She didn't even spare me a glance.
"Don't know what you did to piss her off, but that is going to be a long-ass plane ride," Beau said, whacking me on the back of the shoulder.
He wasn't wrong.
By the time I got on the plane, I was exhausted, hungry, and in a shitty mood.
Katie was seated two rows up from me, both of us at aisle seats, but Katie was clearly not comfortable with it, shrinking smaller and smaller each time someone walked past her.
Despite arriving at different times, we'd both chosen the same book at one of the shops in the airport, some rom-com that likely wasn't even up my alley since it didn't have anything blowing up, and likely had fade-to-black sex scenes which didn't help me at all in terms of research. But I wanted something, anything, to distract me from watching every move she made, each time she shuffled in her seat, the way she closed the book inward toward itself to flip ages, how she nervously tapped her foot during takeoff and landing.
Clearly, the book wasn't great at doing anything but keeping my seat neighbors from talking to me, because I noticed all those things.
I noticed, too, the way she darted off the plane as soon as she could, getting such a head start that I didn't see her at the baggage claim, or even outside waiting for a cab or a ride.
She was gone.
And that, I tried to remind myself, was for the best.
It was Atlas who picked me up from the airport.
I'd been expecting Kingston or maybe even Nixon, possibly one of the Mallicks if those two were busy. Atlas was never on the top of anyone's expectations list when it came to showing up for anything.
Much like his name suggested, he was someone who liked to see the world. He was hardly in the area for a few weeks put together each year, often missing birthdays and—the biggest sacrilege of them all—Helen Mallick's Sunday dinners.
"It's not funny," I told him, seeing the way his lips were twitching, his eyes were bright.
"Oh, it's funny. You know you would be laughing your ass off if this was my situation. Don't get all butt-hurt because she picked on you this time."
"I'm not mad because she picked on me. I'm mad because she picked on Katie."
That rang mostly true. And Atlas wasn't typically someone who analyzed what was under your words, choosing to take them at face value because he rarely had time to spend hashing shit out.
"Katie," Atlas repeated, racking his brain to put a face to a name.
"She works the front desk at work. Shy girl. Never fucks with anyone. I don't understand why Fee would fuck with her. What?" I asked when his brow lifted.
"Just wondering why you're pissed on some coworker's behalf is all," he said, shrugging.
"Because it was reckless and dangerous. A tree could have crashed through the ceiling and hurt one of us, and the other had no way to get help."
"But it didn't and you're fine and she's fine. And you can give Fee a talking to over Sunday dinner. Still doesn't explain the clenched jaw."
"It's nothing."
"Funny," Atlas said, letting the word hang, knowing it would piss me off, that I would want clarification.
"What's funny?"
"That whenever one of my brothers claim "it's nothing" about a woman, within a few months, they're living with them, and talking about a future together."
"King was always the settling down sort," I reasoned.
"And Nixon?" Atlas pressed.
"Regan has a grumpy guy fetish. He knows he's a lucky SOB to get a woman like that. But neither of us have ever been the relationship and settling down sort. I'm a phone sex operator, for fuck's sake."
"Pretty sure most of the chicks you work with are married."
"That's different."
"Is it though?"
"What? Are you suddenly a fucking shrink now?" I snapped, getting a chuckle from him.
"Oh, you missed having someone piss you off, and you know it. Besides, I have to get some extra brotherly-ribbing in. I'm off tomorrow."
"Where to now?" I asked, not really understanding Atlas and his need to constantly be on the move. I, for one—and it seemed our other siblings agreed—liked being able to put down roots. We'd spent our whole early adulthood constantly on the road, never being able to stay in a place for more than a few weeks at a time, and therefore never accumulating anything, never knowing how nice it was to have a place to call home.
It took a long time for me to realize it myself. And while I did still enjoy getting away, I liked it more to be able to come back and see my things around, know I had a place in the world.
