Hold Me Tight Page 3

  Then something occurred to me. "Wait. The donor event is THIS weekend?"

  Josh was just about to answer, when we heard another set of footsteps. I immediately recognized the shuffling gait of Hal Tarrington. My supervisor.

  I hated footsteps.

  "Hey, Mr. Tarrington! Looking good!" Josh was as smarmy as always. He shot me a quick glance before raising his voice. "I was just reminding Everett about the donor event this weekend."

  Hal looked anxious. "You're going to be there, right Everett? And bring a date, too. Whoever you're seeing right now."

  Hal was a pretty traditional guy. Always asking about my dating life as if it were any of his goddamned business. The fact that I didn't have a girlfriend seemed to confuse him.

  "I'm bringing the blond I just met," Josh said, literally elbowing Hal in the side.

  The two of them exchanged piggish noises about the virtues of blonds in the sack. I checked out immediately.

  Expectations. There was no escaping them. You were expected to bring a girl to a function so that everyone could judge your mutual worth. 'Why is she with him?' 'What does he see in her?' 'How frequently do you think they fuck?'

  If I was lame for not buying in to that bullshit, then I was lame and happy about it.

  But then again, not meeting expectations could be a problem too. People asked questions. You have to do what others expect, at least sometimes. That way they'd have no reason to question your behavior. My mother taught me that. She called it being normal and polite. "You have to do things, Everett, even when they aren't what you want to do, because they're the right things to do."

  Going to a stupid function just to appease my boss qualified.

  I reassured Hal I would be there, while internally twisting myself into knots over who I could convince to come with me. Once Hal and Josh spotted Molly from HR, I was left blissfully alone to consider my options.

  Until the alarm on my phone went off. I peeked at the screen, nodded, then flipped to my contacts and scrolled to my mother's number.

  "Hey there, sweetie!" Mom trilled into the phone.

  "How are you, Mom?"

  "I'm good, hon, I'm good. Thank you for calling." She sounded genuinely happy. I mentally ticked that off today's to-do list. Make Mom happy. Check.

  "Do you need my help with the house this weekend?"

  My parents moved into a new place over a year ago, but there was still an endless list of home repair projects left to do. My father liked to imagine he could do it all himself.

  It was better, for both of our pride, if I just showed up to visit my mom and was therefore coincidentally available to help my dad. It pained him to ask, so I didn't make him. I just cleared it with Mom beforehand.

  My mother's voice dropped. "He's attempting to re-caulk the bathroom. I'm worried about his knees..."

  "I'll be there. Just give me a cover story."

  My mother raised her voice so my slightly hard-of-hearing father could 'accidentally' overhear. "I'm worried about you. You're not eating enough, Everett. I want you to come over for lunch."

  "Good one."

  "Thanks." She lowered her voice. "You're a good boy."

  I pressed my lips together. There was always a little flare of guilt in the pit of my stomach when she said that.

  I hated that my mom was so wrong. "Thanks. You're a good mom," I said to her. My usual refrain.

  Once we'd hung up, I set my phone down and grabbed my work bag from the floor. Only to have the alarm go off again. I took a look at the screen and flipped over to my contacts with a sharp exhale.

  "Hey Rett." My sister sounded harried.

  "Hey Harper, how's Ellie?" My niece was about to turn one this Fall.

  "Well she's... wait a minute, where the hell is she? She was RIGHT here?" I heard a scrambling noise, and then my sister's voice returned. "Rett, I have to let you go. She's currently got a mouth full of dust bunnies."

  "Okay, you go deal with that."

  "Thanks for calling." Harper hung up without saying goodbye.

  I set my phone back down. There. I'd done everything I was supposed to do today. I'd worked. I'd checked in with my family. "I’d made promises to my boss.

  Now I could do what I wanted to do.

  Which was... what exactly?

  It was a dangerous question. One with an answer I didn't like to consider.

  "McCabe!" Hal called. I hadn't heard him return. "Second quarter numbers! Upstairs is asking for them!"

