Sweet Girl (11 page)

Liam watches her go and then turns back to me.

“She’s . . .” He searches for the word and finally comes up with “interesting.”

“Yep. I think you can sit over there on those bleachers.” I point the way. “The sooner we finish this, the sooner you can buy me eggs.”

Liam does a little salute of his own and heads off to find a seat.

When I turn around to find Landon, I nearly slam into the person behind me. Dark-brown eyes twinkle with amusement.

“Oh, the day just gets better and better,” Taylor drawls.

It is exactly like the way he normally speaks to me. No pity or judgment. He is just going to pretend that day in the hallway didn’t happen. I grudgingly let him rise a few notches in my estimation.

He is wearing workout shorts slung low on his hips and a faded blue T-shirt with the words “Dodge Chargers” screen-printed on the front. He has a seventies-style sweatband around his forehead, and some small, twisted part of me tips her hat to anyone who can wear something so ridiculous and make it look good.

“I had no idea you were in on this thing.” I point to the room around us. “I would have joined up ages ago if I knew it would mean embarrassing you over recreational sports.”

“Don’t set yourself up now,” he teases. “I helped raise a little sister, but I never once took it easy on Dee Dee because she’s a girl. I’d hate to have to prove you wrong, especially since I can’t imagine you’ve honed a great deal of athletic prowess working the register at Hot Topic.”

He is an idiot, and I’m not about to validate his severely outdated comeback with one of my own. I’m not even going to bother responding.

“Hot Topic?” The words fly out of my mouth. “What is this, 2001?”

He starts to chuckle.

“And as far as athletic prowess goes . . .” My mind races with images from another lifetime: varsity teams and tournaments, the scholarship I’d been so proud to earn even if I hadn’t needed it. I look at his sweatband with mock disdain. “You’re about to get schooled, Prefontaine.”

This time I really do walk away, towards the two teams that are assembling to play. As much as I hate to admit it, arguing with him is entertaining. He isn’t intimidated by me, and he is quick witted. Now that I know he is actually a good guy, I worry that I might have to stop being so openly hostile towards him.

“Wanna make a bet?”

His words stop me midstep, and I swing around to face him.

Oh hell yes.

His smile grows, and only then do I realize I’ve said the words out loud.

I walk back over and get in his face.

“A hundred bucks says our team murders yours, Monty Kirchner–style,” I tell him with a cocky grin of my own.

His eyes flare in amusement, and he is already nodding before I finish the sentence.

“Done. But when we win, my spoils are a bit different.” He looks down at me in a way that suddenly makes me feel uneasy. I take a step back and then immediately want to punch myself in the face for showing him that weakness.

“What do you mean?” I ask warily.

“I want a date,” he says matter-of-factly.

“No way!” It comes out as a snarl.

Isn’t he smart enough to know he is barking up the wrong tree?

“Why not?” he asks, stepping closer to me. “If you’re so sure you’ll win, what difference does it make anyway?”

He is baiting me; I know it, and damn it, I so want to wipe that stupid smirk off his face! But a date? There is almost nothing worse he could have asked me for. Dating isn’t something I do, and the list of reasons why is too long to even contemplate. I already agreed to the bet, though, and if I ask him to pick something else, he’ll know he found a sore spot. Let’s face it: this guy has already seen me at a pretty low point, and I don’t need to give him any more ammo.

Man, I so want to gain a little pride back.

I look behind me to where Landon is gathering the Ball Gowns to pep them up before the game. A ref is setting a bunch of red rubber balls down on the line separating the two teams. Despite the tie-dye, the women Landon is talking to all look in shape. By contrast, Taylor’s team looks like a mix of overweight truckers and a handful of skinny kids who are probably PAs. Taylor might be all muscle and tattoos, but I seriously doubt he can make up the difference for a team that appears to be sweating out last night’s bender. I look back at the ladies in pink, and one of the taller girls is twirling the ball on her finger like a pro. Miko pops the knuckles on each hand like she is preparing for battle.

“You’re on, Bennett,” I call over my shoulder without looking back.

We are going to kill these guys.

