by Joanna Wylde
God, but I wanted to believe him. Wanted it too much.
• • •
We didn’t talk after that, and ten minutes later we pulled up to my place. Loni had grown up here and lived here until she moved in with Reese. Not in this same house, of course. That one had burned down from a gas leak. She’d used the insurance money to rebuild, and had kept it as a rental. Last year I’d gone to her and made her an offer, asking her if I could buy it on contract.
When she’d said yes, I’d hardly been able to believe it.
“Don’t forget, I’m taking Izzy to the family party out at the club tomorrow,” Painter said as we rolled to a stop in the driveway.
“I haven’t. She and I are going to make cookies in the morning. She wants to bring something like the big girls do,” I told him. He smiled.
“You could come with us, you know.”
I sighed, closing my eyes.
“I’ll probably be hungover,” I admitted. “I think I’ll just stay home. There’s a lot of laundry to catch up on.”
“Coward.”
For once I didn’t argue.
“Thanks for the ride,” I said, looking over at him. He stared back at me, thoughtful in the darkness.
“This isn’t over.”
I couldn’t think of a damned thing to say in response, because I knew he was right.
It would never be over between us.
CHAPTER TWENTY
SUNDAY AFTERNOON—ONE MONTH LATER
“More pink?” Jessica asked Izzy. The little girl laughed maniacally, grabbing the container of pink sugar crystals and shaking it over the tops of the cupcakes. I’d read an article a couple weeks back that said science has proven there’s no connection between children eating sugar and crazed behavior.
Science lies.
“There’s more frosting than cake,” I pointed out, leaning against the kitchen counter. Sherri sniffed.
“That’s the best part,” she said. “The cake exists to convey the frosting—that’s the only reason you bake it.”
“You’re not the one who’s going to be stuck with a kid jacked on sugar all night.”
“Neither are you,” Jess said pointedly. “This is Painter’s time bomb. Which means you have a night free, and yet something tells me you don’t have a hot date. Why don’t you have a boyfriend, Mel? You’re pretty, you’re smart, you make good money, and you really shouldn’t be sitting at home alone.”
She raised a brow pointedly. I widened my eyes, glancing toward Izzy, wordlessly insisting that we not talk in front of her.
“Don’t think you’ll get off that easy,” Jess said, her voice dark. “Izzy, are you almost done?”
“Yup,” Izzy said, smiling at us broadly. The entire lower half of her face was smeared with frosting. No¸ make that her entire face. She even had some in her hair.
“You need a bath before Daddy gets here,” I told her. “Let’s go!”
“Daddy said I can eat chips!” she announced proudly, sliding off her chair to walk into the bathroom.
“We’re talking about this,” Jess warned me. “You’re twenty-five now. If you don’t exercise your lady parts, they’ll get all shriveled. Do you want shriveled lady parts?”
“What are lady parts?” Izzy asked.
“Auntie Jessica is making bad choices,” I told her primly. “Go hop in the tub. I’ll be right there.”
Izzy looked confused, then shook herself like a puppy and took off toward the bathroom.
“You can’t say things like that in front of Izzy!” I said. “Now, watch—she’ll ask me about it in front of Reese—or Painter.”
Jess cocked a brow in challenge.
“If you’d get off your ass and find a man, I wouldn’t have to say things like that.”
I glanced at Sherri, looking for an ally. She was digging through the fridge, then pulling out a beer triumphantly.
“Don’t mind me—I’m just settling in for the show,” she said with a grin.
I heard the tub turn on in the bathroom. “You don’t have a boyfriend, Jess.”
“No, but I go out. I get laid. Hell, I had a booty call with Banks last weekend. I’m in the game, Mel. So is Sherri.”
Sherri raised her bottle, toasting me.
“That new security guard was asking me about you again,” she said, waggling her eyebrows. “He thinks you’re cute. Wants to take you to dinner. I got his number for you—let’s call him.”
“Mama! My duckie pooped out something black and icky!” Izzy shouted from the bathroom. Jess raised a brow.
