The Lucky One (Carolina Connections Book 3) Page 8

  I texted Mark first, but when he failed to respond I moved on to Laney. She was my new sister-in-law—surely, that fact alone was worth a celebratory drink or two. My text to Laney went unanswered as well and I was starting to get a little miffed. What good are friends if they won’t come over and drink with you after you run into your asshole ex-boyfriend?! The fact that none of them knew about the asshole ex-boyfriend seemed unimportant.

  I decided to start sketching while I waited for someone to respond—yet another fantastic idea. I amazed even myself at the success of that endeavor. Best sketches ever. Time for another beer.

  The next morning, I awoke to not just a giant headache and cotton mouth, but several text messages and a mirror image of a graphite rendering of something resembling Daffy Duck tattooed on my cheek. Good lord.

  I brushed my teeth and tried to ignore my reflection in the bathroom mirror. I figured it was time to read the texts.

  8:06 pm Bailey: Marl, come get shit on my face!!!!!!

  9:42 pm Mark: Put the beer down and walk away!

  10:02 pm Mark: Are you still alive?

  10:03 pm Bailey: I’m sooooo goof at drawing!!!! Hellllooo?

  10:05 pm Fiona: Hey, girl! I’ll call you tomorrow to schedule a GNO! No is not an option.

  8:11 pm Bailey: Hey Sis! I have deer—yah!!!! Partay!!!!

  9:34 pm Laney: Aww—take some pictures of the deer!

  10:23 pm Bailey: I no you no your sexy as fuck

  10:25 pm Jake: call me

  Notification: 10:45 pm Missed call from Jake Beckett

  Shit.

  Oh, shit.

  I remembered nothing after I’d started sketching! I didn’t even remember sending Mark another text, much less Jake! Why did I have to be such an idiot?

  I debated throwing myself out the window, but what good would that do when I lived in a one-story condo? Then I looked to see if Jake had left a voice-mail.

  Nothing.

  Was that good or bad? I couldn’t decide.

  My phone rang and I cringed as I picked it up and looked at the number.

  Mark.

  “Hello?” I covered my eyes and answered.

  “Hey there, Amy Winehouse! How’s the headache?”

  I growled in response.

  “Just thought you might want to come in sometime today. You remember work—that pesky thing that gets in the way of drinking.” He chuckled and I checked the time.

  Holy shit! It was 10:15. I’d missed half the morning!

  “Don’t worry,” Mark said. “I called Ruiz and pushed your meeting back to this afternoon. Ibuprofen and Gatorade are your friends today. Remember that.”

  “Thanks, Mark.”

  “Crap. You didn’t even call me Buffy. You must be in bad shape.”

  I cringed again.

  “Take your time,” he said. Then he cleared his throat. “Call me later, okay?”

  This must be way worse than I thought if Mark was using his concerned voice.

  “Okay,” I managed to say before hanging up and dragging my hungover ass to the shower.

  Chapter Eleven

  It’s All French to Me

  JAKE

  Well, I guess you could say the cat was out of the bag. I was doing my best to avoid Nate since he had plans to ensure I’d never father a child in this lifetime. I was mostly laying low and sticking with my plan to focus on work.

  I hadn’t seen Bailey since the disastrous night at M’coul’s when she’d practically sprinted out of the bar. As soon as Fiona and her giant mouth had announced our private business to the entire patio full of patrons, I’d known the night would be an early one.

  I saw Laney give Fiona a swat and bury her own face in her hands over the whole “tropical twat tangle” comment. I had to admit, that was fucking hilarious. However, my smile over that masterpiece of alliteration died on my face as soon as I’d seen Nate’s expression.

  Yeah, the dude was not pleased.

  I threw my hands up in a defensive motion and opened my mouth to speak. I’d been about to say something to the effect of, “Don’t blame me, man. She jumped me,” when I remembered I actually liked being alive. So, I wisely kept my mouth shut and just nodded in agreement as Nate called me every name in the book.

