Snap Decision

by Jami Davenport

  Brenda paused in mid-sentence and frowned. “I wish you wouldn’t wear that thing.”

  “What thing?”

  “That ring your father gave you. You shouldn’t wear it. It brings back painful memories.”

  Lavender shrugged. She didn’t know why she always wore the ring, but she did, and she refused to take it off. “I like it.”

  Brenda sighed and stared out the back window. “You repaired your fence. It looks good.” She motioned to her ever-present husband. “Larry, look at this.”

  Larry Mead walked over and peered out the window pane. “That fence looks better than this house.”

  Lavender said nothing.

  “How much did the fence cost?” Her mother’s eyes were clouded with concern. Lavender immediately felt a twinge of guilt, a familiar neighborhood.

  “Nothing. I did it myself.”

  “Honey, tell me the truth.” Her mother’s face looked ten years older when she frowned like that.

  Her stepfather, a retired accountant, rarely said much. Boring but nice, just the type of man her mother loved to control. Nothing like her father had been.

  “I’m not lying.”

  “Who built that fence for you?” When her mother grabbed hold of something, she hung on to it like a rabid retriever with its favorite ball.

  “My neighbor helped me.”

  “What neighbor? Not the college dropout down the road with the dreadlocks? The one who does drugs.”

  “Gideon doesn’t do drugs. He’s just a free spirit. And, no, he didn’t help me.”

  “Who then?”

  Lavender sighed. There was no way out. “The guy who inherited the mansion.”

  “Twin Cedars?”

  Lavender nodded and busied herself making a fresh pot of coffee. Her mother and stepfather walked to the side window and looked out. “The place looks uninhabited.”

  “He’s working on the inside first.”

  “Who is he?” Brenda straightened a picture on the wall and ran her finger across a wood table. She frowned at the dust.

  “Just some nice guy.” Lavender choked on the word nice. If they only knew.

  “What’s his name?”

  “No one you’d know.”

  “Wait a minute. It’s that football player, isn’t it? Tyler Harris?” Larry said.

  Playing dumb seemed the only viable option. “Oh, does he play football? I don’t know him well.”

  Her mother studied her closely, giving the impression she saw it all very clearly.

  “We’re not even friends. We can’t stand each other.”

  “A man you can’t stand helped you build a fence?”

  Lavender shrugged. “He’s bored.”

  “He’s in loads of trouble.” Larry’s helpful addition to the conversation didn’t help Lavender one damn bit. “He was driving drunk, ran into a cop car, and resisted arrest. I heard he assaulted a police officer when they tried to cuff him. He’s got drug and alcohol problems.”

  “Please tell me you’re not interested in him as anything but a neighbor. You know how athletes can be, especially wealthy ones.” Brenda’s concern was written across her face.

  “Tyler and I aren’t even friends.”

  “His reputation precedes him. He’s—”

  “Mom, I know. I’m not interested in him, and he certainly isn’t interested in me. He’s just a neighbor.”

  “I hope that’s all he is.” Brenda rubbed her eyes as if she was weary of having these kinds of conversations with her daughter.

  Lavender couldn’t blame her.

  Chapter 10—Left of Center

  Tyler tipped the bottle to his lips. The cold liquid slid down his throat. He savored the rich taste of the local microbrew. Some people, in fact most people, claimed he drank too much and partied too hard. Over the years, he’d built up a pretty good tolerance to alcohol. It took a lot to get him drunk, not that he’d imbibed enough lately to feel more than a decent buzz.

  Damn, even partying had lost its appeal.

  Good thing, since the sports headlines still speculated he was in rehab somewhere.

  Trying to come to terms with the Steelheads’ latest acquisition and what it meant to his future on the team, Tyler turned off his cell—not that it worked in most places on the island anyway. He didn’t want to talk about it, not to his teammates, his agent, his attorney, the front office, or the coaches. They’d sent him a message, and he’d received it. Loud and clear. He might be a two-time championship quarterback, but HughJack didn’t tolerate anything less than 110 percent dedication. Tyler might fool some people but not his coach. The defense had carried the team this past season, while Tyler stumbled through the motions and rested on his previous laurels.

