A Charmed Little Lie Read online

  When did that happen?

  “Do the crazy stuff. Be bizarre. If you don’t do anything stupid when you’re young, you won’t have anything funny to remember when you’re my age.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  I woke up feeling like Ralph was lying on top of me, and I lifted my head to make sure he wasn’t. I was exhausted. Lying awake all night pondering the designs in the ceiling texture will do that.

  Hitting the snooze button three times didn’t really add to the quality of my sleep—or my peace of mind getting ready—but it did allow me another twenty-seven minutes to dwell on every kiss and every touch and every skin-tingling moment in Nick’s arms the night before.

  Seriously, what was I expecting? For him to devise some plan for our future and surprise me with it over breakfast? A declaration of undying love from a man who had already made it clear that he didn’t do that anymore? A complete turnaround in my own code of life that said love wasn’t worth my time? Not that this was that. I wasn’t saying anything like that. I just—had never experienced anything like last night. I had never experienced anything like Nick McKane. Ever. He was head-to-toe, everything I should run away from. Far and fast.

  So then why was my first thought after turning off my alarm about the need to go see if he was up and what he was doing?

  I sat up in bed. When had I become one of those women? The ones who go ass wipe stupid over a man?

  No, I thought as I swung my legs down. It was a new day, and that was not going to be my path. Not in this lifetime. I got up, showered, thought a little bit about the kiss in the shower because—I’m human. Geared up to go downstairs and was admittedly a little disappointed that Nick was nowhere. Not over his absence (of course), but over my silly worry of it. That was thirty good coffee minutes I wasted.

  I was just headed for the coffee maker, when the back door opened and in huffed Nick and Ralph. Fresh in from a run, breathing hard—Ralph, not Nick.

  Hair sticking up. Shirt sticking to him. Nick, not Ralph. Muscles all outlined and wet. I’d never been one to understand what was sexy about sweat, but Nick pulled it off.

  “Morning,” he said, opening the fridge for a bottle of orange juice.

  “Morning,” I said. “Coffee’ll be ready in a few.”

  “Don’t need any today.” He opened the bottle and knocked back three-quarters of it before pouring the remainder into Ralph’s bowl.

  “You don’t need coffee?”

  He hit his chest with his fist. “Good hard run today, that’s a natural stimulant.”

  “Naturally crazy,” I said, filling the machine with water. “Oh, by the way, I forgot to tell you we have a dog now.”

  I had a dog now. Me. When this was over, Ralph would come with me.

  Nick looked down to where Ralph was sprawled on the cool tile, tongue lolling. “Another one?”

  “No, this one,” I said. “I just don’t think he’s on loan anymore.”

  Nick nodded. “Cool. So you done with the shower? Don’t want to piss off any plumbing ghosts today.”

  “I’m good.”

  He gave me a thumbs-up. “I’m on it, then.”

  “Good deal,” I said as he disappeared.

  His head reappeared around the frame. “Really?”

  I nodded, and he left again.

  “Yep.”

  I heard a sigh, and bit my lip.

  Well. That was interesting. Like nothing ever happened.

  Okay then. That’s how he wanted to deal with it? Go back to the way it was a month ago, before things got—complicated? Hey, that was okay, right? That totally fit in with today’s new cause. There would be no reason for obsessing from either one of us.

  Cool.

  Got it.

  Awesome.

  * * *

  Did you see her and her husband out there last night?

  Damn, I wish my husband still kissed me like that.

  You think they’re really married?

  If not, I want to be the first in line for a piece of that.

  Y’all, that man makes me sweat a hundred different ways.

  The thing about being a bank teller, is that when you stand behind that little partitioned window, people think you can’t hear them if they aren’t talking directly to you. You’re invisible to a point. And at least a third of the town had gone through my line today, talking with their line buddies about the steamy scene that had gone down at the Honeycomb Dance. It was like being back in high school, but with a paycheck.

