On the Ropes (5 page)

Janette laughed softly as she broke a hushpuppy in two. Normally, she’d tune out other people’s conversations because that’s what good manners dictated. Stephen and Megan’s relationship fascinated her, though. Janette had a couple of half siblings from her father, but even living in the same household, they had been sort of kept apart. Sure, they’d eaten at the same table and gone to the same schools, but there was no arguing that she was
excess
, and not in a good way. It may have been their Christian duty to take her in, but that didn’t mean they had to love her.

That knot came back. Janette sighed and pulled her beer mug closer. She was under no illusions that alcohol would make anything better, but maybe if she concentrated on the movement, the swallowing, she’d stop fucking thinking.

“We can get all that in the morning,” Stephen said, still on the phone.

Janette looked into the mirror and saw him rubbing the bridge of his nose. His mouth opened into a wide yawn.

Was he even going to be able to finish his meal?

“Nah. I’m at The Sandbar with Jan getting dinner. Don’t worry about rushing out here. I know how Toby is about getting up early, so just leave whenever you were going to. We can walk down to the donut place for breakfast if we’re even up in time. Yeah. Drive safe. Call when you’re nearby.”

He ended the call and set the phone on the bar top. “She’s a bit obsessive, my little sister,” he explained. “Apparently, if she’s not here, we’ll waste away and be unable to work out how to tend to ourselves.”

“I think it’s sweet. She cares about you.”

“Shit, she needs to worry less about me and more about herself. Did I tell you she’s carrying twins?”

All Janette could do in response to that was gape. Maybe Janette was short, but Megan was small in the way that gymnasts who never really “grew up” were small.

He laughed. “I know, right? I haven’t seen her since Easter, and she was barely pregnant then. I imagine that by now, she’s about to tip over. If those kids are going to be big like Seth, I don’t see how she’s going to make it to the end.”

Janette didn’t particularly wish to imagine the logistics herself. In fact, she’d never thought of having kids. That dream of a doting husband, two-point-five kids, and a house with a picket fence never seemed attainable for her. She wasn’t convinced that sort of idealized happiness truly existed, even though she yearned for it. Her mother told her fairy tales when she was young enough to think they’d come true. Maybe they did for some people.

The waitress dropped off their food, and they ate in a companionable silence for a while. The fried seafood was hot and the fish was fresh. Whoever was in the kitchen knew what they were doing.

A door at the far right end of the wall behind the bar swung open and a very broad man in a white paper cap and greasy apron wiped his hands while scanning the room. He looked toward Janette and Stephen and shouted over the television din, “Saw the Massachusetts plates in the lot. Wondered if it was you.” He made his way down the bar and held out a hand. Stephen grabbed it and gave it a hearty shake. “What happened to your last car?” the cook asked. He leaned his forearms on the bar top and his forehead furrowed.

Stephen shrugged and pushed his shrimp to one corner of his platter. “Couldn’t fit all the kids and their boxing gear into it. Half of them wouldn’t show up for lessons if they didn’t have the ride.”

“It’s just Saturdays, right?”

Stephen nodded and spooned up some coleslaw.

“Even so, I don’t see how you’re still juggling everything. Saturdays sometimes ended up being my busiest workdays. All that fucking paperwork.”

“Well, you had an incompetent paralegal.”

“Don’t talk shit about my cousin. She tried hard.”

They both laughed, and it dawned on Janette that this man must have been the lawyer turned restaurateur Stephen had mentioned during the drive. He certainly didn’t look like much of a lawyer, or even a past one. What she could see of his salt-and-pepper hair was gathered into a ponytail at his nape. Both arms were covered in traditional-style tattoos from wrists to, probably, shoulders. The T-shirt tucked into his half apron had a Vargas-style pinup girl with pursed red lips holding a platter of fried clams beneath a speech bubble that read, “
Don’t clam up now, honey. The fun’s just getting started at The Sandbar Grille
.”

He moved in front of Janette and his pecs danced beneath the pinup’s head. “Like my shirt? That guy”—he tipped his head toward Stephen—“told me to try again with the wording. I didn’t listen.”

She looked at Stephen, and he beamed over a
you’re on your own
look before diving back into his dinner.

Thanks a lot.

