“Me? Pssft.”
“Yes, you,” he says. “Let’s get you something to eat.”
He leads me to a small table, and I sit while he brings me a plate of food. Then he watches me as I eat. We make small talk about a few things, but my head spins and it’s somewhat difficult to make out what he’s saying. I look across the room and see my mom talking to that group of women I overheard.
“Kenny. Check it out. See those ladies my mom is talking to?”
Kenneth follows my gaze. “Yeah, what about them? One of them is Meadows Humphries. She’s on the board of directors for the Charleston Art Guild. My mom knows her.”
I flip my hand back and then smooth out my hair. “Well, I was walking by them earlier, and the redheaded one said my mom thought I was going to be an old maid.” I giggle. “Do you think all moms talk about their kids like that?”
“I suppose so,” he says.
“I’ll tell you this. I’m not going to, because this chick,” I turn my thumb toward my chest, “isn’t having any.”
Kenneth’s brow creases. “Any what?”
“Kids.”
“You don’t want kids?”
“No way.”
Kenneth’s mouth moves, but not a single sound comes out.
“You’re going to have to speak a little louder. I can’t hear you.” I giggle again. “Hey, let’s dance, Kenny.”
“There isn’t a place for dancing.”
Music plays in my head, and I want to move. I need to break up this stuffy party and bring some life to it.
“We’ll make one. Come on.”
“Jenna. We can’t do that.”
The condemnation in his tone only spurs me on.
“Yes. Watch.” I stand up and start my own little dance. Kenneth doesn’t like it too much, so he grabs me and walks me to the outside.
My parents live in a stately old neighborhood called The Crescent, which is located in West Ashley. Their house sits on the Intracoastal Waterway with a magnificent view of it and the marsh, and their terrace was designed to capture it all.
As soon as we get out there, I spin around and do a little shuffle step about the time I see my bestie, Cate, coming up the walk.
“Catie Bear! Come hug me!” I yell out to her.
She comes running up to me, saying, “Sorry we’re late. We just got in. Our flight was delayed. Hi, Kenneth.”
We all hug, and Drew comes up behind her and gives me a big hug. “Congratulations, Jenna. You deserve the best.”
“I know, and I got it.”
Kenneth beams in his crooked bowtie and sparkling blue eyes.
Cate grabs my hand and checks out my ring. “Holy rocks of all ages. What the hell, KB?”
“Only the best for my bride-to-be,” Kenneth says.
I twirl around and then do a curtsy. “I was just trying to get Kenny to dance with me.”
Cate shakes her head and says, “Jesus, Jenna, looks like someone’s been dipping in the party punch.”
“I only had a few sips of Herradura.”
Drew roars, “They must’ve been some huge sips.”
“Those are my thoughts,” Kenneth adds.
“Where’d you get the fancy tequila?” Catie Bear asks.
“Benny brought it.”
“Christ,” she says. “Figures. Does Sam know?”
“Sammy loves me. She’d want me to have it,” I say.
My three peeps look at each other, and they all seem to be talking in sign language. Then Cate says, “Come on, my friend. We need to water you down.”
“Oh, Catie, Kenny, and Drewey. I’m so glad everyone’s here.”
I try to envelope them in a group hug, but it doesn’t work. Next thing I know, Cate tells Drew to find Ben and that she needs a word with him as she and Kenny each take one of my arms and lead me inside. They force me to drink two, yes two, bottles of water.
“You guys are killing my buzz. I don’t like you anymore.”
“But you will in the morning,” Cate insists.
“Do you think I should have a baby?” I ask her. Her startled expression makes me anxious for her reply.
“Why would you ask me that?” She casts a glance at Kenneth, who appears very interested in his fingernails. His nails are well manicured, more so than mine. I look closely at my hands and remind myself to make an appointment to get my nails done.
“Because I don’t want kids.”
Cate leans back and puts her hands on her hips. “Well, that sucks because… okay, I was going to wait to tell you this because this is your night, but I’m pregnant again, which means you’ll be a godmother.”