“That doesn’t sound good.”
I sighed. “I’ll be right back. Try not to do anything evil while I’m gone.”
Jessica rolled her eyes and Sherri laughed.
I found a naked Izzy standing in the tub, staring down at clumps of some kind of nasty mold floating around on the surface of the tub.
“Yuck,” I said, lifting her out. “Where’s the duckie?”
“I put it in time-out,” she told me, her voice very serious. She pointed to a little biker duck sitting on the edge of the tub. Painter had given it to her—he’d brought it back from one of his runs with the club. Some rally in Seattle.
Picking the duck up, I studied it. Sure enough, there was a piece of something nasty hanging out of the hole on the bottom.
Mold.
“Baby, I’m really sorry, but this bird has to go,” I said, bracing myself for a tantrum. Izzy surprised me, nodding her head in firm agreement.
“I don’t like poopie ducks.”
“There’s a lot not to like about them,” I agreed.
Grabbing a chunk of toilet paper, I fished the little bits of mold off the surface of the water and hit the drain. Now I’d have to bleach the damned tub, which was always a treat—at least I was an expert. Izzy might be all princess when it came to clothing and colors, but when it came to filth she could hold her own with any boy. (Twice now I’d found little worm houses in her room, carefully built out of plastic cups, dirt, and little curtains made out of tissues. She even tucked them in at night, in little worm beds. Ugh . . .)
“Let’s take a quick shower instead,” I told her, reaching for a couple washcloths. Izzy watched carefully as I put them on the bottom of the now-empty tub. Lifting her, I set her back inside on the cloths, then stood and grabbed the showerhead. It had a nice long hose specifically for times like this. Painter had installed it after she’d taken a mud bath, and we’d had to spray her off outside.
“Close your eyes,” I warned her, gently sluicing the water across the clumps of frosting. It didn’t take long—a quick shampoo and rinse, and then we were done. Wrapping her in a towel, I gave her a fast rub before sending her off to get dressed.
“Do I want to know what the duck poop was?” Jessica asked when I walked back into the kitchen. They’d been busy—the frosting was all cleaned up, the table had been washed, and she was carefully setting the cupcakes into a rectangular cake pan.
“Mold,” I said shortly. Jessica made a face. “Hey, I’ll take that over giving an enema any day!”
“God, do you remember that old guy with the blockage?” Sherri asked. “I’ve never seen so much shit in my life. It just kept coming and coming . . .”
“You have the most disgusting jobs on earth,” Jess declared. “Seriously cannot understand how you do it.”
“Speaking of, can you take my late shift on Thursday night?” Sherri asked me. “There’s a baby shower for a girl I went to high school with.”
“I don’t know,” I said. “I’ll have to find someone to watch Izzy that night—the regular sitter is out of town this week. Maybe Loni can, but she’s already watching her on Wednesday, too.”
“I’m sure it’ll be fine,” Jess said quickly. “And if she can’t, I’ll come over.”
“Perfect,” said Sherri. “And I’ll cover your shift on Wednesday night.”
I frowned. “I don’t need you to cover my shift—Izzy already has a sleepover p
lanned with Loni and Reese.”
“But you still need coverage,” she said, grinning wickedly. “Because you have a date. With Aaron. He’s taking you to dinner up in Callup and then to a party, seeing as neither of you are scheduled for Thursday morning.”
“What the hell are you talking about?” I asked, getting a cold feeling deep in my stomach.
“You texted him while Izzy was taking her bath,” Jessica said. “You told him that Sherri suggested you get in touch. He asked you out. It was all very sweet—he really likes you and I think you really like him, too. At least, that’s the impression you gave with your text, you wicked little flirt.”
“I was impressed,” confirmed Sherri. “Didn’t know you had it in you.”
I stared between them, wondering whether Painter could help me dispose of two bodies without leaving any evidence.
Probably.
“Give me my phone.”
Jess handed me one of the frosted pink monstrosities instead.
“Join the dark side, Melanie. We have cake.”
