Sidecar Crush (Bootleg Springs Book 2)

by Claire Kingsley

  He lowered his voice, but of course everyone could still hear him. “Those were strategic decisions for the benefit of your career.”

  “My career went down the toilet because of you,” I said. “But you know what? I’m glad. I’m glad everything happened the way it did. Because if things had been different, I might not have realized what a lowlife bottom feeder you really are.”

  “Leah, I made you,” he said. “You’d be nothing without me.”

  Gibson growled—he actually growled—but Jameson held up a hand and then nodded to me, as if to say it was my move.

  “You made me?” I asked. “I made you, asshole. Your agency was nothing before you signed me. I was the one who broke you into high fashion, and you’ve been riding my coattails ever since. Without me, you’d be nothing, and we both know it.”

  Someone whistled; I wasn’t sure who, but it might have been Scarlett.

  “That’s bullshit,” Kelvin said. “We worked together for everything we had. You can’t just walk away from that.”

  “Actually, I can, and I did.”

  A vein in Kelvin’s forehead looked like it might burst. “This is what you want? To go back to being a country bumpkin and be this redneck’s whore?”

  “Now you’re finished, son,” Jameson said. “You shouldn’t have called her a whore.”

  He grabbed Kelvin’s shirt and hauled him out of the booth like a rag doll before Kelvin had a chance to react. Gibson took one side while Jameson held him on the other and a second later, Bowie and Jonah were ahead of them, holding the door open.

  I got up and grabbed my handbag while they dragged Kelvin outside. Scarlett paused next to my table.

  “They aren’t going to actually hurt him, are they?” I was frustrated and annoyed at Kelvin for having the gall to show up here, but I didn’t want anyone to get hurt.

  “Nah,” Scarlett said. “He just needs to be taught a lesson. My brothers are good at this sort of thing. Best to just let it happen.”

  Scarlett and I followed them outside. Kelvin struggled, but Jameson and Gibson held his upper body while Jonah and Bowie each took a leg. Together, the four Bodine men handled him like he weighed nothing.

  I glanced around, expecting to see people with their cell phones out, taking pictures or video. But it was early enough, no one was around. I breathed out a sigh of relief at that.

  “What the hell are you doing?” Kelvin asked, his voice bordering on panic.

  The Bodines didn’t answer—just hauled him around the side of the building while Kelvin struggled in vain.

  A car pulled up, Bootleg Springs Sheriff in large letters across the side. The Bodines all paused as the window slowly lowered.

  “Mornin’, boys,” Sheriff Tucker said.

  “Sheriff,” Jameson said.

  “Oh, thank god,” Kelvin said. “Sheriff, make these psychos put me down.”

  Sheriff Tucker just raised his eyebrows.

  “Public assholery,” Jameson said. “Clarabell and Scarlett can vouch.”

  “Dumpster?” Sheriff Tucker asked.

  “Yep,” Jameson said.

  Sheriff Tucker tipped his hat. “Carry on, then.”

  “What?” Kelvin screeched. “Are you serious?”

  “Well, there is a town ordinance against public assholery,” Sheriff Tucker said. “Just mind his head, Bodines.”

  “Will do, Sheriff.”

  The Bodines started moving again, hauling him through the parking lot. Sheriff Tucker drove on.

  “What kind of backwoods shithole is this?” Kelvin asked, still trying to struggle out of their grip.

  I stopped and tried to keep myself from laughing. They were heading toward the huge dumpster. “Are they really going to put him in there?”

  Scarlett stood next to me, her arms crossed. “Of course. It’s the appropriate response to public assholery. Like Sheriff said, it’s a town ordinance, and he was clearly in violation.”

  “On three,” Jameson said.

  They swung Kelvin on one and two, and when they got to three, they hurled him over the edge of the dumpster. There was a wet thud and Kelvin started in on a string of curses that could have made a sailor blush.

  Jameson brushed his hands together and walked toward me.

  “Oh my god!” Kelvin’s muffled voice came from inside the dumpster. “What is that… oh god, it’s wet. And sticky. Get me the fuck out of here!”

