by Evie Snow
“Fine with me. Tell me about you and Jo.”
“I thought I just did,” Stephen said in exasperation before snagging the last slice of pizza. Rachael was notorious for her appetite, which was almost as big as Stephen’s even though she was half his size.
“Cut the crap.” She reached over and speared an olive off his slice before he could raise it to his mouth. “You guys serious? And if so, what happened to that other woman . . . Bridgett? You must have dumped her the day you started up with Jo.”
Stephen frowned. “Funny you should mention that. She won’t let me have a proper conversation with her. She’s avoiding me like the plague. I’ve tried calling her a whole heap of times, even went over to her place once when I knew she was home, but she didn’t come to the door. It’s getting old. I know she knows we’re over, she has to. And it’s not even like we really had a thing. But I was hoping to be a gentleman about this and do it the right way by splitting up in person.”
“So, what you’re telling me is that you’ve been chasing after a woman to officially end a temporary fling, but instead of meeting you halfway, she’s avoiding you and treating you like crap. Am I right?”
Stephen shifted uncomfortably in his seat. “Yeah. When you put it like that . . .”
“Yeah, I’m going to put it like that!” Rachael huffed out a long-suffering sigh. “Please tell me you’re not being a colossal idiot again, Stephen.”
“Again? What the hell do you mean again?” Stephen demanded.
“One word for you.” Rachael pointed a finger at him. “Lauren.”
“Where did this come from?” Stephen exclaimed.
“You figure it out,” Rachael said mulishly.
Stephen resisted the urge to reach across the table and strangle her. “You want me to draw a target on my chest or something?”
“Nope. I want you to start kicking up a storm! You’re too bloody nice! It’s as if what happened all those years back with Jo broke you in the head. Ever since then, you’ve let women walk all over you. Just set Auntie Corinne on Lauren and do what every other asshole guy out there does nowadays and text Bridgett to tell her the game is up and move on.” Rachael took a long drink from her pint of pale ale while giving her brother the greasy eyeball. “Does Scott know you’re with Jo? If he doesn’t, you’d better watch out or he’ll be all over you with a sharp, pointy stick. Remember how he was years ago?”
“He’s the one who asked me to help her out, remember?” Stephen asked, slicing a hand through the air before his sister could start on him again. He could only take so much before he snapped. “Butt out, Rach.”
He maintained eye contact until she shrugged and began to peruse the menu for something else to order. They spent a couple of minutes in silence before Stephen reached over the table and ruffled her hair.
“Look, thanks for caring, okay. I’ll sort it all out this week.”
“Damn straight you will.” Rachael held up her hand to order another round of beers.
“Right after I bury you in the backyard for being a pain.”
* * *
“Stephen,” Bridgett said, air-kissing Stephen’s cheek as she whisked into Jo’s apartment. She skirted Boomba with a wary expression and dropped her handbag on top of Rachael’s rumpled pillow and blanket on the couch.
It was first thing in the morning, but Bridgett looked immaculate, wearing a sharp navy-blue suit, her blond hair perfectly blow-dried and her makeup toned down to suit the time of day. “I’ve been trying to get ahold of you for weeks, but since you’re obviously avoiding me, I decided to stalk you.”
Stephen closed the front door, trying to process what he’d just heard. Her sheer ballsiness was pretty damn breathtaking. “Hey, Bridgett. I remember things a little differently given how many calls you haven’t returned, but it’s good to finally see you. Want coffee?”
“Is it good to see me? Well, that’s nice to hear. Strong. Black. No sugar,” she said, looking around for somewhere to sit and then giving up.
There wasn’t a clear surface in sight. In the fifteen hours since her arrival, Rachael’s suitcase had exploded. Stephen mentally rolled his eyes when he spotted a pair of his sister’s undies on the dining room table. If anything, Rach was worse than Mike.
“Your housemate’s?” Bridgett asked archly, taking in the red lacy nothings and no doubt drawing her own conclusions.
