Rex clears his throat just as Baya christens the table with the cocoa confections. “It’s my favorite.” His voice dips down in shame as if he were confessing to a crime.
A slow country song strums from the band, and both Harper and Scarlett lose their minds as if Luke Bryan himself just stepped into the place. And just like that, they drag my brothers out to the dance floor for just one dance! And a stunted silence crops up between my mother and me.
She twists to get a better look at my features. Her hand clamps over mine, and the heat of her palm makes me feel disjointed. “Trixie, look at me.”
It takes all of my strength to meet with my mother’s eyes, and for the first time it looks as if there’s a level of desperation in them.
“I know you may not believe a word I say, but I need you to know that I love you.” She blinks back tears that suddenly sparkle like shards of broken glass, and my insides turn to stone. I don’t know what to do with this version of my typically cold-hearted mother. I can’t remember the last time she touched me, let alone held my hand, and the tears in her eyes are a new addition, too. Maybe she’s in trouble with the law again and she’s looking to me for help? Fat chance she’ll get any. I tried to fight a speeding ticket once in court and was all but laughed at by the judge. “You’re old enough now to know the truth.”
A flare of panic rips through me. My dinner does a quick revolution in my stomach, and suddenly the smell of beer and French fries is the last thing I want tickling my nostrils.
She leans toward me, and the tunnel vision sets in, that percolating heat that makes me feel both dizzy and toxically submerged bubbles through my veins. “Trixie”—she picks up my hand, and her fingers are cold as ice—“your father has brainwashed you against me.”
“What?” My voice pitches like the squawk of a parrot.
“It’s true.” Her voice softens, her eyes desperately pleading with me. “But you’re out of his home now. You’re over eighteen, and you can make decisions for yourself.” She nods into this lunacy, and suddenly she feels like a stranger, one that’s stopped me in the street to tell me some erratic story and in the process scare the hell out of me. “For years I’ve belonged to the Tuesday’s Child Society. It’s a program for parents who have become disenfranchised from their children. The name of the program is the Excised Parent.” She glances to the dance floor in the direction of my brothers. “Knox and I have been slowly repairing what was lost, but, Trixie, I need and want you, too.”
“You need to get a grip is what you need.” I push past her and fly out of the booth, filling my lungs with air as fast as I can take it.
“Wait, don’t go.” She plucks a card from her purse and shoves it in my hand. “We meet Tuesday nights, seven to nine. Please, come to that address any time you wish.” She shakes her head as if it exasperated her to think I wouldn’t show. “They have refreshments and dessert. We can share pie if you’d like.”
I back away as if my mother suddenly morphed into something slithering and dangerous. “I don’t even know who you are.” I bolt for the exit, and my mother’s voice rises above the noise and music.
“That’s the problem, Trixie! And if you keep running, you’ll never find out!”
Hollow Brook slaps me with its icy breath once I land out in the open, in what feels like another universe from my mother. My God, it’s as if she’s in another universe. What the hell was that all about? I stare down at the card in my hand. Tuesday’s Child Society. A safe haven for the disenfranchised.
“Trixie!” I turn to find Rex speeding toward me. “Please, stay.” He comes up on me, breathless, and takes ahold of my hand. “I promise, she just wants to talk. She wants to get to know you again. That’s not too much for a mother to ask, is it?” Now it’s Rex with the desperation in his voice, the pleading eyes.
“You were in on this, weren’t you?” I pull myself free from his grasp. “You orchestrated this entire bizarre intervention, didn’t you? You’re a part of this.”
His left eye comes shy of blinking, the remorse flooding his features. “It’s not what you think. She wanted to ask you to dinner alone and didn’t think you’d go for it.”
My stomach squeezes tight. “Damn right, I wouldn’t go for it, and you can tell I won’t be so gung-ho on the group option either.” I scuff backward on my heels, nearly bumping into a group of sorority girls in the process. “You tell her to stay away from me. And you stay away from me, too!” I turn and sprint across the street, the faint call of my brother’s voice following closely behind. Every muscle in my body burns with fire as I haul my way to Cutler Tower. I don’t bother with the elevator. I simply fly up three flights to my dorm, and Sunday is quick to greet me with alarm on her face.