To Atlas—and people like him—I guess the whole world was home. He'd always been lucky in that he fell easily in with any crowd, made friends without any effort, and usually found himself some local woman who would show him around the town or state or country... as well as her own bedsheets.
"I hear good things about Italy this time of year. Found a last-minute tour for writers who want to get a feel for the country in a more genuine way."
"You're not a writer."
"Funny thing.. they don't actually check," he said, shooting me a lopsided smile.
"Does Helen know you were in town, but didn't make it to Sunday dinner again?"
"She's used to it by now. I think I will have to call Mark before I head out, though."
"Why?"
"Because I think there is a new couple to bet on."
"Who?" I asked, brows furrowing. Aside from Atlas and me, everyone was all shacked up already. Except the kids, some of whom weren't exactly kids anymore, even if that hurt a bit to admit.
"You and Katie," he said, rolling his eyes.
"There is no me and Katie," I insisted.
"You know something funny?"
"No."
"I'm pretty sure every one of the Mallicks and our brothers said something similar at one point. And now look at all of them. Happily married and shit. So, I'm calling Mark. I want in on this early."
He would call Mark.
And knowing this family, they would all place their bets.
They could have their fun.
But nothing changed the facts.
There was nothing going on between Katie and me.
Now that we were back in Navesink Bank, that would become abundantly clear to everyone.
But if there was nothing starting between us, why the hell did that last thought make my stomach twist?
Christ.
I just needed my own bed, some food, some space, to get back to the distraction that was work.
Then it would all get back to normal.
Or, at least, that was what I wanted to believe.
SEVEN
Kate
As expected, my mother was damn near ready to put up Missing Persons posters. Even after getting a call from Fiona who was instructed to do so by Rush.
She came over to my apartment, pressing me for details as I took care of my plants, as I cleaned up my already clean apartment, as I put my worn clothes in the laundry bin, as I made tea, fretted about not having any cakes or cookies to go with it.
"Kate," my mom said, sighing, jumping up to grab my shoulders as I tried to move past her for the tenth time in two minutes. "Stop," she demanded. "Tell me what is going on."
"Nothing. I was just, you know, trapped in the woods for a few days. I'm frazzled."
"You know something that I always loved about you?"
"What?"
"You are a terrible liar. It made parenting you so much easier. I like to think it is because you have such a good moral compass, that every cell in your body rejects being dishonest. It's a good quality. But, I imagine, it sucks as an adult," she said, eyes warm. "When you want to kindly tell your old mother to mind her own business."
"I wouldn't say that to you," I insisted, shaking my head.
"Look, honey, I know you were stuck there with that guy from work. I just want you to know that if anything happened, if he hurt you... you can talk to me."
"He
didn't... he wouldn't. It was just... it was confusing. And I need some time to compartmentalize it, maybe work through it with my therapist. It's nothing, really."
"Nothing, but you look exhausted and pale."
"I'm actually just feeling run down," I admitted. And I was. I figured it was the travel, the bad night of sleep, the mental and emotional gymnastics.
As the night became a new day, though, I woke up with a raging fever and a head cold.
One small plane.
Hundreds of people.
Millions of germs.
It was inevitable.
I called out of work, ordered groceries and medicine to my door, and took to the bed.
I couldn't tell you if my body or my soul was more tired, all I knew was that once I fell into the bed, I didn't think I surfaced from it—or sleep—for a full sixteen hours.
And then only doing so because there was an insistent buzzing from the intercom, followed by a knocking at my door.
On a grumble, I wrapped myself in my fluffiest robe, making my way to the door, finding Fee through the peephole.
"I'm a shitty boss, a terrible matchmaker, but I make a pretty decent friend," she told me through the door. "I brought provisions," she added as I slid the lock, pulling the door open.
