Anything but Love (Wingmen #3)

by Daisy Prescott

  Cari pushes her half-finished burger away.

  “Sorry.” He tries to mop up the beer puddle on her plate.

  “I’m all set. Thanks.” She covers the plate with a napkin like a sheet over a dead body. “How are you going to deal with the world knowing your name?”

  “I’m sure there are indigenous people in the South Pacific who aren’t aware of my name or seen my butt.” I think of my fantasy island. “Pretty much guarantee our farming partners in South America don’t know either.”

  “Want my opinion?”

  “No.”

  “I’m going to tell you anyway.”

  “Figured you would.”

  “Use the attention. Sell your coffee. Help your farmers. Do something good with the notoriety. The world will only care for a little while. Someone else will post a naked selfie or have a nip slip or get divorced. Justice Booker will share a crotch grabbing selfie. Or Beyoncé will reveal who Becky is, and you’ll be forgotten.”

  “How does this benefit you? There must be something in it for you to want more attention on these photos.”

  She blanches, visibly paling, then scowls. “Wow. You must think I’m a terrible person.”

  I don’t stop her when she stands from the table. Nor when she picks up her bag and keys.

  Carter does and he follows her around to the front of the house.

  Her car starts and the engine whines as she reverses to turn around. I pick up the paper plates and toss everything in the garbage before heading inside.

  “You’re a real asshole, bro.” Carter stomps in through the front door. His boots hit the floor with a heavy thump before he stomps down the hall. “Unbelievable.”

  “I’m not the one who started this whole thing!”

  “Maybe if you get your head out of your ass for five minutes, you can work through it and everyone wins. Instead, you’re wanting punishment and vengeance. You’re no better than the loser asshole who posted the pictures.”

  “What are you talking about?” I follow him down the hall, still yelling even though we’re only feet apart.

  “You know that old saying about assuming making an ass out of you and me?”

  I nod.

  “Well, obviously you’re the ass in this situation.” He slams his door in my face.

  I pound on the wood a couple of times. “You should be on my team here!”

  “I’m not Team Asshole. You’re on your own if you want to be irrational and throw a tantrum.”

  “Easy for you to say. You’re not about to be splashed all over every news outlet and website.”

  I slap my palm on his door.

  I have no one to blame but myself.

  “FORGET TO TELL me something?” Jonah asks when I answer his third call.

  “Oh, shit.”

  “Yeah. A head’s up this morning, or last night, would’ve been nice, asshole.”

  “How bad is it?”

  “Hmm . . . where to begin . . .” He trails off.

  I hear Black Sabbath in the background. It must be bad.

  “I had a camera in my face as soon as I opened the van door this morning. I hopped out and boom, camera in the face. Didn’t see any other familiar cars in the lot, which led me to believe there’d been a mass murder or some sort of scandal I was being blamed for. The lack of caution tape and chalk outlines calmed those fears pretty quick.”

  I chuckle while I head into the bathroom.

  “Then some woman with helmet hair and more makeup than a pageant queen asked me about you.”

  “Are you still there?”

  “I’m inside. They’re milling around their vans. The pageant queen is nice and only wants a few minutes of your time. I asked if we could get the logo and business name in the shot for some free publicity.”

  “For fuck’s sake, did you really?”

  “If we’re going to have all three Seattle networks loitering around, hell yeah I’m going to make sure the company logo is visible. I’m making them all coffee right now because someone told all of our employees to stay home today.”

  “I panicked when Bert gave me the head’s up yesterday afternoon from the ferry.”

  “Yesterday afternoon? You didn’t think to maybe pass that head’s up along to your business partner?”

  I’ve got no excuse. “Sorry, man. I freaked out, told everyone to leave and then drove up the island to warn Cari.”

  “Why would anyone care about her? Or know where to find her?”

  “I wasn’t thinking clearly.”

  “Obviously. It must be difficult to form coherent thoughts when you are walking around wearing your ass for a hat.”

