Stacking the Deck (A Betting on Romance Novel Book 2) (8 page)

“You’ll have to come to find out.”

“I don’t know...”

“Come on. I’ll be the envy of everyone to have you walking in on my arm.”

“I don’t think that’s—”

“Unless you’ve already been asked, which, seeing as you’ve just found out, seems unlikely.”

“I’ll probably be back in Chicago by then.”

“Look, if you don’t want to go, just say so. No hard feelings. I’ll just ask my girlfriend.”

She gave him a look. “You’re right. It’s not funny,” she said.

“Told you.”

Liz fought not to smile as she looked out the side window, the familiar old brick facades of downtown passing by. Well. It wasn’t like it would be a
date
-date, she silently rationalized. More like a friend-date. Like tonight. “If I’m still here, I don’t suppose there’s any reason not to.”

“Gee. Don’t get too excited.”

“It’s not that. It’s just—”

“Hey, don’t sweat it.” He stopped at a red light and laughed. “You always took things way too seriously. I’m just poking at you.”

The light turned green, but before he started moving, he grabbed another pack of swiss cake rolls from the box and tossed it in her lap.

“For you,” he said. “Even though you’ll never admit it... I know you want it.”

CHAPTER SEVEN
____________________
Twelve years earlier…

“B
AILEY, COME
ON!
I need your help! Blue, green or pink?”

“Black.”

Beth made a sound of disgust as she lowered the headbands she’d been holding up. “Would you stop sulking? I’ve got ten minutes before I’ve got to be at Jenny’s. You were invited, too, you know.”

Bailey rolled her eyes which looked kind of freaky behind the heavy layers of goth make-up she had taken to wearing ever since she found out Jim Croce was dead and not just retired. Like Tinker Bell gone to the Dark Side. “Can’t. I’m getting my nose pierced.”

“You’re not! Are you, really?”

Bailey flumped to her back on Beth’s bed, her black combat boots dangling off the side. “No. I’ve got to work. Turns out when you’re the lowest man on the totem pole you don’t get time off for parties. Not that I’d go even if I could.”

“Well, I’m going.” Beth put the green headband in her hair then switched it for the blue. “You know who’s going to be there.”

“Everyone who’s anybody, yes, I’ve heard.” Bailey inspected the fake rose tattoo she’d drawn on her forearm with a Sharpie. “You do know why you were invited.”

“I don’t care.”

“—because your tutoring kept Chip Otterman from failing Algebra and getting kicked off the varsity basketball team. Jenny would have been devastated if she couldn’t do her goofy ‘Chip, Chip, Hooray!’ cheer for him anymore. God, what a bunch of dorks.”

Beth pulled the blue headband out and sucked in a nervous breath.

“Wish me luck?”

T
WENTY MINUTES LATER—because her brother, John, was taking his own sweet time—Beth was finally on her way. She sank down in the seat of John’s beat-up Chevette and gripped her little purse in her lap, having decided against stuffing her lip gloss, compact, folding comb/brush combo and Juicy Fruit gum in the pockets of her jacket in case they gave her unsightly bulges. “Just drop me off at the corner. I’ll walk,” she said a little breathlessly.

“Beth, it’s raining.” John stopped at a 4-way intersection and turned to look at her. They were only a couple blocks from Jenny Whitmeyer’s house. How wet would she get?

Water sheeted across the windshield.

“It’s okay,” Beth said, trying to adjust the padding in her bra without her brother noticing. “I don’t want you to waste gas.”

He gave her another look and turned the corner before Beth could make a grab for the door handle.

Before long they were pulling up to the Whitmeyers’ big colonial. A handful of cars were parked in the driveway and street, groups of teens loitering under the eaves of the garage and on the front porch. Beth’s heart skipped a beat as she surreptitiously cupped her hand over her mouth to check her breath. She could smell nothing but mint, though, having brushed her teeth like an OCD dentist twenty times before leaving the house.