  “Are you just going to leave him in there?” I asked.

  Jameson shrugged. “Garbage pickup is tomorrow, so it’s mostly full. He shouldn’t have any trouble gettin’ out. And if he does, Hamish’ll give him a hand.”

  “Who’s Hamish?” I asked.

  “Garbage man.”

  “Do you fuckers know how much these pants cost?” Kelvin shouted, struggling to get over the side of the dumpster.

  Scarlett left with Jonah and Bowie, and Gibson stalked off. He glared at Jameson as he walked by, but neither of them said anything.

  Jameson tucked my hair behind my ear. “I didn’t mean to overstep. But no one speaks to you that way when I’m around.”

  “It’s okay,” I said.

  He put his arm around me and we walked back around the corner. It sounded like Kelvin was getting out, but I wasn’t worried about him anymore. And I was pretty sure I’d heard the last of him, thanks to some good old-fashioned Bootleg justice.

  “Thanks for backing me up, but letting me say what I needed to say.”

  “Course, darlin’,” Jameson said. “I don’t know about you, but I could use some waffles. Can I buy you breakfast?”

  “Waffles sound great to me.”

  26

  Leah Mae

  My skin still tingled from the facial I’d gotten earlier today, and my muscles felt loose. Scarlett had invited me to come to the spa with her, along with Cassidy and June Tucker. We’d been scrubbed, steamed, and rubbed until our faces glowed and we were relaxed as could be. I was convinced Lula, the spa owner, had magical hands. I felt amazing.

  I lounged on the floor in Scarlett’s living room, my back resting on the couch. She’d put out an assortment of snacks on the little coffee table and made drinks for everyone. We were all dressed in comfy clothes or pajamas, making it feel a bit like a slumber party.

  If I had too many of these drinks she was mixing, it might turn into one.

  “Thanks again for inviting me,” I said. “Today was much needed.”

  “Glad you could make it,” Scarlett said. She tossed a few more pillows on the floor and balanced her drink in one hand as she sat. “Seemed like you could use a little pampering, with everything that’s been goin’ on.”

  I nodded. She was certainly right about that. I’d made the mistake of reading more of what the gossip columns were saying, and it wasn’t good. I was a home-wrecker, a vixen, a seductress, and an attention whore. Jameson was a hick with a tragic past and the shadow of his father looming over him—although the stories always emphasized that he was hot. Someone had taken pictures of him at the lake—shirtless of course. Images of Jameson Bodine in nothing but board shorts, running his hands through his wet hair, had gone viral.

  “Yeah, the last few weeks have been ridiculous,” I said.

  “Did your ex quit buggin’ you after the little incident at Moonshine?” Scarlett asked.

  “Incident with the ex?” Cassidy asked. She sat up a little straighter and tilted her head. “I heard something went down.”

  I laughed. “My ex showed up in town after he saw the story about me and Jameson. I agreed to meet him at Moonshine, mostly so I could get rid of him.”

  “And of course you know who showed up,” Scarlett said.

  “Let me guess,” Cassidy said. “A big wall of Bodine men.”

  “Scarlett was with them,” I said.

  “Hey, there was no way I was missin’ that,” Scarlett said. “And I have to give it to my brothers. They were on their best behavior.”

  “Best behavior? They
tossed Kelvin into a dumpster,” I said.

  “Nothin’ he didn’t deserve.” Scarlett glanced at Cassidy. “Public assholery.”

  “Typically in West Virginia, disorderly conduct carries a fine of up to four hundred dollars,” June said. “Or a night in jail.”

  “Well, in Bootleg, we just toss your ass into a dumpster and call it a day,” Scarlett said.

  Cassidy and Scarlett both raised their glasses and clinked them together.

  “So what did the asshole ex do after being served up a cup of Bootleg justice?” Cassidy asked.

  “He left town,” I said. “And I haven’t heard from him since.”

  June tapped her chin thoughtfully. “It appears to have been an effective measure.”

  “I’d say so,” Scarlett said. “We know how to do things right, ’round here.”

  I grabbed a handful of potato chips and popped one in my mouth. “I still can’t believe he flew all the way out here.”