“I am? You are? Are you sure about this? Do you really want another kid? I mean, more diapers, and throw up, and all that icky stuff all over again.”
She has the nerve to laugh at me. “Hell yes, I want more kids. Three, maybe even four. We both do. We love baby poop and all. And then they’ll grow up and have kids, and we’ll get to do it again with our grandkids.”
I squint at her, like I’m looking at my friend for the very first time. “You’re insane. You need a psychiatrist.” Our conversation is interrupted when Drew shows up with Benny.
“Benny, where is my bottle? They killed my buzz.”
“Thank God someone did. You’re a lush with that stuff,” Ben says.
I stick my tongue out and blow a raspberry at him. He looks at Kenny and says, “Are you sure you still want her?”
Kenneth fidgets and says, “Of course, I do.” But he acts weird, and his answer seems forced and automatic.
“Kenny hates me because I love Herradura.” I stick out my lower lip.
“Would someone take her upstairs to bed? She’s a mess.” Ben looks around, but I’m not sure why.
“Maybe I’m taking your place,” I say. “You used to be messy, Benny.”
“Yeah, well, he’s gone for good.” Ben’s wife, Sam, walks up and wants to know what’s going on. They all explain that I’m inebriated.
“I am not. I’m just pleasantly pixilated. And I’m having fun ’cuz it’s my party and I can. Right?”
Sam snort-laughs, then her arm winds around me. “Of course, you can have fun. What did you drink?”
“My friend of all ages, Herradura.”
Her face morphs from fun and laughing into one concerned. “Where did you get it?” she asks, playfully stern.
“Benny brought it to me.”
“Benjamin,” she shakes her head like a teacher, “I thought we discussed this.”
My brother, who could face a boardroom full of the fiercest investors, looks properly chastised. “I know, but—”
“The only butt I’m concerned about is the one in your pants. Now, where’s the bottle?” she asks, holding out her hand.
“It’s taken care of.” She put him in his place. Dayam.
“Good.” Sam smiles sweetly at him, and he pulls her into his embrace. Oh, no, here we go. PDA. They are not shy about it at all. They kiss like they haven’t seen each other in days. Then he pinches her ass. I cough and clear my throat.
“Do I need to throw a bucket of water on you two?” I ask, nudging my brother.
“No,” he says, and then he says to Sam, “But don’t speak to me like that again, or else.”
“Hmm.” That’s all she says. It makes me curious, but not enough to ask because, ew, he’s my brother.
Blinking several times, I try to focus as the room sways with my inner beat. Next thing I know, Cate is pulling me up the stairs. When we get to my childhood bedroom, she says, “How drunk are you?”
“I’m not drunk.” As the floor tilts, I change my tune. “Well, okay, I’m a little.”
“Why’d you get toasted?”
I decide not to answer, but I ask her this instead, “How’d you know Drew was the one?”
She’s contemplative. “I just did. There was no doubt. I was a goner.” She pauses and it looks like she’s staring at me, but I can’t be sure with her eight e
yes circling. “Jenna, you have doubts?”
With my lids closed, I grimace.
“Oh, shit, shit, shit, shit. But I thought after all this time, you were just waiting for him to pop the question.”
“I did, too.”
“Fuck, Jenna. What about the sex?”
“What about it?” I ask.
“Is it any good? He does get you off, right?” I’m trying to remember. When exactly was the last time? She doesn’t give me time to answer before she’s firing off more questions at me. “Come on. Does he make your insides shake? Make your legs weak at the knees? You know? Is it better than a hot fudge sundae?”
When I can’t answer right away, she says, “I guess that’s it. For whatever reason, I thought Kenneth was your equivalent to my Drew.”
“He’s Drew on paper.” I pause, trying to voice all the reluctance I’ve had since he put the ring on my finger. “I don’t know, Catie. Do you know he’s planned the entire wedding, I think, down to where I’m going to get my gown?”
