Rebelonging (Unbelonging, Book 2) (13 page)

I turned off the car and dialed Lawton's cell
phone.

When he answered, I said, "So, I've got this
mysterious car in the driveway."

"Yeah?" he said. "How mysterious?"

"Well, it
looks
like mine. But
apparently, it can drive all by itself."

"Hmm."

"Even when it's broken down."

"Or maybe," he said, "it was just a dead
battery."

"Aha!" I said. "You went and got it, didn't
you?"

"It depends," he said. "If I did, is that a
good thing? Or a bad thing?"

It was definitely a good thing. Without a
car, I was hosed. Still, it made me feel a little funny to think of
him retrieving my car when we weren't exactly together anymore.

I stalled. "What if it
is
a good
thing?"

"Then it was all me."

"And if it's a
bad
thing?"

"In that case," he said, "blame Bishop."

"Your brother?" I laughed. "Why him?"

"Because he's already on your list, so I
figure, eh, what's the difference?"

"Heeeey," I said, "
you're
on my list
too."

"I know," he said. "And I’m trying like hell
to get
off
it."

"So, that's why you did it?"

"Nope. I'd have done it anyway."

"I've gotta ask," I said, "how'd you do it?
It's not like you had my keys."

"Long story," he said.

"Yeah, I just bet," I said. "Still, thanks
for the help. Seriously."

"Hey Chloe?"

"Yeah?"

"You might wanna get a new battery."

I winced. "Really?"

"Yeah. The car's starting okay now, but you
know how these things go. Vintage cars. They're tricky, right?"

Vintage my ass. Old was more like it. Last
winter, my entire exhaust system had gone out piece by expensive
piece. But Lawton's car? That truly
was
vintage, all sleek
lines and shiny paint. Well, until last night.

I felt a pang at the image of his
once-beautiful car. Here he had gone to a lot of trouble to
retrieve
my
car, a total piece of crap, but he hadn't even
mentioned his own. Was it still at the restaurant? Would he be able
to fix it?

My voice was quiet as I asked, "How about
your car? Is it, uh—"

"It's fine."

"Oh c'mon Lawton," I said, "I know it's not
fine. I was there. Remember?"

"Yeah. I remember."

"Why'd you do that?"

"Because," he said, "it needed to be
done."

"No, it didn't."

"Yes," he said. "It did."

"Why?"

"Because I meant what I said. For what I did
to you, I deserved a good ass-beating. Still do. But
somebody
wouldn't take me up on it. So that car, it was the
closest thing I had."

I thought of all his possessions – the
breathtaking mansion he called home, the fleet of late-model
vehicles, the clothes, the electronics. The logic made a weird kind
of sense. Of everything he owned, the car was probably the only
thing that was truly irreplaceable.

Still, it was majorly messed up. Who does
that sort of thing?

"You shouldn't have done it," I said.

"You're right," he said. "I shouldn't have
done it. But I'm not talking about the car."

I didn't know what to say. My head was
swimming. "Speaking of cars," I said, "I've got to leave for work
in a little bit, so I'll catch you later, alright?"

"Alright," he said. "We're still on for
tomorrow, right?"

"Yup, it's a date."

Oh crap. A date? I didn't know what our plans
were, but it seemed far too early, or maybe too late, to be
thinking of this as a date.

I heard the smile in his voice. "A date,
huh?"

Crap. He'd caught that?

Distracted, I mumbled something about meeting
up sometime in the late afternoon, and then disconnected the
call.

Lawton did funny things to my brain. And even
funnier things to the rest of me. What he did to my heart, well,
there was nothing funny about that.

Pushing Lawton out of my thoughts, I picked
up my phone again and gave Erika another try. Again, she didn't
answer. This time, I couldn't help myself. I left a message, mostly
an apology.

But all of that was forgotten, at least
temporarily, a couple hours later when I walked into work and
checked the schedule.

I found Keith in his office, thumbing through
a catalog. I marched up to his desk and looked down. Two girls in
micro-bikinis smiled up at me.

"Thinking of getting a two-piece?" I
said.