  I don’t have a sister, but I thought about what I’d say to any asshole who thought to put a hand on my mother and figured I deserved what I got and more.

  Gavin finally intervened. “Nate, shut the fuck up. You just married my sister.”

  That did the trick and Nate went to go sit with Laney to cool down.

  I decided to call it a night and snuck out the side entrance before Bailey came back. Seeing just how much she regretted our night together managed to pretty much kill my mood. I also didn’t want to make her feel any more uncomfortable than she clearly already was. Since when was I a pariah to women?

  Despite my resolution to focus on other things, I continued to have the same damn dream about Bailey. This caused my lousy mood to bleed over into the work week and I’d even groused at my mom on Monday morning. Completely ignoring my comments, she’d just kissed my cheek and gotten on with her day, her mother’s intuition no doubt telling her I was lost in my own pity party.

  I decided then and there to grow a pair and snap out of it.

  And I’d been doing well until that text message.

  I no you no your sexy as fuck

  I’d been watching TV and almost choked on my beer when that unexpected, and obviously alcohol-inspired, text popped up on my phone. I texted Bailey to call me and immediately retreated to my bedroom to wait. The call never came and my follow-up went unanswered.

  What the hell was I supposed to do now?

  A soft female voice brought me out of my reverie. “So, we’re going to need to leave room for a nice play area with a swing set and playhouse.”

  I was meeting with Tag and Tessa McGuire—I know, you don’t need to say it—and we were discussing the preliminary layout of their new backyard. If anything had the power to bring me out of my head, it was this huge new project.

  I smiled and nodded while I noted her request on my list.

  “I know we don’t have any children yet,” Mrs. McGuire crooned, taking her husband’s hand into hers, “but I’m hoping we will one day soon.”

  Mr. McGuire bent down and kissed her cheek. “I can’t wait, love muffin.” She ducked her head of dark curls coyly.

  I was suddenly feeling more like myself. It took everything in me not to either choke or laugh. Who were these people?

  Oh, yeah, that’s right. Rich people. Carry on.

  I wasn’t used to dealing with young people with money. Most of my high-end clients in Florida had been older couples wanting to be surrounded by beautiful things as they enjoyed their retirement. But a client was a client, and this was a crucial one—and a damn entertaining one at that.

  “That sounds great,” I managed to say.

  My comment brought their attention back to me. Mr. McGuire loosened his tie a fraction but didn’t remove his jacket. I was sweating just looking at him. “I also like the idea of adding a game area for when we entertain. What about a French bowling court?”

  Huh?

  Mrs. McGuire clapped. “Oh, boules! That would be wonderful!” The sheer material of her sleeves shimmered as she brought her hands together in excitement.

  I scratched my head. “Uh, I’m afraid you’re gonna have to explain what that is, Mr. McGuire. This southern boy is not familiar with that one,” I grinned and went with the “aw, shucks” routine.

  “It’s Tag and Tessa,” Mrs. McGuire patted my arm. “How many times do I have to tell you?” She smiled and gave me one last pat.

  Okay, this woman was probably twenty-five and she was patting my arm like I was a misguided child. I suppressed both my grin and my eye-roll.

  We were sitting at a large glass-topped table on the deck of their new home—a deck that I thought was perfectly nice but they’d deemed inadequate.
Oh well, their money. They’d have to hire another contractor for that one, however, as I wasn’t licensed in that area. Maybe I’d send Nate their way. I did kind of owe him for nailing his sister.

  Tag laughed and I wasn’t sure if it was meant to be patronizing or not. I decided to give him the benefit of the doubt. “You may know it as Bocci,” he explained.

  Well, why hadn’t he just said so? I didn’t understand why you would need a “court” just to play bocci ball, though. That would be like having an entire part of your backyard designated specifically for cornhole. Whatever. I took a long drink of my iced tea and watched as the condensation dripped onto the tabletop.

  “I will certainly put that on my list to research for you. Now, what are your thoughts on the garden dimensions?”

