Stacking the Deck (A Betting on Romance Novel Book 2) (21 page)

H
E WAS AN IDIOT.

Carter strode toward his bike, scowling at the ground as he walked. To think he’d actually been looking forward to taking Beth, no Liz, to the dance tonight—and here she was hoping to catch up with Dan-the-Jerk-Jock-O’Connell? And in the outfit she had on, who would blame Dan for taking a second look?

If the gods were smiling on him, Dan would be suffering from some horribly ironic fate, like bankruptcy or irritable bowel syndrome. But, Carter knew better. He’d run into Dan just last week at the gas station. Dan had been driving a brand new BMW and bragging about the unbelievable returns on his investment portfolio.

Carter flung his leg over the seat of his old bike and slid forward, handing Liz the helmet. If she had her eye on Dan, there wasn’t a lot he could do about it. Carter McIntyre wasn’t anyone’s first choice unless you were looking to rebel against your parents. And they were long past that phase.

“You know I once dated a trauma surgeon that called these nothing more than brain buckets,” Liz said, sliding the helmet carefully over her hair.

“Fun guy.”

Carter closed his eyes as Liz slid behind him and adjusted her skirt, tucking the folds of it under her thighs. Lord, why did he have visions about those legs wrapping around him?

“Where do you want my feet?”

Her words skittered across his cheek, and he licked his lips as he caught a whiff of something sexy and exotic float by him on the warm spring air. He glanced down at her feet, clad in sleek, strappy high-heeled sandals. “Right on those,” he pointed and nodded as her feet found their perches. The legs fantasy would
not
go away.

“What do I do?” she wanted to know as he started the engine.

“Just hang on.”

He felt her nod again and set the bike it motion, rolling toward the end of the drive.

“Ack!”

Carter braked hard and reached behind him to catch Liz before she headed to the pavement. “I said hang on!”

“To what?” she cried. “There isn’t anything to hang on
to!
”

Taking her clutch and stuffing it into his shirtfront, Carter grabbed first one of her hands, then the other and positioned them on his waist. “To
me
.”

“I’m sliding into you,” she complained, pushing away with her hips and sliding forward again. Repeatedly. “This skirt is too slippery.”

Carter all but groaned. “Liz, if you keep doing that, I might begin to think you were trying to get my attention.”

Abruptly, she went still.

“Not that I was complaining.”

More silence.

“You holding on?” he finally asked.

“Yes,” came the muffled reply. She had her face pressed to his shoulder, not that he was complaining about that either.

“Here we go.” He tried to go easy as he entered the main road, as much to reassure her as to prevent her helmet from smacking him unconscious when he went over a bump. Her fingers clutched his ribs through his sport jacket, the warmth of her body intimately merging with his own. He blew out a breath and decided he’d better make it to this alumni thing sooner than later.

They rode in silence, Liz’s grip easing somewhat as she became familiar with the feel of the bike. Carter slowed to take the turn around the town common. He felt as much as heard Liz’s sharp intake of breath.

“What happened?” she cried over the sound of the motor.

Carter pulled up near the curb and braked. “What?”

“The fountain!” she pointed.

He nodded as they turned toward the local landmark. It had always been a favorite backdrop for prom and wedding pictures and, despite the signs prohibiting it, cooling toes on a hot summer’s day. The ornate center pedestal of the fountain was missing and one low wall caved in like an ancient ruin. Yellow tape flagged the area.

“What happened?” she repeated.

“Jack Adams. Choked on a chicken nugget while driving last year and passed out. Creamed it with his pickup.”

“That’s awful!”

“It’s all right. His steering wheel performed the Heimlich. He’s fine.”

“But the fountain! I can’t believe I didn’t notice before!”

“Don’t worry. It’ll be fixed by Founders’ Day. The Beautification League raised enough to fix it, re-lay the stonework around it and everything.”

“Oh? Are you and your uncle doing the work?”

Carter shook his head in answer.

“But the stonework around the base and all, I just thought—”

Carter gunned the engine and pulled back into traffic. “Too busy!” he hollered.

It was a lie, of course. In addition to Grams’ nagging, Pops had also told him to bid on the job, but Carter had balked—because Pops made it clear Carter’s name would be the only one on the bid.

He wasn’t ready. He knew Pops wanted him to take more of a leadership role in the business, take on more of the responsibilities. But, he preferred the physical labor. Once you moved into the contracts and paperwork, well, things always got complicated and disorganized.

And screwing up a prominent public project wasn’t something Carter wanted any part of. He might have ADHD, but he was at least smart enough to know that.

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
____________________

Twelve years earlier…

“C
ARTER, SIT DOWN,” Valerie ordered. “I’m not done.”

Carter crouched down again in the Whitmeyers’ kitchen, not quite sitting this time, his old leather jacket creaking a little at the shoulder seams as he propped his elbows on his knees. It had belonged to his father—the jacket, that is—back when his father was young, vital… alive. It was the only thing of his father’s that he owned that had survived the fire. Grams had found it in the back of a closet when cleaning out for a church yard sale and given it to him, because it was too small for Ian.

It barely fit Carter, but he wouldn’t admit it.

He wore it everywhere.

Carter bit his lip and waited for the ridiculous game to end. He needed a smoke and that beer he’d guzzled at the back of John Beacon’s Chevette was making him feel a little fuzzy. And not in a good way.