He flapped the catalog shut and shoved it
into his top desk drawer. Then he glared up at me and said, "You
think you're real funny, don't you?"

"You know what's funny?' I said. "The fact
that I'm only scheduled for two nights next week."

"So?"

"So, I usually work five."

He shrugged. "It's a slow time of year. What
do you expect?"

"I expect you to live up to your end of the
agreement."

"Oh yeah." He smirked. "What agreement is
that?"

"You know which one."

"Oh stop griping," he said. "You haven't been
fired. Have you?"

"No. But how am I supposed to make any money
working only two days?"

"Sorry, not my problem." He glanced at his
desk drawer. "Is that all?"

"No." Damn it. I really didn't want to do
this. I leaned in close and lowered my voice. "Because you know
damn well I could make it your problem."

He looked only mildly interested. "Really?
How so?"

"Oh for Pete's sake, do I really need to
spell this out?"

"I'm all ears," he said.

"Fine. That little picture of you and
Brittney? I bet the district manager would just love to see
it."

He nodded. "Yep. I bet he would." He put on a
sad face. "Except they won't. How sad for them."

"What do you mean?"

He gave me an oily grin. "Rumor has it, that
cell phone of yours? Big memory problems. Missing pictures, wrong
data. Oh well, that's the breaks, huh?" He made a shooing motion
toward the door. "Back to work now."

Damn it.

I glared at him. "You broke into my locker.
Didn't you?"

"Me? Why would I do that?"

"To delete that picture, that's why."

"Sounds like
somebody's
a little
paranoid," he said.

This time, I was the one smiling. "You know
what? You're right. I am."

His eyebrows furrowed. "What?"

"Yeah. Totally. That's why I texted that nice
little picture to a friend of mine
before
it disappeared
from my phone." I put on my own sad face. "Awwww. How sad for
you."

His gaze narrowed. "You're bluffing."

"You sure about that?" I crossed my arms.
"So. About that schedule?"

"Oh alright," he muttered. "I'll change it
before your shift is done."

"Good. Because I'll be checking."

"But just so you know, it's not because you
threatened me. It's because –" suddenly, his face brightened
"—because you deserve this."

I squinted at him. That weasel was up to
something. I just knew it. "When you change it," I said, "remember
to give me more days, not less."

"Not a problem," he said.

Damn it. He still looked too happy. "Five
days," I said. "Not three, not four. Alright?"

"Yup. Got it." He glanced toward his office
door. "So, you gonna be waitressing any time soon?"

Wordlessly, I turned around and marched
toward the door. Just before I got there, I stopped and turned
around. "And none of those two-hour shifts either. I want full
shifts, like I usually get."

"Yeah, yeah," he said, reaching into his top
drawer for the catalog. "Shut the door, will ya? I got work to
do."

Two hours into my shift, I still hadn't
figured out his angle. I knew how Keith worked. He'd find some
loophole, and I'd be screwed.

Thank God I hadn't been lying. I
had
texted the picture to Erika. But between our argument and
everything else going on, I never confirmed she still had it.

She wouldn’t delete it, would she?

I was still mulling this over when I hustled
toward my next table and was hit by another unwelcome surprise.

Skank. Party of one.

I stopped a few tables away and stared. What
was
she
doing here?

I dashed back to the waitress station and
caught Josie. "I need to trade tables," I said.

"Let me guess," she said. "The blonde at
table nineteen?"

"Yeah, that's the one."

"Sorry, no dice. She asked for you
personally."

"How do you know?"

"I was there when they seated her."

"Oh crap," I said.

I glanced out toward the table. I'd met only
two of Lawton's groupies in person. One was Brittney, and the other
one was sitting out there at that table.

I'd waited on Amber exactly two times. Both
times, she'd been with Brittney. The first time they'd gotten drunk
and danced on their table, hoochie style. The second time, they'd
come for the sole purpose of giving me a hard time.

Well, I'd just about had it. Maybe she was
the customer, but I was way past caring. She'd hassled me at work.
She'd hit on my boyfriend. She'd planned – or at least gone along
with – that so-called prank.