  I exhaled heavily. Then turned back to do more of what I was supposed to do.

  Chapter Five

  Brynn

  Autumn's phone buzzed on the bar. She looked at it, and turned as red as her hair.

  Then she stretched and let out the biggest, fakest yawn I'd ever seen. "Oh man. Today really wore me out. Last days are so chaotic. I think I should head home."

  I glared at her.

  "What?" She squirmed guiltily.

  "Was that Cole?" I reached for her phone.

  She snatched it away, turning even redder.

  "This is a blatant newlywed booty call if I've ever seen one." I laughed. "Fine. Go home. Fuck your husband, it's fine."

  Autumn was almost magenta as she gathered up her things, which made me laugh even harder. "Have you done it in the basement yet?" I called after her as she scurried out the door. "Try the basement this time!"

  I was still laughing as the door slammed behind her.

  But my laugh died away as I tried not to feel jealous.

  "She sure left fast." My father sidled up to me and grabbed Autumn's half-empty glass. "Didn't even finish her drink."

  "It bothers you when people leave drinks undrunk, doesn't it?"

  "No skin off my back. They pay for it either way."

  "You don't charge Autumn to drink here."

  "Guess I'm an idiot then." He shrugged.

  I sat up in a protective huff. "Stop. You're not an idiot. You know I hate it when you talk like that."

  "Yeah, well, I have my idiotic moments," he amended. His voice was a little softer, and a little heavier. With that raggedness around the edges I hated to hear.

  "Stop it." I smacked the bar in front of him. "Snap out of it."

  "I'm fine," my dad grumbled.

  "You sure? You're not thinking about her?"

  "I think about your mother every goddamn day. Doesn't do anything, doesn't mean anything."

  My cheeks heated with that familiar, righteous rage. "Sure it does."

  "I know you would like me to just go in here with a melon baller." He tapped his bald head. "And scoop out the part that was with her for all those years. But I can't do that, Brynn. Your mother's not like an appendix. I can't just remove her and feel fine. She was my wife for eighteen years."

  "She still IS your wife. Wherever she is."

  "Don't you start on me."

  "I'm not starting. I'm reminding. The divorce papers are all worked out. Just waiting for you to sign them. You have ample grounds on abandonment."

  "Yes. Well." My dad wiped at a nonexistent spot on the bar. "I have a feeling that's not what she wants."

  "She doesn't get to have what she wants," I seethed, trying and failing to keep the anger out of my voice. "She already got that. If she wanted us to consider her feelings, she should have considered yours. Ours. She should have stayed."

  My dad didn't say anything. And all at once I felt like an asshole. "Hey, go home," I blurted. "Take the night off. It's not too busy in here."

  "Really?" My dad's eyebrows did that arching thing again. "This is your first night of summer and you want to spend it in my smelly old bar?"

  "I love your smelly old bar." I grabbed his rag and flicked him with it. "Come on, take advantage of this. How often do I offer?"

  "Fine. Don't burn the place down."

  "Don't give me any ideas!" I called as I slid behind the counter. My father muttered all the way out to his car.

  I grinned.

  I wiped a few glasses
and refilled a few drinks, but on the whole the night was quiet. I even considered closing up early. But it was the last night before tourist season. The last night our town would really belong to us.

  I wanted to stay open for the locals as long as possible.

  But as the clock crept closer and closer to eleven, I wondered if I should just pack it in. No one was coming.

  I had just made my decision when the door slammed open. I looked up, irritated at the latecomer.

  Then I stood up a little straighter when Everett McCabe walked in.

  A dark shadow of stubble made the angle of his jaw even sharper, and his usually neat chestnut waves stood up at crazy angles like head been running his fingers through them all day. But somehow, he was even more handsome when he was rumpled like this. Seeing Everett looking less than perfectly composed dragged me back in time to New Year's Eve.

  The last time he'd lost his composure.

  We didn't talk about it. Hadn't talked about it. I sometimes wondered if it had even happened.

  The only way I knew for sure it was real was the new way my heart skipped a beat whenever I saw him. First outside of my house - protective and strong. Now here at the bar - rumpled and messy.

