn’t Micah told his cousins about the movie theater or being in my room? Sure, he’d insisted that there was no bet anymore, but I hadn’t believed it.

  Deacon brightened. “Say, let us make it up to you. Come to the Lonesome Star sometime and I’ll buy you drinks all night.”

  The Lonesome Star was one of those dive bars on the fringes of town where jobless men, hopeless women, underage kids with fake IDs from the nearest dry counties, and fun-loving scamps bought beer and ate barbecue.

  “Deacon,” I said, “I’m not old enough to drink in a bar.”

  “Ah. Right.” He inspected me, and not in the way Micah usually did, but more like a cousin would. “I keep forgetting who’s what age around here. But doesn’t everyone in college drink anyway?”

  “Not like they do at the Lonesome Star.”

  “I just keep thinking that you’re Micah’s age. He can legally get in bars now.”

  So that’s how old he was . . .

  “Me and Darwin,” Deacon said, “well, honestly, we’ve been trying to stay away from the bars lately. It’s time to make some changes in life, especially with Micah in the house now . . . and others.”

  Did he mean the girls they’d had over last night? Yeah, Micah had mentioned them.

  A low voice came from the door. “My ears are burning.”

  I startled, because I hadn’t been paying attention to anything but what Deacon had been saying about Micah. But there was the guy himself, dressed in his coveralls, his hair tied back as he grinned at me.

  And, oh, that grin whispered thousands of words, warming my ears, too.

  “You’re back,” Deacon said, wasting no time in getting to the backroom. He slipped past Micah, who hadn’t moved from his spot leaning against the doorframe.

  “You all squared away with the mower?” he asked.

  “That’s why I’m here.” Flushing, blushing . . . dammit.

  “We sure appreciate your business, Angel.”

  “Did you have to tell the twins about nicknames?” I asked. “About . . . everything?”

  Micah lost that grin. “I might’ve mentioned the angel part, but that’s all.”

  Again, I didn’t know what to believe. Micah, who thrived on his reputation, had held back his four aces from his cousins, telling them the bet was off. Why? He definitely seemed to still be anteing up for me.

  “Well,” I said, walking toward the door, “thanks for your discretion.”

  “Hold up.” He motioned toward my pickup. “Yesterday, I noticed your truck is blowing gray exhaust smoke. Have you had it checked lately?”

  Was he my pickup gynecologist now? “I changed the oil less than a month ago, and it’s been running fine.” My truck ran so well that I’d never had to take it to a garage for repairs, which would’ve been an expense I could barely afford. “I’ve been telling myself that I need to enroll in some kind of class on engines one day, just in case.”

  “Do you have the manual handy? I could give you a quick lesson, if you’ve got the time.”

  I was sure he could instruct very well, and even though my sex drive was going, “Yip-yip!” I shook my head. “I got the pickup used, and the manual wasn’t in it. I’ve always looked things up online since the information’s there.”

  “Hell, I’ve got old manuals. I can get you one . . . just so you’d have it in your dashboard for emergencies on lonely Texas roads without cell reception. You might need it.”

  What was he up to now? “Okay. Thanks. I can pick it up here someday.”

  “Actually,” he said, “I could get it to you sooner if you ran me home now. I rode with the twins this morning, so you’d save me a walk.”

  “I . . . thought you said you liked to walk.” Hadn’t he mentioned it last night when he was being so flip about being in my neighborhood?

  “Never said I liked it, but if I have to, I will. Home’s not far from here.” He jerked his chin at me, smiling. “So how about it, Shelby? I’ll even lay low so no one sees me in the truck with you.”

  How much of a dick would I be if I said no? It was just a ride, and he was going to give me the manual I was missing. Then again, Micah had the talent to turn something even that innocent into a situation that would sway me.

  “Come on,” he said softly.

  Crap. But really, what would be the harm? And why was that secret, bad-girl part of me pushing me to say yes?

  “All right,” I said, walking toward the door. “But I’m leaving now.”

  “Great.”