  “Sounds like you dinged his pride,” Cassidy said. “Men are like toddlers. They don’t appreciate what they have until someone else wants it. Then they throw a tantrum.”

  “I think the good ones get it,” Scarlett said. “They appreciate what they have, when what they have is good.”

  Cassidy groaned. “Scarlett, I love you, but I don’t need to hear any more about the amazing Devlin McAllister. You found the perfect man. We know.”

  “Aw, Cass, you’ll find a man who’s perfect for you, too,” Scarlett said.

  “I don’t think he exists,” Cassidy said.

  “Approximately ninety percent of Americans get married before the age of fifty,” June said. “The numbers are still in your favor.”

  “That’s not exactly a comfort, June Bug,” Cassidy said.

  June just shrugged and picked up her phone.

  “Are you still striking out, Cassidy?” I asked.

  She groaned. “I swear, I think I’m going for some kind of record. Most terrible dates before the age of thirty or something. I didn’t think it could get worse than the guy who picked me up on his riding lawnmower.”

  “It got worse than a guy picking you up on a riding lawnmower?” I asked.

  Cassidy shook her head slowly. “You have no idea.”

  “Spill it, Tucker,” Scarlett said, pointing a chocolate-covered pretzel at her. “We need to know.”

  “All right, so I met a guy from Perrinville,” Cassidy said. “We talked a few times before we decided to go on an actual date. And, honestly, he told me up front that he had a particular… interest. I just didn’t take him seriously.”

  “Uh oh.” I wasn’t sure where Cassidy was going with this story, but I’d met a lot of people in the fashion industry who were into some kinky stuff.

  “The thing is, he was very funny,” she said. “He had me in stitches every time we talked. So when he told me he liked wearing women’s underwear, I thought it was another joke.”

  Scarlett coughed, almost spitting out her drink. “He likes what now?”

  “Women’s underwear, but that’s not even the worst of it.” Cassidy sighed. “I met him for dinner, and that was pretty nice. He had me laughing through most of the meal. Afterward, he walked me out to my car and leaned in, like he was fixin’ to kiss me goodnight. I kinda put my hands on his chest and I felt somethin’ there.”

  The three of us stared at Cassidy, enthralled. Even June.

  “I felt around a bit, and he noticed. When he asked if everything was all right, I said, ‘well, it feels like you have something strange under your shirt.’”

  “Oh god,” Scarlett said.

  “Yep,” Cassidy said. “It wasn’t just women’s panties. He was wearin’ a bra.”

  We all burst out laughing. Scarlett fell over, her head in Cassidy’s lap. June snort-laughed so hard she dropped her phone. I covered my mouth, trying to contain myself, but it was no use. Fortunately, Cassidy laughed as hard as the rest of us.

  I clutched my stomach and wiped a few tears from the corners of my eyes. “I’m sorry, Cassidy. I shouldn’t be laughing at you.”

  “It’s okay,” she said, still trying to catch her breath. “It’s so ridiculous, of course it’s funny.”

  “I have so many questions,” I said. “Why was he wearing a bra? Did he have man boobs?”

  Scarlett started laughing all over again.

  “No,” Cassidy said. “He was tall and thin—couldn’t have filled out an A-cup.”

  “Was it stuffed?” Scarlett asked.

  Cassidy laughed again. “I don’t think so. Although I didn’t keep feeling around to find out. Kinda jumped back when I realized what he was wearing.”

  “What happened then?” I asked.

  “Well, he seemed a bit surprised by my shock, since he’d been up front and told me beforehand that he was into that sort of thing,” Cassidy said. “I explained that I’d thought he was joking. Then I blurted out, why? And he said it made him feel complete and he couldn’t imagine his life without his special undergarments.”

  “Oh my god,” I said. “Did he use the phrase special undergarments?”

  “That he did,” she said.

  “Does this mean you won’t be seeing him again?” June asked.

  “Yeah, Juney,” Cassidy said. “I won’t be datin’ a guy who wears a bra. I don’t like to be too judgmental about what other people like, but that was a bit much for me.”

  “At least he was honest,” Scarlett said. “That has to count for something.”

