by Hazel James
“Nonsense! You’re going to be just fine. Deep breaths.” Aunt Helen runs a reassuring hand down my bare back, reminding me that although my girly bits are covered, I’m still half-naked from behind.
“Maggie, did you happen to bring a shawl with you? Or a jacket? A designer trench coat?” I ask.
“Oh, look! DH is here!” Maggie ignores my pleas for modesty and opens the front door, but my feet stay firmly rooted to the floor while I concentrate on not passing out. “She’s all yours!” DH steps around the corner and stops in his tracks, his eyes drinking me in like I’m an oasis in a desert, and that’s when I realize what he’s wearing: a perfectly-fitted tuxedo that makes him look like he just stepped off the cover of Ovary Explosion magazine.
“Wow.” He ambles toward me and kisses me on the cheek, careful to not smudge my lipstick. “Just when I thought you couldn’t get any prettier.”
“It’s all Maggie and Aunt Helen.” I twist my fingers together.
“You’re right. She was totally homely when we started. It’s a good thing we’re miracle workers.” Smiling, Maggie hands me my silver clutch off the counter nudges us toward the door. “You two crazy kids have fun tonight!”
My prayers on the way to the auction were answered; I kept my dress free of food and drink and even managed to make myself sound reasonably intelligent when our dinnertime conversation turned to the subject of tornadoes. The meteorologists are calling for severe weather near Tulsa tomorrow, and DH is going chasing with Eric. When the gentleman sitting across from us asked about seeing tornadoes on the radar, I was able to tell him to look for a hook echo. He was impressed, and I didn’t let on that I don’t remember much else from my lesson in storm chasing.
“Last, but not least, we have bachelor number twelve,” Clay announces from the stage. He’s the master of ceremonies for the auction, and his mix of humor and emotion has done wonders to loosen the purse strings of the attendees. All but mine, because I’ve been holding out for the man walking on stage. “It’s my great pleasure to introduce you to DH Rhoads, an Air Force veteran who can bench press more than me. Your starting bid of one hundred dollars will get you an evening with this handsome fellow.”
“One hundred!” The elderly woman to my right waves her paddle like a lunatic, and I can’t help but giggle. Leave it to DH to incite a bidding war between two women with a sixty-year age gap.
“Two hundred!” someone shouts from the other side of the room.
I raise my paddle. “Three!” Not having to pay rent has given me some extra wiggle room in my budget, and I’m thrilled to know my money will go to such a great cause.
“I have three hundred, do I hear three fifty?” I wish Clay would shut up. I only brought five hundred with me, and DH has been on the stage less than thirty seconds.
Granny lifts her paddle again. “Four hundred!” I’m tempted to kick her in the knee.
“Four twenty-five!” I catch DH’s eye from the stage, and his grin tells me he’s thoroughly enjoying his moment of glory.
“Four fifty!”
“Five hundred!”
“Six fifty!” There goes the old hag with her arm flaps waving like a secondary bidder. I can’t believe my budget has been demolished by a survivor of the Great Depression. It’s time to dip into my savings account.
“Seven hundred!” I triumphantly fling my paddle in the air. It’s only two hundred more than my original plan. That’s not too bad, especially considering it’s going to charity.
“It’s getting hot in here!” Clay playfully pulls at the collar of his tuxedo. “We have seven hundred, do I hear seven twenty-five?”
“Seven fifty!” Whoever is on the other side of the room needs to get a sudden case of laryngitis.
“Eight hundred!” Right along with the old biddy. How in the hell does someone her age have money like this to throw around? Isn’t she living off Social Security?
“Eight fifty!”
“Nine hundred!”
Panicked, I look at DH and lift my palms in the air. I don’t have an extra thousand bucks. He winks, I’m sure to signal that it’s okay that I’ve been outbid, but fucking Grandma next to me giggles like a hormonal high schooler.
“Didya see that?” Her bony elbow pokes into my side. “He winked at me!”
The fuck he did, I mutter under my breath.