“But you were popping your knuckles like you were about to fight someone!” I glare at Miko across the table as the waitress deposits everyone’s order.

Miko looks up from her eggs, confused.

“Oh, I do that when I’m nervous,” she tells me with a helpless shrug. “It’s a filthy habit, really.”

“And what about that girl who was spinning the ball?” I turn to growl at Landon, “She seemed totally competent.”

Landon looks up from her phone. “Who, Lorelei?” she asks, dumbfounded. Understanding dawns on her face. “Oh gosh, no. She’s my librarian. I invited her because she doesn’t get out very much. I think that trick was something she works on in her free time.”

“Lorelei is the best,” Miko says around a bite of toast. “She’s the one who turned me on to Nalini Singh.”

Liam looks up at her. “Is that some kind of drink?”

“No,” Miko chides. “She’s an author.” She gestures emphatically with her butter knife. “Imagine cyborgs falling in love with animal shape-shifters.”

Liam looks genuinely alarmed. “Why would I want to do that?”

“Because it’s the best!” she answers happily. “One can’t feel emotion; the other feels too much.”

When everyone stares at her in various levels of confusion, she rolls her eyes and changes the subject.

“Anyway, back to Lorelei. Did you see that ball hit her in the face?” she asks solemnly. “I’ve never seen anyone’s ear swell up that much. It looked just like Sloth from
The Goonies
.”

Landon nods soberly. Next to me Liam tries to hide his laughter with a bite of omelet and only succeeds in choking himself.

He invited the two of them to brunch with us, and the group chatted and laughed all the way here like they didn’t have a care in the world—like we hadn’t just had our asses handed to us by a bunch of teamsters.

“We lost, like chumps,” I tell my teammates.

“Nah.” Landon waves me off with the piece of pancake at the end of her fork. “We were just having fun, Max. It doesn’t matter if we won or not. It doesn’t mean anything.”

“What doesn’t mean anything?” Brody says, arriving at the table and taking the empty seat next to Landon.

“That we lost at dodgeball,” she answers him, eating the bite off the end of her fork.

“Are those pancakes?” Brody asks her with a wink.

Landon giggles as if he just made a clever joke, and Brody responds to the giggle by leaning down and kissing her sweetly on the shoulder. Why anyone might get so worked up over breakfast food is beyond me. I look over at Liam to see if he is paying attention to the interaction, but he seems momentarily distracted by watching Miko add a spoonful of grape jelly to her scrambled eggs. He shakes his head slowly, either in denial or disgust, and then continues the conversation where it halted.

“Some people—not me, obviously, but some people—might suggest that you were already losers for spending any time on dodgeball in the first place,” Liam tells us cheerfully.

“Well, now you’re just being rude,” Miko announces just as the waitress comes over to refill her cup.

The older woman pauses with the coffeepot suspended in midair.

“I’m sorry?” she asks Miko.

“Not you, Janice,” Miko answers the waitress with a smile.

I have no idea at what point she caught the woman’s name.

Janice nods awkwardly but dutifully refills everyone’s cup and takes down Brody’s order. The conversation turns to the topic of work, and I choose to act terribly interested in my frittata rather than engage in a chat that might lead us anywhere near my own work life.

“I heard Malin is coming in for the Fourth,” Liam says, apropos of nothing.

“So it’s going to be a thing,” Brody says with a smile.

“It always is with her,” I agree.

Landon and Miko both look at us, waiting for an explanation, and I guess you’d need one if you’d never met my little sister. Malin can increase the energy in the room tenfold just by stepping into it. She is the first one in the water, the last one off the dance floor, and the life of every party. She has horrible taste in guys and at least five years of poor decisions behind her. She’d be a total nightmare of a sibling, except that it is actually kind of impossible not to love Malin.

She is the girl who could talk you into stealing your mom’s car and driving to Tijuana when you were still in high school, or convince a room full of socialites to do a Jäger bomb, or get you to climb a billboard in the middle of the night just to see if you are strong enough to do it. She is wild and unpredictable, and she’d be the black sheep of our family if she wasn’t everyone’s favorite pet.

“We go to Santa Barbara every year for the Fourth,” Brody starts to explain.

