Honeytrap (3 page)

I shrugged. “You said he's got it for everyone.”

“He does spread the flirt around, but he had it turned up to extra high for you. He wasn't looking at
me
all rumpy-pumpy like.” She glanced back at the building. “So you don't think he's delicious in a sexy, bad-boy white-trash way?”

“Evie!”

“I don't think he'd deny it. He's the kind of guy who is what he is, and he's real comfortable with it.”

I couldn't argue, but I also couldn't afford to be impressed.

“He's so into you,” Evie said matter-of-factly.

“And he was into Jadyn when he shouldn't have been. Literally. I'm not about to forget that. Also, Mom would kill me if I gave a guy like that a second look.”

Evie tilted her head. “What I think you mean is that she'd kill you because she wants you to leave the past behind, and you wouldn't be doing that with the guy who's in the thick of this mess with Rex and Jadyn.”

“Exactly.”

“You've got a good point.”

I didn't add that
I'd
vowed to avoid embarrassing Mom by not getting involved in any more scandals. I was here to shed my sin, to put my nose to the grindstone and forget about my mistakes and think about how to carry on. And if I could find
myself
again in the process, that would be a bonus. No. That would be perfect. If Evie wanted me to stand up for myself, I had to know who myself even was.

This time, Evie let me start the truck, and as I pulled to the road, pausing to look both ways before revving onto it, I glanced in the rearview mirror.

My pulse stuttered when I saw Micah leaning against the frame of the opened doorway, one work boot crossed over his ankle, one hand stuffed into a pocket. He was wearing that heart-throttling smile again, his beautifully lethal gaze connecting with mine in the mirror like he could actually see me.

I peeled onto the road with a squeal of tires, kicking up dust, obliterating the tempting image as I got as far away from him—and trouble—as I could.

One Day After the First ParlorFly Contact, Private Chat

T-Rex Alvarez:
Knock, knock . . .

8:00pm

Lana Peyton:
Who's in my chat room?

8:22pm

T-Rex Alvarez:
Someone who missed biology today & needs notes. Im sending u a chat message cos ur in that class rite?

8:23pm

Lana Peyton:
Never said I was. Sorry but you're SOL.

8:24pm

T-Rex Alvarez:
Damn. Guess Ill have to hit up all my other friends.

8:24pm

Lana Peyton:
Toodles then.

8:25pm

T-Rex Alvarez:
Hold up.

8:25pm

Lana Peyton:
?

8:25pm

T-Rex Alvarez:
What r u up to?

8:25pm

T-Rex Alvarez:
Hello?

8:27pm

Lana Peyton:
I'm here. My roomie was talking to me.

8:28pm

T-Rex Alvarez:
Good. Thought u were ignoring me.

8:28pm

Lana Peyton:
Maybe I should. Don't you have a girlfriend?

8:29pm

T-Rex Alvarez:
Yeah but she doesn't mind me talking 2 other girls. Especially mysterious ones who hang around my page on and off 4 a month. And ones who r named after my fave QB of all time.

8:30pm

Lana Peyton:
I came with this last name.

8:30pm

T-Rex Alvarez:
Really . . . What else do u come with?

8:31pm

T-Rex Alvarez:
 . . . ?

8:33pm

T-Rex Alvarez:
2 soon?

8:34pm

Lana Peyton:
No. Just my roommate again . . . So tell me . . . What are you suggesting I come with? You?

8:35pm

I dropped off Evie at her family's house a mile over from where I lived, then drove to my own place, where I showered off the sunscreen from the lake and changed into sneakers, capris, and a T-shirt with my mom's Angel's Seat Café logo written across the front.

I went back to the carport that shaded my truck in the driveway of our home, hopping back into my rattrap. Talk about a mismatch—my bucket of bolts against the two-story, rosebush-lined, French-designed house that my grandpa, bless him, had left Mom after he'd died. The place actually allowed us to masquerade as one of the affluent minority in Aidan Falls, even though we were far from it. Sure, Mom had planted the gardens in back, and she'd kept the lawn green and manicured, but she'd been working like a dog for a long time to open the café. If it weren't for the rest of Grandpa's money, even after he'd spent most of it on health care at the end of his life, we probably would've lived in the apartments on the 'neckier side of town.

Grandpa, who'd raised Mom on his own after Grandma had died shortly after childbirth, had been pretty judgy on Mom about her pregnancy. But after I'd been born, he'd loved me to death to make up for it, even though Mom had been smarting from his disapproval. She'd stubbornly insisted on making life work on her own, dropping out of high school later in her pregnancy, getting her GED plus a job with a family friend across town who owned a diner. When Grandpa had gotten ill three years ago, she'd moved in the house to take care of him and they'd made up for lost time with each other.

Forgiveness. It wasn't as easy as some people said, but it was possible. I just had to remember that.

I got to the café during the dead time between lunch and dinner when only a few loyal locals usually stuck around for a cup of coffee and listened to the music Mom liked to play. Today it was Neko Case. Overhead fans circled over the rows of benches and tables, which were set up community style. A coffee bar, built from wood repurposed from a train car, lined a brick wall, and she'd put one of those raised observation seats from a caboose—an angel's seat—on a platform near a potbelly stove. A wood floor and chalkboards with the ever-changing menus gave everything a homey feel, too.