“I’m not going out with him—and fuck you, because that cake’s pink and I hate pink.”
“You don’t have to go on the date,” Sherri said quickly. “Of course, it will probably be awkward as hell to back out at this point. Really hurt his feelings, you know? He thinks you’re interested. And be fair, Mel. He’s cute.”
I stared at the cupcake, picturing the security guard. Aaron. Aaron Waits. He seemed like a nice enough guy, and Sherri was right—he really was cute. Not as big and tough as Painter, but not all clean-cut and shiny like that damned dentist, either.
“Don’t take this as a sign that what you did is okay . . .” I said finally, reaching for the cupcake.
“Of course not,” Jess said, trying hard not to gloat and failing miserably. “It’s that terrible impulse-control problem of mine, you know? So hard to overcome. I’ll totally talk to my therapist about it.”
“Don’t you dare pull that shit on me,” I said, biting down into the pink monstrosity. It was really good—there was just the right ratio of frosting to cake. I hated it when the frosting wasn’t thick enough. “You haven’t been to therapy for years, and you’re perfectly capable of controlling your impulses when you want to.”
It was true, and it would’ve sounded a whole lot better if I hadn’t sprayed crumbs along with my words.
“Ta-da!” Izzy shouted, running into the kitchen. She had on her newest princess dress, this one bright green, thank God. She looked like a blonde princess Merida from Brave, complete with the corkscrew curls. Seeing as Painter and I both had straight hair, I’d never quite figured that one out, but it was adorable.
“You look great!” Sherri said, pulling her up and swinging her around. “Why are you all dressed up? Do you have a ball to go to?”
“Nope, Daddy’s gonna teach me how to shoot a bow and arrow,” she said proudly. “I’m all ready. He says a girl needs to know how to defend herself in this world.”
“He’s weaponizing the child?” Jess asked in a low voice. “Why am I not surprised by this?”
I nodded, wishing I had a bow and arrow. I wasn’t quite sure who I’d rather use it on—Jessica or Painter.
Or maybe Sherri.
I just hoped I wouldn’t need to use it on Aaron.
WEDNESDAY NIGHT
“Are you sure it’s okay?” I asked Loni. “I feel weird asking you to watch her while I’m on a date, because tonight was supposed to be about work. I don’t want to impose on you.”
Loni rolled her eyes.
“It’s fine,” she said. “Reese has some club thing happening, anyway. He won’t be home until late. And I’m happy you’re going out—you’re young. You should be having fun, and you know how much I love playing grandma. And Reese will probably get up early with her and make pancakes. Definitely a winning situation for me.”
That made me smile, because for a man who complained so much about being surrounded by girls, Reese was suspiciously available whenever I needed a sitter. Izzy had him wrapped around her little finger and she knew it.
God help me once she was a teenager.
The roar of a Harley came from outside, and I shot Loni a quick look.
“Was Reese coming over?” I asked. She shook her head.
“Painter?” she suggested.
“I’m not expecting him.”
“Daddy!” Izzy shouted, running into the living room. “I can hear his motorcycle.”
She jumped up onto the couch and looked out through the front window. “That’s not Daddy.”
Leaning over her, I peered out to see Aaron—my date—climbing off a big, black Harley.
“Ah crap,” I muttered. “He’s a biker.”
Loni and I shared a quick look. She knew all about Painter’s “no bikers” rule, although she thought it was bullshit. I knew this because she’d told me more than once.
“They’ve got a club thing tonight,” she said quickly. “You should be just fine.”
Hopefully.
Aaron rang the doorbell and I went to answer it, forcing myself to smile. This whole thing felt awkward and uncomfortable, like I was lying to him. The pleased look on his face didn’t help, either.
“You ready?” he asked. “I brought my bike—the ride up to Callup is gorgeous this time of year. We’ll stop along the way and eat dinner at the Bitter Moose. Have you ever been there?”
“No,” I admitted. “Never even heard of it.”
