Scorched (Sizzle #2)

by Sarah O'Rourke

  Hurrying down the stairs, Molly skidded to a halt as she reached the doorway to the living room. Her jaw dropped as she got a look at her best guy friend. “What the hell happened to your face, Mannie?” she shouted, her gaze glued to the huge set of raccoon eyes that hadn’t been there when he’d left earlier in the night. “Oh, my God, did somebody hit you?”

  “Forget his face; what the hell happened to his clothes?” Molly heard Devil ask from behind her.

  “Devil,” Molly hissed in warning, sparing a second to glare at her husband.

  “What?” Devil yelped indignantly. Waving his arm at the bright orange ‘Frankie Say Relax?’ tank top, slouchy grey sweats and battered flip flops Armando wore, he continued, “I might be straight, but I’m secure enough in my manhood to be comfortable saying that ensemble is without a doubt a fashion don’t.”

  “I’m going to kill you, Devil,” Molly informed her husband threateningly.

  “No, no, he’s right, Molly,” Armando whimpered brokenly, tears still running down his handsome swarthy face. “I know I look like mierda. I was in such a hurry to get out of Nick’s apartment, I put on the first thing I grabbed.”

  “Does your future husband only wear clothes from 1984?” Devil asked dryly, eyeing the dated tank top critically.

  Smacking Devil’s arm, Molly growled, “Seriously, Dev. Yours will be a particularly bloody death. I’ll make sure of it.” Turning her attention back to Armando, she took a half step toward him and lifted a hand to point at his eyes. “What about those bruises? What happened there?” she questioned worriedly.

  “Bruises,” Mannie echoed blankly, turning to peer into the ornamental mirror on the wall above their walnut liquor cabinet. Wailing as he got a look at his refection, he stomped his foot in a fit of temper. “Those putas at the Clinique counter promised me that eyeliner was waterproof. Lying perras!” he snarled, vigorously rubbing at the runny makeup. “I look like a fucking raccoon, Molly,” he shrieked.

  Quickly crossing the room to reach her frantic friend before he could gouge out his eyes, Molly soothed, “Hey, we’ll fix it.” Reaching for a napkin from the liquor cabinet, she poured some bottled water over it and began to dab at Mannie’s eyes. “Everything can be fixed, Armando,” she repeated gently.

  “No. I’m afraid you’re wrong this time, mi amiga. Some things can’t be fixed no matter how hard you try. Sometimes, people are just too broken to piece together again once they shatter,” Armando whispered, shaking his head sadly as he bent his head and began to cry again.

  Shooting Devil a startled look, Molly tossed the napkin in the trash and dragged Mannie toward the couch. “You listen to me. You are NOT broken, Armando Savage. I don’t know what the hell Nick said to you, but….”

  “Oh! I am not the broken one, Chiquita. Nicholas is the broken mentiroso, little Molly! He is a fool! Idiota!” Armando declared passionately.

  Moving closer, Devil rolled his eyes at his wife before shaking his head at his executive assistant. “Look, Armando, man, I’m gonna need you to stick to English if you want either of us to follow you on this.”

  Glaring at Devil, Armando lifted his chin defiantly. “I said that your vice presidente is an idiot and a fool! And apparently he intends to cuckold me,” Mannie declared, thumping his chest for emphasis.

  Looking at Molly, Devil shrugged his shoulders. “I’m lost, Molly. Are you lost, because I’m surely lost?”

  Waving off her husband’s theatrics, Molly instead chose to concentrate on Armando. “Honey, why is Nick a fool? What happened? Start from the beginning…start when you left our house,” she ordered, knowing that unless he did, he’d continue to rattle on aimlessly for hours.

  “Good God, Molly, are you trying to keep us here all night?” Devil complained as the doorbell rang. Looking over his shoulder, he stared at the front door incredulously. “Who the hell could that be?” he asked as he watched the door knob turn.

  “I told you not to ring the bell,” Molly heard their friend Sami grumble as both she and Vivian stepped into the foyer.

  “Polite people from good families ring the bell, Samantha,” Vivian said with a yawn.

  “Well, that’s the problem,” Sami said with a dismissive flick of her fingers, “I’m almost never polite.”