She turned back to the cook and met his gaze. His eyes were a cold, steely gray, but there was kindness in them. He had the sort of calm peacefulness in his bearing only possible from a man who was truly content with his situation. He’d found his calling. Lucky.

She cleared her throat. “Uh. Well, it does make me curious about what the fun is.” She had a sneaking suspicion it was something more than piling fried foodstuffs into one’s belly.

“Oh, she’s a smart one,” he said to Stephen, and then turned back to her. “This is my Wednesday night shirt. I’m behind on laundry. My wife left me.”

“Derrick, your wife left you ten years ago,” Stephen said.

“And I’m
only
five days behind on laundry. I call that a win.
Dick.
Hey, I’m just a cook. I can’t afford la-di-dah dry-cleaning like some people I know.”

Stephen scoffed. “Right. Just a cook, my ass.” He gave Janette the tiniest little nudge to her upper arm. That small touch sent a constriction to her lungs that made her suck in a sharp breath. Damn, if he actually touched anything
important
, she might combust.

“This guy right here,” he said, obviously unaware of her distress, “used to ruin corporations.”

“On purpose?” Her voice came out as a strained wisp, and she he had to remind herself to exhale. Did his acknowledgement really mean that much to her?

“Yeah, on purpose. That was his job.”

“If they’d been doing what they were supposed to be doing in the first place, they wouldn’t need ruining,” Derrick said. “Anyway. That was the old me. I don’t even own a matching suit anymore.”

“As long as you’re happy,” Janette said.

“I am happy. And I’d be
much
happier if you came back Wednesday night.”

“Nuh-uh.” Stephen shook his head hard. “She’s not that kind of girl.”

“Oh, friend of yours?”

She froze, afraid to move even the smallest muscle while waiting for Stephen’s response. How would he define their relationship? She’d never had a reason to try.

“Don’t go fishing, Derrick.”

“Come on, tell me. She’s not local, so that means either you brought her or she met you here.” His eyes went wide, and he turned back to Janette. “Where are ya staying?”

“Um…” Technically, she didn’t know
where
the house was, only that it was nearby. Was she supposed to obfuscate, or…hell, she didn’t know what Stephen was up to—what he’d want her to say. She suspected, though, that he wouldn’t be so candid about the fact the vacation would probably end up being a weeklong hook-up. He may have had a dirty mouth, but he tended to run it only at the right times.

“You’re staying with
him
, aren’t you?” Derrick’s grin was downright predatory. Sharklike. She pitied anyone who counted him as an enemy.

The waitress bobbed past at that moment and flicked a rag in Derrick’s general direction. “Out of stuff to cook?” she asked over her shoulder.

“Put in an order and I’ll cook it.” He rolled his eyes and looked at Janette again. “You know, she doesn’t
have
to work for me. When I left law, I figured she’d find something else to do. Nope. She followed me down here and came begging for a job.”

“That was your paralegal? Your cousin?”

“Yep.”

“She’s a good waitress.”

“Better waitress than she was a paralegal. But let’s not get distracted. You staying at this guy’s house?”

“Drop it, Derrick. Shit,” Stephen said.

“No, no, no, you can’t just leave me hanging like this. How long have you and Meg owned that place? Way longer than I’ve had this restaurant. You’re the one who introduced me to the area.”

“Ten years, I think.”

“You bought a beach house at twenty-seven?” Janette asked. A similar property in Bermuda would be very expensive. She thought she’d be renting for the rest of her life. Suited her since she probably wasn’t going to get her white picket fence, anyway.

“Not exactly,” Stephen said. “My mother’s mother left me and Meg a little cottage when she died. It got pulverized in a storm when we were teenagers. For a lot of years, the lot was vacant. I didn’t give it any thought until right around the time I was settling in at my first firm. Meg was here in North Carolina finishing up college, and it didn’t look like she was going back up north. I figured I could dip into my trust and put a little something on the lot.”

Derrick guffawed. “
Little something
, he says.”

“Come on, it’s not exactly a mansion.”

“If you say so.”

“Well, I wasn’t going to put a tiny little house on a lot that size. And it’s only four bedrooms.”

“Mm-hmm.” Derrick directed a conspiratorial side-eye at Janette. “He’s not counting the loft, I guess.”

Stephen shrugged. “Maybe I would if there were a bed in it.”