“One thousand!” I wish I could see the chick on the other side of the room.
“Wooo!” Clay high fives DH. “We have just hit one thousand dollars for this fine specimen. That’s a record! Of course, this is only our first annual event, but still! We have one thousand to the lady in the corner. Remember, all donations will go toward the new Oklahoma City chapter of VETSports, a very worthy organization that is grateful for your generous contributions. Do I have eleven hundred?”
The blue hair leans in like we’re conspiring together and whispers, “Watch this.” She holds up her paddle again and shouts, “Fifteen hundred!”
“Well hot damn, DH!” Clay’s beaming like a child on Christmas morning. “That’s fifteen hundred going once.” He pauses. “Twice.” He pauses again. “Sold, to the lovely young lady in the beautiful black dress!”
“Oh, I won!” she squeals. The audience laughs and offers her a round of applause, and I reluctantly join in. If I had to lose to someone, at least it was to a lady who will talk DH’s ear off about knitting and what it was like to ride in the original Model T.
“Come on up here darling, and we’ll get your photo with your bachelor,” Clay says.
“Would you mind helping me, dear?” Granny asks, turning to me. “I’m not as good with the steps as I used to be.”
“Sure, ma’am.” I take her hand and help her shuffle up the staircase. “Congratulations on winning. You landed quite the handsome fellow.”
She leans her head toward me like she’s about to tell me a secret. “Oh, it’s not for me. It’s for my granddaughter. She got called into work tonight and couldn’t make the auction.”
“Oh, that’s too bad.” The hot stage lights beam right on us, so I make an effort to keep my expression pleasant. Granddaughter?
“One of the nurses at her hospital got fired for getting frisky with a patient. Can you believe it? So now poor Whitney had to fill in and miss the charity event. She’s been looking forward to it for months.”
The fuck?
CLAY TURNS OFF THE MICROPHONE and mutters, “I don’t know what’s funnier—that Betty White’s older sister won the auction or that your girlfriend is helping her on stage.”
It is pretty damn funny. I appreciate that Paige isn’t being a sore loser about the whole thing. A lot of the girls I was with in the past would have stormed off in a fit knowing they’d have to share me for one evening. I lean toward Clay and whisper, “Just remember, if the old bird asks me for my number, I’m giving her yours.”
The women make it to the top of the stage, but the smile that was on Paige’s face seconds ago has been replaced by… anger? Panic? The spotlights make it hard to gauge her expression before she spins around and returns to her table. Once Clay and I pose for photos and make the obligatory small talk with Granny, he escorts her off the other side of the stage so the assistants can get her information. Free from my bachelor duties for a few minutes, I follow Paige’s path down the steps and catch her as she heads toward the exit.
“What’s wrong?” The sparkling blue eyes I stared at during dinner are now ice cold. “Are you upset that you didn’t win?”
“No. Well, a little, but that’s not why I’m upset.” She walks past me and pushes against a door that leads outside. A handful of other guests have also migrated toward the warm night air, so Paige walks to an empty section of the small courtyard before turning to face me. “That woman wasn’t bidding for herself.”
“What do you mean?”
She paces along the wall of shrubs as if the tension in her body is making her feet move of their own accord. “Apparently, her granddaughter couldn’
t be here tonight, so she was filling in for her. Do you know why this granddaughter couldn’t make it?”
“Um, no?”
She flings her arms into the air and drops them at her sides with a huff. “Because she had to work.”
“Okay?” I have no idea where Paige is going with this, and frankly I’m a little scared to find out. Does she think I’m going to try something with the granddaughter? There’s no doubt I would have before Paige, but not now.
“And do you know why she had to work?” I stay quiet this time. “Because one of the nurses at her hospital got fired for having sex with a patient.” She whips around to make another pass on the concrete, giving me a full view of the murderous intent in her eyes.
“What?” I grab Paige’s arms to keep her in one place. “Was she talking about you?”
“Yes,” she hisses through clenched teeth. “That woman’s granddaughter is Whitney. Fucking. Greene.”