  Devil turned back to Molly, his face irate. “You gave them keys, TOO?” he roared.

  “Of course she gave us keys,” Sami returned carelessly before Molly could open her mouth. “We’re her best friends.”

  “You’re not my friend, Samantha,” Devil returned stiffly. “Right now, you’re the bane of my existence. We’ve already got a manic Mexican here; I don’t think I can handle a malicious model, too,” he sneered. Nodding toward the woman standing beside Sami, Devil’s tone turned affable. “Good evening, Vivian.”

  “Hello, Devil. Sorry it’s so late. Molly texted and said we had a wedding apocalypse to avert,” Vivian explained.

  “See,” Sami jeered, “We were invited guests.”

  “Yes, and it that vein, guests – invited or otherwise - ring the doorbell before busting into someone’s house,” Vivian stated vehemently with a narrow look at Sami. “What if Devil had had a gun?”

  “A gun. Now that’s not a half bad idea. I knew you were my favorite, Vivian,” Devil informed Vivian with a wide smile before turning toward his wife. “See, Mol? Some people understand that the emergency key does not mean free entry at any moment. What a novel idea!”

  Molly saw their situation was rapidly spinning out of control, and if she didn’t act fast, the police were going to have a mass murder on their hands. She just wasn’t exactly sure who the culprit would be. Honestly, they all looked like viable suspects to her, she thought silently, looking around the occupants of the room. Patting Mannie’s firm thigh reassuringly, she rose from the couch. “Okay, you three, enough. We’ve apparently had a matrimonial meltdown and Mannie was just getting ready to share the details,” she said, exchanging a meaningful look with both women.

  Tossing her long blonde hair back over one shoulder, Sami nodded. “Sounds good to me. I’ve got no problem at all making that stud a gelding if that’s what Mannie wants though. I always said that man of yours was too pretty to be considered safe,” she muttered, pacing the room.

  “Let’s not whip out our scalpels just yet, Sami. Maybe this situation is salvageable,” Vivian said quickly, following Sami into the living room and sitting down on Armando’s other side.

  “He’s not pretty; he’s striking. There’s a difference,” Armando defended his love, offering Sami a hard look.

  “Nick spends as much time on his hair as I do, Mannie,” Sami scoffed. “Trust me, he’s pretty. And he’s dead, too, if he’s hurt you. We will cut a bitch if we need to,” she added menacingly.

  “I love you, too. Even if you are a bloodthirsty diva in heels,” Armando replied huskily with a watery smile. “But nobody is sticking my Nicky with anything unless I’m the one giving it to him.”

  Molly tried desperately to keep a straight face as she looked at her friend. “You didn’t hear that in your head before you said it, did you, sweetie?” Watching as Armando silently reran his statement, she saw the moment he got it.

  “You are a filthy hermana, you know that?” Mannie giggled, his face looking carefree for a brief moment.

  “You said it, not me,” Molly smirked as Sami and Vivian joined in the laughter. Waiting until the cackles subsided, Molly canted her head as she stared at the man beside her. “Now, why don’t you tell us what’s going on,” she suggested patiently, avoiding her husband’s irritated gaze as he, too, took a seat in the leather wingback chair in the corner. She noted that he was close enough to hear them, but far enough away to get away with not actually participating in the conversation. In other words, her mulish man wanted to eavesdrop.

  Mannie released a shaky, dramatic sigh as he flopped back into the overstuffed cushions of the extra-long couch, his tank top billowing around him. “Oh, Molly, my littl
e lovey lumpkins has made a fool out of me. Of all the fast one’s he could have pulled out of his pockets, this was the worst.” Thumping his chest, he whispered haggardly. “It hurts… like a dagger through my heart, chica. This pain’s so bad, mi amigas.” Taking a deep breath, he audibly swallowed before he continued. “My Nicholas…he’s not who I thought he was, Molly.”

  Thinking the worst, Molly clutched Armando’s hand in hers. “Tell me that son of a bitch did not point his pecker at another rooster,” she demanded as she suddenly visualized hanging Nick Santino from the highest tree she could find in Atlanta.