  He shouted to the twins about going home and giving me a manual, and when they responded, there wasn’t any wink-wink-nudge-nudge in their tones.

  “Meet me out back in a few,” he said.

  He was serious about laying low. Only the twins would know he’d left with me, and they had to realize I wasn’t about to linger in the lion’s den of their house after I got that manual.

  Micah disappeared into the backroom, and I went out to my pickup, my blood swirling. You won’t let him touch you, I said to myself. Not this time.

  I drove to the rear of the shop, where Micah was waiting in his jeans and T-shirt. I pulled to a stop, and dust flew around his legs as he opened the door, then got in. When he didn’t do up his seatbelt, I waited.

  “Always with the rules,” he muttered, but he didn’t buckle up.

  I hesitated, then took off. He slumped in his seat, leaning an arm on the door, taking up a position that allowed him to cover his face from anyone who might see us. But I didn’t think that was likely out here, where there were more pine trees than cars.

  We traveled in the direction of Miller Dock Lake, passing the abandoned mom-and-pop gas station with its old-fashioned pumps and “Rebels Rule!” spray-painted on a crumbling wall. Thirty seconds later, we came to a dirt road marked by a mailbox with a red flag near a white fence. He told me to turn off and, after bouncing over the graveled lane, the twins’ one-level brick house appeared, along with an open car shed that housed the skeletons of what looked to be a broken-down convertible and an old farm truck. The lawn was surprisingly neat, with a homemade swing hanging from an oak tree. The porch had a gliding swing, too, the door freshly painted.

  Were we at the right place? I’d never been to Deacon and Darwin’s, but I’d had a certain idea of how their house might look.

  “Where’s your Camaro?” I asked, making sure.

  “In the garage. The twins let me have the place of honor.”

  “And those . . . things?” I asked, nodding toward the hunks of junk in the shed.

  “Cars I’ve rescued from scrap heaps. Works in progress.”

  I could feel his smile on me as I pulled up to the closed garage. Another car was in the driveway—an old station wagon—and Micah sprung out the door of my truck, keeping it open.

  “There’s lemonade in the fridge,” he said.

  Here it went. “Could you just bring out the manual?”r />
  “I have to dig through a bunch of crap in my room to get to the one you can use. Besides, there’s someone I want you to meet.”

  What? Who? Huh?

  He didn’t explain as he shut the door and started toward the back of the house, not even checking to see if I was coming or not.

  I weighed my options: drive away or stay? But when I saw a little kid in baggy pants and a Dallas Cowboys T-shirt waddling around the corner, I sucked in a breath. Micah wasn’t far behind, scooping the boy into his arms and swinging him around.

  Was this who he wanted me to meet?

  Then another, more foreboding question sank into me. Why the hell did he want me to meet a baby unless . . . ?

  I gripped the wheel, dreading the rest.

  12

  When Micah saw my face through the windshield, he frowned, as if he didn’t understand my shock. Then he started laughing harder than I’d ever seen him laugh before as he tickled the boy, making him laugh, too.

  He came around to my window while my engine still idled. How long had he been planning to surprise me with this? How many guys, besides him and Rex, would have more awful stunners in store for me during the course of my life? How many times would I walk right into their traps?

  “You should see your face,” he said as the little boy reached through the open window for my ponytail.

  I let him pull it. I didn’t actually feel anything.

  Micah removed the kid’s hand from me. “I see what you’re thinking, Shelby, and let me put this rising terror to rest. He’s not mine.”

  Oh, Lord, thank you God. I didn’t know why I was so relieved—what was Micah to me, anyway?—but I was.

  “Did you really think I had a family tucked away back here?” he asked.

  “Yeah. I mean, isn’t that why . . .” You wanted me to meet him?

  I didn’t finish, because I was going to come off like Micah had been so serious about me that he’d wanted to introduce me to his child. Presumption at its most embarrassing.

  “If there’s one thing you can depend on me for,” Micah said, “it’s that I don’t get myself into situations like this. My reputation might say that I’m careless, but I’m as careful as they come.”