by C. M. Owens
“Marco!” I call out.
“Polo,” he calls back, sounding like he’s trying not to laugh.
“Marco!” I yell again, cursing a lamp that crashes to the floor when I accidentally bump into a table.
I’ll clean it up and pray it wasn’t a priceless piece of art.
“Polo!”
After I find Sean, that is.
And this is how my entire life has pretty much gone. It’s what I call a pie moment.
Chapter 8
MAVERICK
“So your father is really married?” Mom asks me as I finally get her too-heavy picture hung. One of me, unfortunately. Because my chubby five-year-old picture had to be blown up to ungodly proportions and hung in the living room.
For everyone to see.
Can’t wait to be ridiculed endlessly for that, and I’ll bitch slap anyone who doesn’t ridicule me, because obviously I deserve it for this monstrosity.
“Yes,” I tell her, noticing the way she immediately fakes a shaky smile.
“I guess I should mention I have a date this weekend,” she blurts out.
This is what I’ve been afraid of. I knew she was on dating sites, but she hasn’t actually been dating. Because despite her denial, she’s been waiting around for years for Dad to grow up and settle down for good.
Now he’s settled down with someone else.
So she’s going to fucking rebound with someone fourteen years after her divorce. Don’t tell me she’s probably been with others. I know. I just try not to think about it.
The point is, now she’s telling me, and it’s a new game.
“Please spare me any details,” I say, kissing her forehead as she laughs.
“I just think it’s time to maybe find someone.”
Since she feels Dad is no longer an option.
As much as I hate the idea of her dating and then me dealing with the tools, I’d rather her find someone than keep waiting on him.
“By the way, Ruby said you’re thinking of seeing someone,” Mom goes on.
“Ruby is doing her best to drive me insane,” I say with a roll of my eyes, prompting her to laugh.
“Speaking of, I got rid of all the peanuts. Finally. You have no idea how long it takes to get rid of anything with nut ingredients. Corbin and Ruby can finally come to dinner over here.”
I glance at the time, deciding I should get out before she starts telling me what she’s going to cook them for dinner. Then tell me what conversation starters they might have. Or what—
I can’t believe I’m about to say this, but I think my Mom does need to get a boyfriend so I can take a break.
“Gotta run, but be careful with online dating. Some of those guys—”
She holds up a finger, the universal sign for hold on, as she reads a text message or something. “All the acronyms these days are really confusing. Why can’t people just spell the whole words?”
“What pesky acronym is confusing you?” I ask seriously, though I’m holding in the age jokes.
“D-I-C P-I-C. What does that mean? Some guy is asking if I want one.”
She blinks innocently at me as I jerk the phone out of her hand, ready to kill some skeezy motherfucker.
There’s nothing here from any guy. All that’s here is a reminder about taking the tuna casserole out at seven.
The hell?
When Mom starts laughing and her eyes dance with endless humor, I roll my eyes, groaning and feeling too damn gullible.
“You’re so fucking hilarious,” I state dryly.
“Just letting you know I’m not the one who’s easily duped, son.”
She winks at me, and I shake my head before walking out, deciding my mother just won that round, and nothing I say at the moment will be taken seriously.
Juggling the mini zen garden Mom decided I needed in my life, trying not to spill sand everywhere, I open my door, deciding on my next stop. My phone rings just as I get pulled onto the street. I answer when I see it’s Rain.
“To what do I owe the pleasure?” I ask in a mock English accent.
“We’re grilling out tomorrow. You coming over?” Rain asks me over the phone as I drive toward the beach.
“Not sure. I may or may not have plans, but I’ll call you back and let you know.”
“Hey, Ruby said you’ve been chasing a girl. Have you found a unicorn?”
Why that word? Does she not know it makes my skin crawl? And why does Ruby insist on falling farther and farther down my list of favorites?
“No, I have not found a fabled magical creature. She’s just a girl, and…it’s a long story. No worries, I’ll tell you all about it. But stop doing your excited dance, because I’m not settling down.”
“How’d you know I was dancing?”
“I didn’t. I was just really hoping that’s why you’re getting out of breath.”
“Har. Perv. You’re so funny,” she grumbles dryly.
Laughing, I take the next right, pulling up at my destination.
“I’ll call you back,” I say to Rain before hanging up.
With the borrowed clothes in my hand, I make my way toward the front door of my beach house—well, currently I suppose it’s her beach house.
I knock. Wait. And then knock again.
Her beast of a truck is in the driveway, so maybe that means she’s home. And what kind of a girl drives a truck like that? She’s not tall, so why is it jacked up like it’s meant for a NBA player’s long legs?
The door swings open, and I turn toward it with a smile on my face. But…there’s no one there.
“Can I help you?” a young voice asks, causing my eyes to drop.
Well, I guess there is someone here.
A kid.
Why the hell is a kid answering the door?
I take a step back, looking around at the house, then look back behind me. Yep. Definitely the right house.
My eyes land back on the kid with blond hair and an unimpressed expression. He can’t be more than nine.
“Is Salem here?” I ask, confused.