  “I suppose it does,” Cassidy said. “But honesty or no, bra-wearing is a hard limit for me in a man.”

  “I don’t blame you,” I said.

  “That is an odd quirk,” Scarlett said. “Well, maybe you just need to find someone a bit more conventional.”

  “I don’t know,” Cassidy said. “I’m wondering how long before I just get a bunch of cats and call it good.”

  “Stop,” Scarlett said, playfully smacking her leg.

  “Yes!” June yelled, and we all startled.

  “You okay?” Cassidy asked.

  “I am excellent,” June said. She had her phone out again and she was busy typing with her thumbs, her eyes on the screen. “I just acquired Townsend.”

  “Who?” Scarlett asked.

  June furrowed her brow, like she was confused at the question. “George Townsend, also known as GT, starting receiver for Philadelphia. Buck was foolish enough to release him from his fantasy football team, and I was able to take advantage of his miscalculation.”

  “Y’all playing for money again this year?” Cassidy asked.

  “We are, although the gambling aspect is not why it appeals to me,” June said.

  Cassidy glanced at me. “If you hadn’t noticed, Juney is a sports nut. Football is her favorite.”

  “Baseball is a close second,” June said. “But I find the number of variables in football to be particularly stimulating.”

  “You sure it’s not the big strong men smashing into each other that you find stimulating?” Scarlett asked.

  June got that confused look on her face again. “No.”

  “She likes numbers,” Cassidy said. “Has fun with all the statistics.”

  “People like to believe there’s a high level of intuition involved in putting together a winning fantasy team,” June said. “But it’s all there in the numbers. Townsend’s total yardage has gone down, but his reception-to-touchdown ratio is in the top five in the league. He’s clearly the superior choice.”

  “That’s great,” Cassidy said. “I bet Dad will be jealous.”

  “He will be envious of my newly updated roster,” June said, nodding.

  Cassidy laughed and patted her sister’s shoulder.

  “How is it I wasn’t following your Instagram, Leah Mae?” Scarlett asked. She swiped her phone screen with her thumb. “Look at that cake. You get that from Opal?”

  “Millie Waggle, actually,” I said.

  Scarlett groaned. “What I wouldn�
��t give for a plate of her brownies.”

  “Her cake was amazing,” I said. “It was so sweet of her to bake it for me. But I haven’t been looking at my Instagram all that much. Too many comments I don’t want to see.”

  “I don’t know, this doesn’t look all that bad,” Scarlett said. “Mostly people are talkin’ about your clothes.”

  “Really?”

  “Well, not on the cake picture,” Scarlett said. “I’m just skimmin’ these comments, but that’s mostly what I see. People asking about your clothes and where you got them. This one here says, who cares if she sucked Brock’s dick, look at her jeans.”

  We all burst out laughing again.

  “You’re kidding,” I said.

  Scarlett handed her phone over to me.

  I thumbed through some of the comments on my photos. I did see a few references to my supposed scandal on Roughing It, but Scarlett was right. There were a lot of comments about what I was wearing. I was very pleased to see all the likes and comments on the photo of my cowboy boots. People loved them.

  Take that, Kelvin.

  “You ever thought about doing something with this?” Scarlett asked.

  “With what?”

  “With your sense of style,” she said. “I basically want to steal all your clothes every time I see you.”

  “Same here,” Cassidy said, raising her hand.

  “Thanks,” I said, and took another sip of my drink. “I’ve always liked to have fun with what I wear. It’s kind of like art to me. Art you wear around with you all day. Want to hear something weird?”

  “Sure,” Scarlett said.

  “It all started with Callie Kendall,” I said. “Her mismatched button. Remember how we all copied her that summer, and changed the top buttons on all our cardigans? Just the idea that I could change my clothes to make them unique kind of blew me away. I started modifying more of my clothes, then. At first it was just buttons, but it wasn’t long before I was ripping seams and resewing things. Making new silhouettes, or adding accessories.”

  “Is that why you’re always so cute?” Cassidy asked. “Because I kinda figured it was just something models innately knew how to do that the rest of us don’t.”