by K. A. Tucker
“Oh, this sounds like a juicy story.” Becca sucks back a large gulp of her drink, settles onto her elbows, and asks in a singsong voice, “So, tell us, how’d you meet?” It’s a prompt for a get-to-know-you conversation if I’ve ever heard one. And it’s a smart move—if there’s one thing Justine could talk about for hours, it’s the saga that is her and Bill’s love story.
“Well … I’ve known him since I was three …”
I listen absently as Justine regales Becca with the history of her crush on her older brother’s best friend—I could tell it myself, I’ve heard it so many times—while I search the faces around the bar. I don’t recognize anyone, based on a cursory scan. But I’ve been gone more than a decade, I remind myself. People come and they go. People change. I’ve changed.
This town has definitely changed. We never had a place like this when I was growing up—one of the reasons I knew I had to get out as soon as I could. Options were the Patty Shack, McTavish’s Pub—my mother’s favorite—Luigi’s, and a handful of fast-food pizza joints and café-type shops. For an adult in search of a fun night with a club-like atmosphere, you were wrangling a DD to take you into Philadelphia, more than an hour away.
But Route Sixty-Six has changed that, and it appears people appreciate it. There’s a mix of ages in here tonight. Some are younger than me by eight or nine years, barely legal to drink. Others have graying temples and heavy lines marring their foreheads. If tonight is any indication, this place isn’t going to have trouble staying in business.
An electric guitar strikes a few solo chords and then, without any sort of “Hey, how’s everyone doin’ tonight” introduction, the band goes straight into an Imagine Dragons cover. A round of claps erupt as people pivot their attention toward the singer. I’m riveted by the rich, melodic voice that doesn’t match his unkempt appearance.
A heavy body suddenly drops into the empty spot beside me, making me jump.
“Thank God! I was worried I wouldn’t have a seat.” Shane nods to the band. “They’re good, huh?”
“What are you doing here?” I blurt, unable to hide the surprise from my voice as I take in the pleasant sight of him.
“Meeting the guys for a beer.” He smirks, studying my face. “Is that okay?”
“Yeah. But I thought you were working this weekend.” Can he tell that my pulse has gone from normal to racing in an instant?
“Tomorrow morning. Hey.” He nods to Becca across from us and then leans in to grin at Justine, tucked into the corner of the booth beside me. His arm brushes against mine in the process and cool droplets of rain coating his forearm dampen my skin. “Hey, Scarlet’s cute friend from Boston.”
“Hi, Scarlet’s Sexy Neighbor,” she throws back, never one to shy away from flirtatious banter.
I elbow her in the ribs as I slide over to put space between Shane and me. Seriously, Becca’s the only one on her side of the booth. There’s way more space. Why didn’t he dive in there?
“Looks like it’s raining pretty bad out there?” Becca stares at him with eager, excited eyes. They’re practically sparkling. If Becca stared at him like that when Penelope was around, it’s not a surprise the Red Devil thought she was after him.
“Yeah, it’s pouring. I got soaked in the twenty seconds it took to get from my truck to the door.”
I steal a sideways glance to see him pick at the damp cotton of his black T-shirt clinging to his chest. “When’d you guys get here?” He looks to me for an answer.
“Not long ago.”
He pushes a hand through his wet hair, slicking it back some, as he surveys the bar area, his attention stalling on the band. “These guys always draw a crowd.”
“I was just thinking how good the singer is …” My voice drifts as a tall man appears beside Shane, dropping a hand on his shoulder.
“You made it!” Shane says, exchanging a quick, friendly handshake.
“It’s shitty out there.” The new guy’s murky green eyes flip to me and a familiar, impish grin spreads across his face. “Bex told me you were back.”
It takes me a second to clue in, and when I do, my jaw hangs open. “Steve Dipshit?” I hardly recognize him. He’s put on at least fifty pounds—little of it muscle, based on the belly that stretches his shirt—and his brush cut does nothing to hide the receding hairline.
