Place Your Betts (The Marilyns) (34 page)

Tom winkled his nose. “That’s just wrong.” Chester and Marva Ann in the sack. He might never get that image out of his head.

“I guess it’s good.” Kaitlin looked out the window. “Sex is supposed to be this beautiful thing that brings people closer. I plan on doing it forever.”

Tom glanced at her. Really? She hadn’t wanted to since that first time. The nagging voice inside his head was convinced that he’d done something wrong. He wanted her to enjoy it as much as he did. He swallowed. “Would you like to?”

“What?” Kaitlin turned her sky-blue eyes on him.

“You know.” His voice cracked. “Do it again.”

She looked down. “Yes…and no. It hurt a lot.”

In his gut, fear arm wrestled regret. He had done it wrong and hurt her.

“But it opened something inside me. I want to do it again. All I think about is sex. Sometimes it’s like I’m desperate to have you inside me, but then I’m scared too.” She looked up. “Do you hate me?”

Tom turned onto a dirt road and put the truck in park. “I love you. If we never do it again, I will still love you.” His cock flinched. In his mind, he knew it was true, but his body wouldn’t like not having her.

Kaitlin wiped her cheeks with her sleeve.

Tom leaned over and kissed her lightly on the lips. No pressure, just love. He would take care with her from now on and never lose control again. She was too precious, and he was too clumsy.

Lightly, Kaitlin kissed his cheek then his mouth. Kneeling next to him, she leaned back and looked him in the eye. “Would you mind if I took control for a while? I want to see what it’s like.” Kaitlin pressed him back against the seat, climbed on his lap, and straddled him. “That way I can stop before things go too far.”

“Yes, ma’am. I’ll just sit right here and bide my time.”

***

The tardy slip had been worth it. Kaitlin blew Tom a kiss and turned back to her locker. She pulled out her Texas History book and spiral then slammed the door. Today was the best day of her life. Her whole body was smiling.

Not only had sex
not
hurt but
wowza
—what a feeling. Her system hummed with energy. Kaitlin practically floated down the hall and into history class.

Now, she knew the truth. The mystery of sex had been revealed, and it was incredible. God knew what He was doing when He’d created it. Romance novels and the movies had nothing on the real thing.

How many times a day could a person do it? Would Tom be ready after school? She’d heard that boys couldn’t do it back-to-back. How much time did they need in between?

“Look at you.” Linde grinned. “You’re glowing.”

Kaitlin took her seat next to Linde.

 “So…Stanley and me are an item.” Linde grinned again.

Kaitlin shrugged. Why was Linde telling her? “Good for you.”

“Okay, y’all turn to chapter seventeen. Washington on the Brazos is important…” Coach Robbins droned on.

Kaitlin folded back her spiral. In the margin, she wrote,
Kaitlin Ann Swanson.
Someday it would be her name, so she’d better start practicing it.

***

Betts rolled over, felt around on the nightstand for her buzzing iPhone, found something sleek and rectangular, cracked an eye open, and slid her finger across the screen. “Hello.”

Because of Gabe’s little visit last night, she’d gotten very little sleep.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Charlie yelled over some loud, thumping background music.

“What?” Betts pressed the phone closer, trying to hear, and squinted at the glowing red numbers on the clock on the side of her bed, eight-thirty. She glanced at the window on her right. Yep, sunlight cut through the slats of the blinds. Everyone knew morning didn’t start until the crack of noon. “Where are you?”

“New Orleans. My father’s first debate is tonight.”

“Debate?” Betts sat up. “Oh, I forgot that someone was stupid enough to run against him. With a seventy percent approval rating, the idiot doesn’t have a chance at the Governor’s mansion.”

“Personally, I think that my father hires an opponent every few years to run against him for the sport.” Charlie’s voice was full of pride.

“What sport? It’s like shooting fish in a barrel.” Betts was hoping Charlie wouldn’t notice she’d changed the subject.

“Nice try, but you didn’t answer my question.” Charlie knew her too well.

“Do I want to talk about what?” Betts’s neurons were on strike until they’d had their coffee.

“The kiss—”

Another call beeped through.

“Hold on.” Betts pulled the phone away from her ear. Lucky’s picture smiled up from the screen. She put the phone back to her ear. “Lucky’s on the other line.”

“Good, maybe she’ll be able to get you to talk.”

“About what?” The other called beeped again.