  “Because I’ll make that rooster into a hen real fast, sweetie. That’s a promise from me to you,” Samantha vowed in a tone that was equal parts forbidding and ruthless.

  Moaning loudly in a way that seemed to stretch from one end of the room to the other, he whimpered, “No, no, no, noooooo … My Nicky only parks his penis in my garage. It’s much worse than some tawdry affair!”

  Molly couldn’t quite think of anything that could compare to the damage cheating would do to a relationship, but she was here for Mannie. “Then what is it, darlin’?” she queried gently.

  “My man, he is ashamed of me, chicas. He is embarrassed to call me his own. Humiliated to be involved with your Armando. Aarrrghhhh… it hurts so much to admit that. Even to my best friends.”

  “What?” the entire room erupted in surprised unison as Molly silently noted that even her husband had straightened at that explanation. “Mannie, honey, that just can’t be right,” Molly murmured, shaking her head slowly. “Are you sure there hasn’t been some kind of crossed wires that have caused you to misunderstand each other?”

  “It’s true!” Mannie wailed pitifully. “His parents don’t even know about me! They didn’t even know I existed until I answered the phone. I’m talking completely clueless. He’s never so much as mentioned my name to either of them. Not the fact that we’ve worked together for years. Not the fact that we’ve been seriously dating for years. Not the fact that we’ve been living together for years. And they certainly didn’t know that I’m engaged to be married to that lying liar they created together! I’m his dirty little gay secret! His mother thought I was playing some kind of practical joke on her. She laughed, Molly. Or, she was laughing until I got her attention and offered to tell her in detail what her little boy did to me last night in bed. That got her attention! She preceded to call me a deviant and demanded that I stay away from her son! I live there, Mols! How the hell am I supposed to stay away from my own place?” he sobbed maniacally. “And she thinks I’m a gold digger. Freeloading off Nicky when he’s not around.

  “Oh, sweet Christ! This can’t be happening,” Molly heard Devil whisper violently. Turning her head toward her husband as she ran a soothing hand up and down Mannie’s heaving back, she noted that he’d turned completely white, his normally tanned skin now ashen. Honestly, she never expected him to care so much about Armando’s sensitive feelings, and she couldn’t help feeling a little pleased with him for being so sensitive to their friend’s feelings.

  Well, she was pleased with him… right up until she noticed that guilty glint in his eyes and the nervous way he was now clutching the chair. And if those weren’t clues enough that something was amiss, he’d started to sweat. Devil Delancy did not sweat. Not when he ran. Not when he exercised. Not even that one time that their daughter had exploded from both ends.

  But he was sure the hell perspiring now.

  Damn it, she knew that look! Her husband had something to do with this fiasco. What, she had no idea. But, she could feel it in her gut that he was at least partially responsible for this debacle.

  And, later, she’d make sure that he felt her wrath in his balls.

  For now, she had to concentrate on keeping her heartbroken friend together and based on Sami and Viv’s identical expressions of anger, she also would be keeping her other two friends from committing a homicide. Holy crap but this was a cluster of fuck if ever one existed.

  “They’re coming here.”

  Molly listened to Mannie as he cried into one of the expensive lace throw pillows that she’d painstakingly chosen when she’d redecorated her living room last year. Perhaps it was awful of her, but all she could really think about was trying to rescue her cushion from Mannie’s tears and ever twisting anxious fingers. She listened with only half an ear as he continued.

  “I couldn’t stop them from coming. I tried to stop them, but the uppity asshole wouldn’t listen to me. I tried to tell tu padre that he’s not even here, but he no listen. How the hell can I be expected to host June and Ward fucking Cleaver?”

  Exchanging confused looks with both Sami and Viv, Molly could only shrug helplessly as she patted Armando’s back consolingly as she tried to discretely save her cushion from further water damage.

  “Okay, hold up a minute. I’ve got a couple of questions here, but, first, I need a serious drink. Anyone joining me?” Sami asked, motioning for a time out in the conversation as she stood and crossed to the liquor cabinet.

  “Si! Oh, Dios Mio!! Si! I want a Crown and coke in the worst way,” Mannie sniffled. “I’m just parched. Do you think I could already be dehydrated?” he asked, wiping his wet cheeks.

