Snow Falling on Bluegrass (19 page)

I had not heard from him since our return. Probably because I changed my phone number the day after we got home. Of course, this meant my mother wasn't able to contact me either . . . and I was okay with that. After our phone conversation at the lodge, she had sent me an e-mail saying she wouldn't speak to me until I'd kissed and made up with Darrell and apologized for treating her so rudely. I was perfectly at ease with letting her wait. Both of them had been specters poisoning my psyche for too long. My mother had held her disapproval and silence like a hammer over my head for as long as I could remember. She could deal with me not speaking to her for a change.

My boys heartily approved of the Mom Embargo and were happy to present me with the checkpoints they'd met on the Protocol: Icarus list, including signing Darrell up for membership in the Justin Bieber fan club, closing all of Darrell's online accounts, posting Darrell's picture on the “banned customer” Web page for every Gamer's Paradise store across the country, and arranging for him to receive every incarnation of the Oriental Trading Company catalogue. They were particularly proud of their pièce de résistance, which was remotely accessing his phone and installing a virus that would dial his mother's number at random times at least once every twelve hours. So even if he didn't get drawn into awkward “But I didn't mean to call you, Mom” conversations with his mother—who wouldn't appreciate being told that attention paid to her was accidental—she would pick up his inadvertent calls without his knowledge and get an earful of Darrell's unfiltered conversations, most of which would radically change her view of him as her sweet little boy. Considering how often he threatened to call my mother with upsetting news, I preferred to think of this as sweet, well-executed justice. And reminded myself never to get on the boys' collective bad side.

The boys also held a council meeting to determine whether Charlie was worthy or whether they would have to chase him off with a mix of cyber-harassment and threats with cosplay weapons. But then Charlie started talking about mixed-integer nonlinear programming and
they
practically wanted to date him. I had a hard time keeping them out of the apartment so I could get some alone time with him.

I did gripe about the interference, but in truth, my friends' enthusiasm helped us take things slow. Neither of us was ready for the relationship we wanted together. We were working our way up to it with subtle not-quite-dates and nonpermanent renovations to my apartment that would make it look dramatically different from the one I'd shared with Darrell. Between the frozen forest motif on the walls, the new glass-and-chrome coffee table, and the minimalist but comfy white couch cover I planned to get, my new living room was going to be downright trendy.

And while I was recovering from the massive sugar high/hangover fueled by my friends' generosity, Bonnie had sorted through my closet, thrown out any remaining Darrell debris, and then installed an organizer rack thing that allowed me to actually see all my shoes at once. I had way more shoes than I realized, but still not nearly enough. It was the catch-22 of shoe worship.

“Have I mentioned I have some ideas for your bedroom?” Charlie asked casually.

“I'm all ears.”

“I was thinking of a pillow-fort-slash-sultan theme, lots of pillows and blankets on the floor under a big dining room table. Maybe a little gas fireplace.”

“Oh, you're funny, you are.”

He wiggled his eyebrows naughtily. “It's only funny if you're not willing to do it, in which case, yes, I am totally joking.”

“You're putting an awful lot of thought into a room that you won't see for another . . .” I glanced at the KCT calendar on the fridge, as if I wasn't acutely aware of exactly how much time was left before the sex embargo was lifted. “Five months and two weeks.”

He groaned. “Don't remind me. I'm in a state of sexual denial.”

“That's a slogan we haven't tried yet. ‘Kentucky—a State of Sexual Denial.' ”

A bold knock at the door sounded and I reached for my purse to grab cash for our planned takeout feast. “That would be the deliveryman from Jasmine Garden with our dinner, which, clearly, I slaved over the phone ordering. Prepare for katsu don so good it will make you write God a thank-you note for creating pork.”

“I'm offended that you think I haven't already,” said Charlie, who had taken out his wallet and counted out the total, plus a healthy tip.

“I'm not letting you pay for dinner when you're being used as manual labor,” I told him.

“You bought lunch,” he reminded me. “That means it's my turn. And while we're standing here arguing, poor Tony is standing outside, holding our rapidly cooling katsu don.”