  We continued to discuss specifics so I could come up with more detailed sketches for our next meeting. Tag’s phone rang toward the end of the conversation and he excused himself while Tessa walked with me to the front of the house.

  “You’re welcome to park in the driveway, you know,” she said, gesturing to my truck which I’d parked on the street in front of their property.

  “No, ma’am,” I returned. “That’s not how I work. I like to keep your driveway clear as much as I’m able to.”

  Instead of patting my arm again, she settled her hand on it this time, her eyes rising to meet mine. “It’s Tessa,” she reminded me in a soft voice and then, I shit you not, she swept her bottom lip with the tip of her tongue.

  Dammit all to hell.

  “Oh, you’re in it up to your eyeballs on this one!” Jax hollered and continued laughing. He finally rested his arms on the table and sunk his chin into his chest to keep himself from completely losing it, I assumed.

  I didn’t see what was so damn funny. Of course, if the shoe had been on the other foot I can’t say I wouldn’t have reacted similarly. Okay, I probably would have been worse.

  Still, this was going to be a problem if I didn’t nip it in the bud. And this situation was way too delicate to fuck it up.

  Jax must have sensed the degree of my concern because he cut into my thoughts. “Relax, it happens. We’ll just make sure to have crew around whenever you think you might have to be alone with her—piece of cake.” He pointed at me and continued, “Whatever you do, though, use text messages and e-mail for any communications that aren’t in person. You do not want this woman calling you for a chat. She calls, you let it go to voicemail and text her back. Or arrange a time to meet if you can’t get it done over text.”

  I nodded my head. It wasn’t as if I’d never been hit on by a client, but they’d always been older and had been a breeze to brush off without hurting anyone’s feelings—or anyone’s project. But I had a bad feeling about Tessa McGuire.

  Jax took a drink of his soda as the waitress placed our lunches in front of us. He gave her a wink. “Thank you, darlin’.” She blushed and sashayed away from our table.

  I gave him a look. “Seriously?”

  “What?” he asked, a french fry hanging out of his mouth.

  I just shook my head at him. “Nothing.”

  He threw his chin out at me. “My crew is wrapping up our fall lawn applications so we’ll be available to help with anything you need coming up. First frost won’t be for about two months so you’ve got time to get things in the ground.”

  We continued to make plans for the two new jobs, and the waitress made several more appearances at our table. Either she was in the running for the Most Attentive Waitress Ever competition or she was developing a big old crush on my partner. She couldn’t have been more than twenty-one and I’d put Jax somewhere in his late thirties. She hardly gave me a second glance and I tried not to take it personally.

  We left the restaurant a half hour later, and to Jax’s credit, the only things left on the table were a big old tip and the receipt she’d written her number on.

  I gave Mark a call to see if he wanted to go out for a beer. I figured giving him a hard time and checking out some eye candy would brighten my day. Unfortunately, Fiona had declared it to be TV night on their couch so my presence was demanded there instead. It wasn’t like I had invitations piling up, so I headed over to Mark’s place after dinner.

  Fiona opened the door wearing her usual heels and fancy duds.

  “You’re watching TV,” I told her. “You can at least lose the shoes.”

  She just stuck her tongue out at me and pulled me into the house. “I can’t afford to be any shorter around you. Are you sure you don’t have that disease Abraham Lincoln had? You know, the one that made him freakishly tall.”

  I barked out a laugh. “I’m pretty sure being 6’4” doesn’t make me diseased.”

  “Well, whatever.” She waved me away with her hand. “Unless you’re willing to crouch down all evening, the heels are staying on. Go find your brother.”

  And, with that, I was dismissed.

  An hour later, Fiona and Mark were fighting over the remote and squabbling over which show to watch next. In an attempt to change the subject, I brought up the story about Jax and the jailbait waitress.

  “That doesn’t surprise me one bit,” said Mark. “I’ll bet that dude gets tons of tail.” I was thinking he wasn’t wrong.