“How does she know about your investigation?”
“You fucking got me. The paperwork I signed said everything was confidential, so unless the charge nurse is running a gossip mill or Whitney’s the one who filed the anonymous complaint…” She gasps as the pale color of realization washes over her face. “Oh my God. It was her.”
My phone vibrates in my pocket, so I release Paige to retrieve it.
Clay: Where are you? Did you forget that you’re doing an interview with News 9?
Shit.
“Can we finish talking about this in about ten minutes? I’ve gotta speak to the press about the auction, and then I’ll be done.” The more that word gets out about this organization and what it does, the better chance we have of reaching veterans and gaining community support. The last thing I want is another case like Robbie’s.
“You’re seriously going to take Whitney’s money? Even though there’s a good chance she has something to do with me possibly losing my job?”
I resist the urge to groan. Why do women have to be so damn difficult? “Technically, it’s her grandmother’s money, but yes, we need every donation we can get.” Paige looks at me like I’ve just slapped her. I understand that she’s upset, but we’re not in a position to turn away money—especially not a fifteen-hundred-dollar bid. That’s easily one-third of the total profits we earned from the auction.
Clay: RHOADS!
“Baby, please. Ten minutes. Then I’ll take you home, and we’ll get this all sorted out.” I kiss her on the cheek and take two steps backward, but Paige remains frozen in place, her mouth agape. “Stay here. I’ll be right back.”
I weave through the bodies in the main ballroom and find Clay at the bottom of the stage. “You done screwing around?” he whisper-shouts.
“Sorry dude. Let’s get this over with.” I take a deep breath and follow Clay’s lead to the reporter from News 9. The interview only lasts about three minutes, but I feel my phone go off four times.
Paige: Congrats on your new nickname. CS. Cock Sucker.
Paige: I’m taking an Uber home.
Paige: Don’t bother calling me.
Unknown: My grandma just gave me the good news! When are you free?
Rock music blares out of my radio while my truck idles in Eric’s driveway. The fucker is taking forever and patience is not something I have today. My phone pings again, but I don’t bother looking at it. Whitney has texted me three times this morning about where she wants to go on our date. Her latest suggestion was a swanky restaurant that—surprise!—is on the rooftop of a posh downtown hotel. “The beds are super comfy and the pillows are to die for,” she’d said, followed by two winking emojis.
Fucking hell. I want nothing to do with her or her damn pillows, but what the fuck am I supposed to? Bailing on my end of the deal makes me look like an asshole of massive proportions, and it takes money away from our veterans. It’s a fucking lose-lose situation.
I tried calling Paige when I woke up, but it went to voicemail, and she ignored my text, too. That pissed me off even more. I love that she’s making me out to be the bad guy when the only reason I volunteered for this shit in the first place was to help other people.
I punch the horn, and finally, Eric’s door swings open. He gives Maggie one last kiss and walks to the truck while I turn the radio down to a reasonable volume so I don’t have to listen to him bitch about it. “Took your sorry ass long enough,” I say once he’s inside.
“Good morning to you, too, sunshine.” He leans over and pats my face, earning him a punch to the arm.
“Get off me, dude.”
“I can see this is going to be a glorious day of tornado chasing.” I crank the volume to drown out the sound of his chipper voice, but he hits the knob, sending the truck into silence. “What the hell crawled up your ass?”
I don’t want to answer him, because I don’t feel like getting a lecture all the way to Tulsa, but I know he’ll pester the fuck out of me if I don’t say something. Lose-lose. Again. “Women,” I finally reply, rubbing a hand over my beard. Never being in a relationship had its perks—like never having to deal with their emotional bullshit.
“You mean to tell me that my cousin, DH Rhoads, is having problems with women? Brace yourselves, everyone,” he teases, grabbing the oh-shit handle and the dashboard, “the apocalypse is about to hit.”
“Fuck you, dude.”
Eric leans against the console and rests his chin in his hand. “Do you want to talk about it?”