“No. They’re my sister’s. She’s in the shower, otherwise I’d introduce you.” Stephen sighed. “Come on through to the kitchen. It’s marginally better.” He’d been getting dressed for an early meeting, so his light-blue shirt was partially unbuttoned and untucked, and his feet were bare.
Bridgett followed, watching him get together the makings for coffee. “So do you intend on telling me what’s going on?” She propped a hip against the kitchen counter and crossed her arms. “One minute, we’re seeing each other every day, business and pleasure, and the next, I don’t hear from you for weeks. You know, I actually think I’m hurt.”
Her tone of voice was so cool, Stephen felt the room’s temperature dropping a few degrees.
“Bridgett,” he began and then stopped, biting back the words that immediately came to mind—most of them weren’t friendly after this blatant attempt to play yet another game. “Can you give me a few seconds?” He grabbed the two cups of coffee he’d just poured, set them on Jo’s dining room table and tossed Rachael’s undies onto the couch before taking a seat. The table felt like more than a physical barrier. It allowed him to cool his temper and keep things in perspective.
This was probably Bridgett’s way of saving face after he’d left that last time. He told himself he couldn’t begrudge her given how things were working for him, and even had to admire her for the sheer guts it took to try and pull this off.
Bridgett took a seat across from him, back ramrod-straight, eyebrow raised, as she waited for him to start.
“I’ve been trying to get ahold of you because I want to talk about us,” he began, only for Bridgett to interrupt him.
“It’s about time,” she replied curtly. “I thought we had a business relationship and a friendship, but the impression you’ve left me with is that we had a friendship until I stopped being useful to you. I’ve been thinking about reconsidering our business agreement, Stephen.”
Stephen sat back, stunned. Even though he wanted to yell his head off, he fought for the right diplomatic words that wouldn’t mess everything up for his family’s business. “We both know that wouldn’t be a good idea for either of us. Your business means a lot to the winery, but personally, you’ve been a good—no, a great friend.” As he said the words, he realized he wasn’t lying. Bridgett had been good for him after his breakup with Lauren.
She must have registered his sincerity, because her shoulders visibly relaxed and a fleeting smile played at the edge of her mouth before the stern expression returned. “You’re not too bad yourself . . . and I might have been a little difficult to get ahold of lately. What’s been going on?”
Stephen debated glossing over the events of the past few weeks then changed his mind; he didn’t have anything to hide, and given the way it looked like Bridgett was going to let this rest, he could afford to give her a decent explanation.
She sat, hands folded neatly on the table in front of her untouched coffee, while he summarized the events since he’d left her place. Her expression was completely unreadable, but he figured that was just the Botox.
“You know, Stephen,” she said once he’d finished, smoothing her hair back from her face, “I can’t really judge you. We had some good times in bed, but if I’m being completely honest, you were never my type anyway.” She pursed her lips and gave him a cool once-over. “But I don’t see why we can’t still be friends. I like you. And I do have a few more contacts you will find useful for the winery.”
“Thanks. I appreciate it,” Stephen said slowly, not liking the hint of smugness in her smile.
“I know,” she said w
ryly. “But that’s not the point. You’ve got a good product. People are thanking me for putting them onto you. It’s not all about you, Stephen.” Her tone and expression were painfully condescending.
“Fair enough,” he said curtly, standing up. “So, I’m pretty sure you’ve got stuff to do today.”
She stood and collected her bag. “Always busy. How do you feel about doing lunch next week? I’ll call you.”
“I’ll get back to you on that.” Stephen followed her to the door, holding it open. “Thanks for dropping by.”
She gave him a plastic smile, stood on tiptoe, and kissed his cheek as she walked past. “You’re welcome. One day, you’re going to grow up, Stephen. I’m only happy to be helping you on the way.” Then she whisked down the hall and down the stairs, leaving only the faint smell of perfume behind her.
“Ouch,” Rachael said from the door of the bathroom a few seconds later. She was wrapped in one of Jo’s massive red bath towels, looking just as stunned as Stephen currently felt.
“Yeah,” Stephen said through gritted teeth, slamming the front door closed.