“He’s groomzilla?”
“Maybe,” I squeak. “I always wanted a plain wedding. A simple one in a small church. And a reception that was intimate with my favorite people. Where my cake was chocolate with that buttercream icing. Or maybe even elope.” I try to pace around my room, but the floor is as unsteady as a gangplank. “But, Kenneth has taken charge and is telling everyone what kind of dress I’m going to wear. And … there’s something nice about that thought, because it’s like having a wedding planner for a husband. I have to admit, there are parts of him I’m crazy about, too.”
“Go with your gut instinct. That’s the only thing to do. You heart will tell you what’s right.”
What does my heart want?
“Okay.” I’m not so sure. My heart and my brain seem like they are playing a tug-of-war, logic and reason against butterflies and passion. Giving up on an answer, I ask, “Do I have to go to bed now?”
She laughs. “As long as you stay away from the Herradura and other alcohol, I’ll give you a pass.”
We shake on it before we head back down the steps. But for some reason, I keep thinking about how my heart will tell me what’s right. And that thought leads me straight to a vision of sexy tattoos and the hot man they cover. Only he’s off limits and in no way available to me as an option. And maybe that’s the real problem.
Twelve
Brandon
After my first customer leaves, a hot brunette who all but begged me to take her to the back and fuck her, I pick up the daily newspaper she left on the counter. Plastered on the front page is a picture that has my hands fisted, and the article is crumpled up before I can read it. The headline was more than plenty for me to get the gist.
“Hello.”
I glance up, not having heard the bell or the man enter the shop’s office.
“Hey, sorry. What can I help you with?”
His eyes travel down my arm, and I’m used to that. The art that’s displayed with colorful ink is meant to get attention. Then his attention focuses lower to the crotch of my jeans. Being that he’s a potential customer, I refrain from telling him I don’t swing that way. It’s not like I haven’t been hit on by guys before and to each his own.
Instead of asking him again what I can help him with, which could lead him to think it’s an opening to a conversation I don’t want to have, I ask, “Is your car giving you problems?”
“Oh, I’m having a problem, and it appears you have more than enough equipment to fix it.” My dick might have responded to the glimpse of Jenna’s picture. Christ Fuck. Now he probably thinks I’m hard for him. “You came highly recommended, and I see why.”
His gaze roams over me, and I have the painful reminder of how women must feel when they are ogled.
“Who recommended the shop?” I do my best to take the personalization out of his comments.
The bell chimes, and a blonde bounces in and wraps herself around the man.
“Hi.” She waves enthusiastically.
She’s a little too bubbly for my taste, and I wonder for a second if she is aware of his proclivities.
The man catches her stare and says, “He’s exactly as described.”
Unable to stand still, I expect her to clap her hands and jump for joy. She doesn’t do that, but her grin is larger than life when she says, “He is and totally your type.”
Their exchange should make me uncomfortable, but I’m too busy being confused as to what they are to each other. They don’t look related like brother and sister, but maybe they are.
“I’m sorry, but I have a busy morning. If you aren’t here to have work done on your car, I’m going to have to get back at it.”
“Oh, the car,” he says. “Yes, my fiancée’s car is giving her some trouble.” He directs his next comment to her, perplexing me as to who these people are. Swingers? “Did you say you heard a rattle, darling?”
She giggles. “Yes, Horace, a rattle. Kind of like the bed this morning.”
He laughs, and I don’t have time for this. I walk around the counter, heading for the front door. I have to move this along because I’d given promises to a couple of clients that their cars would be finished by close of day. There isn’t time to puzzle out the dynamics of the couple even if I did admit a strange curiosity. Not because I was interested.
“Why don’t you pop the hood and start her up for me?” I ask, after they follow me out to the only two cars in the lot.
A white Z4 BMW sits next to what I’m sure is a 1960 Porsche 718, which reminds me of an old TV show, Speed Racer. I’m envious, but say nothing. I assume the BMW is hers, which fits her personality.