  “You weren’t even supposed to work today.”

  “Yeah, and it’s a good thing I showed up. I’m going to win these people over with our coffee. They will be so amazed they’ll forget all about your furry ass.”

  “Is that the plan?”

  “Do you have anything better?”

  I don’t.

  “What time are you going to come down here and handle this?”

  “Never? That’s the top option for the day. My other plan is to go visit some of our farmer-partners, hang out and learn their side of this business.”

  “In Costa Rica? You’re going to go hang out on a coffee farm with sloths? And leave me here to deal with the fallout?”

  “I figure if I’m not here, the vultures will leave everyone else alone.”

  The sound of milk being frothed carries over the line during Jonah’s pause.

  “Dude. I’m going to say three words, then I’m hanging up to go outside and give coffee to media who are voluntarily hanging around our business.”

  “You do what you gotta do. What are the three words?”

  “Own your shit.”

  True to his word, the line goes dead.

  “So, I was talking to Connie this morning,” is enough to make me want to hang up on my mother.

  Instead, I play dumb. “How’s Connie doing?”

  “Oh, she’s good. I’ll tell her you asked about her.”

  No, no, no. “What did she have to say?”

  “Well, she wanted to know if we watched the local news last night. Connie loves King7 because she has a crush on the weather guy. Honestly, I don’t get it. He should’ve shaved off that mustache years ago. He’s not doing anyone any favors.”

  I roll over and bury my head under my pillow. “Why do I need to know about Connie’s fascination with mustaches?”

  “That’s not the point. Although, honestly, I don’t get the appeal. I always imagine they smell like soup.”

  I stare at the ceiling with one eye while silently snarling.

  “Anyways, you know I usually watch the local news while making dinner, but I had a book club meeting. Connie said there was a short segment about you.” She lowers her voice to a whisper. “And the Cabo Incident.”

  There it is. There’s the lead. Thanks, Mom, for burying it.

  “She said they were filming right outside Whidbey Joe’s. The whole island is buzzing about it.”

  “That’s great.” I go with Jonah’s strategy of focusing on what this attention will do for our business. “We can always use the publicity.”

  “Don’t get too excited.” The sweetness disappears from her voice. “Apparently, they showed your bottom all over the eleven o’clock news. Connie said they blurred out the good stuff. Well, I let her know I didn’t appreciate her ogling my son like common beefcake.”

  As opposed to uncommon beefcake?

  “Thanks for defending my honor, Mom.”

  “You know I’m always proud of you.” She pauses, and I wait for the but. “But I’m not sure how your father’s going to take all this.”

  Shit. Dad.

  “He missed the news?”

  “You know he goes to bed early, so he can get up for work.”

  Passes out early is more like it.

  “I’m thinking you might want to drive down to his job site this
morning and talk to him in person. Better coming from you than hearing it from one of the guys. You know how they can be.”

  Son’s naked ass on television and on the Internet? I can hear the homophobic and sexist jokes flying already.

  “He still at Maxwelton?”

  She gives me the address and I promise to stop on the way to work.

  I don’t tell her the press is still on the island, but I do remind her not to talk to strangers and to tell Connie to keep her trap shut. Only I ask politely.

  I flop on my bed after doing my business and taking a shower.

  Leaving Jonah to deal with the mess is wrong and I know it.

  Own your shit.

  Doesn’t mean I don’t want to stay in bed all day and hide from the world. For a brief moment I think about building a fort with blankets and pillows.

  Instead, I pull on a pair of boxers and stand in front of my closet debating what one would wear in front of a firing squad. Besides a blindfold.

  I decide on a pair of Levis and a faded blue Oxford. Staring at myself in the mirror over my dresser, I second guess myself and put on a T-shirt with the Whidbey Joe logo. Feeling like a walking product placement, I change again. The blue button down makes me seem respectable. A serious business owner and young entrepreneur willing to do anything to make a success of his life.