I tell her all about the bizarre experience. Then I give her the card and tell her to flush it down the toilet.
A perfect analogy of what my mother did to Knox and me all those years ago.
* * *
The campus radio at Whitney Briggs is apparently a bigger deal than one might believe. Shockingly, the night owl slot fraught with insomniacs and party animals alike is actually a well-appreciated hour. Seth has been kind enough to extend his stay in the studio once his show is over and has steadily been teaching me the ropes during my time in the hot seat. Since I get out so late and there’s no programming after me until six a.m., I’m also responsible for turning the loop mix on to ensure the WB student body doesn’t lack any beats until we go live again.
Seth hands me my headphones and dons his own. “Rumor has it, tonight Elvis actually takes a back seat. You ready to rock all of Hollow Brook with the sound of your sultry voice?”
“Did you have to remind me that I might reach more than a dozen zombified frat boys?” My body seizes and the urge to run to the restroom hits like a ton of bricks, but I do my best to ignore it. Not only did I just relieve myself, but I happen to know that impulsive trips to the potty are something that goes hand in hand with this anxiety-riddled body of mine. And then it hits me. I’m going to be live on air. Sure, Elvis will be there, one or two songs peppered before and after my interview with Baya and her husband, but I actually have to employ my vocal cords, and words that should probably make sense have to string their way out. All without too much hemming and hawing.
Dear God, why did I sign up for this again? Oh, that’s right. Apparently, I hate myself.
“What if I can’t do this?” I stammer out the words. “What if I have a brain freeze, and I’m not talking the kind you enjoy while pounding ice cream. What if my words come out all jumbled and I vomit and retch and all of Whitney Briggs runs me off campus because I’ve humiliated everyone ever associated with the school?”
“Wow,” a deep voice strums from behind, and both Seth and I turn around to find Rush plugging in a set of headphones, that lazy grin of his taking over his face as he nods for Seth to get up. “I’m in. You can head out. I’ll make sure the kid learns the ropes.”
Kid? I don’t know whether to laugh or throw something at him. “I don’t need a babysitter. You can both leave for all I care.”
Rush and Seth exchange a quick smile before Rush leans in with a tired look. “I meant new kid. I promise, it was not a put-down.”
“Sounded like one. But then, most things you say do.” I log in and wait for the last song to die out. Usually this is where I start right in with the King, who might as well have been my savior up until this point, but tonight my voice is on order, and hopefully my brain will cooperate, too.
“Have fun, Trix.” Rush offers a simple nod my way. “Remember the golden rule of live radio—no dead air.”
“Zero.” Seth tosses his backpack over his shoulder and offers a peace sign my way before heading out the door. “You’re gonna kill it.”
The overhead light turns green as I switch on the mic. An intense heat spreads over my body like a wildfire, my heart drums quickly as if trying to find the nearest escape route out of my chest, and the world pulsates in my line of
vision. Rush flicks his finger my way as if to say you’re on, and I freeze. The world goes black momentarily as the sound of the blood rushing through my veins fills my ears and deafens me.
“Trix,” Rush whispers, waving his hand as if to bring me to. He clears his throat and pulls up a mic. “Hey, Brigsters. Welcome to an hour solely focused on your love life or lack thereof. It’s late. You should be counting sheep, but you’re counting on us to put you to sleep instead.” His brows dip hard like the wings of an angry bird as he nods to me to proceed. “This is Rush Knight, along with Trixie Toberman, and I believe we’ve got a call-in scheduled with—” He flicks his fingers, beckoning me to hand over the information sheet set before me, and as much as I want, I can’t seem to hand it over to him. It’s as if every last inch of me is locked in paralysis.
Then clear as a bell, I hear my mother’s voice back at the Black Bear. You can do anything you set your mind to. And you will succeed.