  I smiled and played their pretend game of I can’t hear you, letting them think they pulled something over on me. It worked to my benefit. Not only did they talk trash on me, but I also ended up getting the scoop on the Bowmans and even my crazy cousins.

  Not only did Bryce play a dirty little scam of Pin the Tail on the Rich Guy quite frequently, but he also had a habit of losing his ass in any bet within a five-mile radius. And he and his wife had just lost their house in Denning to foreclosure and were living in a double-wide just outside of town. Telling me he was probably desperate to get his hands on Aunt Ruby’s house and money, and get those condos going.

  Little Miss Katrina evidently wasn’t the only one with wandering fingers. Her grabby husband (yes, I’d rather refer to him as that than as my ex-boyfriend) had become quite well known for dipping his toe into other people’s ponds. Also, while he was freelancing in a little beekeeping and trying to build up some business with Bash Anderson’s apiary, his name was thrown around a lot as a short-term high-interest pocketbook for the temporarily desperate.

  Bryce Clark, for example.

  Amazing, the things you can learn when you just blend in.

  By the time I got off at noon, I had a plan. It was simple, really. Stay under the radar. No more big scenes, mouth-to-mouth, boobs-to-the-world, or otherwise. Nick and I weren’t strong on subtle, so we just needed to stay quiet and not draw attention to ourselves for the duration. Normal married couples did that. We could do that.

  It was a pretty day, low humidity, so we decided to walk the half-mile to the festival. Or Nick did. His no-coffee-good-strong-run day had him taking it in stride, while I was puffing at the end, keeping a good foot or two between us for good measure.

  “You all right?” he asked.

  “Perfect,” I responded.

  “Sounds like it,” he said as we rounded the corner to the main avenue into town and all the action came into view. His fingers laced into mine, and that both poked at my heart and annoyed me. It was just the game again.

  That’s what you wanted!

  We kept it low key. Acted like everyone else. Tasted honey samples at the various booths and filled out voter ballots. Checked out the craft booths and bought him a set of cooking utensils and me a painted T-shirt that said I Like It Raw.

  Cracked me up. Okay, maybe that wasn’t totally low key, but I thought it a minor infraction.

  Then it was time for the games. All the local businesses competed in a series of crazy games, all in good fun. Or all in good play-to-the-death competition. There was a water balloon fight, a rope climb, a cake-eating contest, and a three-legged race, all culminating at the end with a marathon of all four events with the top four. Those four were paired off into two teams, and the winning team shared the glory.

  Once upon a time, there was only one winner, but someone decided that sharing with another business promoted community teamwork and goodwill, so it was changed. Honestly, I think it was more about having to live with one person’s bragging for an entire year.

  The cake-eating contest was first, and I was playing for the bank. It was my favorite one of course.

  “I’m a cook,” Nick teased, sitting next to me. “I’ve got this.”

  “Just because you can make a cake doesn’t mean you can eat it,” I said, rolling my head on my shoulders and popping my knuckles. The four-layer cake in front of me was daunting. I formed a strategy, one slice at a ti
me.

  “Big words, Mrs. McKane,” he said.

  Calling me that sent goose bumps trickling down my spine.

  Why?

  It wasn’t the first time. But something about sitting next to my husband in a goofy town festival cake-eating contest suddenly felt so domestic. So normal and real.

  Focus, Lanie.

  The bell rang, and we were off. We each had knives, but those of us with experience skipped that time consuming task. Hands worked just fine, and going for big bites with minimum chewing was optimal. The winner was Berty Carson from the barber shop, an elderly man who obviously had been practicing judging by the girth around his waist.

  Still, I had three-fourths of my cake gone compared to Nick’s little over half.

  “What was that, Mr. McKane?” I said, putting my cake-covered hand to my ear. “Was that the sound of losing?”

  Nick grabbed my hand and stuck one of my fingers in his mouth, sucking the cake off with his tongue. Everything stopped for me for a moment, the world going on tilt, and he winked as he licked his lips.

  “What was that, Mrs. McKane?” he said. “The sound of shock?”