  I swallowed. Hard. "You look like you've had a pretty shitty day." I remarked as he sat on a stool.

  It was true. Along with his messy hair, there were dark circles under his eyes, and his normally crisp shirt was wrinkled and faded looking.

  But he still made my breath quicken.

  He ran his fingers through his hair again, sending it into new crazy angles.

  "What would my Boy Scout security detail like to drink?" I prompted. I needed to do something. Something with my hands. I needed to hold something.

  I imagined holding winter coats and blushed.

  "Just give me something strong." He sounded exhausted.

  "Good idea." Drinking something strong would give me something to do with my hands. I reached for the top shelf bourbon.

  He perked up a little. "A master saleswoman, upselling me the top shelf stuff, huh?"

  "Come on. I know you have more money than God."

  "You do? How would you know that?"

  "Small town. I probably know way more about you than you'd like me to." Like how much you enjoy oral sex, I didn't say.

  He coughed into the back of his hand like he was thinking the same thing. And that it embarrassed him for me to know that. "Now you've got me curious." Was that a twinkle in his eye? Did Rett's eyes actually twinkle? Or would he consider letting them do that frivolous and against some internal set of rules?

  I set the bottle down in front of him. He looked down and then back up at me. "I'm only drinking this if you drink with me."

  There was a deep dimpled that shadowed his left cheek, giving a slight asymmetry to his normally smooth and too perfect face. When he smiled, the mask he wore came off. I smiled right back, remembering how he'd come alive that New Year's... in the closet.

  "What the hell?" I'd planned on drinking anyway. I needed to if he was going to sit this close to me. "I'm not actually working. I don't even have a job right now."

  "I'll drink to that." Rett lifted his glass after I poured. "Are we doing this as a shot?"

  "Oh yeah?" I looked down at the shot glass. "Right. You're probably supposed to sip the good stuff."

  "Whatever. Drink," he ordered.

  We both tossed them back.

  "Ah, that hits the spot," Rett sighed as I coughed. "Glad I came by here."

  "You're just using me to get free drinks."

  He tilted his head. "You used me on New Year's."

  It was the first he'd mentioned it. I'd wondered if he'd forgotten. Or forced himself to push it down. I wasn't ashamed of what we'd done.

  I hoped he wasn't either.

  I licked my lips. "I did, didn't I? You're very useful." I knocked back another shot. "And you were useful last night, too."

  Rett nodded. "I pride myself on being useful."

  "Like a Swiss Army knife."

  He patted his pocket. "I have one of those, you know."

  Feeling the effects of the alcohol, I rested my elbows on the bar. "Oh? Is that what you call it?" I asked, biting my lip.

  I expected him to go red and back off, but to my surprise, he leaned in too. "I don't know. You saw it that night. Is that how you'd describe it?"

  "It was dark," I stammered and succumbed to the blush that was crawling up my cheeks.

  He smiled and sipped his drink as I poured mine right down my throat. He let the awkward silence stretch out a beat too long before he finally asked, "Were you closing?"

  "I was about to, yeah." I nodded too vigorously.

  "Did you walk here?"

  I nodded again. "My place is only three blocks away."'

  "I know." He stood up. "I'll walk you home. Since you're tipsy."

  My first instinct was to wave him off. I didn't like being a bother and I definitely didn't like when people fussed over me. And I doubly definitely didn't like when people fussed over me because I'm a girl and needed to be protected of whatever. Only my dad and Cal were allowed to do that.

  But there was something in Everett's tone that made it impossible for me to argue with him.

  So I tried to tease him instead. "Now I'm using you as my security detail."

  He smiled. Then stretched out his hand, beckoning me without a word. I locked up, and set the alarm.

  Then, for some reason I didn't quite understand, I let him lead me.

  Rett moved his hand until it rested lightly on the small of my back. Casual enough to be friendly, but somehow... not.

  "As your security detail, I need to know. Are you feeling secure?"