There was Fee with her multitude of amazing tattoos, her form-fitting, flawless coppery sweater dress and five-inch icepick heels, carrying a big basket. I wasn't sure I'd ever seen someone so effortlessly put together at all times like Fiona was. And she always paired whatever outfit she had on with this impressive sheen of confidence.
"Oh," she said, cringing at my robe, slippers, my red, puffy nose, my glassy eyes. "You're like sick-sick."
"That's, ah, you know, why I called in sick."
"I thought you were bullshitting. I thought you were, like heart sick or something," she said, placing the basket on my dining table, reaching into it, pulling out items. "I guess the chocolate and the vibrators still come in handy. I should have included some soup or something, though. Oh, hey, this will be good," she decided, producing a bath bomb. "I thought I grabbed the rose one, but it's the eucalyptus. Will clear all that gunk out," she said, waving at my head.
"Thank you," I told her, touched more than I knew I could be over the care package. Aside from my mother, I'd never gotten one before. I never knew someone who cared enough to go to the store, find a basket, and stuff it with things they thought would make me feel better.
"Don't thank me. Like I said, I'm a shitty boss and a terrible matchmaker. I'm sorry I made you go to the cabin and got you sick."
"Why did you?" I asked, knowing Rush said I would have to ask her what was going on when I saw her next instead of telling me himself, something that had been nagging at me ever since.
"Okay. Here is the long and short of it," she said, pulling out a chair, sitting down, patting the space across from her. "I was going over the books a few weeks ago," she started. Even though she trusted me, I knew she was the kind of boss to pay almost anal attention to detail. For A Good Time, Call... was her baby. It was something she'd built from the ground-up, back when she had been a one-woman operation, one of the voices on the phone instead of the boss. "I found something interesting," she went on, choosing her words carefully, her tone getting a little tense, making my stomach flip-flop. If Fiona was tense, something was really not good. "About Rush's line," she clarified.
She didn't need to say anything else.
I knew.
I knew that she knew.
"Oh God. Oh, my God," I whimpered, elbows resting on the table, my head resting in my hands. "Oh, God."
My boss knew I was calling into the phone sex line I worked for? That I was calling in to talk to her in-law? That I was that sad and lonely and pathetic and horny.
Literally nothing could be as humiliating as that.
"Hey, relax. It's no big deal. I'm not judging. I mean, Kate, I used to sell my used panties to make rent," she told me, shrugging it off. "We all do things we aren't exactly proud of sometimes. I mean, if people didn't want to call in, this business wouldn't exist. Though, it is looking more and more like we are going to have to start shifting toward video calls somewhat," she mused aloud, always trying to be on the cutting edge of the business. "Anyway, yeah, I saw you calling in. And I just... I got an idea in my head about how you two might get on. That was overstepping. I mean like other-level overstepping. Like I'm pretty sure you could sue me overstepping. I see that now. I just... I didn't at the time."
"Does Rush..."
"No. Jesus. No, I'm not that kind of asshole. I mean... and it would also be against the law to share that. I wouldn't do that. That would create an unfair power dynamic. I just thought I could push you two kids together, see if anything worked out."
"So there was never any work retreat?"
"Well, yes and no. I was considering a work retreat. Which was why I knew about that cabin in the first place. But then I got my stupid-ass idea. I suck. I shouldn't have done it. I guess I was wrong."
"You weren't wrong. I mean, you know, I have been calling him. And I was harboring this crush and a silly fantasy."
"It's not silly. Rush is a good-looking guy. And I've overheard some of his calls. He has the dirty talk down. I get it. There's nothing to be embarrassed about. We all have desires and needs and, yes, crushes. It's normal."
"Except it was just never going to happen," I said, sighing, picking through the basket Fiona brought just to be able to have my focus elsewhere, not wanting her to see the vulnerability in my eyes. "Me and Rush," I clarified. "It was never going to happen. Not in a real way."
"Why not?"
"Come on," I said, sighing, feeling a telltale burning at the backs of my eyes, rapidly blinking it away.