Truthfully, Mom should've been born over in Austin, where life is way more
her
. She would've been at home in such an artsy, hipper place that's accepting of a restaurant like the Angel's Seat. Aidan Falls still liked their straightforward slabs of beef and fried foods, and that was probably why this healthy café was always struggling. Well, that and Mom's whole “whore” reputation. Things like that never went over well in this town, and my experience with Rex wasn't exactly bringing in the business, either.

But Mom had always gone against the grain, and she heartily believed that Aidan Falls would come around to her one day. I couldn't help loving her more for that kind of tenacity.

After sniffing the aroma of a rich enchilada sauce—damn, Mom could cook—I said hi to Frannie, one of the women in my mom's “community,” and definitely a candidate for Austin, too. She was one of three single artistic women who lived in our main house as payment for their work. They were all “soul sisters” and considered what my mom was doing “edible art,” and I said more power to them.

I made my way to the back, where Mom was doing prep work at a counter. I had no idea why Micah Wyatt had called the food here “fancy.” It was Tex-Mex based and downhome, made with ingredients from a nearby small farm and the gardens Mom and her friends kept at the house and café. Then again, why did his opinion mean anything? He didn't know me, I didn't know him, and . . .

Odd, but shouldn't I know more about him with the gossip mill in this town? Why did he seem like a bit of a mystery?

As I came into the kitchen, Mom didn't look up at first—she was too immersed in cutting those vegetables quickly and efficiently—so I didn't bother her. I just took in her flushed cheeks, her short and perky platinum blond hair, her petite figure under her white, sauce-splotched apron. She was only sixteen years older than I was, but I swear, I had days when I
felt
older than she looked.

She set down her knife, wiped her forehead against her shoulder, and squeezed her eyes shut as she blew out a breath. A headache? It seemed like she'd had one every day since I'd been back, and I didn't know if it was because of the stir I'd caused with Rex or because she worried so much about keeping the café open. Along with everything else, sustainable food was expensive to use, thanks to low profit margins.

“Hi,” I said, not wanting to startle her.

I did anyway, and she raised her free hand to her chest as she stepped back. Then she smiled, her headache apparently gone. “Reporting for duty?”

“As soon as I wash my hands and get my apron on.”

“Good. First I'll have you stock the mason jars on the tables with silverware and napkins—”

Before she could go on pretending like she hadn't been headaching, I asked, “You okay?”

“Me? Sure. Just a long day. Lunch was a bear, but that's more money in the bank.”

“You should've called me. I would've been here to give you a hand.” I gestured toward the office. “Let me get you an aspirin and water.”

“No, no, I'm fine. Besides, I think I'm out of aspirin. And I'll be damned if I have you working day and night in this place, Shel. You've put in enough hours during the first couple of days here already. This is your summer vacation.”

“When do
you
get a vacation?”

“This is just like one, sweetie. It's my dream, remember?”

Some dream, making her head hurt. Looked more like reality. “Evie said she'd love to come in and help, you know. She worked at a coffee joint at her college, and she would wait tables here for tips only—and a reference letter.” Also, she'd be comfortable in the front of the house, unlike me. I was satisfied with being part of the support stuff, bussing when I had to, prepping, cooking, and running around behind the scenes.

Mom took up her knife again, preparing to chop more green peppers. “I might take Evie up on that. Did you two have fun at the lake?”

Ugh.
“It was nice to waste a few hours doing nothing. Thanks for the time off so I could work on my lovely golden bake.”

Mom was no fool. “You're lying through your teeth.”

When I didn't answer, she started chopping again, slower this time. “It's all over your face, Shel.”

“Okay. There were some smart-ass kids around, but I knew what I had in store for me when I decided to come back here for the summer. I could've handled the snarking, though. It only got intolerable when . . . well, Rex showed up.”

Her knife paused in mid-air. “He did?”

I picked at the hem of my café shirt. “I should've known he'd be there. He and his friends camped out there every summer, so why should it be any different after high school?”

She brought the knife down hard in the pepper and sliced. “Rex. If I saw that kid, I'd—”

“Not add to the drama. Right?”

I'd been going for some levity, but my voice cracked on that last word, and I pressed my lips together. I'd tried my best all day not to think about Rex, but after seeing him, it was like he was fixed into my chest, pinning my heart right in the center so it wouldn't completely fall out of me. The problem was that I could feel him slipping away, the sharpness of him tearing that heart in half.

So
screwed up. And the only time today I'd been able to forget him was when Micah Wyatt had been flirting with me, but that pretty much made matters worse, not better.

Mom went to work again, finishing with the pepper and scraping it into a container. “Want to know what I think?”

“I'm not sure. Do I?”

“Always.” She smiled. “I think that you'll do just fine this summer, as long as you stay away from those barracudas by the lake. You've always been extra sensitive, Shelby, and that's my fault. You grew up under a gossipy microscope in this town, and I was so stubborn about proving a point to them—that I could be the best single mom ever, no matter what they thought—that I subjected you to a life of dealing with the opinions of others. If I'd just moved away to someplace else, you would've learned more confidence during your formative years.”