  Oh, what a dirty, dirty boy. He didn’t play fair. I would so remember that.

  Next up, was the rope climb. Some thick fire station rope with knots tied in hung from two ladder trucks. Now—seriously, come on. This one was tailor made for the guys. Well, the guys and the hard core females with a chip on their shoulders. Nick hit his rope like a pro, steadily climbing hand over hand, while every woman watching—yours truly included—had a near sexual experience.

  My turn was next, and Nick grinned at me. “You can do this.”

  “I know,” I said sarcastically. “Although it might work better if you put an angry bear at the bottom and an ice cream cone at the top. Something for motivation.”

  The bell rang, and Missy Yancy, a Zumba instructor with zero body fat and thigh muscles that could snap a man in half, scaled that rope before I could get to the third knot. Which was a good thing, considering I might have still been there at the same time tomorrow.

  “Don’t feel bad,” Nick said, close to my ear. “They throw out the two very bottom scores.”

  I shrugged. “I guess my thighs are just used to wrapping around bigger things.”

  The desire that darkened his gaze and took his power of speech away was so worth it. Take that, pretty boy.

  “What do we think?” said Allie Greene, walking up between us. “Time for the water balloons?”

  Nick double-blinked away from me like he hadn’t heard a word. Like he was still back there with my thighs. I had to admit, the image was sticking with me too.

  Not that I was obsessing. Or acting a fool over a man. Just after last night’s extracurricular activity, I was having some difficulty separating the somewhat impure thoughts from all the other thoughts. Yeah. That was it.

  “What?” he asked.

  Splat.

  Allie smashed a large green water balloon into Nick’s torso, soaking his pullover shirt and outlining his ab muscles in fabric.

  “Sorry,” she said. “It was on a dare.” Allie shrugged devilishly. “And being your boss, I was the safest person to deliver the job.”

  Nick held out his arms as everything dripped, looking down at himself and then at Allie as all the females cheered.

  Wow.

  “Oh, it’s on,” he said.

  Allie shrieked and ran, and someone brought four coolers full of already filled water balloons into the center of the ring.

  It was like a bunch of five-year-olds arrived in adult bodies. Everyone scrambled to get handfuls, armfuls, even shirt-fulls of balloons and retreat behind lines, but Allie’s jumpstart on Nick changed the atmosphere. The ice cream store ladies threw early at the cell phone store guys, and all the employees at the flower nursery decided to wage war with each other. What was designed to be two lines taking aim at each other, turned into a free-for-all frenzy mixed with a wet T-shirt contest.

  Mayor Dean got several shots to the head, someone’s carefully aimed balloon popped Katrina Bowman on the side of the neck, and then a warm water explosion down my cleavage got my attention. Not as much as the hand that remained resting against there did.

  “Alan,” I gasped, as he then playfully picked me up around the middle and swung me around, using me as a human shield. “What are you doing?”

  What the fuck was he doing? Treating me like we were a couple, and familiar, and intimate. His moronic wife standing no more than ten feet away.

  And my husband—was stopped in his tracks, staring at us as I shrieked, water balloons still slamming into his back as every muscle looked poised to strike.

  “Put me down,” I said, kicking one foot backward into his knee.

  “Ow, okay,” Alan said, laughing and obliging.

  I turned on my heel when I landed, intending on giving him a piece of my mind, but the bloodshot whites of his eyes stopped me. He was feeling no pain. No inhibitions. No logic. His life wasn’t the grinning perfection that it appeared to be, and working with extortion had to be exhausting. I walked away, away from Alan, away from Nick. Just off to the sidelines a bit to escape the craziness. It wasn’t worth making a scene.

  “Lanie.” I turned at the serious tone in Nick’s voice. “Are you okay?”

  “I’m fine,” I said, automatically reaching for him and wondering when that became automatic. He detached a blade of grass or something from my cheek and the imprint from his fingers that was left behind was warm. And then I wanted to slap myself. “Really. He’s just drunk.”