  I stumbled as my right foot caught my left. "Yes," I giggled. "But I don't feel very steady on my feet." Without meaning to, I pressed up against him. His hand slid up to grip my upper arm, steadying me.

  He held me so tight and firm. It was like leaning against a tree trunk. I felt the warmth of his skin under his dress shirt. The mingled scents of bourbon, his laundry detergent, and his aftershave hung in the air, along with something undefined that just smelled like him.

  I'd last gotten a good lungful of it that night in the closet, and it was a scent that made me feel safe, but also wary.

  We walked quietly. I leaned on him as he helped me navigate the cracked city pavement. As we walked out of town, it turned into a rutted gutter, then a field, before we turned the corner to my street.

  By some unspoken agreement, we both slowed as we reached my house. I didn't want him to stop holding me. And he didn't seem eager to let go.

  But once we walked up the steps to my porch, my motion sensor light clicked on. The sudden illumination seemed to click my thoughts back into place. Like waking up startled from a dream. "Well, thanks," I said, stepping away from him and trying to figure out why my head was swirling.

  But Rett wasn't looking at me. "Do you have boots?" he asked.

  "Boots? Yeah, I have a bunch of boots. I love boots. I'm a bit of a boot addict." Why was I babbling?

  Rett pursed his lips and pointed. "With tread like that?"

  There just under my front window, was a single boot print, sunk deeply into the mud.

  "No." I swallowed and my voice grew fainter. "That's not mine."

  Chapter Six

  Everett

  It felt like it took forever for the police to arrive. But once the patrol care rolled up and I saw who stepped out of it, it made sense why it took so long.

  Nick Butler. I never liked the guy. In high school, he'd thought everything was a joke. Judging by the giant, dopey smile on his face, that attitude hadn't changed.

  "So what's all this about, Reese's Pieces?" That had to be the stupidest pet name I'd ever heard. Nick shot me a look. "What are you doing hanging out with Everett McLame?"

  I rolled my eyes. "Good to see you again, Nick."

  He lifted his chin at me, but didn't come in for a handshake. I c
rossed my arms over my chest, waiting to see how exactly we were going to do this.

  Brynn smiled so widely I could see her molars. It didn't look natural. Or very happy. All that quiet sexiness that simmered around her all evening was gone. Now she laughed even though nothing was funny. She shook her head, laughing even harder as Nick walked up to us. A vague, high school memory suddenly re-surfaced. Brynn smoking on the back steps of the school with Nick Butler, Derek Granger, and Jesse Klingman. None of them dated her. They thought she was one of the guys.

  Idiots.

  She seemed to fall back into that role now. She subtly widened her stance to match Nick's stupid, hip-rolling douche-walk. They hugged hello, and I clenched my fist when Nick's hand lingered on her back. "I still can't believe you're a cop," Brynn teased him.

  "Yeah, well I can't believe The Queen of Kegstands is a teacher, but I keep my mouth shut." Nick smiled widely; like that insulting nickname he had for her was something innocent and fun.

  I must have made a sound, because he shot me another look. Then he twisted his body, effectively shutting me out of the conversation. "Anyway," he bragged to Brynn, "the guys on the force say I bust more kids for underaged drinking than anybody. That's because I know all their tricks."

  Brynn laughed, a loud, sharp sound. I got the distinct impression that Nick brining up their old party days made her uncomfortable.

  I cleared my throat and stepped into Nick's line of sight, forcing him to look at me instead of staring at Brynn the way a dog eyes a juicy steak. "So, the footprint is right over here," I interrupted. "We brought out all of Brynn's boots to compare. None of them match this tread pattern."

  Nick looked at me like he had no idea what I was talking about

  Brynn let out another strained laugh. "Oh Rett, let Nick do his job." Her gaze bounced from me to him and back to me again. I had no idea what was going on with her right now. But I didn't like it.

  "Okay then." I took one step backward and gestured for him to, please, go right ahead and do his job.

  "Nick and I have been friends forever. He'll take care of me." Brynn patted Nick on the back. "Won't you?"