Sidecar Crush (Bootleg Springs Book 2)

by Claire Kingsley

  “I guess,” I said. “Remaking my clothes and styling new outfits is… well, it’s what I do for fun. It’s relaxing.”

  “So when are you coming over to remake my wardrobe?” Scarlett asked.

  I laughed. “Anytime.”

  “I’m gonna hold you to that,” she said. “Tell you what, that’s payment for dragging my poor quiet brother into the media with you.”

  She smiled and winked at me, and I knew she was kidding. But I still felt bad.

  “I feel awful for what they’ve put him through,” I said.

  “Yeah,” Scarlett said. “This kind of thing is hard on Jameson. When the rest of the town found out about Callie’s sweater turning up at Dad’s place, he pretty much disappeared. I think he came into town for groceries once, but that was about it. It was almost impossible to get him to come out of hiding.”

  “Wow, I didn’t realize,” I said.

  “He’s never liked it when attention is on him,” she said. “If he could find a way to be invisible, I think he’d do it. He tends to withdraw, even from people he loves.”

  I remembered how scared Jameson used to get when we’d have to go up in front of the class when we were kids in school together. I could still see him, putting his head down on his desk, like he hoped the teacher would forget he was there. As soon as she’d call on him, he’d get this stricken look on his face—broke my heart, even then.

  We’d had a system back then. If he got called up in front of the class, I’d give him a special signal—tug my ear twice and wink. It was such a silly thing, but each and every time I’d done it for him, the terrified look in his eyes had melted away, and he’d given me that sweet little boy grin.

  But I knew all too well how much Jameson hated the very sort of attention he was being subjected to right now. I’d been worrying about it since the first article with his name in it had come out. Although he’d assured me it was okay, I wondered if he was just telling me what I wanted to hear.

  Eventually, the media attention would die down. But I was pretty certain it was going to get worse before it got better. I still had to fly out to L.A. for the end-of-season media event and party. That would have me back in front of cameras, and would probably breathe one last gasp of life into the Leah Larkin gossip mill.

  Once that was over, the stories and attention would wane. Some new scandal would pop up to take its place. I no longer wanted to pursue a career in the entertainment industry, so it wouldn’t be long before my name faded from the public’s memory.

  In the meantime, I wondered if Jameson would decide I was no longer worth all this hassle. If he’d withdraw from me, too.

  Scarlett’s phone blared the chorus of a country song, and she picked it up to answer the call.

  “Hey, sexy,” she said. “How’s poker night?”

  She was quiet for a moment and I could hear Devlin’s muffled voice.

  “They’re what?” she asked, her voice a half-screech, half-laugh. “You’re kidding, right? You’re not kidding? They are? Oh my god. Okay, we’ll be right over.”

  “What happened?” I asked.

  “Apparently the menfolk are little out of hand at poker night,” she said. “I think we should go over there and help sort it out.”

  That didn’t sound good. “Sort it out?”

  She shook her head. “I can’t even explain. We’ll just have to go over there and see what’s what.”

  27

  Jameson

  With Leah Mae at the spa with my sister, I spent the afternoon in my shop. My deadline was looming, and I still didn’t know how to finish the piece.

  Dee had told me in the beginning that the client loved my style, and he’d prefer to let me use my creativity, rather than him dictating what he wanted. I had the front elevation of the building—a drawing that showed what the façade was going to look like—and the location he’d reserved for my sculpture. But aside from that, I didn’t have any direction.

  I’d been excited by that in the beginning. It meant I could take any direction I wanted. And at first, I’d planned to create something that echoed the lines of the building. But what I’d actually sculpted was completely different than anything I’d done before.

  I walked around her in a slow circle. She was ten feet tall and no doubt one of the heaviest things I’d ever made. It was going to take an engine hoist and probably some creative engineering to get her on the truck that would haul her to Charlotte. But we’d manage.

  Usually my work looked like what it was—something made of scrap metal. That had its own beauty, and I was proud of my other pieces. But this didn’t look like she’d been made of scrap—hardly looked like metal at all. I’d taken so much care with each section, making everything flow together smoothly.