I huffed out a breath, but I wasn't sure if it was based in annoyance at being outmaneuvered or at being so awkward about Charlie's behaving like a reasonable adult over issues like money and work. I had to stop calling attention to the fact that I was not used to dating a grown-up. I was a work in progress. “We'll talk about this when imperiled pork isn't an issue.”

“I'm sure we will,” Charlie said, packing up the painting supplies for the night.

With a smile on my face, I whipped the door open, prepared to greet Tony, my favorite delivery guy. “I hope you remembered the extra wasabi this time, To— Shit.”

There was Darrell, making the stupid doe eyes at me. He was disheveled, with big bags under the baby browns and a shirt that looked like it hadn't even seen the inside of a hamper, much less an iron, in weeks. He leaned against the doorjamb, one foot already past the threshold, and gave me what I'm sure he thought was his best lazy-sexy smile. “Baby. Did you miss me? I missed you.”

I was proud that instead of beaning him over the head with the heavy decorative metal tree on my entryway table, my first instinct was to slam the door in his face. I didn't want to insult him. I didn't want to attack him. I just wanted him gone. I considered that a step in the right direction, emotional-maturity-wise. I heard Charlie rinsing out the paint brushes in the kitchen.
Please, please,
I prayed,
just let him stay in there while I get rid of Darrell
. Seeing another “bull in the pen” would only make Darrell's stupid caveman brain go into overdrive and the situation would escalate so quickly that cold katsu don would be the least of our problems.

Instead of whacking him with the big metal tree, I grabbed the doorknob and tried to shut the door in his face. “No. I have not missed you. Go away.”

Darrell slammed his hand against the door with a lot more force than I expected from him. I stepped back. “Aw, come on, don't be like that. We need to talk, baby.”

“Shouldn't you be calling Shelley ‘baby'?” I asked brightly. “Or did that not work out for you?”

I would admit that was a cheap shot. Thanks to my network of building spies, I already knew that Shelley had tossed Darrell's delinquent ass out of her apartment just before we returned from the lodge. She apparently had a much lower tolerance for unpaid bills and unwashed dishes than I did.

Darrell eyed me with exasperation, like he couldn't believe I was putting up a fuss. “Kelsey, just let me in and we'll work things out like we always do. Look, you win, okay? We'll get married . . . in a year or so. I'll get you a ring and everything.”

“Well, be still my beating freaking heart, Darrell. You know how to sweep a girl off her feet.”

“Why do you always have to be such a bitch?” he growled. “I'm just trying to give you what you want!”

“What I want is definitely not you. It took nearly freezing to death in the middle of nowhere to get me to realize that my life is so much better without you in it. Now, go find somebody else to annoy.”

This unexpected show of spine seemed to shock Darrell. I never talked to him this way. I placated and I cajoled. But I had never used that tone with him. And he clearly didn't appreciate the new Kelsey. The wounded-puppy expression dropped like a stone. His eyes narrowed and his lip curled back into a sneer. “You're lucky I'm willing to take you back after all the crap I have to put up with from you. It's not like you're some kind of prize.”

I smiled sweetly. “So it ought to be easy for you to walk away and not worry about taking me back.”

He smirked at me. “I don't think you'll be so damn smug when I call your mama and tell her that I begged you to marry me, and that you were being so uncooperative I just didn't think it would work out. What do you think she's going to do if she hears the sob story from my side?”

“Really? You're going to tell my mommy on me? Because I won't date you anymore?” I stared at him for a long, silent moment before adding one last time, “Really?”

I rolled my eyes and tried to shove the door closed, only to have Darrell throw his weight against it. I planted my feet and gave him a death glare, even when he said, “What the hell's gotten into you, Kelsey? You go away for a few weeks and you come back with that mouth? What makes you think you can talk to me that way?”

“Darrell, I am sick. Sick, sick, sick of your bullshit. I don't want to see you. I don't want to talk to you. I want to pretend you were never a part of my life. You leaving me for Loud-Sex Shelley was one of the best things that could have happened to me, because it finally woke me up to how lazy I'd become. So do me a favor and just keep going.” I smirked at him. “And when you ‘accidentally' call your mom this afternoon, tell her I said hi.”