“You and Gabe kissing. You’re all over the Internet.” The music had died down, so Charlie was yelling just for the fun of it. “Oh, no. I need to go. Tell Lucky I’ll call her later so we can talk about you. No, no, no—the podium goes on the right. It’s my father’s good side.”

The kiss…on the Internet? Good God, the town must be on the brink of civil war—it was Game of Thrones Texas style. She’d go into town and try to disarm everyone.

Betts clicked over to Lucky. “I guess you’re calling about Gabe and me.”

“Well, I was going to start by inquiring about the weather and then casually slide into why there’s a grainy picture of you and your ex Frenching, but let’s go ahead and jump right on in.”

“I love him.” It fell out of her mouth and exploded between them.

Friends were made for deep, dark secrets, but this one was delicate and fraught with bad memories. Charlie and Lucky had been there for Betts after the breakup. They’d picked her up, brushed her off, and helped her through those awful months after Tom had been taken away. Her friends had no choice but to hate Gabe because all they’d ever heard of him was bad.

Silence hung in the air. No doubt Lucky was gathering her thoughts to argue against Gabe. Her friends were her soul sisters, and their opinions mattered, but they would never like Gabe. Hopefully, someday they’d come to see that he wasn’t as much of a villain as Betts had made him out to be and that most of what she’d said had been teenaged bullshit. Her stomach knotted as she waited for Lucky to go off.

“I’m happy for you.” Lucky sounded sincere. “After all that you two have been through, you deserve to be together.”

There it was, blind acceptance. Love tackled Betts and squeezed her in a bear hug. She relaxed and opened her mouth to respond, but no words came out.

“Don’t worry about Charlie, she’ll come around. Right now, she’s stressed about the election. Give her some time to work it out, and she’ll be happy for you too.” Lucky sipped something. “All we want is for you to be happy.”

“Where are you?” Betts could swear she heard rapid snippets of French in the background.

“Nowhere.”

Betts sat up. “What aren’t you telling me?”

“What?” Lucky made fake static sounds. “I can’t hear you.”

“Tell me you aren’t in France.”

Silence.

These days, Lucky didn’t stay in one place for long. Ricky had been dead for over a year, and Lucky was still running away. And now she was in France. To Betts’s knowledge, her friend hadn’t been back to the house she’d shared with her husband since he’d introduced her to the three kids he’d fathered with his mistress, after which the asshole had had the decency to die. Lucky faced things by turning her back on them and running the other way. Betts felt the weight of friendship on her shoulders. She’d been so wrapped up in herself that she’d been neglecting her duties. “Are you okay? When are we going to talk about Ricky’s death? You need to grieve.”

“Don’t mention that son of a bitch’s name to me again.” She could hear just fine now. “He’s dead, and my only regret is that it was quick.” Lucky hung up.

Her friend was hurting, and the only way she knew to handle it was by lashing out. Betts would give her a little more time, and then they were going to talk about Ricky Strickland, and Lucky was going to grieve and move on. Betts wouldn’t take hostility for an answer.

Yawning and snuggling back under the covers, she held the phone out in front of her, trying to find the end button. It buzzed again. Mama’s picture popped up. What was this, a phone-in intervention?

Reluctantly, she ran her finger along the screen. “Yes.”

“What in the hell’s wrong with you?” Mama had skipped her loud voice and moved to screaming.

Betts held the phone away from her ear and debated ending the call.

“Don’t you hang up on me or I’ll drive up there.”

Betts sighed and put the phone back to her ear. Mama never made idle threats.

“I should have spanked you as a child.” Mama’s voice vibrated from the phone. “I blame Dr. Spock for brainwashing me into thinking it was torture.”

“Does this diatribe have a point, or have you taken up gratuitous yelling?”

“Try logging in once and a while. Kissing Gabe Swanson in public—”

“I’ve been in the headlines before. It will go away.” One little kiss and her friends and family went all DEFCON 1.

“Honey’s called me twice this morning. She says you’re not returning her phone calls. She wants to know how to spin this.” Mama sipped something—café au lait from Café Du Monde. “Baby girl, you know I think you’re too tightly wound and would love nothing more than for you to have a hot, scandalous affair, but I was hoping it would be with an outlaw biker or a married congressman, not Gabe. Losing your heart is one hell of a ride, but losing your head can be fatal. What about Tom?” Mama sipped again.