  “Already?” Nick said, looking back at where Alan was blearily grinning in the crowd. “This early?”

  “Evidently. Just let it go.”

  “He basically just felt you up,” Nick said, one eyebrow coming down in irritation as his gaze lowered to my chest. My dripping wet chest that was now covered in wet white fabric. Great. I had to wear white today. And Nick saw the water balloon score to first base. Awesome.

  I pulled my wet T-shirt away from my chest and fanned it to hopefully lose the cling factor. Not that it was anything Nick hadn’t already seen, courtesy of me.

  “Please.”

  I had another epiphany as déjà vu hit. When Katrina was mauling him, and then put her hands on his bare chest in the pool, something I hadn’t even touched yet. That’s what was eating him. Alan got something Nick hadn’t had yet.

  Yet.

  We moved on. Watched the other competitors. Were treated with honey-drizzled pecan pralines until the sugar high was at a peak. Till it was time for the four winners to be announced. I was not expecting anything, as my performances (except for the cake-eating) weren’t all that. I didn’t even know how they were judging the water balloon debacle.

  “The winners to perform in the grand finale are,” Mayor Dean announced over a microphone someone handed him. “Alan and Katrina Bowman,” he said.

  “Of course,” I muttered. “Although Katrina did no better on that rope than I did. Missy Yancy should win over her.”

  “And Nick and Lanie McKane,” Mayor Dean finished.

  “Say what?” I exclaimed.

  It had to be rigged and planned and part of the bigger picture. That’s all there was to it. No way in hell that—

  “And to make it fair and interesting,” Mayor Dean was saying. “Couples can’t be teamed together, so Nick will be with Katrina, and Alan will be with Lanie.”

  All the fucks in the world couldn’t cover this.

  “This is—” Nick began.

  “Supremely jacked,” I finished.

  “Rules are this,” Dean continued. “The rope is done as a team. Figure out how to work together to reach the top. Then a three-legged race from there to the finish line, where you’ll have another cake to finish off by feeding each other.”

  I felt ill. For both of us.

  Mostly for him, which by default was for me, because
the thought of Katrina’s hands all over him, her body all over him, Nick sucking the cake from her fingers like he’d done mine—oh my God, my blood ran hot and angry and I needed to quit.

  Alan and Katrina walked up to us, her smiling in her innocent I’m-not-trying-to-be-seductive scam.

  “Hey, partner,” she said, sidling up to Nick, while Alan just gave me the drunk eyeball. Up and down.

  I might puke before we ever got to the cake.

  We set up on the two ropes, Alan and I both peering upward. I didn’t see his first attempt, so I had no idea if he was any good at it. And honestly, I didn’t care. I signed up to do this at work, thinking it would be fun, and now that I was the only one left in the running, were any of them around to cheer me on? Hell no. I was on my own. Go me.

  I only had one thought. Dear Lord, please don’t let me fail in an embarrassing way in front of Nick.

  Well, it was good to have a goal.

  “Here’s how this is going to work,” I heard Nick tell Katrina. “Take your shoes off. I’m starting and going to that first knot, then you’re going to climb me, and I’ll shove you up. Then you’ll stop and lock on, and I’ll climb you to the top.”

  Katrina’s eyes went foggy and I think she probably orgasmed right there. I would have. As it was, my insides were going to molten lava with anger that she was going to be all over him like that.

  “That sounds like a good plan,” Alan said, pulling my attention back.

  Balls.

  Thunder rumbled in the distance, and I looked around for the non-existent rain. What were the odds that the sky would open up and drown out this little event? Like—before I had to climb Alan.

  The bell dinged, and a crowd of people gathered around, whooping, hollering, laughing and cheering us on as four people climbed each other like uncoordinated drunk monkeys.

  “Would you have ever thought when we were dating in high school that you would be climbing my body like this all these years later?” Alan teased loudly as I attempted in the most ungraceful manner possible to scale him.

  Huffing and groaning, I advanced a full foot.