“Your parents have a vacation house there, right?” Landon asks.

“Right. They’ve had it forever, and the Fourth is a big tradition. The whole extended family comes in for the day,” he tells them.

“And Malin doesn’t always get to come into town,” I continue. “So if she’s traveling all the way over for it, she’ll demand some kind of fanfare. She’s a lot like you in that way.” I smirk at Landon, who rolls her eyes.

“Where does she go again?” Miko asks.

“Georgetown,” Liam answers. “She starts her senior year in the fall, but she has an internship in the city this summer.”

I snort.

“Allegedly,” I tell them.

“In any event, she’s coming in,” Liam goes on, “so it’ll be a thing.”

“You guys should come,” Brody says suddenly.

It surprises me so much that I swallow my coffee too fast and it burns my throat. I know he likes Landon a lot—anyone with functional eyes knows that—but he has never brought anyone on a family vacation, even before.

“Really?” Landon asks with a squeak.

“Are we doing
this
now? Going on group vacations together?” I ask the table.

Landon, Brody, and Miko are already talking about logistics, and nobody pays any attention to my dismay. I look over at Liam, who takes it all in stride as usual.

“Apparently we are,” he says only to me. “This is what happens when you try new things. First it’s dodgeball, then it’s family vacations en masse, and before you know it you’re posing for awkward engagement photos where you’re giving her a piggyback ride at the beach. This is just another reason I avoid attachment of any kind.”

“You and me both,” I grumble.

The mention of dodgeball lowers my mood again. It reminds me of our game earlier and our subsequent loss, which reminds me that I agreed to a stupid bet. Now I’ve locked myself into a date with Taylor, and I definitely can’t handle hours with him acting smug over his victory.

He didn’t come to talk to me after the game. I’m sure he could see that I’d have murdered him if the possibility presented itself.

He just winked at me from across the gym and mouthed the words
Monty Kirchner
.

The response I mouthed back isn’t fit to be repeated in polite company.

Chapter Nine

“Oh, and don’t forget that butterscotch sauce has to sit in the fridge for exactly thirty-seven minutes to hit the right consistency. And éclairs are coming back on the menu soon, so you should probably start testing out that recipe.”

Joey looks around erratically, trying to remember every last detail before Harris forcibly removes her from the room. Half of the tiny office is filled with a desk, papers, files, and stacks of bottled water. The other half is filled with Joey’s swollen belly.

It is her last day in the kitchen, and we’ve spent several hours of it with her spouting off random pronouncements and me taking feverish notes. With each new page I filled, I felt more and more nervous. It wasn’t the management of the kitchen that threw me off. I had a bit more confidence after I’d given my two weeks’ notice at the bar. The GM looked like he might be sick when I told him the news. He offered a significant salary increase if I stayed on, and he looked even sicker when I told him there was no possibility of me taking it.

It was an uncomfortable conversation to have, but a good reminder that I’ve been overseeing the revolving line of employees at Gander for years and Dolci’s crew is way more talented and hardworking than that one. I am not freaked out about managing this kitchen; what freaks me out are the recipes. Joey has shown me everything she could, but we’ve barely gone through the current menu. Even with detailed notes I’m not entirely sure I could recreate all of the signature dishes perfectly. I secretly hope Avis is too self-indulgent to take notice of me until I have several more weeks under my belt.

“I showed you where the payroll info is, right?” Joey asks as if it were a life-or-death question.

“You did, yes,” I tell her.

She’d actually shown me where it was three times today alone.

“And the contact information for that French butter company? You know she won’t use anything domestic,” she says, worrying her lip with her front teeth.

Harris walks into the room with us, crowding the already-f space.

“It’s time to go, Joey,” he tells her.

I pull my feet up onto the seat of the chair to make room for him to get to her.

“I just need half an hour more,” Joey says, shaking her head.

She’s already told him that four times today, but he looks resolute. He chances another step towards her.

Joey grabs the desk behind her with both hands. Something like panic fills her eyes.

Harris takes a deep breath and then gently reaches out to her as if she is a wild animal he’s set out to tame.

“Love,” he tells her gently, “it’ll be OK.”