Valerie gave him another one of her flirty looks and Carter half-smiled, his eyes feeling a little glazed, just so she wouldn’t get mad at him for not noticing. He felt sorry for her, always trying to get attention. She was pretty enough she didn’t need to sell herself short, but she didn’t seem to trust it. She flirted with every male body that crossed her path.

He didn’t feel like pissing off the jocks in their hoodies and varsity jackets, though. Although it happened often enough. Was it his fault girls gravitated toward him like moths to a flame? And, he was a teenaged boy. It wasn’t like he didn’t enjoy looking back. And more.

Sure, he was big enough these days nobody much bothered with him, but he was smart enough to know he was outnumbered here and shouldn’t piss anybody off by flirting with their girlfriends right in front of them.

He bit his lip again and waited for the bottle to stop spinning. It was making him dizzy watching it go round and round. He half wondered whether Beth was still in the pantry or had high-tailed it out of there already. She was so painfully shy she’d probably self-destruct if a guy kissed her.

The thought made him smirk a little at his own joke.

The bottle stopped.

Carter stopped gnawing his lip. He looked up, surprised he cared who the stupid bottle had chosen. But, somehow, he did.

It pointed to Dan.

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
____________________

“C
ARTER!”

Carter turned toward the shrill greeting. The way Valerie was charging through the crowd of alumni, you’d think she used to play offense for the varsity team instead of being the head cheerleader. “You’re late,” she chided.

“Car trouble.”

Valerie’s gaze slid over Liz before settling on him again. “You always were trouble,” she murmured. “Bad boys are always bad boys, aren’t they?”

“Sometimes they’re just misunderstood,” Liz replied. Somehow her hand had found his elbow. He wrapped his fingers over hers gratefully.

Valerie raised her over-plucked eyebrows. “Really? I didn’t think misunderstandings required bail. Not that I’m one to point fingers,” she chuckled and leaned close, and Carter wondered if she’d been making use of the cash bar. She’d never been one to shy away from liquid courage. “God, you look good in a suit,” she purred. “Come with me. The photographer from the local paper is here taking candids. I know the perfect spot for us.”

“If it’s posed,” Liz cut in, “it’s hardly a candid.”

“We just got here,” Carter soothed, noting Valerie’s flash of irritation. “I think Liz and I will just mingle for a while. Catch you later?”

“Sure,” Valerie smiled, her lips taut, then pulled him close to murmur in his ear. “But if Miss Goody-Two-Shoes can’t keep up with you, you know where the fun crowd will be.” With that she waved at another late arrival and slipped away.

“I think I’m going to be sick,” Liz mumbled.

“That makes two of us,” Carter concurred.

“No, I mean I don’t feel well. This dress is so tight, I can hardly breathe. I feel lightheaded.”

Carter peered at Liz’s chest as she swayed ominously. He reached out to hold her up, then frowned, his fingers pressing into her sides. “Good God. What have you got on under there?”

Liz’s cheeks bloomed with color as she batted his hands away. “My bra.” He raised one of those blasted eyebrows. “It’s lightly padded,” she murmured.

“Lightly? There’s got to be a good quarter inch of stuffing working against you. Just go take it off and you’ll have room to breathe.”

“You sound like my sister. This silk is so thin, I’m afraid—”

“Someone might notice you have breasts? Too late. I see them.”

“This is mortifying.”

“More so than fainting into the cheese buffet? Take it off, Liz. You’ll feel better.”

“I don’t—”

“Do it or I’ll do it for you,” he warned as he propelled her down a nearby hall.

“You wouldn’t.”

He grinned, enjoying the way her white teeth nibbled her lip nervously. “Is that a dare?”

“No! Anyway, I can’t do it. If you must know, my sister zipped me into this thing. I can’t reach the zipper myself.”

“How did you plan to get it off when you got home?”

“I hadn’t thought that far ahead. I just bought it six hours ago.”

“No pre-planning? That’s not like you. Sure you don’t have a touch of ADHD yourself? Well, worry yourself no more. Turn around.”

“Why?”

“I’ll unzip you,” he said magnanimously. Far be it for him to stand around while a woman suffocated in her own undergarments.

“Here?”

“We’re behind the potted plant, nobody’s looking. Now’s your chance.”

“I think I’d better go in the ladies room.”

“I can’t go in there.”

“Afraid it’ll impinge on your masculinity?”

“No. They banned me from it eight years ago. Long story,” he added at her raised brow.

“I’m sure.”

“Turn around. We can do this.” He gently grasped her shoulders and maneuvered her around.

“Oh, all right. Just make it quick.”

“Now those aren’t words I usually hear from a woman when I’m unzipping her dress...”

“Carter.”

“Okay. The coast is clear.” He gripped the zipper pull and leaned toward her ear. “Do you want me to unclasp you while I’m at it?”

“What?”

“Do you want me to unclasp you, you know, while I’m back here?”

Her cheeks went crimson as she turned away from him. “It’s a front closure. Could we please hurry?”

Carter slid down the zipper and pushed at the shoulder straps of her dress—just to be helpful—as Liz practically snapped her bra off into his face. She was just shrugging the shoulders of her dress back up when footsteps approached down the hallway.