Hope Entangles: A New Adult Romantic Comedy (Book 2 of 3) (3 page)

“
Oh my god…” Darla murmured.
“That’s Hard Ass Jackson.”

“
What?” But then I
recognized the name. “Holy shit…”

Raymond (Hard Ass) Jackson was the
single most feared driver’s license test giver in the state. He’d
been at it going on forty years and was a household
name.

Darla’s hands tightened again on the
wheel, her knuckles once again white.

“
He has a seventy-five
percent fail ratio. There’s a kid in my class that still won’t try
again since he drove around with him—my brother’s girlfriend went
into therapy last year after he failed her.”

What the hell was Bette
thinking?

Bette and Hard Ass Jackson stopped
beside the car, chatting away like old friends. She gave him one of
her full-throated laughs—and then snorted. I’d never heard her
snort before. It was so dorky yet adorable on her.

Finally the two pulled out of their
shared reverie and Bette said, “These are my friends: Hope and
Darla. Girls, this is my Uncle Jackson.”

My mouth fell open, as did Darla’s.
Hard Ass Jackson was her uncle?

The man smiled… well, he grinned, his
hawk sharp eyes taking us in and assessing us. His gaze honed in on
Darla.

“
Little Bette here tells me
you’ve failed nine times.”

Little Bette?

Darla’s mouth snapped shut with a
click, and she bowed her head. “Yes, sir. I get kinda
nervous.”

“
And she says your boyfriend
makes you even more nervous.”

Darla grimaced and shook her
head.

“
Look at me, girl,” Hard Ass
said.

Darla raised her head and looked him
square in the eye.

“
That’s better. Now, as for
your boyfriend, young men get stupid when around pretty girls and
about their shiny automobiles. When you mix the two don’t be
surprised when they turn downright idiotic.”

Darla smiled, her dimples making her
absolutely gorgeous.

He nodded his head toward Bette. “My
niece here tells me she’s been working with you all afternoon.” He
took a long, slow breath. “That alone should earn you a
medal.”

Bette punched Hard Ass in the shoulder,
which he ignored.

“
Uncle Jackson!”

He shrugged and looked decidedly
satisfied with himself.

“
Don’t fuss, girl. I’ll be
on my very best behavior for your little friend.” The big man
opened the driver’s side door to the Cadillac and dropped
gracefully down in. I was impressed with how easily he moved. I was
also impressed at how his massive shoulders completely blocked his
side of the windshield.

“
Miss?” he said, and I
realized he was talking to me. “Only Miss Monroe and I can be in
the car during the test.”

Miss Monroe? Was Marilyn
here?

Then it hit me he was talking about
Darla. I vaguely remember reading that on her state ID when I’d
photocopied it.

“
Oh… sorry.” I got out of
the car.

“
Now don’t go too hard on
her, Uncle Jackson. That’s one sweet little girl you’ve got
there.”

Hard Ass turned his head and smiled. It
was the smile of a great white shark, and it made both Bette and I
take a step back.

“
Don’t worry about a thing,
little Bette. I’ll treat her as if she were my own
niece.”

Bette pursed her lips, her hands
balling up into fists. “Goddamn it, Jackson. You can’t do that to
her!”

He just grinned as the window slid up
and he motioned Darla forward with a wave of his hand.

Darla’s eyes were wide with terror, but
she managed to put the Caddy in drive and

smoothly move out of the parking lot
and into the thickening afternoon traffic.

“
That bastard!” Bette
groaned.

I stood next to her and watched as they
drove away. “So what did he do to you when you went and tested
out?”

Her jaw clenched. “He wanted to make
sure his “little Bette” wouldn’t go and get herself killed on the
open road.” She took in a deep breath and let it out in a sigh. “He
knew my daddy didn’t want me driving… and neither did my husband.
So he decided to put me through a not so standard obstacle
course.”

“
How ‘not so
standard’.”

“
He had me driving through a
junk yard while some of his guys jumped out from behind stuff, or
rolled barrels in my path.”

“
Oh…” Damn.

“
I had to do my
maneuverability test on the ice of a hockey rink.”

“
Oh…” Double
damn.

“
And I had to parallel park
in front of the capital building during rush hour.”

Darla was doomed. “What a
guy.”

“
Crazy old
bastard!”

Chapter 3

Hard Ass Jackson and Darla had been
gone for over an hour and a half. Bette and I sat impatiently in
the lobby of the patrol barracks, trying not to wilt from the
anemic air conditioning.

I was trying to get
engrossed in an article in
Reader’s
Digest
. It was written by Teller (of Penn
and Teller). It was a good article about magic and deceiving
people. I was reading it so if by chance I ever had, say, a
magician try to con me, I’d at least have a fighting
chance.

Bette was using a copy
of
Field and Stream
to fan herself. Two uniformed patrolmen leaned by the water
cooler and tried not to stare at Bette’s ample assets. But who
could really blame them? Bette had the body of Dolly Parton… and
the beautiful face too. All topped off with curly, fiery red hair,
and she was wearing a particularly low cut top that showed off her
impressive décolletage to its best advantage.

A phone rang and after the third ring
it occurred to one of the water cooler patrolmen to answer it. He
tripped and spilled his untouched water all over the
counter.

Bette sat serenely, a small, satisfied
smile on her pretty face.

Bette’s white Caddy rolled to a stop
outside the front door and Darla sat there for a moment, listening
to Hard Ass Jackson intently as he spoke.

Bette leaned into me and held onto my
arm. She was thinking the same thing I was: what the hell was he
saying?

Hard Ass handed Darla a slip of
paper—she looked down at it, seriousness etching her creamy young
complexion.