  “No, but I think your fiancé is living on borrowed time for putting all of us through this,” Sami growled, efficiently mixing Armando’s drink and quickly carrying it to him. “Who’s next? Viv?”

  “I’m gonna stay sober for this conversation,” Vivian murmured with a slight shake of her head. “You never know. Cooler heads might need to prevail at some later point this evening,” she noted, jerking her chin in Sami’s direction.

  “Yeah, they’d frown on it if you showed up at the police station drunk when you drop by to bail me out later,” Sami interjected smoothly, glancing at Molly. “You having anything, little mama?”

  Molly thought about it for a whole second as she stared longingly at the bottle. She’d really only had a few sips earlier and she’d pumped plenty of milk for the baby. “Yeah, pour me half a glass of wine, Sami.” She deserved a treat, damn it.

  “If you’re taking orders,” Devil began, looking hopefully toward Samantha as she poured Molly’s favored Merlot.

  “From you?” Sami asked sweetly, lifting an eyebrow at Devil. “You would trust little ole me to serve you?”

  “Excellent point. I’ll get it myself,” Devil replied with a tired sigh as he rubbed his temple. “You’d probably poison it anyway.”

  “You’re in luck, Satan. I’m fresh out of rat poison tonight. What’ll you have? Scotch?” Sami questioned in a rare display of goodwill. Molly could only silently assume that Samantha might need them to pay her bail later and she’d decided it was better to stay on Dev’s good side for the time being. Either that, or the world was coming to an end, Molly thought as she crossed to get her own glass of Merlot. Given what she’d seen already tonight, it could really go either way.

  Never one to look a gift horse in the mouth, Molly heard Devil quickly say, “There’s a 1984 MacAllan in the bottom left cabinet. If ever there was a call to open that bottle, I’m thinking this is it.”

  “For once, I like the way you think, Devil Delancy,” Sami said appreciatively as she quickly reached for two heavy glass tumblers and filled them with the expensive amber liquor. Picking them up, she quickly delivered one into Devil’s outstretched hand before resuming her own seat. Taking a long, slow sip, she hummed appreciatively as she swallowed. “Now, this is the kind of stuff a girl could get used to drinking. I bet if you served this all the time, our relationship would be much healthier, Delancy.”

  “As interesting as that is, let’s get back to Mannie and Nick,” Vivian pleaded urgently. “What did you mean that ‘they’re coming’? And where the hell is Nick?”

  “Yeah, and why isn’t he here right now begging you on his bony knees not to kick his ass to the curb while I throw darts at his perfectly coiffed hair?” Samantha asked, swilling her scotch moo
dily.

  “Technically and more importantly, legally speaking, it would have to be Nick evicting Mannie from the home since only Nick’s name appears on the deed to the townhouse,” Vivian corrected automatically.

  “Ay! Christo! Do you think I’m going to be homeless, Vivian?” Armando yelped, jerking upright from where he slouched against the arm of the sofa.

  “I seriously doubt that, but even if you were homeless, you have a place right here in this house with me, Devil, and the baby. We have more than enough room. It’ll be like a slumber party every night. Isn’t that right, Devil?” Molly declared with a pointed look at her husband. Blinking stupidly as he processed what she’d said, Molly saw the exact moment comprehension lit his eyes. She couldn’t have more effectively enlisted his assistance if she’d gotten down on her knees and begged. If there was one thing she knew, it was how to dance with the Devil.

  “By God, Nicholas WILL fix this,” Devil roared, surging to his feet and taking a large gulp of his scotch. “I’ll kill his stick-up-her-ass mother myself if it becomes necessary. As for the dad,” he continued, beginning to pace, “if I can get him drunk enough, we can convince him anything is a good idea. It’s that she-beast, Sofia, that rules the roost….she’s just got Gino cowed right now. He’s terrified of the old bag.”

  Holding up her hand, Vivian called for silence. “Okay,” she began, looking at Devil over her shoulder for a moment. “Let’s put a pin in the fact that Devil seems to know an awful lot about Nick’s parents for now. First, I want somebody to tell me where in the world that Italian stud is. Not that it really matters. Where he should be is here trying to work this out with Mannie,” she declared with another hard look at Devil.