Beside me, Justine sputters on her beer, trying to muzzle her bark of laughter.
“Uh …” He chuckles, his cheeks flushing. “Just Steve is good.”
I shake my head. “Sorry. I didn’t mean … That slipped out.”
“Don’t worry.” Shane smirks at me. “He probably deserves it.”
“Yeah, probably,” Steve admits sheepishly.
Becca shimmies out of the booth to throw her arms around his neck. “It’s been awhile! How are you? How’s Nicole?”
While they get lost in private conversation, a hulking figure slinks up to our booth, far more quietly than Steve’s arrival. This one, I recognize immediately. Unlike Steve, Dean Fanshaw has not changed all that much, other than growing taller and wider. And so much more attractive.
“Hello there,” Justine hums with appreciation.
Shane’s eyes flash to her—he heard that. “You remember Dean, right, Scarlet?”
“Of course.” I smile up at the blond, brawny guy, as memories of him behind the wheel of his red pickup truck flood back. He’s enormous now, his body rippling with muscle. Almost too much muscle.
“He works with me, over at the fire station.”
Dean smiles shyly as he pushes his wet hair off his face, the subtle move highlighting his thick arms and the ink that decorates one. He always was quiet, compared to the others. No less popular with the girls, though. Especially not with those dimples that rivaled Shane’s. What he lacked for in smarts—he was the walking stereotype of a meathead jock—he more than made up for in a kind disposition. He was always nice to me, to the point that if Shane weren’t blocking my access, I might consider sliding out to give him a hug.
“You guys order yet?” he asks Shane, his voice deep and smooth but familiar. A shiver of nostalgia dances down my spine to happier times that summer we all hung out.
“Nah. We’ll go up to the bar. It’ll be faster. Grab you ladies another one?” Shane pats my thigh beneath the table. It’s a simple gesture, almost an absentminded nudge to complement his question, and yet I feel the pleasant burn of his fingers against my leg.
Justine waggles her half-empty pint in the air. “Beer me. Albatross. Get your cute neighbor one too.”
“You got it.” Casting one last smile and another leg pat my way, he slides out of the booth and heads for the bar, elbowing Steve on the way.
“So, did I hear that right? That guy’s in the calendar?” Justine asks, ogling Dean.
“He’s a firefighter too. I don’t know about that.” Right. The hell if Dean isn’t in a calendar that flaunts Polson Falls’ finest bodies. He’s probably also on the Hunky Hero auction block.
She arches her eyebrows. “You’re getting a copy of that for your house.”
“Uh, hell no. Have you seen those things? The guys all strike awkward, cheesy poses that are not at all natural or attractive. Nobody actually enjoys looking at them.”
“Judgy much? And besides, it’s for the children!” She presses her hands to her chest with mock concern. “How can you deny the children food and warmth and puppies and—”
“I should never have told you about that stupid thing.”
“But you have, and now you must indulge me, your very best friend in the whole world.”
I sigh. “I have a calendar, remember? And it’s for eighteen months.” It’ll carry me through all next year.
“You’d rather sit in your kitchen with a cup of coffee and look at pictures of insects mating than imagine mating with one of those two?” She nods to Shane and Dean who are using their impressive size to cut through the crowd to the bar, turning heads as they go.
Wha
t if I said I wanted you?
My stomach flips as Shane’s words replay in my head. I haven’t told Justine yet that I could already be mating with one of them. He’s certainly making it hard for me to remember why I shouldn’t like him. What happens when he reappears with drinks and settles into the booth again? More alcohol mixed with his persistent charm, and my resolve is liable to melt into a puddle. The night could end up very differently than I’d anticipated. Namely, me in Shane’s bed.
Would it really be that bad an idea?
I need to let go of the past, accept his apologies, and give him another shot. What if he has changed? What if we could be happy together, as adults? Of course, there is still the complication of Cody. Maybe I should limit this to one dirty night together for the time being?
