He pulled away, looking shocked. “Job interview? That mean you’re gonna stick around? I think you should go back to New York. I fuckin’ would if I had half a chance.” He took a long pull from the neck of the bottle. “Fuckin’ Anton.”
“You look like ten miles of bad road, brother,” I said, reaching out to touch the road rash on his face. “You skid out?”
“Yeah,” he said flinching. “Among other things.” He glanced over his shoulder.
“You’re such a pig, Dom.” I swung my feet alongside his. “Poor Diana.”
He snorted before taking another long drink. “Oh, I think ‘Poor Diana’ isn’t the right phrase.” He side-eyed me. “I met her new man. He’s quite the specimen.”
“Jealous?”
He shrugged.
“You should be, and it would serve you right.” I leaned into his shoulder. He put an arm across mine, and we sat a while, contemplating his misery in silence.
“I didn’t. I mean, I did, but … shit,” he finally said, tossing the empty bottle down onto the grass, sending one of Diana’s barn cats yowling into the bushes. I put my hand on his jeans-clad thigh.
“I don’t care, Dom. You’re still my brother and I love you. But I don’t know how we’re gonna fix this thing. Mama and Daddy squabble over you every dang day. He’s out in the pole barn, and Mama claims he’s not comin’ into her house unless he apologizes to her and to you.”
“That’ll happen right about when Diana’s goat sprouts wings and flies off.”
“I guess.” I bit my lip. “Did you love him?”
“Maybe. I don’t know. Fuck.” He jumped up and stomped away, leaving me staring out over the wide expanse of Diana’s pasture.
The next week I started working a few classes with the little girls at my old friend Gayle’s dance studio. She was competing with a couple of the bigger ones in Lexington and Louisville, but had a great location and facility, with two full-sized rooms, and was planning her second recital. I’d heard about her losing her assistant, which turned out to be another juicy story. The girl had flat-out seduced one of the dance daddies and busted up a marriage. My timing, showing up the next week after getting that tidbit through the grapevine, had been prudent.
It wasn’t really fun, but it provided both a distraction and income. I’m fairly certain I don’t have a teacherly bone in my body, but I needed the money, and was not about to go back waiting tables at the Love Pub. No way.
The first weekend after being gainfully employed doing at least something with my God-given talent and skills, I went out for drinks in Lexington with Gayle and her sister. We met up with a few of her sister’s friends at one point, and ended up at a small nightclub, which shocked me. I would never have dreamed the silly little jumped-up horse town with a college in it like Lexington would have such a place.
But it was new, and loud, and bright, and sold overpriced drinks, so I guessed it qualified. We did a few shots on top of the wine we’d had with dinner, which sent me into a lovely zone where I got out on the floor and danced and danced, half unaware of people watching me. But the other half—the one that’d spent years dancing in front of an audience—was fully cognizant of the admiring glances and flat-out stares. At one point, a strong arm encircled my waist and pulled me close. Face to face with one of the hottest dudes I’d seen in a while, I smiled.
Sweaty and thirsty, I grabbed his hand and pulled him to the bar. “Buy me something,” I said, leaning over and letting him leer at my cleavage again. “This shit ain’t free,” I said as I leaned away from him.
He laughed and raised a hand without taking his eyes off me.
I studied him through my boozy haze. He was tall, with a fit torso, and dancer’s legs and ass. He had a long face, full lips, deep green eyes, and dark blonde hair. He was, in a word, fuckable. Which turned out to be true, many times over that night. And a lot of nights after that. By the end of that month, I’d moved into his surprisingly suburban house, and we’d begun shopping for furniture.
Chapter Fifteen
“So,” Mama said, handing me a bowl of green beans to snap. “We ever gonna meet this new mystery man?”
“You know I don’t care for you living out there,” Daddy chimed in, wiping his face with a paper towel. He’d been allowed in the house, based on some compromise that meant he was still not allowed in his bedroom. He poured himself a glass of tea. “It’s not proper.”
“I invited him to Sunday dinner,” I said, stringing and snapping away. “Next week.”
“Well, you could have warned me,” Mama claimed, mildly.
“Just did, I think.”
Daddy snorted. I expected their usual routine—significant glances culminating with his calming hand on her shoulder. But she kept her eyes on the pie dough. He waited a few minutes, then gave up and stomped out. It beat the arguing, I supposed.
“These beans are terrible,” I said, holding up several spindly ones.
“Out of season,” Mama said, calm as she could be. “Gonna snow next week,” she said.
“Mmm-hmm,” I said, content with the ensuing silence, since I didn’t have to actually live here anymore.
“This man—does he have a name, or what?”
“He does,” I said, dumping what few ends and strings I’d collected into the trash.
When I turned, Mama was staring down at her flour-covered hands. A tear slid down her cheek. I froze. I hadn’t seen her cry in a while. She was doing the full-on stoic, all-is-well-but-for-my-husband-sleeping-in-a-different-room thing, and had been for so long I’d almost forgotten how miserable it was around here.
Damn Dominic.
She swiped her face, leaving a trail of flour. I wiped it off and sat, taking her hand in mine.
“Mama, you are ice cold. And you’re skinny. I know you’re not eating.”
She glowered at me and yanked her hand away. “Don’t you mother me, young lady. I still have all my faculties.”
I leaned away, relieved at the return to our usual style.
“Well,” she snapped, slapping the piecrust into the dish and pinching the edges with the sort of firm determination you’d put into taking a college exam.
I stood up and stretched. I was sore from all the acrobatic sex, which had taken a turn for the rough lately. Not something I discouraged, but not something I’d ever really fantasized about, either.
“Well, what?” I couldn’t help but tease her. It was a small satisfaction, but one I treasured.
“That man you’re shacking up with? That so-called businessman that no one knows a single thing about. Him?”
“His name is Daniel, Mama. Daniel Callahan. And he’s an investor. An ‘angel investor.’” I hooked my fingers around the words the way she always did.
Her face got even paler. The hand she put to her throat shook. She stood up and put the pie crusts in the warm oven. I waited for more commentary, but none seemed forthcoming.
“Hey, I heard Aiden’s agent might have sold his book to some movie producer.”
She remained turned away from me. “Yes, so I understand,” she said. “He’s in New York for his first big-shot signing next month.”
“I know you’re proud of him.” I tossed her this bone, feeling superior now in my position as girlfriend of a rich, sexy, wonderful, mystery man.
She leaned against the sink, looking at the ceiling. “Yes, Angelique, I am. Although for the life of me I can’t imagine why anyone cares a hoot about that silly story.”
“It’s terribly romantic,” I reminded her, grabbing my purse.
“No. I assure you it’s not.”
“Oh, Mama. I wish you and Daddy would kiss and make up.”
She slumped, looking even older and smaller than she’d seemed a few minutes before. I put my arm around her shoulders. She stiffened. I moved away from her, relieved we’d hit that magic status quo once again.