Joey responds by mutely shaking her head. I notice the look in her eyes, and I finally understand why she’s been acting so erratic all day.

Trapped in this kitchen with me all week, she’s been able to focus solely on the job, in a place where she feels totally in control. But when she leaves here she is going to have a baby. Everything after she walks out the door today is a nonstop list of unknowns. No perfect equation or recipe to follow, no way to know exactly what’s on the other side. I know that look on her face. I know how it feels to be terrified of something so big.

The urge to leave the room is overwhelming. I want to get as far away as possible from that look on her face, but Harris is blocking the door. I don’t know how to remove myself without making it more awkward for them both. I stare down at the notebook propped on my knees so I don’t have to see them.

“Joey, baby, you’ve got this,” he whispers to her. “You’re the strongest woman I know.”

A broken little whimper is her only response.

“You
can
do this,” he tells her emphatically.

“You don’t know!” she finally cries. “You don’t know that for sure. You don’t know how hard it will be!”

She starts crying then, in long sobs that are quickly muffled by his chest. It is physically painful for me to sit in this room, with the sound of her breaking apart echoing off the walls.

“You don’t know what it will be like,” she sobs again.

“You’re right. I don’t,” Harris says, trying to console her. “But—”

Joey’s crying gets louder still. I can only imagine what fear and nearly ten months of hormone buildup must be making her feel, but it can’t be good for her or the baby. Harris swears loudly.

It seems like the only thing he can think to say. When I glance up at them from under my lashes, he looks totally at a loss for what to do next.

“You don’t know what it’s like,” she cries again.

It becomes a nonsensical litany she says over and over.

I can’t stand it anymore.

“I do.”

My voice comes out whisper-soft, but it shocks all three of us into silence. They both look at me in surprise. I finger the bracelets on my wrist and force myself to continue.

“I know how hard it will be.” I shake off the memory that fills my head. “Becoming a mother will hurt and it’s scary, but you’ll have a beautiful baby when you’re done, Joey.” I force myself to look up into her eyes. “A little—” I clear my throat. “A little boy, right?”

She nods in response.

“Then you need to get ahold of yourself. You’re his mommy, and you have to be the grown-up here. It’s your job to take care of him, even if that’s scary. Even if you’re not sure how. You’ll hate yourself if you let him down.”

My gaze holds on to hers until she nods in agreement.

I stand, not sure my legs will hold my weight, but they do.

I leave the room.

The next day I get a text from Joey with a picture of their beautiful baby and two words.

Thank you.

The traffic passes in a blur outside the car window, but I don’t really notice it. I haven’t noticed much of anything in the past couple of weeks. Ever since that moment with Joey, I’ve been deep inside my head and unable to pull myself out of a funk. I do little more than work at Dolci and cover my last few shifts at the bar. I don’t even have the energy to put up a proper fight when Taylor calls to set up his victory date.

Which is why I find myself inside his massive black SUV now, unsure where we are headed. I did little more than put on some mostly clean clothes and wash my face to get ready for our date, and I haven’t said more than two words to him since he picked me up. My fingers trace random shapes on his leather seats, and my mind is a thousand miles away.

“I never anticipated this form of retaliation.” His words cut through the air between us.

I look over. His thumbs drum absently on the steering wheel along with the classic rock on the radio.

“Excuse me?” I ask, confused.

“The silent treatment.” He glances my way before changing lanes. “I figured you for a sore loser, but I at least thought you’d make it interesting.”

I know he is trying to bait me because he aims a grin my way. I turn and look back out the window.

“Don’t you worry, though,” he tells me gallantly. “I’ve got it all planned out. There’s not a chance you can hold onto your stoicism when you see where I’m taking you.”

“And where is that, exactly?” I ask as we merge onto yet another freeway.

We drove through Pasadena fifteen minutes ago. I’m not even sure what could possibly be this far east.

“To the worst date ever,” he says happily.

I look at him in surprise.

“Excuse me?” I ask again.

“Well, Landon and Brody went on a non-date.” His eyes dart to mine. “Have you heard this story?”

“I guess, yeah,” I tell him, confused.