  He’d buried his passion for the game when they buried Ryan.

  He’d give anything to resurrect his hunger, his drive. Fuck if he knew how. Fuck if he could dredge up enough interest to give a damn, which scared the shit out of him. More than anything. He didn’t even give a shit if the police charged him with pissing off an officer, whatever the hell they called it. He turned his attention to something he could get excited about.

  Tonight was the night. His one-week ban of the F word was up later in the evening. He could already taste his reward. With his powers of persuasion and his kissing expertise, he’d net more than one kiss. The sexual electricity between Lavender and him could launch the Space Needle into orbit, but he’d settle for sending them both into orbit.

  Tyler trained one eye on the current karaoke singer and another on his favorite bartender. Lavender bustled around the room, serving drinks, visiting with patrons, handing out encouragement to some, and bitching at others. Her luscious mouth kept moving as she worked the crowd, earning her tips. Pretty soon those lips would be making him a happy man. He’d turn on the charm, and his happiness wouldn’t stop there. His mouth wouldn’t be the only part of his body getting satisfaction tonight. His lips twitched in a half smile.

  “You gonna sing?”

  “Me?” Tyler turned his head toward the speaker. Not waiting for an invitation, the brothers lowered their arthritic bodies into empty chairs around his table. This past week, the old goats haunted him everywhere he went, even showing up at his place at dawn for morning coffee and one afternoon for a poker game. Mostly, he ignored them when he could.

  “Yeah, you.” With a scrawny hand, Homer scratched out his song pick on a slip of paper. “I’m singing. You’ve got nothing to be afraid of. I’m the worst one here.”

  “Hell, homeboy, you ever heard Ty sing? He’ll shame us all.”

  Looking at Cliff in his pink-striped shirt and orange plaid pants hurt Tyler’s eyes. He donned his ever-present sunglasses to neutralize the riot of color. The old guy smirked, apparently considering himself pretty hip with his use of homeboy.

  “Ty-man’s got a voice.” Jim, obviously craving a cigarette, shredded his napkin into thin strips, adding them to the napkin graveyard on the table.

  “I’m not singing, and I didn’t invite you to sit at my table, either.” If they were trying to drive him off the island by annoying the hell out of him, it wouldn’t work. Tyler stood and wandered over to the bar with his beer in hand. Sitting his ass on a barstool, he opened the karaoke book on the counter and thumbed through it. He chewed on his lower lip, wondering if he should sing after all. Maybe try something seductive to reel Lavender in or romantic to woo the pants off her.

  In a place like this, a guy had to seek his own entertainment, and he’d developed an affinity for purple lately.

  Too much of an affinity.

  Some guys deluded themselves into thinking that screwing a woman would get her out of their systems. It’d never worked well for him before. Case in point: Cass. Hell, they screwed like rabbits, then broke up just to make up and screw like rabbits again. It’d been this on-again, off-again merry-go-round that kept him interested and coming back for more time after time. In fact, years at a time. Nope, the fuck-her-till-she�
��s-out-of-your-system bullshit didn’t work for him, any more than it’d worked for his cousin Derek. Now the dumb shit was tied down to one woman with a wedding ring on his finger.

  Not that Tyler had a damn thing against marriage. As long as it was someone else wearing that ball and chain. Sure, he’d been engaged to Cass, even set a date, might have gone through with it. The long-shot odds were against it lasting. He doubted Cass would’ve been faithful. She didn’t have it in her. Tyler would have because of his well-concealed, old-fashioned values that’d been drummed into his head over the years about marriage and faithfulness.

  He’d never have a perfect marriage like his parents. You couldn’t fail if you didn’t try in the first place. Safe plan, he figured. Until Cass messed it up by leaving him in the lurch.

  A little island affair for the next few months appealed to him.

  A soft female voice reached his ears. “You’re a sensitive soul confronting demons.”