“And that would've kept me away from Grandpa. Catch-22, Mom.”

“Catch-22. Story of my life.”

Her smile grew, but it wasn't real. It was one of those Mom-things she did to make me feel better, and I went over to give her a massive hug. I was taller than her—it'd happened last summer, along with the rest of the changes in my dorky appearance—so I almost felt like a big sister pulling her into my arms. But that image went right down the tubes when Mom patted my back in a maternal way.

“You know I'd do anything for you,” she said, cupping my face in her hands. They smelled like green pepper, like home-cooked meals and hard work.

I couldn't resist zinging her. “Anything? Then tell me who my dad is.”

She gave me a playful push, and I laughed, knowing that if she could keep that secret for over nineteen years already, I didn't have much chance of cracking her.

Still, my curiosity simmered, even as I smiled at her and we both went to the back to wash our hands. She left as I tugged my apron off its hook, and when I returned to her at the counter, she spoke over a bluegrassy Neko Case tune.

“By the way, thanks for dropping off the mower,” she said. “I love having an errand girl around for the summer.”

I didn't feel like talking about my adventure at the fix-it shop, so I made it short, mostly because the less I had to think about Micah, the better. “No prob. I'm sure they'll be calling with an estimate and a pickup time.”

“They already did. And I'll probably be getting an update when they pick up their takeout order in about twenty minutes.”

I deflated. What were the chances my nemesis would be the one fetching food for the boys?

Mom narrowed her eyes at me. “They order out all the time.”

“Yay.”

When she leveled that Mom-is-gonna-find-out-what's-bugging-you stare on me, I grabbed a container with utensils and checkered cotton napkins in it, going toward the front of the house. Maybe if I rolled the silverware in the napkins and stuffed them in the mason jars fast enough, I could escape to the back again before someone from the shop picked up the order.

Nope.

Micah came through the door five minutes later, carrying one of the reusable cloth bags Mom encouraged her customers to use. He was minus the uniform this time, wearing jeans and a white T-shirt that clung to his chest so pornographically that I looked away and tried to blend into the brick wall.

Frannie greeted him from behind the cash counter, her chubby cheeks flushing. “You're early for dinner today.”

“When you're hungry, you're hungry.” Micah rested an elbow on the counter and explicitly watched me with a double meaning in those clear eyes.

I glanced away like my napkin rolling was as important as the signing of the Magna Carta or something.

The café had cleared out, and when Frannie said she was going in back to check on the order, that left me and the chick magnet all alone. Great, because suddenly, the restaurant felt like a bedroom. The space had gotten intimate, the air thicker, my pulse faster.

All because of this player's strange lady killer voodoo.

I knew he was still watching me, and I couldn't take it anymore. I looked up to find him grinning, like he had a million dirty thoughts running through his mind.

My belly flipped, but I stayed cool. “You shouldn't look at people like that.”

“Like what?”

Voice, molasses. Eyes, liquid heat. He was good . . . real good at forcing a conversation out of someone who didn't want to talk.

“Like you're a perv,” I said.

“Ah. I see my reputation precedes me.”

If I'd expected him to be insulted by my honesty, he sure wasn't.

Frannie appeared in the kitchen window. “Fifteen more minutes. That okay?”

“That's plenty okay.” Micah nodded at Frannie as she left to help Mom with the last of the order.

Then I was all his again. Double yay.

He chuckled at my avoidance. “Now that ain't fair, Shelby. You don't even know me, but I get the feeling you already don't like me. You ought to give a guy some time to earn that attitude you put out.”

I shook my head, stuffing a rolled napkin and silverware into a mason jar.

“It's because of your QB boy, right?” he asked. “You're pissed because his girlfriend made a big mistake with me.”

Oh my God, he was going there. “Didn't you have something to do with that mistake? And, by the way, she has a name. Jadyn Dandritch.”

He negligently shrugged.

“And what does that mean?” Was he going to tell me he'd set out to seduce her for Rex?

“I know her name just fine.”

It'd been a dumb thought, anyway. “Did you know that she was taken?”

He managed to look slightly guilty, but the lazy cockiness he'd come in with still overrode everything else.

I made a disgusted sound and went back to rolling napkins. The loyalty-testing rumor about him and Jadyn floated away from my mind, finally leaving me alone.

“Hey,” he said in that low, smooth voice. “At least I'm straight about what I do. I don't hide that I'm an asshole.”

My jaw almost hit the floor, and I guessed he took that as encouragement.

“Yeah, I'm talking about your boy Rex,” he said. “Wasn't there something I heard about him cheating on you back at college and trying to get away with it?”

Wow. “If I didn't know any better, I'd say you have something against Rex.”

Micah held up a finger. “Let me guess—I'm wracked with envy because he's a successful jock who brings his town happiness and honor.” He shrugged again, so careless as he kept leaning against the counter. “Now that I put it that way, maybe an inferior specimen like me should be jealous.”