“Well, they went on a non-date, which was essentially the worst first date ever. I thought it was sort of clever, and well, I’m nothing if not competitive.”

That is the understatement of the year. The sting of the dodgeball hitting my lower back with a snap is still a fresh memory. He grins happily when he sees me scowl.

“And so I thought I’d see if I could do better. Or worse, I guess,” he finishes up.

“With a bad date?”

“The worst ever,” he tells me emphatically.

“For anyone or just for me?” I ask, my curiosity creeping out of the numb place where I’ve been hiding all my feelings for the last two weeks.

Taylor clutches his heart as if I’ve wounded him.

“Now what kind of gentleman would I be if I’d planned out something generic. No way, Jennings! This day was built specifically with you in mind.”

He flips on his blinker and exits the freeway. We seem to be in the middle of nowhere, except for all the traffic around us. I look back out my window again. I don’t want him to see the curiosity on my face as I try to figure out where we are going. We crawl along several roads in a long line of traffic before I see the first sign. I gasp in genuine horror.

“A Renaissance faire?” I scream at him.

He doesn’t even try to play it cool. He starts to laugh so hard at my outburst that he can’t talk. He is wiping away tears by the time he gets enough air to reply.

“Ah Lord, Jennings, that was worth the drive just to see your face.” He chuckles again.

“So we’re not really going there?” I ask hopefully.

“Hell yes, we’re going! I won that bet fair and square. You agreed to spend four hours in my company however I see fit, and this is how I choose.”

“Do you”—I gesture emphatically at a group of teenagers who walk by his SUV dressed like gothic princesses—“
like
this kind of thing?”

“Of course not.” He starts laughing again. “But even with our limited interaction, I figured this would be your worst nightmare, so here we are!” he says grandly.

We pull up to a stoplight to wait, and an obese couple waddles by dressed as fairies. I run my hand back and forth through my hair in agitation, and Taylor follows the movement with his eyes.

“Why would you actively try to piss me off?” I growl at him. “Do you have a death wish or something?”

“Your problem is that people don’t mess with you nearly enough.” He points an accusing finger at me. “You need someone to ruffle your feathers.”

“And you’ve appointed yourself to the task.”

“I find it entertaining.” He gives me a boyish grin, dimple and all.

“Well, I find it—” I stop short at the sight of a small photo propped on the dash behind his steering wheel. “Is that a cat?” I demand, too shocked to do anything but ask the question.

“Don’t worry about the cat,” he says, gesturing to my side of the car. “Roll down your window and ask that pirate where we’re supposed to park.”

“Gramercy, my lord!” a pleather-clad idiot announces merrily as we pass through the gates of the Renaissance faire.

I scowl at Taylor through my oversize Wayfarers, which only makes his smile grow bigger. We are both wearing jeans and T-shirts, which means we are in a very small minority of people not swarming this dusty crap pile in full costume. Honestly, who knew there were this many freaks in Los Angeles County who would show up for something like this? There have to be five thousand people here, given the number of cars parked in the field next door.

Pop-up stands of various heights line the makeshift streets, and costumed freaks and geeks of every shape and size stand around drinking out of giant metal cups and yelling obscure, vaguely Renaissance-sounding things into the chaos around them. Down the way a group of people are dancing around a flipping maypole, for freak’s sake!

“My lady,” calls a woman old enough to be my grandmother. Her boobs defy the laws of both gravity and nature, piled so high in her corset that they nearly touch her chin. “Care ye for proper English garb? We rent them here for but a tuppence.”

“The tuppence is from an entirely different century,” I tell Taylor in annoyance. “You’d think they’d give them a CliffsNotes or something before they throw them out here to pedal dirty-wench costumes to kids from Northridge!”

Taylor bumps me with his shoulder, directing me farther into the crowd.

“Come on, killer, there’s a jousting tourney starting in twenty minutes. Let’s get a turkey leg to gnaw on before we head that way.”

“You’re a nightmare,” I tell him honestly.

Before he can answer, his eyes light up at something behind me.

“Don’t look now,” he tells me, fighting a smile, “but there’s a warrior fairy heading straight for you.”