“They say you’re the best in town for imports,” he says.
I shrug as I lift the hood to get a look inside. “There is always the dealer.”
“So impersonal,” Horace answers, while his giggling female starts up the car. “Besides, her father is fed up with her and cars. The dealer will run to her daddy and tell him that she’s killed another engine by feeding the car the wrong gas type.”
There is in fact a rattle, but I suspect she’s running short of oil.
“Can you leave it with me, because I can’t promise I’ll get to it today? Tomorrow, most likely. If you want me to do it, I need to get her to fill out some paperwork.” I close the hood and gesture for her to cut the engine.
“We’ll do it.” He sighs. “I guess I’ll cart her around today.”
He sounds put out. I shake my head and go back into the office. I wake the computer and get to the new customer screen.
When they walk in, the woman spots the paper I’ve left destroyed on the counter. She points at the picture that takes up half the front page. “See, it was the party of the week, and we missed it,” she pouts.
Horace is quick to give an annoyed respond. “We weren’t invited.”
“Yes, we were.”
I need to ask her for her name, but they are locked in conversation.
“No, Celia, darling, you were. And I never go where I’m not invited.”
Deciding to cut things to the quick, I ask, “Do you have a driver’s license? I can get your information off there.”
“Sure,” she says brightly, before dumping a purse the size of a gym bag onto the counter.
It takes her a few seconds to dig it out, but she finally hands it over. They continue to talk, and I listen while typing in her name and address. She gushes about the ring the guy gave his fiancée, and I struggle not to fold the license in half.
“It’s bigger than mine,” she complains.
A quick glance and the sparkler on her finger looks like a toy a kid got out of a gumball machine for the sheer size of it.
I give them the spiel about my fees and contacting them when I know for sure what the problem is before I have her sign the paperwork.
After they leave, I ball up the newspaper, toss it into the trash, and head back into the bays.
“Brandon, you’re phone has been b
lowing up.”
I glance over at Dana. She doesn’t look happy. Then again, she never does. I catch a hint of her latest ink, a rose that drips blood on the side of her neck.
“If you don’t care, I don’t,” she adds nonchalantly. “You want to come over tonight?”
After a few failed relationships, she’s been my occasional hookup. That, too, had cooled when … I won’t let myself think her name. So fuck it. What was I waiting for anymore? That shipped sailed years ago. “Yeah, sure.”
Nothing else is said, and we get back to work. Later, I hear it. The purr of the engine is so familiar. Jeff, my other mechanic, says, “You want me to get it, boss?”
He’s a quiet one, but he pays attention. No doubt he’s gleaned my mood from all the tools I’ve slammed around with curses and the couple of times I’ve banged my head, not one hundred percent focused on my task.
I put the wrench down. It would be easy to stay hidden under the car and let him send her away, but I might as well get this over with.
“What’s she doing here?” Dana asks, though she’s not necessarily looking for an answer.
It’s more of a complaint. She knows who’s the reason behind why I’d stopped coming around.
I climb the stairs from the underground compartment and grab a dirty towel. I try to get some of the worst grease off my hands, but leave most of it. I walk slowly to the office, and I see her through the window. God damn her. She looks like a ray of sunshine, all golden and beautiful in a way that smells of the kind of money I’ll never have. She’s always been the fantasy I shouldn’t have dreamed. We come from different worlds. There’s never been a shot in the dark that she and I could have more than a friendship.
So why had I allowed myself to be led like a dog on a leash, I’ll never know. The thought allows anger to rise within me, and it serves as the armor I’ll need to send her away.
“Brandon,” she says cautiously as I step through the door.
Her smile is half the size that it normally is. She knows she’s fucked up.
“Miss Rhoades.”
Her cautious glow dims, and she pushes at her brown hair. “You heard.”
One Wrong Choice (A Cruel and Beautiful Book Book 3) Page 9