  Tyler spun around to locate the owner of the voice. He wasn’t sensitive, and the only demons he fought were the ones of his own making. A cute, curvy woman of about medium build with streaks of pink in her blonde hair studied him with interest. Tyler resisted the urge to squirm. She saw too much, and he didn’t like it. Short curly hair framed her face, making her look like a curvy angel with big boobs. If it wasn’t for his current obsession with Lavender, this woman’s boobs would’ve given him enough reason to pursue her. Yet the thought didn’t hold much appeal anymore, regardless of the package.

  Tyler’s gaze slid across the room and landed on Lavender wearing a tight little sweater and tighter jeans. Damn. He shoved his sunglasses on top of his head to get a better look. His cock strained against his zipper to the point where he swore there’d be a permanent zipper imprint on it. He shifted in his seat but couldn’t find a comfortable position. Probably because the only position that’d offer relief involved his cock being buried deep inside a certain purple lady. He smiled at the visual of that particular fantasy.

  “I’m Xandra with an X.” Her voice knocked him back to reality. She held out a hand loaded with rings on every finger.

  Tyler ignored her hand, not in the mood to listen to this wacked woman’s bullshit. “Wonderful to meet you.” Tyler’s sarcasm didn’t set her back one bit, which irritated him. She’d gotten under his skin with her first sentence. He turned back to his beer, hunched his shoulders, and wrapped his hands around the cold bottle.

  “You’re very sensitive, in tune to those around you, but you choose to fight it.”

  “The only thing in tune is my singing voice. I don’t give a damn about anyone but myself. Let me guess, you’re a psychic?” The damn island was crawling with nutcases like her.

  “No, actually, I’ve retired my psychic abilities, but I can give you something for your skin. You must spend too much time in the sun.”

  Tyler brought a hand up to his face then quickly snatched it away. “What the fuck is it with you?” He couldn’t stop the words as they escaped from his mouth. Great, just great. He’d lost the bet, just like that. No kiss, tongue or no tongue.

  Xandra held the cuss jar out to him. “That’ll be one dollar in the jar.”

  He fished a dollar out of his jeans pocket and stuffed it in the jar.

  “I’ll let Lavender know you paid up.”

  “You do that. Now leave me the fuck alone.” He dropped another dollar in the jar. He might as well enjoy his favorite word since he’d screwed up the bet.

  Xandra steepled her fingers and studied him. He squirmed as her knowing gaze peeled back layer after protective layer. He jammed the sunglasses back on his face, but they didn’t block out her scrutiny. “Stop that.”

  “You’re conflicted.”

  “Damn right. I’m conflicted about how best to get rid of you without ending up in prison.”

  “Another dollar.”

  “I know. I know.” He dug in his pocket and stuck a twenty in the jar. “Look, Xtra or whatever you call yourself, I’m an asshole, through and through. I’m a narcissistic bastard. You need to go back to mind-reading school ’cause you have me pegged all wrong.”

  “I told you. I’m retired, but I’m still perceptive, and I’m not wrong. You, Mr. Harris, are a crappy liar.” Her Mona Lisa smile indicated she knew something he didn’t, which stretched his tenuous hold on his rising temper.

  Now Tyler really took offense. “I’m an excellent liar.”

  “Afraid not.”

  Tyler glared at her. She’d gone too far. “I am an asshole. Ask anyone.”

  She laughed, enjoying herself way too damn much. “Bullshit. You conceal how much you care because it hurts too much.”

  With stiff, jerky movements, he gripped the cuss jar so hard it should’ve shattered and jerked it toward her.

  Her brown eyes flashed with irritation. After a dramatic sigh, she emptied out her already empty coin purse and dumped an odd amount of change in the jar. “You consider yourself unworthy. You wonder why good people die instead of someone like you.”

  He stared straight ahead but couldn’t block out the truth of her words.

  “You’re here because the universe needs you for a greater purpose. Find that purpose. Only then will you have peace and regain what you’ve lost.”

  Tyler rolled his eyes and sighed.

  “Have you met Jackson?” Her change of topic came from his blind side and sacked him for a loss. Tyler glanced around the room, fearing the worst, like maybe this crazy-assed X-girl had an accomplice. “Who the hell is Jackson?”