Mama bit into something—beignets. “Don’t forget what happened between you and Gabe. The past has a way of coming back to bite you in the butt.”

“I can handle Gabe—”

“I’ve heard that before. Just make sure he isn’t handling you.” Mama yawned. “Gotta go. I haven’t been to bed yet. You call me if you need anything. I mean it. I
will
be there for you this time.”

Mama hung up before Betts could comment. Her mother had been furious when she’d learned that Betts had gone through the pregnancy alone. As a rule, Mama didn’t do guilt, but the pregnancy was a different matter. They never talked about it.

Gabe’s truck door slammed. Betts leaned over and peeked out the window. He was leaving for that mysterious place he went to almost every day. She was pretty sure it wasn’t a job because it wasn’t steady. Sometimes he came home early and sometimes late, but he always came home filthy from head to toe. She could have Lucky find out, but that would raise as many questions as it would answer.

 On a whim, she pulled on her jeans from last night, threw on the shirt that had been wadded up next to them, and shoved her feet in the closest pair of flip flops. If Gabe wasn’t going to tell her, she’d find out on her own.

Betts watched from the window for the cloud of dust behind his truck to settle. There was only one way into town so being ten minutes behind him shouldn’t matter too much, and hopefully he wouldn’t notice Gigi’s Mustang in his rearview.

Something about where he went wasn’t right. Secrets had gotten them in trouble in the first place. Betts closed the door and crept to the Mustang. She looked around. Why was she creeping? No one else was home. Betts shook her head and slid behind the wheel. When she reached the end of the driveway, she pulled out onto Highway 80.

Twenty-five minutes later, she turned into the parking lot of the Longview Home Depot. She was almost positive that Gabe hadn’t spotted her.

What was he doing here?

Did he need some building supplies or something? There weren’t any ongoing projects that she knew of. Then again, he wasn’t into sharing.

She parked on the side of the building, under a tree, fixed her sunglasses over her eyes, and watched his truck. If only she’d worn a hat, her trademark auburn hair wouldn’t draw attention.

Gabe parked, slid out of his truck, and walked to a group of five Hispanic men. He shook hands with a few guys and nodded to the others. Okay? Clearly he knew these guys…but they looked like day laborers. It didn’t add up.

A tan pickup truck with Forrester Chicken stenciled in green on the door pulled up to the men. A burly, dark-haired man with a cigar clamped between his lips rolled his rotund body out of the cab. He pointed to Gabe and the man standing right next to him. Betts leaned closer trying to lip-read.

Gabe and the man next to him nodded to the fat man and jumped in the bed of the pickup. Did Gabe know the fat man? Why would they plan to meet in a parking lot?

Betts shook her head. She was missing something here. A battered, gray Ford truck pulled in behind the Forrester Chicken truck. The driver of the gray truck rolled down the passenger’s window and pointed to three Hispanic men, and they jumped in the back of his truck.

A teen with a thick head of post-it-note-yellow hair and skin so pitted it would make an Idaho potato proud jogged across the parking lot to retrieve a cart two parking spaces away from Betts.

She rolled down the window. “Hey, do you work here?”

The boy looked down at the orange apron wrapped around his torso. “Yeah.”

“Can you tell me what those men over there are doing?” Betts pointed in Gabe’s direction.

“Those are the day laborers. People pick up workers and take them to jobsites.” The teen dislodged the cart’s two front wheels from the curb.

Oh no. It couldn’t be.

“Thanks.” Betts rolled up the window.

Gabe hired himself out as a day laborer. That explained the inconsistent work hours and the filthiness of his clothes. But it wasn’t safe. He was putting his life in the hands of strangers who wanted to pay pennies for a strong back. Why would he do that?

Money.

She sat back.

Money was the only reason he’d put himself in danger. Paying back the fifty thousand that Gigi had gotten for Tom had left Gabe flat broke, and he hadn’t recovered financially. Things were so bad he drove a county over to find work.

Gabe rode off in the back of the truck.

She shook her head. A man who’d been born into Texas cattle aristocracy was now shoveling shit to put food on the table. This was a thousand times worse than any vengeful fantasy. She’d grown up living hand-to-mouth—every day had been a lesson in desperation. No wonder he’d been so accepting when she’d offered Tom health insurance. Living without it was tempting fate. The once proud and prosperous was now scraping by on backbreaking work.