  That’s me.

  I try giving myself a pep talk

  “You are a professional. You are not man candy. You are respectable. You are . . .” I can’t keep a straight face. “You’re a friggin’ joke.”

  Resting my forehead against the mirror, I close my eyes and breathe.

  I can do this.

  Taking the long way around to Maxwelton, I stop by Fellowship of the Bean in Bayview for coffee. This day requires a coffee IV, but I’ll start with one cup.

  Two cars are ahead of me in line. I’m happy to wait.

  I pull up to the window.

  Jess leans out and smiles. “The woman in the car ahead of you bought your coffee.”

  I glance in my rearview mirror to see a nondescript gray Honda turn out of the parking lot.

  “Huh. Anyone I know?”

  “She didn’t look familiar. Usual breve?” She’s already at the machine, waiting for confirmation.

  “Double.” I’m distracted by flipping through women and cars in my head. “Was she from the island?”

  “I don’t know. I don’t think so. She asked for directions to Whidbey Joe. After she bought her coffee and after I told her it’s the same as we have here.” Jess hands me my cup.

  “Strange.” A car stops behind me. I hand Jess a twenty. “Pay it forward on me.”

  As I turn left to head to work, it hits me.

  The silver car lady probably recognized me. My stomach sinks.

  And so it begins.

  I only pull over once on the short drive between Fellowship and Maxwelton. It only takes me counting to fifty before I stop clenching the steering wheel and bouncing my knee like I’m on speed.

  Can’t be the caffeine yet. I finish the cup thinking coffee might have a reverse effect on my nerves.

  My palms are sweating by the time I spot Dad’s truck parked in front of a place with new windows and fresh cedar shingles past the baseball field.

  I can do this.

  He’s my Dad.

  He’ll still love me. So what if his youngest son is a worldwide Internet sensation. It’s not like I have a sex tape.

  Hell, I bet Dad and most of the guys he works with don’t even know what Buzzfeed is and have never heard of Gomez Jeffries.

  I park next to the road. With an exhale I open the door and step out. A couple of guys mill around outside, holding travel mugs of coffee or pop. Looks like I’ve arrived during a break.

  “Carl around?” I ask the group in general.

  “Upstairs.”

  “Thanks.”

  I pause for weird looks or snickering. Nothing happens, so I head inside.

  The entire place is gutted and paper covers the floors. Taking the stairs two at a time, I find my dad in a large bedroom facing the beach and water. He’s rolling a soft gray color on the wall closest to door. I watch him work for a few minutes before he notices me. His hands seem to have a steady grip and his movements are fluid like he’s performing a dance he’s done a hundred times.

  “Look who came to visit his old man!” He stops and rests his pole against the wall. “What did I do to deserve this honor? You come to take me away to play hooky?” He waggles his eyebrows. “I can finish this room in an under an hour.”

  “It’s not even nine o’clock, Dad.”

  “Been here since seven. If I was a politician, that’d count for a full day’s work.” He gives me a wink. At least he’s in a good mood and sober.

  For now.

  “Need to talk to you about something and then I need to go to work.” I lean against an unpainted wall after making sure to avoid any wet paint.

  “You sound serious. Everything okay with your mother? Carter?”

  “Oh, they’re fine. It’s me.”

  “You get a girl in trouble?”

  “I keep it wrapped.”

  “It happens. Look at your mom and me.”

  Carter Kelso wasn’t planned.

  Nor was I. Doubtful Mom wanted two babies, especially boys, back-to-back at twenty. She and Dad were practically kids when they had us. I can’t imagine being married or having kids now.

  “What kind of trouble are you in? Money? I told you to watch the accounts.”

  “Why do you think I’m in some sort of trouble?”

  He looks around the room. “You showed up here. Normally I only see you when your mom calls you to play taxi.”

  Guess we’re not as subtle as we think when it comes to monitoring him.