“No, Dr. Phil, I don’t want to talk about it,” I retort, rolling my eyes. I reach for the radio knob, but Eric smacks the back of my hand. “I swear to fucking God, if you treat me like I’m a child one more time, I’m going to pull this truck over and kick your ass.”
“Go ahead and pull over. Just remember, I’m the one who taught you how to fight, and if you leave a mark on my face, you’re still going to have to answer to Mom—and Maggie. Her preggo hormones are their own force of nature, so have fun dealing with that level of crazy.”
I sigh in defeat. “You’re such a smug bastard.”
“And yet you still love me.” His shit-eating grin makes me chuckle, despite the anger swirling around inside. Eric is no stranger to my mood swings. After I moved in with them, a couple of assclowns down the street found out about my parents and teased me relentlessly. I put up with it for months, until one day when they humiliated me in front of a girl I had a crush on.
“Why would you want to be with a druggie who gets high before school every day?”
“Yeah, he’ll probably try to sell drugs to you.”
She walked away with a disgusted look on her face, and without even thinking, I planted my fist across the larger boy’s cheek. He dropped like a dead fly. The other boy stared at me with wide eyes and held up his hands in surrender. I got suspended for three days and nursed a broken hand for weeks after. Once I was healed, Eric taught me how to throw a correct punch and sparred with me until I was confident I could defend myself without breaking any bones. After my explosion, he set up a punching bag at the auto shop so I could lose my shit and not have the cops called for destruction of property.
Eric clears his throat, snapping me out of my thoughts. “So what did you do to piss off Paige?”
Jesus H. Christ. I may as well get this shit over with so I can enjoy the chase. “I got auctioned off last night, which Paige was okay with, but the winning bidder turned out to be a chick I used to fuck, and she’s not okay with that. Not because it’s a chick I used to fuck, but because there’s a good chance that chick is now fucking with Paige at work and she’s under investigation and can’t work until they clear her name. But I can’t not take the money because we need that for the new VETSports chapter, so I’m caught between a stage-five clinger and a furious girlfriend and all I fucking want to do is watch a goddamn tornado destroy some shit!”
I wring my steering wheel while I work on getting my pulse and respiratory rate back to normal levels. Eric, ever the patient asshole, waits until he knows I’m no longer a
t risk for a heart attack or stroke before speaking. “I need to tell you something very important. Are you listening?”
“Of course I’m listening, you moose knuckle. I’m sitting right here, and you won’t let me listen to music.”
“You’re wrong.”
“The fuck I’m wrong!” I shout, my heart rate spiking again. “I tried to turn my radio back on, and you smacked my hand!”
“God, I swear you’re special sometimes.” I see him shake his head out of the corner of my eye. “You’re wrong about Paige.”
“Fuck you. She’s the one who won’t accept that we need this money. I didn’t ask for—nor do I want—a date with Whitney, but I don’t back down from a promise, and I promised Clay that he has one hundred percent of my support for this organization.” My eye begins to twitch. I can’t fucking believe Eric, my own flesh and blood, is siding with her.
“Her issue isn’t that you have a date with Whitney. Her issue is that Whitney is the one behind this bullshit anonymous complaint, and she feels you’re choosing Whitney over her.”
“Thanks for that analysis, Freud,” I say, sarcasm oozing out of my voice. “I didn’t realize you had a direct hotline to Paige’s thoughts.”
“I don’t, but Paige called Maggie this morning, and Maggie filled me in about what’s going on.”
“So now she’s trying to get everyone in my family on her side?” My phone pings again, but I ignore it. If I look down and see another text from Whitney, I’ll throw the damn thing out the window.
“No, dude. She needs a fucking friend, and the only one she has is on her way to China right now. God, you’re an arrogant asshole.”
“She’s going around acting like I’m happy about this fucking date! The only thing I’m happy about is that I brought in fifteen hundred bucks for this damn program!” The twitch in my eye is getting worse, and now my head is pounding. Today was supposed to be about chasing storms, but it’s turned into an intervention over my personal life. Fuck. This. Shit.