I take in a sharp breath. “B-Baya and her husband Bryson will be calling in shortly”—I swallow hard, all of the moisture gone from my throat—“rumor has it, they have a love story for the ages—murder, mystery, attempted kidnapping, and an ending that will make you thank your lucky stars the most exciting thing that ever happened in your life was a size upgrade at Hallowed Grounds. They’re calling in right after this song.” I hit Play on “Suspicious Minds” and roll my seat back to the wall before burying my face in my hands.
“Hey—you did great.” He reaches across the table and gives my arm a quick tap.
It takes all of my strength to look over at him, fully expecting to find that crooked grin mocking me, but I don’t. Rush is softer, eyes rounded out as if he were afraid of me, and I watch as his Adam’s apple rises and falls as if unsure what his next move should be. “You can do this, Trixie.” He gives a slight wink. “You’re a natural. Trust me, I’ve seen some serious crash and burn action, and that’s not what’s happening here. No chance of it happening at all. You got this.”
The song hits its midway point, and my stomach seizes in knots. The urge to attack the nearest bathroom grips me as the countdown officially begins. The phone rings, and I just stare at it like an idiot.
Crap. It’s them. And why did I think this was a good idea again? Who the hell did I think I was practically begging for the university hot seat when I’ve spent my entire life avoiding the hot seat? If I’ve had one unofficial occupation in the last nineteen plus years of my life, it’s been that of hot seat dodger. I’m an idiot is what I am, and now the entire university is going to be let in on this insignificant detail. I’ve unleashed a Costco-sized sack of stupid in my life, and now the entire world is going to know about it.
The ringing saws into my eardrums with its high-pitched shrill, and both Rush and I stare at it as if a cobra just danced between us.
“I’ll patch them in.” Rush gives the phone itself a dirty look for invading our private party before speaking quickly to Baya and Bryson. Soon their cheery voices light up the studio, and just like that, the song comes to an end.
Oh God, oh God, oh God! I officially hate myself for being so ridiculously stupid. I’ve lost the ability to stand in line at the grocery store. How in the hell did I think I was going to handle speaking in coherent sentences to the masses at WB? And my mother? My God, is she really going to lend a prying ear to this verbal massacre? Since it involves me alone, probably not. That odd conversation I had with her tries to wiggle into my subconscious, but I’m quick to douse it like a grease fire. Ironic since dousing a grease fire with anything but powder could prove explosive, and that about sums up my relationship with my mother in a nutshell.
Rush points his finger at me hard, and I lean into the mic, my heart in my throat begging for me to vomit it out live on the air. “Welcome back, WB.” My voice comes out breathless as if I just ran a marathon. I close my eyes a moment, and the first person I see is my roommate, Sunday. She’s so cool and collected, she could run through campus naked and it wouldn’t shake her. She talks to thousands of devoted beauty followers on that vlog of hers twice a week—face in camera, still cool, calm, and collected.
Rush clears his throat, and I blink right back to life, doing my best impersonation of his sister because God knows my own personality is too big of a mess to pull me through this nightmare.
“Hey, Whitney Briggs!” I tick my head when I say it the way she does when she’s feeling cheeky. “I’d say goodnight, but that would be a lie—” I take a moment to glance over at Rush—night being a play on his last name, and believe me, there isn’t a stitch of good about him. Rush is a bad boy through and through. Had my mother actually been around and attentive and not convinced herself that my father had me brainwashed, then I’d bet my soul she would have warned me to steer clear of him. He’s the personification of a bad boy. In fact, if gonorrhea had a poster boy, it would be Rush. “It’s a good start to the morning—you and I both know it.” I take a moment to catch my breath, and Rush shoots me a thumbs-up. That slight dimpled grin of his shines like a beacon of hope from across the table, and my stomach flip flops like a dying fish for him. Bleh. I hate myself for pining over someone as prolifically sexual as the Prince of Pussy. As obnoxious as it is, that crass self-proclaimed title of his is befitting. I overheard him bragging about it to Rex one day.
I open my mouth again, my mind in full throttle Sunday impersonation mode, and nothing but a dull croak makes it past my lips. Shit! I blink to Rush, completely debilitated from uttering a single cry for help, and he gives a quick nod as if he understood completely.