  She sat in a cage shaped like an old-fashioned birdcage, her knees against her chest, her hands gripping the bars. Large wings drooped from her back, the tips brushing the ground outside the bars. Her head tipped forward, her face angled down.

  An angel in a cage.

  But she still wasn’t finished. And it was killing me that I didn’t know why.

  I was running low on time, but I couldn’t deliver a piece that wasn’t done—wasn’t perfect. As she stood, I was proud of her. There was no doubt in my mind it was the best work I’d ever done. But I had to figure out what else she needed. I’d never had this problem before, and it was driving me crazy.

  My phone rang, making me jump. Luckily I didn’t have something hot in my hands. Didn’t want to admit how many little burn scars were the result of being startled when I was lost in thought out here.

  It was Deanna.

  “Hey, Dee.”

  “Jameson,” she said. “Please tell me you’re almost finished.”

  “I’m almost finished.”

  “Are you lying?” she asked.

  I cleared my throat. I wasn’t strictly lying. Almost was a relative term, and I was sure once I figured out what she needed, it wouldn’t take too long to finish. I hoped. “No. I’m looking at it now, and there’s not much left to do before it’ll be ready.”

  She let out a noisy breath. “Oh thank god. Okay, they’re beefing up security at the opening, what with you being a sudden gossip-celebrity.”

  I groaned. “Don’t remind me.”

  “Kind of hard to avoid,” she said. “The girl’s pretty, though. You sure you know what you’re doing with her?”

  A flicker of anger made me clench my fist, but Dee simply didn’t know the truth. “Yeah, I’ve known Leah Mae since we were kids.”

  “Huh,” she said. “Regardless, your client is of course aware of the circumstances, and everyone there will be prepared.”

  I still hated that I had to go, but there was no use grumbling about it. “All right, good to know. Thanks, Dee.”

  “Sure,” she said. “You bringing her with you?”

  “I’d like to.”

  “Okay,” she said. “If she was just some sweet country girl from Bootleg Springs, it wouldn’t matter too much. But since she’s Leah Larkin, it does.”

  I sighed. “She is just a sweet girl from Bootleg.”

  “Right. Well, I’ll have the shipping company get in touch. I have you on their schedule, but they’ll need to coordinate with you for pick-up.”

  “Sounds good. Thanks.”

  “No problem,” she said. “Talk soon.”

  “Bye, Dee.”

  I hung up the phone and put it in my back pocket. At least she wasn’t trying to set me up with her niece anymore.

  Tonight was poker night with my brothers, so after covering the sculpture, I went inside to shower and change.

  Poker night rotated locations, and players, but the basics were always the same. Food, beer, cards, and betting. We didn’t usually mess around with big money, especially when Scarlett was playing—that girl always cleaned up. Five or ten to buy in was standard, and the most I’d ever won was a hundred bucks. It was more about having a good time than winning a bu
nch of money off each other.

  Truth be told, I kept my winnings and just kept rotating them in each new game. Sometimes I was up, sometimes I was down, but so far, I always had a bit of poker cash. Reckoned if I ran out, that was my cue to quit going to poker night.

  Devlin was hosting tonight, and he had us out at Build-a-Shine. It had once been an old speakeasy, and now you could craft your own moonshine from their impressive selection of flavors. They also had a back room you could reserve for things like poker or birthday parties.

  Jonah and I drove into town together and found our way to Build-a-Shine’s back room. A round table surrounded by chairs was in the center, and there was food off to one side. My mouth watered. Dev had found someone—I knew it wasn’t him, he was a worse cook than my sister—to serve up a taco bar. There were tortillas, meat, cheese, beans, guacamole, and all the fixin’s you could ever want. That spread was worth losing some money for.

  Devlin was at the table with a beer and a plate, as was Bowie. Nash occupied another chair. I said my hellos, grabbed myself a plate, and loaded it up with tacos. Grabbed a beer from a bucket of ice and found a seat.

  Gibson sauntered in and I slumped a bit. I’d been hoping Gibs might decide to sit this one out. He and I still hadn’t patched things up after our almost-fight at Bowie’s. Granted, he’d backed me up when it came to Leah Mae, but that didn’t mean what was going on between us was over.