"Come on what? I can't think of any reason you couldn't have Rush if you wanted Rush."
"Have you seen Rush?" I asked, putting the vibrator back in the basket.
If I was going to stop calling Rush's line, I guess I really could use a battery-operated device.
"Yeah..." Fiona said, brows knitting.
"Guys like him don't go for girls like me."
"Oh, so this is an insecurity thing," Fee concluded. "I mean not to pick at you or anything, but it's ridiculous. You're pretty. You hide it well because you're quiet and you wear the glasses that cover half your face. But you're pretty. So either you don't know that at all, or you do know it, but don't want the attention from it."
"Fiona, come on," I said, shaking my head, feeling irrational tears flood my vision.
"Oh, damn. It's the former. God, society sucks, right?" she asked, reaching across the table to put her hand over mine, giving my fingers a reassuring squeeze. "You're pretty. I hope you know that is coming from an objective third party here. I don't mean it in a "Oh, everyone is beautiful" way, either. I mean it in a genuine way. I wouldn't blow smoke up your ass. If I didn't think you were pretty, I wouldn't say it at all. But here I am, saying it. So I mean it."
"I want to believe that," I admitted. "I've been in therapy for ages trying to believe that."
"Therapy is good. So are Sandy-style slutty makeovers," she said, giving me an eyebrow wiggle. "I mean, Danny was a douche, but Rush isn't. If you want to dress up to see if it helps your confidence, let me know. We can have a girls night. A little spa day, a dress change montage like from a teen movie, then go out where we know Rush will be, flash your sex kitten look around, have some fun." She sounded excited just thinking about it.
"I, ah, I'm not much for dressing up. Thanks for the offer, though. It's a fun idea." It was, too. I just didn't see the point of it.
"Well, it can be a fun reality if you ever change your mind. I am going to get going, so you can curl back up in bed. And before you can get your germs all over me. I will send some soup."
"That's not necessary."
"I know, I know. I am legendary for not being the best cook. I wasn't going to subject you to that. But I will have Helen make you something.
She likes that kind of shit. Do you need anything else? Fluids? Drugs? A ride to the emergency medical office?"
"I think I'm all set. It's just a cold. I should be better in like two or three days, tops."
"The office will fall apart without you, but take as much time as you need to get better. And try not to be too offended if I Lysol you from head to toe when you come back. Feel better!" she said, making her way toward the door. "Oh, and I have it on good authority from the owner of a sex shop that the vibrator I brought you is aces. I imagine orgasms have healing powers. Have fun with your guybrator!" she called from the hallway as she left.
Alone, I made myself some tea as I looked through the basket again, taking the items to their rightful places. I even put the guybrator in the nightstand in case I decided to take her advice.
I drank my tea while flipping through possible documentaries on my TV, but mostly replaying our conversation in my head.
I should have been humiliated.
That she knew.
Not only was she my boss, but she was—in some convoluted way—related to Rush.
But I guess Fiona just had the ability to make you comfortable with touchy subjects because she was just so open and carefree about everything. I guess you had to be to sell your own used panties and build a whole phone sex operating business.
She was also one of the prettiest women I had ever seen. So she knew a thing or two about beauty. And on top of that, she was incredibly blunt. I'd once overheard her tell one of the girls at work that she sounded like a hamster stuck in a wheel when she pretended to orgasm with her callers.
So, like she said, she wasn't someone to blow smoke.
And she told me I was pretty.
Fiona thought I was pretty.
Rush had kissed me in bed.
Maybe I had spent my entire life seeing myself the way a handful of bullies had described me.
Those were things I needed to discuss with my therapist.
Once I got better.
I took Fee's bath bomb, filling my tub, soaking until my head felt less congested.
Later that night, I got a text telling me there was soup in front of my door, and I went out to find chicken and barley soup that was better than anything I'd ever tasted.
Pull You In (Rivers Brothers Book 3) Page 8