“What’s up, Whitney Briggs?” He pulls his headphones on tighter. “This is Rushford Knight joining Trixie Trouble-Is-My-Middle-Name Toberman as we pull you along with us on the night shift.” He gives a sly wink my way, and everything in me releases. My body trades its searing heat for a clammy coolness. And I actually feel a chill ride through me. It’s such a relief to have him here with me, to have him save me. And I hate that he had to do it. I’ve never been good playing the role of damsel in distress. I hate the idea of being rescued. Honestly, I was never like this before. I can’t quite put my finger on where my mixed-up mind went wrong, but I’ve never accepted this anxiety-riddled version of myself. Nope. I’m denying her tooth and chewed up fingernail. This is not my lot in life. This is not who I am.
“This Love in the Night hour is strictly devoted to that slippery L word, and tonight we’re welcoming Baya and Bryson Edwards to tell us how they fell in that L-shaped honeypot.”
His strong voice rides through me, deep and rich, and I appreciate Rush in a way I never thought possible. Not that I’d ever tell him that. In fact, I’m pretty sure it’s a one-off. Rush is no superhero. I’m not running out and buying him a cape tomorrow. He’s a sperm slinger. I cringe at my own crude analogy. At any rate, he’s not for me. I need to stomp out all thoughts of him being my savior, and I need to stomp out all urges to lip-lock with him in private. In the name of all things holy and right, that for certain needs to stop. My God, he’s probably using me. Just the thought makes me red with rage. There. That’s much better. Anger is the only ripe emotion I should ever feel for him. He’s a one-man attack on my rights as a woman. Trying to tame me with his tongue is simply a ploy. I’m just another stop on his one-man penis party. No, thank you. These girl parts aren’t open for business, and my mouth is now a restricted territory as well.
I clear my throat. “Baya and Bryson met right here at WB and have kept the love light burning after all these years, but I’ll let them fill you in on all the dirty deets. Good morning, you two!” I sing and stun even myself that things are actually moving verbally along without vomit interrupting the party. A flood of heat slaps over my face as I look to Rush, and he nods approvingly.
Rush leans into the mic. “Baya, why don’t you fill us in on your side of the story, and then we’ll get Bryson’s take on how it went down.”
“Sounds good!” Baya gives a cheery cry from the other end of th
e line. “I was the new girl, and, of course, anyone who knows WB understands the hazards of walking around campus with an armful of books—especially with this hilly terrain, and especially while wearing a tube top.” She giggles, and it sounds like the melody of a song. I’ve always admired girls like Baya who pull off that whole ultra-feminine vibe without coming across like a pile of cotton candy. “Anyway, let’s just say my top did a disappearing act, and I had a little more to greet Bryson with than just a smile.”
Bryson laughs into the line. “That’s right. But don’t for a minute think she didn’t catch my eye before the inadvertent peep show. Baya and I were destined to be together from hello—even if it was a topless greeting. And I have to say—sorry to Cole if you’re listening. That’s Baya’s brother. He was my roommate and best friend before Baya and I met.”
Baya giggles into the line. “They’re still best friends. I’m sort of the roommate now.”
“Wife,” Bryson corrects. “And yes, Cole and I are still on speaking terms.”
“Best friend’s brother, huh?” I can hardly bring my eyes to look in Rush’s direction. My face floods with heat, and all I want to do is drop in a hole. I detest the fact my body can’t stop lusting after him. And in effect he might as well be Knox’s best friend—he’s Rex’s friend for sure, and I know he’s tight with Lawson, too. He’s basically a big brother triple threat in that way. That’s three brother strikes. He’s out. My hormones should probably find someone who my brothers have no knowledge of, not to mention someone disease-free. I’m lucky my teeth haven’t fallen out yet after that orthodontic exam he offered up by way of his tongue. Who knows how many orifices that glibbery member of his has crawled inside of? Gah! The thought alone makes me crave Listerine as if it were chocolate.
Rush grunts into the mic, “So how does that work? Did Cole approve of you dating his sister?”
“Are you kidding?” Bryson hoots with a dark laugh. “Let’s just say Cole found out the hard way.”
Red Hot Kisses Page 11