I push the illicit thoughts aside before they have time to take root. The truth is, my body is vibrating with excitement now that Shane is here, and if I’m not careful, tonight will shift from a few drinks at the local bar with the girls to a possible life-altering event before I’ve had time to weigh the consequences.
“You know, I’m learning some valuable tips on how to handle men from that calendar you gave me.”
“Oh yeah? Like what?” Justine asks dryly.
I suck back a gulp of my beer. “September’s the month of the praying mantis.”
Her loud cackle cuts through the music and hum of voices.
“Roger would call his mother every time we had a fight. Can you believe that?” Becca’s voice turns shrill. “Every time! And he still has her do his laundry!”
Justine tsks. “Count your blessings. You don’t want a mama’s boy, believe me. Bill can’t make anything but ham sandwiches.”
Becca hiccups through a giggle and her hand flies over her mouth. “I should have eaten dinner.”
That, and not chugged so many Blue Lagoons. Her cheeks are flushed, her speech is slurred, and she’s divulging every sordid detail that pops into her head. In just the past twenty minutes, we’ve learned that Roger is the only guy she’s ever blown, he makes a suckling sound while he sleeps, and he showers in scalding water immediately after sex.
Good riddance to Roger.
But at least Becca’s miserable ex-boyfriend stories have helped distract me from my growing disappointment as I watch Shane. He swung by to drop off a round of drinks forever ago and was about to take a seat beside me, only to be called over to another table by a guy I don’t recognize. From there, he keeps getting pulled from one group to the next, floating like the proverbial social butterfly, lingering much longer where there’s a pretty female in the conversation to bat her lashes at him.
And they all bat their long, artificial lashes at Shane.
But the one he’s been chatting to for the past fifteen minutes—a knock-out gorgeous blond with a petite but curvy figure and full, red lips that stretch across half her face—has brushed her fingertips over his arm at least a dozen times.
Nobody touches anyone that much unless they’re having sex.
“What do you think?” Justine’s sharp elbow pulls my attention back.
“Huh? About what?”
“You and Becca come to Jersey for the weekend. We’ll go to Tinderland. She wants a rebound.”
Tinderland is a cesspool of drunk single people congregating under one roof with hopes of finding an easy lay, aptly named after the hookup app. I’ve been twice and wanted to bleach the sleazy innuendo off my body after both times. I’m still getting to know Becca, but there is no way she is made for a place like that. “Who is that blond with Shane?”
Becca glances over her shoulder. “Who, Susie Teller?”
“I guess? Do I know her?” Her name doesn’t sound familiar.
“Uh …” Becca’s nose scrunches up in thought. “Maybe? They dated back in high school. She went to Connor High. She was on the cheerleading squad. So pretty.”
“Yeah, I’ve noticed,” I mutter through a gulp of beer. I don’t remember her on the field at those games, but I was never paying attention to anyone besides Shane. He did have a penchant for cheerleaders, though. Apparently, he also has a thing for flirting with old high school flames.
“She works at the fire station.”
“She’s a firefighter?” I can’t hide the shock from my voice. I’m all for female empowerment, but there’s no way that tiny body can haul anything heavier than a wet cat down a ladder.
Becca shakes her head. “In the office. She’s the chief’s administrative assistant.”
The chief … as in Chief Cassidy, I presume. The man my mother bid on—and won, for what was likely a sordid night—last year.
I can just make out Shane’s dimples from this angle. His smile widens as he talks, and Susie Teller’s head falls back as she belts out a boisterous laugh, her silky golden waves reaching halfway down her back.
I grit my teeth as she reaches out to slide her hand along his forearm—again—pausing at his biceps. “They look like good friends,” I observe, hearing the strain in my voice as I picture where this night is leading, if she keeps pawing him like that.
How different tonight has turned from what I allowed myself a moment to imagine, not long ago. And, if I’m being honest with myself, I’m drowning in displeasure over it.
“She’s only been back for a couple of months, from wherever she was. Atlanta, I think I heard.”
How long have they been flirting at work?
Have they slept together?
