“Why doesn’t she talk to me like she did before?”
She could tell him her opinion, but why? Why help him take her daughter from her? “Give her time.”
John shook his head. “The first time I met her she talked a blue streak. Now that she knows I’m her father, she hardly says a word. It doesn’t make any sense.”
It made perfect sense to Georgeanne. The one and only time she’d met her mother, she’d been terrified of rejection and hadn’t known what to say to Billy Jean. Georgeanne had been twenty at the time, and she could only imagine how a child felt. Lexie didn’t know what to say to John now, and she was afraid to be herself.
John rested his weight on one foot and cocked his head to the side. “You must have filled her with lies about me. I knew you were ticked off, but I didn’t think you’d go this far.”
Georgeanne wrapped her arms across her stomach and held the pain inside. His low opinion hurt even though it shouldn’t. “Don’t talk to me about lies. None of this would be happening now if you hadn’t lied about hiring a lawyer. You are a liar and a lecherous jock. But that isn’t enough to make me say bad thing about you to Lexie.”
John rocked back on his heels and looked down at her through narrowed eyes. “Ahh… now we get to it. You’re pissed about getting naked on my couch.”
Georgeanne hoped her cheeks weren’t turning red, but she could feel her face flush like some high school girl. “Are you insinuating that because of what happened between the two of us, I would try to poison my daughter against you?”
“Hell, I’m not insinuating anything. I’m saying it straight out. You’re mad because I didn’t send flowers or some other bullshit. I don’t know, maybe you woke up the next morning and wanted a quickie in the shower, but I wasn’t around to give you what you needed.”
Georgeanne could no longer hold the pain inside, and lashed out. “Or maybe I was disgusted that I’d let you touch me at all.”
He gave her a knowing smile. “You weren’t disgusted. You were hot. You couldn’t get enough.”
“Get over yourself,” Georgeanne scoffed. “You weren’t that memorable.”
“Bullshit. How many times did we go at it?” he asked, then held up one finger and counted. “On the couch.” He paused to hold up another finger. “On the futon in the loft with the stars shining on your bare breasts.” Three fingers. “In the Jacuzzi with all that hot water pounding our butts and sloshing on the floor. I had to pull up the carpet the next day so the floor wouldn’t rot.” He smiled and held up a fourth finger. “Against the wall, on the floor, and in my bed, which I’m counting as one since I only got off once, that time. You may have come more than once, though.”
“I did not!”
“Sorry. I guess I have it confused with the first time on the couch.”
“You’ve been spending too much time in the locker room,” she said between clenched teeth. “A real man doesn’t have to talk about his sex life.”
He took a step closer. “Baby doll, by they way you acted in my bed, I’d say I’m the only real man you know.”
Everything she said just seemed to bounce off his hard chest while at the same time, his words bruised her heart. She wasn’t going to win with him, so she did her best to look bored. “If you say so, John.”
He moved until only a few inches separated them and a cocky smile curved his lips. “If you ask real nice, I just might let you polish my stick.” He lowered his face closer to hers and asked in a silky voice, “Wanna ride the Zamboni?”
Georgeanne stood her ground and stared up at him. This time she wasn’t going to lose her temper and call him foul names, as she had in Oregon. She raised her chin a notch and said in a voice laced with southern censure, “You’re embarrassing yourself.”
His gaze narrowed. “Maybe if you were a little nicer when you had your clothes on, you’d be married by now.”
Just as always, John took up all the space. He took all her air, but she managed to fill her lungs with a breath suffused with the smell of his skin and aftershave. “You’re giving me advice? You married a stripper.”
His head snapped up and he took a step backward. She could tell by the look on his face that her words had finally scored a hit. “True,” he said. “I’ve always behaved like a real dumb ass over a great pair of tits.” He flipped over his wrist and looked at his watch. “I haven’t had this much fun since I busted my ankle in Detroit, but I’ve got to go. I’ll be back Saturday to pick up Lexie. Have her ready at three.” He barely spared her another glance as he turned to leave.
Georgeanne placed a hand at her throat and watched him walk out the back gate. She’d won. She’d finally won with John. She didn’t know how she’d done it, but she’d definitely put a dent in his enormous ego.
Her chest felt tight and she moved to the back porch and sat on the bottom step.
If she’d won, than why didn’t she feel better?
Chapter Sixteen
“This bites the big one,” Mae muttered as she raised her Kahlua and cream to her lips and took a sip. One shiny black pump hung precariously from her toes as she jiggled her right foot. Over the top of her glass she watched a low-riding Chevy slowly roll past, bumping out bass and spewing toxic fumes. She waved her hand in front of her face and wondered if she hadn’t made a mistake in choosing to sit out front. From her small bistro-style table, she had a clear view of anyone walking toward the funky old jazz bar. The melodious flow of saxophone poured through the open doors and out into the dusky sunset of downtown. Around her, couples talked of what concerned most people in Seattle: rain, coffee, and Microsoft.
She set her drink back on the table and glanced at her watch. “He isn’t coming,” she told herself, and shoved her foot back inside her shoe. It was Friday night. She didn’t have to work for a change, and she’d put on lipstick and mascara for nothing. She’d even put on a dress. A nice little black slip dress with nothing on under it. She was freezing and her latest lover, Ted, was a no-show.
He’d probably gotten detained by his wife, she thought, and reached for her purse. She usually didn’t carry a purse, but she didn’t have anyplace to put her money tonight, not even her underwear. She pulled out a twenty and set it on the table. She wasn’t going to wait any longer for him. She wasn’t that desperate.
“Now, what’s a girl like you doing all by yourself?”
Mae looked up and opened her mouth to tell the guy to buzz off. Instead she frowned and said, “Just when I thought this night couldn’t get any worse.”
Hugh Miner laughed and turned to the men with him. “You guys go ahead,” he said as he pulled out a chair opposite Mae. “I’ll join you in a minute.”
Mae watched the men walk inside and she grabbed her purse. “I was just leaving.”
“You can stay for one drink, can’t you?”
“No.”
“Why not?”
Because I’m freezing, she thought. “Why would I want to?”
“Because I’m buying.”
Free booze had never been an incentive for Mae, but just then, a red-haired waitress walked up to the table and proceeded to make a fool out of herself. She cooed, rubbed up against Hugh’s shoulder, and did everything but fall down and give him oral pleasure. She was pretty with big blue eyes and a nice body, which she asked Hugh to autograph, but to his credit, he declined.
“But I’ll tell you what, Mandy,” he said to the waitress. “If you bring me a Beck’s and…” He paused and turned his attention to Mae. “What are you drinking?” he asked her.
She couldn’t leave. Not now. Not when Mandy was sending jealous daggers her way. Other women weren’t usually jealous of Mae Heron. “Kahlua and cream.”