John’s door creaked. Beth rounded on him in horror.
“You’re not getting out, are you?”

“I left a case of soda in the trunk.”

“Can’t you get it later?” she hissed. There were people huddling under umbrellas not far from the car.
Important
people.

“I thought I’d share,” he said, pulling his hoodie over his head and ducking out of the car.

Beth creaked her door ajar and popped open her umbrella. Lovely. John had parked her smack dab over a river. If she leveraged herself, though, she could maybe make it to the curb without stepping in it up to her ankles. Her velvet flats would be toast if she got them wet.

She scootched to the edge of her seat, rain zotting dark dots on her shoe as she reached awkwardly to the curb with her foot. She pushed against the door and lurched onto the wet grass in front of Jenny’s house. There. She pushed the door hard and it slammed with a clunk behind her. Beth looked around to see if anyone had noticed her ungraceful arrival.

John was at the back of his car, his head ducked under the open lid of the trunk with a couple of the senior guys standing around. Wow. They must really like soda.

Beth licked her lips and sucked in her stomach, her bra feeling unusually tight for all the nylons she’d stuffed in there. She’d chosen nylons, because they were flesh-toned. Just in case.

In case of what, she had no idea.

She forced a nervous smile as she saw Valerie Stinson start over. Valerie and a couple other popular girls were huddled under a large golf umbrella and they giggled and twittered as they moved as one toward some of the guys standing around John. Beth wished he would leave already; although, having him there made her feel less alone.

“There’s chips and dip in the house,” Valerie called to her. The other girls giggled. Beth pretended to laugh with them even though she had no idea what was funny.

“Thanks,” she said.

They giggled some more.

Valerie brushed her blonde hair behind her ear, effectively showing off the white tan line where her watch should have been. Beth had never actually
seen
Val wearing a watch, but the little white circle and band line were like a permanent tattoo on the girl’s wrist. “Not a problem,” she said.

But, Valerie wasn’t looking at Beth anymore. She was turning to make a circuit by the boys on the way back into the house. “Hi, John,” she said as she passed by. The girls twittered.

Beth watched as her brother ducked his head, a strange look on his face. “Hey, Val.”

CHAPTER EIGHT
____________________

L
IZ SWALLOWED.

Oh. My. God.
She just ate a swiss cake roll. Correction.
Two
swiss cake rolls.

Grant would be appalled. Hadn’t he only last week asked her to start adding flax seed meal to her entrees so he could up his Omega-3’s without worrying about mercury? He’d never understand the decadent sweets she’d just inhaled!

Cripes. Forget about what Grant would think.
She
was appalled! Where was her self-control? Her good judgment? Here she was eating junk food and agreeing to maybe go to some reunion thing, and, God help her, hiring Carter for the patio job, because it would be way too complicated to explain to her mom why it was a bad idea
now
. Och. Not in town 24 hours and already things were railroading downhill on her.

Back at the house, Liz surreptitiously wiped chocolate cake crumbs off her skirt as Carter carried in the bags. She unpacked the food onto the table and began carrying perishables to the fridge. “If you give me the receipt, I’ll get you a check before you leave.”

Carter handed her the watermelon. Who bought watermelon in April? “You’re cooking, aren’t you? Why should you pay for the food?”

“Even so, I was stocking up. If you leave the receipt—”

“Forget it. You can make us dinner another night if it makes you feel better.”

Liz held the refrigerator door between them like a shield. Her breath stuck in her windpipe. “Another night?”

He handed her a dozen eggs and she stared at the carton pensively before sliding it into its protective bin. She squelched her inner June who was already giddily planning the next meal’s menu. “Or not. Sorry. Thinking with my stomach again. No, don’t put the dip away.”

Liz handed over the dip and picked up the chuck roast. What the heck was she doing with a chuck roast? Feeding her teenage fantasies, that’s what. “No. You’re right. Dinner’s a great idea. I’ll invite Bailey, too. It’ll be fun.”