When I reached her table, she had the menu
propped up in front of her and was looking around expectantly.

I skipped the usual greeting and got straight
to the point. "What are
you
doing here?"

She blinked up at me. "Was that a real
question, or a funny waitress question?"

I didn't crack a smile. "A real
question."

"I'm here to apologize." She glanced down at
the menu. "Hey, what are your specials tonight?"

"Are you serious?" I said.

"Yeah," she said. "The fish tacos, are they
good?"

"We don't have fish tacos," I said.

"Oh, poo. I was really in the mood for them."
She ran a manicured fingernail along the menu's appetizer section.
"The crab cakes, are they made with real crab? Or fake crab?"

"Real crab."

"You sure?" She wrinkled her nose. "Because
fake crab tastes way too fishy."

"Forget the crab," I tossed my order pad onto
the table and crossed my arms. "I believe I heard something about
an apology?"

Amber gave a breezy wave of her hand. "Yeah,
but I figure I'll do that after dessert."

"Let me get this straight," I said.
"supposedly, you came in here to apologize. But you're making me
wait on you first?"

"Why not?" she said. "The food's good, and
I’m totally starving."

"You know what?" I said. "This is the worst
apology, ever. No." I held up a hand. "Make that the
second
-worst apology, ever."

She grinned up at me. "Brittney, right? She
rolled her eyes. "Yeah, I heard how
that
went."

"From who?"

"Lawton's brother, who's totally luscious by
the way." She licked her lips. "I figure with Lawton off the
market, I should probably go after him. What do you think?" She
cocked her head. "Am I his type?"

"How should I know?" And then the full impact
of her words hit me. "And what do you mean Lawton's off the
market?"

"That's what I hear," she said.

"From who? Brittney?"

"No way. I'm totally over her." Her eyes
brightened. "So you've gotta tell me, did she
really
apologize naked?"

"Semi-naked."

"God, what a slut."

I stared down at her. The statement seemed
awful strange coming from someone who probably matched Brittney guy
for guy.

"Did you hear?" Amber said. "Brittney's
totally cut off."

"What do you mean?"

"No more parties, no more V.I.P. tickets,
none of that stuff. She's out like a trout. Blacklisted,
totally."

I shook my head. "I don't get it."

"Well, that was the deal," Amber said.
"Brittney and me, we had to make things right with you. And if
not?" Amber slit an imaginary knife across her throat. "Cut off.
Like yesterday. Lawton's got a lot of friends too. So it's not just
him neither."

"So let me get this straight," I said, "if
you didn't apologize, he was going to turn you into some kind of
social pariahs?"

Her eyebrows furrowed. "What do man-eating
fish have to do with anything?"

"Not piranhas," I said. "Pariahs. You know?
Social outcasts?"

"Ohhh. Yeah. That's it." She brightened. "So
here I am!" She glanced down at the menu. "Maybe I should have
breakfast food, like French toast or something. What do you
think?"

"I think," I said, "that this so-called
apology isn't going so well."

"Oh, alright," she said. "Jeez, if you're
gonna be all picky about it." She closed her menu and set it off to
the side. "I'm sorry about our prank. We thought it would be funny,
but obviously, it wasn't, and I'm really super sorry."

"Wow," I said, "that actually wasn't that
bad."

"Thanks," she said. "I've had a lot
practice."

"But I still don't understand how you'd call
it a prank."

"Oh, it totally was," she said. "You know,
like a steal-the-mascot thing. See?"

"No, I don't see. I'm not a mascot. I'm a
person. And honestly? I don't think that stealing an animal is much
better."

"Most of the time," Amber said, "it's just a
statue or something. It's not like we'd kidnap a dog or anything.
Jeez, what kind of people do you think we are?"

"Well, you tried to kidnap
me
," I
said, "so I probably shouldn't answer that."

"Too bad we didn't get the chance to do your
car. You might've found
that
funny at least."

I stared down at her. "What do you mean,
do
my car?" And then it hit me. Those two guys and their
sedan. Their car had been vandalized, spray-painted with profanity.
"Oh my God," I said. "You were gonna paint my car, too?"