His expression changes, his eyes going big. “Are you my daddy?” he asks, excitement in his voice.
Cold chills wash over me, and I clear my throat. Then clear my throat again.
Pretty sure I’ve had this nightmare on more than one occasion.
Still no words. One more time, I clear my fucking throat, remembering I only just met Salem and no way is this kid mine. Obviously.
“What? No, kid. I’m just looking for Salem. Is she—”
“Salem is my mommy! Are you my new daddy?! She swore she’d get me a new daddy!”
Since I have zero clue what to say—because what the hell do you fucking say to something like that?—I casually take a step back. Then another. Then another.
And then I literally turn and sprint to my car, jerking the door open, and drive out like hell is on my heels.
I can’t believe a kid just sent me running for my life. Well, actually I can.
A fucking kid?
When did she get one of those? Well, obviously she got one about nine years ago, but she never mentioned a kid to me.
Am I okay with that? Shit, I don’t know. The damn kid was asking me to be his daddy. That much I’m not okay with.
Moms are on my don’t-touch list for obvious reasons. I’m clearly not father material, and moms expect a serious commitment. They have to.
What the actual hell just happened?
And how does she even have a kid that old?
Picking up my phone, I dial Rain. When she doesn’t answer, I dial Bella. Then hang up before she can answer, because Bella will likely torment the unholy hell out of me and give me zero good advice.
Finally, I call Allie. The only safe option.
No answer.
Do you have any idea how many times they’ve had me move their shit? Where are these damn women when I actually need them?
Chapter 9
SALEM
Cutting off
the hairdryer, I walk toward the living room.
“Was someone at the door?” I ask Sean, who is lounging on the couch, his face on the screen of his phone as he plays a game.
“Someone trying to sell stuff,” he says with a shrug.
“How many times have I told you not to answer the door for strangers?” I groan.
“How many times do I have to remind you I’m eleven and not five?”
“How many times do I have to remind you that I can take your phone away for being a little dick?”
He grins, but wipes it away, needing to stay cool and all.
“Sorry. Won’t answer the door again.”
I’m not sure I like the little smirk he’s sporting. It’s the I’ve-just-done-something-devious-and-loved-it smirk.
“Sean…”
“Salem…”
Rolling my eyes, I go back to the bedroom.
“There’d better not be any cops showing up!” I decide to warn him.
“I didn’t do anything that bad,” he assures me, though it’s not entirely reassuring.
Quickly, I tug on my shoes and return. “Come on. I have that job interview.”
His eyes come up. “In shorts that short?” he asks, cocking a judgmental eyebrow.
“Yes. These shorts have gotten me my past two jobs.”
He rolls his eyes as he stands and follows me out the door, and I lock up as he waits.
“Using your body to get a job means you’re not feminist,” he points out.
“Yeah, well, my track record for sticking with a job is terrible, since we have to move so much, so it looks horrible on my applications. I look unreliable. I have to be feminist in other ways—such as supporting myself. Get in the truck.”
He does, but I can tell my lecture isn’t over. Did I mention he thinks he’s my older brother sometimes?
“Besides,” I say as I hop in the truck and crank it, letting him get his seatbelt on before I put it in reverse, “in my line of work, guys don’t take me seriously until they actually see my work. This just gets me in the door to where I can prove myself.”
“It’d probably get you into a strip-club, too. I bet they’d love for you to prove yourself there.”
I glare over at him when we stop at a red light.
“Just sayin’,” the little ass adds, still smirking.
“Just worry about starting your new school on Monday and stop worrying about the way I dress.”
He bats a dismissive hand as I drive on. “Not my first time starting a new school. No worries.”
It sucks that he’s doing what I had to do. Getting dragged from school to school, from town to town. It’s fortunate that he’s smart, which has kept him from falling behind, even though he’s attending some of the best schools there are. I can only imagine the brilliance that would come from him if he had stability in his education. And life, for that matter.
We pull up in front of Clanton Auto, and I park before hopping out. Sean follows me, and I head inside and to the right, taking the stairs up to the office—just as I was instructed to do.
There’s an observation window that hangs over the garage where everyone below is working on cars. I pause, taking in the sight. It’s a damn nice garage.
Sean pauses, looking out as well.
I put in for this job before I even moved out here. It seemed perfect, since the pay was awesome and the location isn’t far from my house.
“Salem Wright?” a woman asks, her eyes dipping to my shorts.
Shit. I hope my interview isn’t with her. It was supposed to be a guy.
“Yes, that’s me. I’m, um, supposed to meet with Rye Clanton.”
A few other guys are loitering in the waiting room off to the side, all of them glancing in my direction. One man even eyes one of the decorative, industrial poles then looks back at me like he expects me to dance on it. Okay, now I feel uncomfortable.
Sean is smirking, as if to say told you so. I ignore him.
Finally, the girl’s eyes meet mine again. “This way.”
She gestures toward an office, and I follow, taking a deep breath as Sean stays behind, phone in his hand in case he needs me.
I stumble a little when I walk in, because the guy who is standing up from behind the desk is…sexy. Very sexy. Was totally not expecting that.