  Not that I expected an apology. Bodines didn’t generally apologize, and Gibson had taken that trait to a new level of stubbornness. But I’d be glad when we could both look at each other without angry glares. I had enough on my mind without dealing with my grumpy-ass brother.

  As if he wanted to make sure I knew he was still angry, he paused next to the table, held the back of a chair, and glared at me. I glared right back, meeting his eyes. Gibs was older, and bigger, but I was not going to let him intimidate me. I’d go toe to toe with him any day of the week. If he was gonna be like Dad and think I was weak, he was dead wrong.

  “Grab some food and let’s get started,” Devlin said.

  Apparently a taco bar was a bigger draw than trying to stare down his younger brother, because Gibs tore his eyes away and loaded up a plate. When everyone had taken a seat, we all tossed in our cash, got our chips, and Dev started dealing.

  I kept my eyes on my cards and sipped my beer. Bowie and Jonah got into a heated, but good-natured, discussion about football. Gibson stayed mostly quiet, but that was typical. We played a few hands, ate some food, and drank our beers. I relaxed a bit. Seemed like tonight was going to go just fine.

  My phone buzzed, so I checked. Leah Mae had texted me a photo of her and Scarlett with something smeared all over their faces, and they looked to be laughing. It said, looking sexy at our spa visit earlier.

  Me: There’s my beautiful girl.

  “Quit texting during the game,” Gibson said.

  I eyed him. He was looking to start a fight, and I wasn’t sure if I was going to indulge him or not. Probably best to ignore him. But just to show that I wasn’t letting him get to me, I sent her another text.

  Me: Have fun tonight.

  “God, Jameson, quit being an ass,” Gibson said.

  “I’m pretty sure I’m not the ass here.” I put my phone down. “You have that title squared away nicely.”

  The tension in the room thickened, eyes darting around over fanned-out cards. Looking between me and Gibson.

  “At least I’m not draggin’ everyone else through my shit,” Gibson said.

  “Why the fuck are you making this about you?” I asked. “You’re not the one being followed around town. Who has to duck when he goes anywhere because every person with a cell phone has a damn camera. Why the hell are you letting this piss you off so much?”

  “Because you didn’t give a shit about what this would do to our family,” Gibson said. “You were just thinkin’ with your dick.”

  “Fuck you, Gibson.”

  Gibson tossed his cards on the table. “No, fuck you.”

  “Guys, come on,” Bowie said. “Let’s just play.”

  My first instinct was to throw my cards on the table and walk out. Go home. My brother could go fuck himself. I didn’t have to take his shit. But I was getting damn tired of Gibson’s angry streak being aimed at me. Growing up, I hadn’t ever been Gibson’s target. He’d usually been the one sticking up for me, both at home and at school. I didn’t like being the recipient of his assholery.

  “You need to back the hell off, Gibs,” I said. “Mind your damn business.”

  “This is my business.” He took a slice of olive off his plate and popped it in his mouth.

  That smug bastard. I grabbed a chunk of tomato and flicked it at him. “No, it ain’t.”

  The juicy tomato stuck to his shirt and slid slowly down his chest, leaving a wet trail and a few seeds behind. His jaw worked, his teeth grinding.

  Maybe I shouldn’t have, but I did. I dug at him a little more. “You got something on your shirt, Gibs.”

  Bowie snickered, and it was all over.

  Gibson tossed an entire taco at me. The contents—mostly meat and cheese—spilled into my lap. Bowie shouted something, but Gibson had already thrown food in his direction.

  “You ass,” Bowie said, and tossed some avocado at Gibson.

  I grabbed what was left of Gibson’s taco and threw it at him—hard.

  Gibs tried to retaliate at Bowie, but the taco I threw distracted him and he hit Jonah instead. Jonah tossed something back, Devlin scooted away from the table, Nash ducked, and seconds later, all hell broke loose.

  Gibson stood and threw more food from his plate. He wasn’t even aiming anymore. Someone hit him with a scoop of sour cream. I tossed chunks of marinated steak across the table, then threw a lime wedge at him. He grabbed a bowl of salsa and I dove for cover.