  “Yeah, I know all about that.” He lifts his shoulders, but keeps his eyes focused on his feet. “Makes a man feel like a child.”

  “We’re only doing it to help you out. Family watches out for each other.”

  “You checkin’ up on me on the job now? Making sure I’m showing up?”

  “Nah, it’s not like that. I need to talk to you about something. Wanted you to hear it from me before any of the guys start talking.”

  “Sure it doesn’t have anything to do with a girl? Women are usually at the center of a man’s problems. We either love them and they don’t love us back. Or they’re chasing us and we don’t want to be caught.” He pauses to give me a sly smile. “Or the very worst, we love them and they love us back. That’s when the real trouble begins.”

  I suppose in some sense, there is a woman at the heart of my troubles, but not in the way he means.

  “It’s not about a girl. Remember the trip Carter and I took to Cabo?”

  “Yep. You didn’t smuggle drugs back into the country by stuffing bags up your ass, did you?”

  I really need to examine my life choices if knocking up random women and ass-smuggling drugs are where his mind goes about me.

  “No. Where would you even get that idea?”

  “There’s an opiate problem here on the island. People are getting big money for their prescription pills.”

  “Enough to shove a bag of them up their asses in Mexico?”

  “Canada’s closer.”

  Is he giving me advice on drug smuggling options?

  “I think you’re watching too many Law and Order repeats. And before you ask, no I haven’t killed anyone.”

  “That’s good news. Wouldn’t be good for business if you end up in jail.”

  “No jail. Listen, the deal is there are some pictures of me from our vacation that have gone viral.”

  He stares at me.

  “Like the flu goes viral and spreads from person to person until it’s an epidemic.”

  He waves me to continue.

  Possibly the most embarrassing moment with my dad since our “keep it wrapped” sex talk when I was twelve. “I’m naked in the picture. You ca
n’t see my pecker, but it’s a full shot of my ass. A bunch of bloggers have been talking about it because they thought it was some famous singer’s ass. Now they’ve figured out it’s mine and I’m going to be getting a lot of attention. Press, television, Internet . . . it was on the local news last night.”

  He holds up a paint-covered hand. “Let me get my mind around this. Your naked ass was on television last night?”

  “Kind of. They blurred out the crack. I could be wearing a Speedo. A tan one.”

  He closes his eyes and scratches his forehead. “Your mother know about this?”

  “She called me to tell me this morning. Guess Connie saw it.”

  “Goddamn. Well, shit. If Connie knows, the whole damn island will be talking.”

  I don’t bother telling him about Gram’s Facebook post. Or Connie’s visit to the warehouse. We’re operating on a need to know basis here.

  “Better keep this from your grandmother. She’s a church going lady.”

  I think of Mrs. Lindstrom.

  “That’s a good idea.”

  “I’m not sure what saint she’d pray to over nudey pictures of her grandson.”

  I want to remind him Gram’s not even Catholic, but there’s no point.

  “You get paid for these pictures?”

  “No, I went skinny dipping and someone took them.”

  He shakes his head. “Guess you did it to yourself, then.”

  I scratch my cheek and shift my weight from foot to foot. “Yeah, not my best decision.”

  “Carter keep his shorts on?”

  I nod.

  “At least I have one son with some common sense.”

  Ouch.

  He stares off into space for a few minutes, rubbing a spot on his chest.

  I wait in silence for him to say something else. Like everything will be fine and it’s not a big deal.

  “Eh.”

  That’s it.

  “Guess it could be worse.”

  How?

  He picks up the pole. “Should make the Legion more interesting with the guys.”

  Of course he’s thinking about his position as the golden boy amongst the merry band of fools he calls friends.

  He dips the roller into paint and spins it.

  I stand in the room with my hands shoved in my pockets, feeling awkward.

  “Thanks for the head’s up.” Paint covers a narrow strip of the wall in the wake of his movement.