“Absolutely.”

Liz nodded and handed him the bag of chips. “You surprised me, you know. My Aunt Claire said your uncle would be stopping by today.”

“He threw his back out, so you got me.” Carter glanced at her as he popped the lids off two bottles of ale and handed one to her.

“I’m sorry to hear—oh.” She paused. “That’s why you were late today, isn’t it?”

“Yup.” He took a long slug of ale.

Her face flushed. “I’m sorry. I don’t know why I even mentioned it. I think I’m just stressed over everything that needs to be done around here.” She let her voice trail off. It sounded like a lame excuse even to her own ears.

Carter handed her the bacon.

Liz blew out a little breath. “I’ve offended you.”

“Not offended,” he said, his lips tilting a little at the corner. “More annoyed.”

She frowned. “If I annoyed you, why did you invite me out?  I mean, why did you ask me for dinner, er, to get food?”

“You were indecisive. I was hungry.” His eyebrow did that wingy thing again as his lips twitched. “You didn’t think it was a date, did you?”

“No! Of course not! How could it be?” She gave an awkward laugh. “That’s the
last
thing I’d want—”

“Right, then.”

“Right.”

Liz gripped the bacon, mortification coursing through her veins. Of course it wasn’t a date! Hadn’t she been telling herself that very thing? “Well, at least we’ve cleared that up.” She forced another chuckle, taking her own sip of ale, the taste smooth and foreign on her tongue. She hadn’t had a beer in ages. Grant was more of a wine guy. “I really am sorry about your uncle. I hope it’s not serious.”

“No more than usual.” Carter shrugged. “It’s what you get from making a living off your back.”

“Maybe, but he’s awfully young to be disabled by—”

“He’s
not
disabled.”

“I didn’t mean to—“

“I know what you meant.” Carter cut her off  again then seemed to realize how abrupt he sounded. “He’s fine, that’s all. It’s not like he needs to retire or anything. He’s fine.”

Liz nodded wordlessly and decided she had better get dinner started. Soon the bacon was sizzling in a pan. She took another sip of ale and wondered if the text Grant had sent was important.

Carter fiddled with the bottle opener. “So, what’s John up to these days?”

“Who knows? I haven’t heard from him in months.”

Carter grimaced. “Sorry. I’d hoped he’d settled down some.”

“You’re not the only one.”  She swiped at grease spattering up at her arm and adjusted the burner a little. “I suppose you hoped it was John helping my parents out. So you could catch up with him, I mean.”

“I’m glad it’s you.”

“You are?” Liz fumbled the fork she was using to flip the bacon and wiped hot grease dots from the back of her hand. “Why would you...?”

Carter leaned against the counter, studying her. He took a sip of ale. “You always seemed to have big plans. I guess I was curious how you’d turned out.”

Liz’s heart caught in her throat as she absently flipped a slice of bacon. “And how did I turn out?”

It shouldn’t matter, whatever he had to say shouldn’t matter one whit.

But it did.

Suddenly, Carter’s face turned serious, focused in a way that made Liz’s pulse race erratically and her nerves sizzle like the bacon in the pan. He licked his lips. Her tongue darted out in answer. He met her gaze.
Oh my.
That look could only mean one thing!

“Don’t panic,” he said, breaking into her thoughts, “but your bacon’s on fire.”

“My—
what?!”
Liz jumped from the stove as flames slicked across the skillet and shot into the air. “
Ohmigod!”

“It’s okay. Not a problem.” Carter stepped in front of her, turned off the burner then grabbed a lid from the pot rack and dropped it over the flames. “It’ll burn itself out.”

Liz stared, frozen, as smoke poured from under the ill-fitting lid and rose to the ceiling. Carter flipped open cupboard doors until he found a box of baking soda. He lifted the lid and poured the baking soda over the skillet.