  Salsa sprayed across the table and onto the floor behind me. Bowie crouched next to me and nodded. Together, we tipped the table upright to make a barricade to hide behind. We grabbed whatever was near—chips, olives, avocado, lime wedges, tomato, tortillas—and tossed them over the edge of the table.

  “Shit,” Gibson growled.

  “I’m hit!” Nash shouted.

  Bowie and I were running out of ammo, and Gibson was closest to the food table. The steady stream of taco fixin’s flying over our heads indicated he’d gotten to it.

  “Jonah, reload,” I said.

  Jonah had taken cover behind a chair. He nodded and crawled closer to the food. Bowie and I hurled the last of what we could reach at Gibson while Jonah reached up and pulled a few bowls off the table.

  “Just toss it,” I said.

  Gibson noticed Jonah and his lips curled in a sneer. He scooped a handful of pico de gallo and tried to throw it, but most of it just splattered all over the floor. Jonah slid a bowl of sliced onions our direction, then the chopped lettuce. Bowie and I made good use of them, pelting Gibson with vegetables as fast as we could throw.

  There was a lull in the action, and for a minute, I thought maybe Gibson had relented. Bowie and I waited, our backs against the bottom of the table, handfuls of cheese and lettuce at the ready. Jonah had moved further from Gibson—couldn’t blame him—and I had no idea where Devlin had gotten to. Nash seemed to have bailed on the scene at the start.

  Bowie nodded, and we inched our way up so we could look over the top edge of the table. I caught the evil in Gibson’s eyes just before mine were hit with a fistful of guacamole.

  “Goddammit, Gibson!” I ducked behind the table and wiped the guac off my face. “Quit being such an ass!”

  “You’re an ass,” he said, and more guacamole went flying over my head.

  Scarlett’s voice came from somewhere to my left. “I’d say you’re all asses at this point.”

  I couldn’t see her from my hiding spot, but the heat in her voice made me cringe. I was certain she had her hands on her hips. Probably shaking her head in disbelief.

 
; “Oh my god.” That’d be Cassidy.

  I rolled my eyes. No doubt June was with her. Great, an audience.

  “Y’all get up,” Scarlett said. “Come on, now.”

  Bowie and I glanced at each other, understanding passing between us.

  “Nope,” I said. “Not until he does.”

  “Fuck that,” Gibson said. “I ain’t getting up first.”

  Scarlett let out an exasperated sigh. “Then get up at the same time. Put down the guacamole, Gibs. What’s wrong with you? I swear, y’all are grown men. Quit acting like children.”

  “Jameson?” Leah Mae asked.

  “Stay back, darlin’,” I said. “Gibson, if you throw anything at her, I will kick your ass.”

  “I ain’t throwing shit at the girls,” Gibson said, although it sounded like a reluctant concession.

  “Okay, fine,” I said. “I call a truce. We all drop our weapons and stand on three. Agreed?”

  My truce offering was met with a chorus of ayes. Including Gibs.

  “Count us up, Scar.”

  “One,” she said. “Two… three.”

  Bowie and I nodded to each other, dropped the food in our hands and stood, looking warily over at Gibson. He held his empty hands up slightly, and we did the same.

  “Y’all clean up this mess,” Scarlett said. She went over to the cooler and started pulling out beers—handed them to the girls. They dragged chairs to the side of the room and sat, like they were standing guard over the clean-up. Probably not a bad idea, that.

  Gibson grumbled, but got to work. Bowie and I righted the table and we picked all the shit up off the floor. Money, chips, cards, and a ton of food. Took a solid forty-five minutes before the room was in decent shape again.

  Sonny Fullson, Build-a-Shine’s owner, came in and appraised the room. His dark hair was shaggy and his black apron had the store’s name in white. “What the hell happened back here? Someone cheatin’ at cards?”

  “Nah,” Bowie said, stepping up, as he usually did, to be the diplomat. “Sorry about all this, Sonny. We got a little carried away. We’ll all chip in extra for clean up.”