“
I should have never brought
her here…” Bette whispered.

Darla turned and looked at us, and ever
so slowly, a wide, devastatingly bright smile spread across her
lips.

Hard Ass was already out of the car and
heading for the front doors to the barracks. Darla opened her door,
jumped out and flying tackled the old giant of a man, hugging his
neck and kissing his cheek.

He stood there frozen for a moment, and
then he rolled his eyes as a grudging smile overtook his
face.

Bette slumped back in her seat. “Oh,
thank god!” She slid on her shades again. “Should have known the
old man wouldn’t have a chance against that girl; she has the charm
of an angel, a movie star, and a politician, all rolled up into
one.”

I smiled. “Yeah, she’s going to be the
spitting image of you someday.”

Bette pursed her lips. “There’s only
one of me, Hope. There will be no second generation.”

I turned to hide my smile. Darla and
Bette were cut from the same cloth. That’s why they got along so
well so quickly... once they made nice.

After Bette thanked Hard Ass—I mean,
her Uncle Jackson—we piled into Bette’s trusty Caddy and headed to
the DMV. We lucked out and there wasn’t a line, and before we knew
it Darla was sitting to get her picture taken.

I would have suggested she come back
when she’d had time to do her hair and change into something more
fashionable… but it was Darla, and she would have looked good
rolling out of bed and into a potato sack.

All she had to do was smile.

Dimples…

***

Darla and Bette both wanted to
celebrate with ice cream. And, of course, the closest ice cream
joint was Crickster’s.

Drat, drat, double damn it to
hell…

I hadn’t told Bette about that
particular “date.” But I didn’t want to sully the celebratory
atmosphere by begging off from ice cream. I mean, I’m a girl! No
matter what has happened in the past, nothing on this earth should
be able to lessen the wonderfulness of going out for ice
cream.

Plus I’d been going to Crickster’s
since I was seven. I so wasn’t going to let the memory of one
little pseudo-date ruin it for me.

I just wasn’t!

Darla drove, and pulled into the ice
cream parlor parking lot, almost mowing down a gaggle of little
pre-teen Miss Texases I held my breath, but Bette snorted her
approval.

Darla was going to be a menace… just
like Bette.

We moseyed on up to the order window:
Bette got a soft-serve chocolate chocolate-dip. It wasn’t even in a
waffle-cone! I just stared, not believing she had ordered
soft-serve at an ice cream parlor.

It was un-American.

Darla ordered a strawberry shake and a
small pistachio waffle cone. I could live with that.

I ordered my usual: a chocolate chip
cookie dough double scooped waffle cone, and once our order was
filled we congregated around an open picnic table. The sun was high
and hot, and I sat and watched as Bette and Darla demolished their
ice cream. I looked down and found my hand dripping with melted
goodness. I gave my cone a cursory lick, the usually mouthwatering
delight was sickly sweet on my tongue.

I got up and ditched the cone in the
trash, going back to the order counter for a diet coke and a wet
wipe.

I stood there a moment, wiping my hands
off, and a sly, dry Texas wind blew past me, touching me all over,
like the gentlest of lovers. It made me close my eyes, breathing in
deep of the smell of pine trees and dust. And I could swear I heard
Shania warbling that certain tune again. As the wind blew around me
like a mini twister, I felt myself get lost in a memory.

Jake’s strong arms around me as we slow
danced, not even ten feet away from where I stood now.

If I tried hard enough, could I smell
his aftershave?

I shook my head and the memory
vanished. Slowly opening my eyes, I took in the near empty parking
lot. No one was here except Darla, Bette, and me.

Jake was not here…

That’s when a sleek, midnight blue 68’
Mustang roared into the lot. It shone like it was new, and rumbled
like there was a pride of lions pacing around under the
hood.

It stopped right in front of me, and I
realized I recognized the two people sitting in it.

Billy and Georgia.

Well, hot damn. He’d actually gotten
her to go out with him. But I remembered the “Just to talk,”
Georgia had interjected in there when she’d first
agreed.

Billy looked like he was ready to pant
like a happy Great Dane. Georgia looked confused and wanting to be
anywhere but where she was.

I waved when their two sets of eyes
spotted me. Billy smiled broadly, looking too happy to live, and
then he glanced over at Georgia and his smile turned Big Bad Wolf
again; which reminded me I needed him to model for me sometime in
the next couple weeks so I could get my next cover put together.
From the look on her face I was seriously doubting Georgia would be
joining him. Hopefully Billy knew more than just one
girl…

The working title for the
novel was
Red’s Big Bad
Wolf
. It was an erotic retelling of the
fairytale, set in modern-day New York City. Red lives a
quiet,
Sex and the City
kind of life, a customer service rep for Prada by day, a cyber
sex-advice columnist by night. That is until the night she runs
afoul of a local werewolf pack Alpha. Turns out Red is a badass
Wicca with a temper and a talent for catching things on fire:
especially overbearing, arrogant alpha werewolves.

Red tames the Alpha boy’s
beast, and bondage fun abounds. Her grandmother ends up being a
werewolf hunter, though, and a wacky
will
she kill him, will she not
plot blends into
the endless rutting, spanking, and overall mess making.

Janine had high hopes for it to sell
big.

I watched with interest as Billy leapt
from the driver’s seat of his shiny beast, gave me a wave and a
sexy smirk/eyebrow wriggle, and then jogged on over to open
Georgia’s door for her.

Oh boy…

Billy opened her door, but she refused
to let him help her out off the car.

“
Hi guys,” I said as Georgia
looked uncomfortable and tugged at the cute little silky top she
had on, to make sure it was covering every possible inch of her
lithe, curvy frame.