“I keep forgetting that you’re rich,” she mumbled.

“You say
rich
like it’s a curse word,” Derrick said. “Nothing wrong with a little money if you’re spending it right.”

He had a point.

“I don’t think he’s never brought any other chick to the house. So…I’m going to take a wild-ass guess that you’re not the kind of woman who goes panning for gold.”

She felt her face scrunch with her confusion at his turn of phrase, and he barked his laughter. “Oh, shit! Steve, does she know your parents are sitting on their own little Fort Knox?”

Stephen pulled out his wallet and tossed a couple of twenties on the bar top. “For fuck’s sake, man.”

“What? We’re in a recession. Your solvency makes you a catch you wouldn’t otherwise be.”

“I’m starting to understand why your wife left you.”

“Some friend you are.”

“Indeed.” Stephen turned to Janette. He’d looked tired before, but now he looked positively drained. Forget sex, she wanted to force him into his jammies and tuck him in for the night. She didn’t allow herself to think too much about the fact she’d given that much of a care about
any
man.

“Don’t let him harass you,” Stephen said. “He’s like an annoying cat. Squirt him with a little cold water and he’ll probably shut up and go away.”

“He’s not that bad.”

“That’s because he’s just getting warmed up. Sit here long enough, and he might invite you home for a fucking orgy.”

She looked at Derrick, incredulous.

His thick eyebrows danced.

That was
so
not a denial.

“Oh, boy,” she whispered, and wrung her hands. She didn’t know what had gotten into her, but she thought the big man would probably show her the kind of good time it’d take days to recover from. Her gaze fell to his large hands on the bar, and she swallowed. They were longshoreman hands, not chef’s hands.

She pulled in a sharp inhale at Stephen’s touch on her back.

“I take it you don’t want to share?” Derrick whispered to Stephen.

“Jan? Not especially.”

Share?
Were they talking about what she
thought
they were talking about?

“You know where I am if you change your mind.” Derrick leaned in closer and whispered to her, “I’d be gentle.”

“Sure you would,” she said weakly.

Yeah, they were definitely talking about what she thought. She
really
needed to find out exactly what kind of deviant Stephen was just so she wasn’t taken off-guard. Two gorgeous men wanting her at once? She just might keel over at the sight of them naked. Side effect of growing up in a puritanical household. They’d blow out every one of her circuits.

“You all done?” Stephen asked, rubbing the small of her back.

Her ass clenched as his fingertips lingered at the base of her spine. She forced down an indulgent little moan, took one final look at her plate, and nodded. She’d eaten so quickly. She regretted that now, and not because of the probable indigestion. There were no more stops between the restaurant and the house. No more people around to buffer them, to stave off the uncomfortable conversations. It’d be just her and Stephen, and that scared her more now than the prospect of visiting her invalid mother. She’d been doing all the rejecting before. What if it was his turn now…now that she found him so intriguing?

“So, you’ll come back on Wednesday?” Derrick’s shark-like grin returned as he looked from Stephen to Janette and back.

“Not a chance,” Stephen said. He stood and grabbed his phone from the bar top.

“But, what’s happening on Wednesday?” she asked. “I really do want to know.”

“It’s the most fun you’ll have all summer aside from coming home with me,” Derrick said. “I’d say
no offense
to Stephen, but I wouldn’t mean it.”

Groaning, Stephen held out his hand to her. She stared dumbly at it for a few beats. He was
offering
, not taking. He could have just picked up her hand and pulled her along, but he was giving her choices. The choice to be touched or not touched. The choice to leave or stay.

Choice was an intoxicating thing. She put her hand in his and gave Derrick a small wave. “It was a pleasure meeting you.”

“We haven’t met
yet
, honey. We should be properly introduced in case I need to swoop in and pick up the pieces of your broken heart.”

“Fuck you, Derrick,” Stephen said. “Don’t be a stranger. I’m sure Meg would love to see you sometime next week.”

Derrick waved them off. “Yeah, yeah. I’ll bring beer.”

She and Stephen maneuvered through the tight-packed tables to the door and out to the parking lot.

She took in a deep breath of fresh, sea air upon stepping on the gravel and indulged in the utter perfectness of the scenario. The situation would have made a fabulous end to a getting-to-know you first date, minus the threesome proposition.