“You’ll love it,” he said, and something about his tone put me off. Maybe it was the way he didn’t even bother to tell me what kind of food they had, or ask if I wanted to go. “And afterward we’ll hit a party with some of my friends. You look great, by the way, but I think you should change.”
“Thanks,” I said, glancing down at my skirt. Appreciate the warning ahead of time, asshole. Ugh. Now I was just being bitchy—most girls would be thrilled to have a guy show up on a motorcycle. For all I knew, Sherri had told him I loved bikers. “Um, I’ll be right back. This is Loni, she’s kind of like . . . my mom, I guess. And my daughter, Izzy.”
Aaron knelt down, looking Izzy right in the eye. “Your mom’s friend Sherri told me all about you. She said you like pink things. I brought you something.”
With that, he reached into his pocket and pulled out a little stuffed unicorn with a fluffy pink mane and tail.
“It’s beautiful!” Izzy sighed, reaching for it. Aaron winked at me, and I felt my snit evaporate, along with my doubts.
“I’ll be right back,” I said. “Izzy, what do we say?”
“Thank you!”
Maybe tonight wouldn’t be so bad after all.
• • •
Aaron had been right—it really was a perfect evening for a ride, and the trip over Fourth of July Pass into the Silver Valley was stunning. Despite my misgivings, the date was going well. Better than any I’d had in a long time. I still wasn’t feeling the same kind of instant chemistry with him that I felt with Painter, but whatever. No man’s perfect.
We’d arrived at the restaurant—which was really more of a pub than anything else—at seven thirty and had a decent dinner. The Bitter Moose wasn’t anything fancy, but the place had plenty of atmosphere. Sort of like one of those historical theme restaurants, but this was definitely the real deal. According to the article printed on the little paper menus in the center of each table, it dated back to the gold rush days, when it was a brothel. Later it was a hotel and now the owner lived upstairs.
By the time we finished eating it was nearly nine. The lights had dimmed and the music had gotten louder. Several couples got up and started to dance. To my surprise, Aaron convinced me to join them. It wasn’t all hot and intense and sweaty like a real club, but it was fun and when I checked the time a whole hour had passed.
“You want to take a break?” Aaron asked. I nodded. “Water or something heavier?”
“Water’s great.”
Our waitress had already cleared
away our plates, but she’d left the water at the table and I took a deep drink, appreciating how low-key the date was. Felt good to relax. Aaron seemed less chilled, but he smiled enough that I decided not to worry about it.
“So you must’ve had Izzy when you were fifteen or something,” he said, leaning forward so I could hear him over the music. “Because you look way too young to be a mother.”
“I was twenty-one,” I said, feeling myself flush. “I’ll admit, it wasn’t planned, but I guess it’s worked out pretty well. I can’t imagine life without her. Do you have kids?”
He shook his head.
“Hell no. I was married right out of high school, though,” he said. “We were way too young—finally split up last year, although I’m still friends with her. Does that seem weird to you?”
“I can’t imagine being friends with my ex,” I admitted. “We fight all the time—doubt we could agree on the color of the sky. But I have to admit, he’s a fantastic dad to Izzy, and he helps me out a lot, too.”
“You still have a thing for him?” Aaron asked.
Yes.
“No,” I said firmly. “Absolutely not. I just try to stay out of his way. He’s . . . intense. But like I said, he’s a good dad to Izzy. He’s an artist.”
Aaron got a funny look on his face. “That’s weird.”
“No it’s not,” I said, strangely offended. “He’s amazing, a natural talent—he sells his paintings all over the country, and people hire him to do commissions, too.”
He held up his hands in mock surrender.
“I wasn’t trying to piss you off.”
Shit. What was wrong with me?
“Sorry, I guess it just struck me the wrong way.”
“No worries,” he said, although the look in his eyes was speculative. “You sure you’re not hung up on him?”
“It’s complicated,” I admitted awkwardly.
“Well . . . okay then. I guess I’ll get the bill,” he said. “We should probably get going anyway. I’m meeting someone at the party around ten thirty—he’s got something I need to pick up.”