“I ran into her at the grocery store last week.” Becca slurps the last of her drink, seemingly oblivious to the tension building in my shoulders. “Penelope hated her in high school, of course. Trash-talked her any chance she could, but she’s actually really nice.”
I’m sure she is, and I have no right to dislike her because I have no claim over Shane.
But I dislike her all the same.
“Twenty bucks says they fuck tonight!” Justine bellows in my ear.
I glare at my best friend, but she merely grins back. She’s goading me. She can see that I’m jealous.
“You’re an asshole. You know that, right?”
“Are you going to keep pretending you don’t give a shit and just sit here, watching some other woman make a move on him? Or are you ready to go over and stop this?” she prods, unperturbed. “Before you lose your shot.”
I begin sliding out of my seat.
“Attagirl!” She claps—with far too much glee.
“Relax, Heidi Fleiss. I’m just going to pee.”
“Boo!” they shout in disturbing unity.
Both are drunk now. Fantastic. “Grab me another round when our server comes by, if she doesn’t cut you off.” I smooth my shirt over my waist and weave through the throng, keeping my head high and my shoulders back.
The closer I get, the more of Susie Teller’s bright eyes and perfect skin I can see and the more uneasy about their connection—or reconnection—I grow.
I make a point of easing past Shane slowly, hoping to catch a hint of their conversation or, better yet, to distract him from Susie Teller entirely.
“I’m free on Wednesday night. Why don’t we try that new steak house in Dover?” I hear her shout over the band.
My stomach sinks. They’re making dinner plans. I’m already too late. Now, I’ll get to sit back and watch Shane start dating the beautiful new girl at work. With my luck, he’s going to fall in love with her and hang his bachelor hat at the door. She’ll move into his house, and they’ll live happily ever after with their blinds wide open so I can watch them have rabid porn-star sex from my dark, lonely bedroom.
I rush past and into the empty restroom near the back, an odd, cold flush coursing through my body. I duck into one of two stalls, unable to ignore how eerily familiar this scenario feels to my first day of senior year. Except I’m not about to cry over Shane. If anything, my tears will be sparked from anger. Not anger at him; he’s being himself. No … I’m pissed that I allowed emotions to stir. I told myself I would n
ever care about Shane again, and yet here I am, my insides burning with jealousy and hurt as I watch him hook up with another woman. I care that he’s been flirting nonstop with me since I moved in. I care that he’s picking up his coworker right in front of me.
I hate that I care.
I need to go home and screw my head on straight.
Finishing up in the restroom, I take a deep breath, steel my nerve, and stroll out. Shane is still with Susie. He’s laughing about something she said. And they’re standing closer together.
What a fucking asshole.
My mood has soured, and it’ll only go downhill from here. It’s best I gather Becca and Justine and get the hell out of this place now.
“Hey, Pacino!”
Ugh. My head snaps toward the bar to where Steve waits. I’m glad I let “Dipshit” slip out earlier.
“Come on! My treat.” He jerks his head toward the bartender who’s busy pouring straight liquor into a line of shot glasses, then waves the bills in his hand. Dean’s with him.
Doing shots with two of Shane’s best friends while Shane is angling to get laid on the other side of the room is the last thing I’m in the mood for tonight. I’m about to give him a curt head shake “no” when I hesitate. Why the hell am I running away? To what? I’m going to hide in my house, depressed? I was having fun before Shane showed up and started pulling his shit.
Plus, Dean looks good tonight, leaning against the bar in his jeans and T-shirt, the cotton stretched across biceps that I doubt I could close my coupled hands around. He clearly spends a lot of time working on that body. I’ll bet he doesn’t have an ounce of fat on him.
And he’s intently watching me. Whatever shyness normally lingers there is gone, replaced by a layer of assuredness. Dean’s comfortable in his skin.
Suddenly the plan of running home and hiding with my jealousy while Shane makes his move on Susie Teller doesn’t sound nearly as appealing as, say, getting over Shane once and for all by getting under his attractive best friend.