“Last word is always a killer. She’s smooth with the knife between the ribs, isn’t she?”
“Change subject or you’ll be looking for a new place to stay,” Stephen snapped, scooping up Boomba and extracting Rachael’s red undies from the cat’s mouth. “Looking for these?”
The phone ringing interrupted Rachael’s howl of outrage. Glaring at Boomba, she picked up the handset next to her and answered while reaching over to snatch her underwear from Stephen’s hand. “Hello, you’ve reached Bedlam, how may I be of assistance? Oh, hi, Jo. This is Rachael. Stephen’s sister. Remember me? How are you? How’s the leg?” She gave Stephen an evil grin.
He rolled his eyes and held his hand out. “Hand the phone over, Rach. You’re not ten years old.”
“Stephen? Yeah, he’s here. Are you sure you want to talk to him? I mean, he’s a few cents short of a dollar, but you’d already know that, right? I have it on pretty good authority that he needs to grow up too.”
Stephen plucked the phone out of her hand with a snarl. “Jo?”
“Hey. You alright there?”
He smiled as the sound of Jo’s voice chased his black mood away. “Yeah. Rachael’s staying with me for a few days, and she’s already driving me crazy.” He ignored his sister’s snort. “How was your flight?”
“Awful. I’m so close to quitting, it’s ridiculous.” Her exhaustion was clear. “I miss you. I want to come home.”
“Miss you too. I especially missed you last night.” He lowered his voice. “Particularly around the two a.m. mark when I—”
“Stop it!” Jo exclaimed, laughing softly. “I’m losing enough sleep as it is. I don’t need sneaky thoughts of you keeping me awake at night too.”
“Would I be naked in those sneaky thoughts?” Stephen grinned wolfishly, sitting down on the couch and putting his feet up on the coffee table.
“Of course,” Jo said simply, and he groaned.
“Oi!” Rachael yelled. “There are children present.” Stephen leveled a glare at his sister, which she ignored because she was too busy dumping even more of her clothes on the dining room table.
“Yeah, better keep it G-rated,” Jo warned. “I’ve not exactly got a load of privacy here either.”
“Damn,” Stephen said with real disappointment. “This long-distance thing sucks.” He meant it.
“Tell me about it,” Jo said with a heavy sigh.
Stephen felt responsible for the downturn in her mood. “So tell me what’s been happening,” he said.
“There’s a lot of stupidity involved. I’m warning you.”
“As long as you make it sound amusing, I’m all for hearing about it.” Stephen laughed at her groan, but at least she began to talk.
Over the next twenty minutes, Jo shared what the last few days of flying and arriving on the rig had been like while Stephen listened, only butting in or laughing every now and then. He had to quell his disappointment when she ended the conversation all too soon, saying she had to give someone else a turn on the phone. Still, she promised she’d try to call him every day if possible.
“But don’t count on it, alright? I gotta get up a few hours early with the time difference, and I’m not sleeping that well,” she warned.
“Sure. Sure, when you can. Promise to have a few X-rated dreams involving me?”
“Don’t go there. I’m trying hard not to think about what I’m missing.”
“Don’t try too hard.” He chuckled. “Talk to you soon.”
“Okay, bye.” There was an odd, awkward silence, like she wanted to say something else but didn’t.
Hanging up a few seconds later, Stephen put down the phone with a ridiculously wide smile.
Rachael plonked herself down on the couch next to him and turned on the TV. “I note you didn’t share with her the events of the last hour or two.”
“Screw you.” Stephen gave her shoulder a gentle push with his foot.
“Charming and no thanks. Keeping it in the family has never been my thing.”
“When were you going home again?”
“Two days from now. So be nice, and I might cook you dinner. Hey, don’t you have a meeting this morning?”
Stephen was fully dressed and out the door in minutes.