  “The ghost of Jackson Harris. He haunts your mansion.”

  Tyler rolled his eyes and called a trick play. “Yeah, I had dinner with him last night. Real asshole. Obviously it runs in the family. He drinks all my good booze and keeps leaving the toilet seat up.” What the hell was it with these people? This island obviously attracted a lot of screwballs.

  She blinked at him with gray eyes full of mock innocence. “I understand he does that often.” How did she keep a straight face and say crap like that?

  Tyler glanced around the room for a rescuer. The brothers were too busy arguing over God knew what. Lavender would be no help. The patrons kept her running like crazy. He searched for her cute ass in the crowd and grinned when he found her listening to one of the brothers’ many stories. Linking his hands in front of him, Tyler leaned against the back of his barstool and watched Lavender hustle between the tables, hips swaying, her sweater clinging to her full breasts.

  “You’re destined.”

  “Huh?” He’d forgotten about X. “Oh, yeah, destined to be in bed together.” He’d like nothing more than to strip off Lavender’s clothes and take her hard and rough on the pool table across the room.

  “It’s more than that.”

  “You’ve got to be related to Lavender. Your obnoxious personality gives it away.”

  “Actually, we’re cousins.” She reached in her huge purse and dug around for a few minutes before handing him a mangled business card. Rolling his eyes, he jammed the card in his pocket.

  Waving to the patrons at a nearby table, Xandra glided to the back of the room. Her step was light and graceful, and she appeared to be walking on air. She sat down at a table of equally odd people.

  Tyler released his death grip on the karaoke book. He’d already crushed a few pages of songs and hadn’t even been aware of it. He pulled the card out of his pocket and read it again to make sure he’d seen correctly the first time:

  Xandra

  Organic Skin Care

  Justice of the Peace

  Paranormal Investigator

  * * * *

  Lavender couldn’t suppress a grin as she watched the scowl on Tyler’s face deepen with every word Zan said. Her cousin loved to play guys like him. Once Zan sauntered off, Tyler, glutton for punishment, made his way back to the brothers’ table. Sprawling in a chair next to Homer, he glared at the current out-of-tune karaoke singer until he made the guy so nervous, the tone-dea
f crooner couldn’t even read the words to the song. Tyler propped his legs on an empty chair, crossed them at the ankles, and yawned.

  Tonight was the night she should be dreading, but she wasn’t—not one bit. All week kissing Tyler haunted her night and daydreams. Just one little kiss to satisfy her curiosity.

  As soon as the song ended, DJ Don called Tyler to the mic. Sitting up straight, he glared at the brothers, who hooted with laughter. Obviously, they’d put in a song for him. With a resigned shrug, Tyler stepped to the mic, attention slut that he was.

  Frustrated with how the entire town catered to the conceited ass, Lavender turned away and concentrated on filling drink orders. She grabbed a glass and poured a couple beers from the tap. A few notes into Tyler’s song, she stopped in mid-pour and stared. She couldn’t help it.

  Tyler held the microphone with the ease and poise of a man accustomed to the limelight. He glanced around the room and his turquoise eyes skipped over hers, teasing but not delivering.

  Nothing the man did should surprise her, but his singing did. He sang “The Way You Look Tonight” in a voice that would have made Sinatra proud. The jock had all the moves down, holding the mic close to his sinful mouth and moving his athlete’s body to the music. Every woman in the place stopped what she was doing and drooled. Conversations halted. Glasses paused midway to mouths. Men wished they could be him. Women wished they could be naked with him.

  Her heart danced to the beat as his voice weaved a tantalizing web around her. His body swayed in time, foot tapping. Her resolve to keep her distance puddled at his big feet.

  Tyler’s gaze drew hers and tore the breath from her lungs. One corner of his mouth kicked up into a knowing smile. She dropped a half-full glass, splattering beer all over her sweater, but paid it no notice. The man could sing. Really sing. In fact, she imagined him crooning a ballad as he slid his cock deep into her or rocked her body hard with a classic rock tune.