Realization took its time, but finally dawned on his face.

“You bitch!” Darrell shoved the door again, and I reached for the metal tree on the entry table. But suddenly, he stopped in his tracks, his expression confused as he stared at something over my shoulder.

“Who the hell is this, Kelsey?” Darrell demanded.

I turned to see Charlie standing behind me, long, lean arms crossed over his chest and looking surprisingly dangerous as he stared
through
Darrell. The image was so striking that my mouth sort of dried up and I ignored Darrell's repeated demands to be introduced to this strange man standing in “
his
”
apartment. I couldn't even be bothered to correct Darrell.

“What, you replaced me already? You really are a little slut, aren't you?” he spat as my grip on the tree tightened. Darrell smirked at Charlie. “Enjoy my seconds, jackass.”

Charlie smiled, but it was more a sneer than a friendly expression. “As much as I would love to beat you senseless over calling Kelsey names, I know that's what you want. You want a big, ugly fight so you can call the police and report me for assault, right? Isn't that what little boys like you do, cry victim when you don't get your way? You're not worth the sweat it would take to beat some sense into you. So run along, little boy, and bother someone else.”

Darrell lunged toward the door, but Charlie was too quick, slamming it in his face and locking the dead bolt. Cue the barrage of yelling from Darrell, demanding to know who the hell Charlie thought he was, what he thought he was doing with Darrell's girlfriend, and if Charlie realized how hard Darrell was going to kick his ass. And then he started screaming through the door, telling me to get my ass out in the hall and talk to him.

And then we heard, “No, Mom, I didn't
mean
to call you!”

“That was unexpectedly hot,” I told Charlie. “And you were right not to take the bait. As much as he deserves the whoopin', he totally would have called the cops on you.”

“I do what I can,” Charlie said. “Or I don't, as the case may be.”

Over the din of Darrell's tantrum, I just made out my cell phone beginning to blast the original
Star Trek
theme music, which was Cyrus's ringtone. He didn't bother with a greeting. “The two of you need to go to your front window.”

Outside my door, Darrell must have bruised one of his hands or something because he gave one last kick and said, “Fine! Take her! I don't care!” And then he stomped down the hall.

“Why should I go to my front window, Cyrus?” I asked, waving my hand at Charlie, who followed me toward the aforementioned window.

“To paraphrase the words of Khan Noonien Singh, revenge is a dish best served hot with butter and salt.”

I pulled the phone away from my ear and stared into it. My friend had finally lost his mind. “What?”

“Just watch, Kelsey, jeez.” Wally's voice sounded from behind us. He was standing in my doorway, munching on a big bowl of popcorn, the little flecks of white scattered on his sandy beard and
HAN S
HOT FIRST
T-shirt.

“Wasn't that door locked?” Charlie asked.

“Yes, but I have a key,” Wally pointed out.

“You have a key for emergencies. A dramatic entrance is not an emergency.”

“Just wait.” Wally tilted the bowl toward me in offering. I shook my head.

Bud and Aaron tumbled into the apartment like gamboling puppies, laughing their heads off. Aaron had expressive brown eyes and a mischievous grin that reminded me of Puck from
A Midsummer Night's Dream
. Bud was so ginger-headed that he was practically a Weasley. He was as stocky and round as Aaron was thin and lanky.

“What is going on?” I exclaimed. “Have you been experimenting with hydroponics again? Because I can only save up so much bail money!”

“Just wait!” Bud snatched some popcorn from Wally's bowl and shoved it into his mouth. “We've been looking forward to Darrell's comeuppance for
years.
”

Just then, we saw Darrell stomp into the parking lot and toward his Corvette. He climbed in, slamming the door behind him. He spun out in the parking lot, but as he drove toward McMahon Street, I noticed movement in the backseat through the rear windshield. I squinted at the pale shifting shape as Darrell's brake lights flashed and he skidded to a stop. “What is that?”