* * *
Jo hung up the phone and rested her forehead against the wall, a warm glow in her chest and a smile on her lips that quickly faded as the industrial sounds and chemical smells of her surroundings slunk back into her consciousness. Sighing, she gave herself a mental shake and made her way to get some food. With luck, and some divine intervention, every one of her fellow workers would discover that he could miraculously find his backside with both hands today so she wouldn’t be tempted to commit a mass homicide. In the meantime, breakfast was calling her name. Loudly.
“Heard you got shot.” Grumpy parked himself in the free chair across from hers, and she groaned, not caring if he heard her. Her regular roommate was not something one wanted to see while eating massacred bacon and mediocre scrambled eggs.
Grumpy was huge, mainly as a result of the Southern cooking he loved so much, and other than his bald pate, he was hairy too. His habit of wearing his overalls undone down to well below his oversized stomach meant she frequently saw more of Grumpy’s behaired, corpulent acreage than any one person should. Today was no exception. She really wished he’d decided to stay in bed a little longer. The ongoing joke was that he was half-man, half-mattress because he was asleep anytime someone needed him. It was a pity no one needed him this morning.
“Yep,” Jo said, not wanting to encourage him. She tried to spear some overly charred bacon with her fork, but it shattered. She gave up and picked it up with her fingers instead.
“What sort of gun?”
“A .22 caliber, and I’m fine, thanks for asking.” She surreptitiously scanned the mess hall to see if there was anyone around who she could use as an excuse to move tables. No such luck.
“A .22? What did he think he was gonna do with that?” Grumpy roared in disbelief.
Jo felt her head begin to pound as she crunched into her bacon. “I don’t know. Shoot me?”
“Rifle or handgun?” he demanded.
“Rifle. Look, can we drop this?” Jo ran her hand over her eyes and pushed her plate away. The sight of Grumpy’s indignantly wobbling paunch had killed her appetite.
“Over how much distance?” He obviously wasn’t going to let this one go.
“I don’t know. I was running away. Being shot at, remember?” Jo snapped.
“Running, were ya?” Grumpy looked speculative for a few seconds, crunching his own helping of bacon with an open mouth. “Would have been better off for him to sit pretty and wait until you got closer,” he announced. “Did I tell you that’s how my baby brother, Charlie, shot a deer last fall?”
“Yes.” Jo rolled her eyes; it was too late to stop him now
.
“Well, Charlie’s a quadriplegic, but that don’t matter. Fixed a gun to his chair and rigged the trigger so he could fire it with his blowpipe. Sat there for five hours until one walked out in front of him, and he hit it fair and square.” Grumpy let out a loud guffaw and slapped his bare stomach with both hands, causing it to ripple disturbingly. “That’s what your sniper should have done. Should have waited until you got closer and then pulled the trigger. BAM.” He thumped the table and then looked smug. “You wouldn’ta had a chance.”
“Next time someone has me in his sights, I’ll be sure to give him the pointer.” Jo pushed away from the table. There was one thing to say about Grumpy—after even a few minutes in his company, every other man on the rig looked like a male model and champion conversationalist.
“You’re going to be working hard today,” he called out after her. “Heard the boss man’s pissed at you. Hedgehog fucked up big-time last night.”
“Thanks. Thanks a lot,” Jo muttered to herself and went to get an idea of how much of a clusterfuck was on today’s menu.
* * *
Stephen let himself into the apartment that evening and grinned when a savory smell greeted his senses. Rachael was cooking.
Today had been a good day. His plan to stage an autumn concert at the winery was coming to fruition, and he’d just gotten the fantastic news that a big-name band was interested. He couldn’t wait to tell Jo. He knew she had about four of their albums. Rachael would be pretty excited too, come to think of it. Anything that got backsides on seats in her restaurant was always welcome.
He set his laptop bag down by the door and took off his shoes. “Rach. You wouldn’t believe who I’ve lined up for our concert.”
There wasn’t a reply.
“Rachael?” he called, walking into the kitchen. A pot was rapidly boiling on the stove. He turned it off and looked around. “Rachael?”
“Here,”
He found her huddled on a couch in the living room, the phone clutched in her hand and Boomba at her side.
“Hey. What’s up? You alright?” He crouched down next to her.