“I’m Rye Clanton. I assume you’re Salem?” he asks, his deep voice matching his roughly hot exterior.
“Yep.”
Totally not getting this job, because he doesn’t even glance at my very unprofessionally short shorts.
He takes a seat, gesturing to one of the chairs in front of his desk, and the girl from earlier comes in with a Coke, hopping up on the desk and looking at me.
“You’re like really pretty,” she says to me.
Okay…
“Brin,” Rye groans.
“What? She is. Imagine how many guys would be plastered against that observation deck window if she worked in those shorts.”
I hate to tell Sean he was right.
“Business would boom,” she adds with a shrug.
Rye rolls his eyes. “Please don’t sue us for her being incredibly offensive. She has no filter.”
Finally, I relax a little as a smile spreads over my lips.
“I don’t offend easily.” He’s got zero interest in me, so he’s either with someone on a hugely committed level, or he’s gay, or I’m simply not his type.
No job for me.
“Wrench went over your application. He was my lead mechanic until he got a job he couldn’t possibly refuse. I don’t have anyone planned full-time to step in for him, but he said you’d be the perfect temporary patch.”
I perk right up, because it sounds like I might be in the game after all.
“Temporary?”
“Yeah, according to your previous employers, you only stick around for half a year at most. I’m assuming, given the fact you look healthy, that it’s a family thing and not a health-related thing. I need long-term, but you’ll work until I find someone else good enough to fill the role.”
I nod slowly, wondering if this is really going to be this easy. I won’t even have to feel slimy for flirting.
“Yeah. My mother moves a lot, and I move to be with my little brother.”
He nods like that makes perfect sense, or he just gives zero fucks as long as it’s not health-related.
“Wrench wanted to interview you, but he had to leave yesterday, which was two weeks earlier than planned. I need someone who can start as soon as tomorrow, because I can’t handle the workload without an extra set of hands.”
“Tomorrow works for me,” I say a little too eagerly.
“You don’t really have to wear the shorts,” the girl—Brin—says, smiling at me. “Obviously I was making a joke earlier. But there is a dress code. No midriff or nipples. I think that’s all. Oh, and steel-toes.”
“Brin,” Rye says again, a warning to his tone.
Brin just smiles at me, and I don’t know if she’s being nice and just joking good-naturedly, or if she’s being mean with a smile. I’m from the South. It’s not always easy to read between the lines, because we know how to slap you with a compliment and an insult, all in one sentence.
“I’ll grab some paperwork for you,” Rye says, cutting his eyes toward Brin before walking out.
As soon as he closes the door behind him, she scrambles off the desk and moves behind it, opening his drawer. I swear she’s—is that glitter?
She’s pouring glitter into something, but I have no idea what.
“Do you have a problem with occasional pranking?” she asks absently, her attention mostly focused on what she’s doing.
“I…uh…”
“Just asking, because I started running the office after Rye’s last office manager quit, due to the excessive pranking. Sometimes innocent bystanders get caught in the crosshairs.”
“Any bodily harm?” I ask mildly, trying to act like I don’t find her a little w
acky.
“No. Not that extreme,” she says seriously as she closes the drawer and tosses the empty container into the trashcan.
She scurries around to the front, hopping back up where she was, and training her eyes on me expectantly.
“As long as there’s no bodily harm, I’m cool with pranks. Even if they get aimed at me. But I tend to get someone back. Fair warning.”
Her grin blooms like it’s the perfect answer. “Then I really hope you like it here.”
Okay, so I no longer think she’s mean with a smile.
“Thanks,” I tell her sincerely, completely relaxed. Easiest interview ever.
Rye returns, taking his seat behind the desk, and he slides some papers across to me. “There are a few extra liability clauses and wavers in there since…I have an unorthodox office manager.” He gives a pointed look to Brin, who bats her lashes innocently.
When he returns his attention to me, I decide there’re not too many forms of wavers or papers I haven’t signed before. All are pretty much the same.
“Do you have a pen?” I ask him, not seeing one near me.
He pulls open the drawer in front of him, but a loud pop sounds out, startling me.
Rye roars out a curse, Brin bursts out laughing, and I just watch with fascinated horror as the very huge man gets covered in glitter.
Yep.
Glitter sprays everywhere—mostly right in his face—like it’s just exploded from something, and I’m positive it’s purple. Definitely purple.
Rye shakes his head, and it looks like it rains glitter from his hair. Brin is still dying as his eyes narrow to slits, glaring at her.
Her laughter dies instantly.
“Oh shit!” She launches off the desk, and he makes an attempt to grab her, unsuccessfully, and coats me in a layer of glitter in the process.
Narrowly dodging him, Brin scurries out sideways like a cartoon character, and dives into another office that is directly beside us, slamming and locking the door in quick succession.
“That’s for the stupid, stinky, poop-flinging mail you sent me!”
“It wasn’t real shit!” Rye argues through the door, banging on it.
I hesitate, studying the papers before me, one of the wavers clearly stating that I won’t sue in the event I become collateral damage in the ongoing prank war. Seriously?