  Fiona scowled. “How do you know she wasn’t just gunning for his big tip?”

  Mark and I glanced at each other briefly, but there was no helping it. We both choked out a laugh and it all just descended from there, as it often does.

  “What?! Waitresses do it all the time. They schmooze the customers to make more money. You don’t really think all waitresses find you that charming, do you?” She looked like she felt sorry for us.

  By this point, Mark was slapping his knee and I was trying to keep tears at bay.

  Now Fiona just looked baffled. “What is so goddamn funny, assholes?”

  “Nothing, Shortcake,” Mark choked out. “We’re actually in complete agreement with you.”

  I just nodded my head and managed, “Yup. Big tip.”

  “Does insanity run in your family? I’m calling your mother.” Fiona smacked Mark on the back of the head and she and her high heels left the room.

  None of us ever had the heart to tell Fiona when her mouth got in the way of her brain. That girl had a dirty mouth on a normal day, but it was always worse when her intentions were pure.

  “Oh, God.” Mark finally said when we’d calmed down a bit. “I swear I should just marry that girl. The entertainment value alone is worth the cost of a wedding.”

  I just nodded, knowing that while he was making a joke, he really would marry her in a second.

  He turned to me. “Speaking of weddings…”

  I put my head in my hands. Here we go.

  “I guess you and Bailey are big lying slutbags, huh?”

  I flipped him off. He just laughed.

  “Yeah, I guess so,” I admitted. “But she wants nothing to do with me.”

  “Aw, poor Jake. Not used to the word ‘no,’ are you? Sounds like you failed to impress.”

  I brought my head back up and threw a glare at him.

  Fiona re-entered the room, phone in hand. “Well, Kelly confirmed that insanity does not run in the family but idiocy does.” She sat back on the couch and grabbed her glass of wine from the coffee table.

  Mark pulled her in with an arm and dropped a kiss on her head. “We were just talking about Jake getting his first ever fuck-off from a girl.”

  “Really?” I gave him the look of a betrayed man. Why had I wanted to reconnect with my brother again?

  Fiona waved her hand. “Oh, I already know all there is to know. For some reason, both you and Bailey trust me. I have no idea why.”

  This piqued my curiosity. “Oh?”

  “Yeah—must be that idiocy thing,” she teased.

  “You’re not going to tell me anything, are you?”

  She put a finger to the side of her mouth like she was considering it. “Let me ask you this. Do yo
u actually want to date her or just get laid?”

  I guess that was a fair question. “I thought I wanted to date her, but she definitely doesn’t want to date me. Not that I’d turn down getting laid,” I tried to joke but Fiona glared at me.

  I switched to contrite and her expression evened again.

  “All I’ll say is nothing is quite as it seems.”

  “Thank you, oh wise one.” What was I supposed to do with that? All that confirmed was what I already knew—women are confusing as shit.

  “But if all you’re looking for is a piece of ass, look elsewhere.”

  Chapter Twelve

  Sometimes the Fall Goeth Without the Pride

  BAILEY

  I spent the day after the Anton encounter/drunk-texting debacle trying to avoid Mark while also searching the internet for a phone app that would require me to take a breathalyzer test before calling or texting anyone. I was successful at the first but failed at the second. I barely made it through the afternoon and put myself to bed right after dinner. I was going to start fresh in the morning.

  I was determined to permanently block all thoughts of Anton Fucking Germaine from my mind, and the best way to begin was with a morning run. There was a reason I liked to start every morning with a run—it always helped clear my head. And if it could help clear that asshole from my head, all the better.

  Until the cocksucker sighting at the gallery the other day, I’d thought I’d done a stellar job of purging his existence from my mind. Based on my reaction and the aftermath, however, I’d not been as successful as I’d thought. How could he still affect me like that?

  I wanted to hit something, throw something, stab someone. Okay, well, that was a bit much—unless, of course, I could stab Anton. I might find that quite satisfying.