Love and Lies (Small Town Secrets Book 1), page 13
“Shit.” Scott’s eyes grew large.
“What?”
“I’m robbing the cradle, Casey. I’m afraid we’ll have to stop seeing each other.”
I decided to tease back. “I like older men. How old are your grandkids?”
He wrinkled his brow. “You know what? That shit would be possible.”
“What?”
“Grandkids. I mean, let’s just say I knocked up a girl as a kid. Like if I could have had sex the first time I really wanted to. I’m talking like twelve or thirteen. Even if I’d been with someone older, if I’d gotten someone pregnant when I was that young, and then my kid had done the same thing, I really could be a grandfather.”
I started laughing. “I don’t know if I should be horrified or impressed that you went to the trouble of figuring that out right now.” Scott’s friend delivered the pitcher of beer then and I asked, “So how old are you?”
“Twenty-nine.”
I relaxed then. Whether he had grandchildren or not, he wasn’t that much older than I was.
Scott poured beer into one of the glasses and handed it to me. While he was pouring the second glass for himself, he said, “You know, Casey, you’re kind of a mystery woman.”
“Me?”
“Yeah. Tell me something about yourself I don’t know.”
“Like what?”
He shrugged, lifting the glass to his lips. “I don’t know. Anything.”
I wasn’t going to tell him about Barry. No way. Scott knew I was divorced, and that was all he really needed to know about my past. If our relationship progressed, he’d maybe start asking why Barry couldn’t leave me alone—and why I hadn’t blocked his number yet—but I didn’t know that I could understand that myself. Whatever the case, I wasn’t going to talk about it right now.
“Let’s see.” I took a sip of the beer. My mom was right about one thing—I didn’t eat a lot, and I would never be known for having a healthy appetite, especially since I’d become a smoker. But the taste of the beer and the smell of garlic hanging in the air made me hungry for pizza, and I relished those sensations as I wracked my brain for safe information. “I went to college for two years.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah. But it didn’t take me long to realize it was a waste of time.” I was lying to him, but that was because I’d told myself that lie for so long that I almost believed it. I’d been attending school on a healthy scholarship, but Barry had convinced me that we needed to get married when he graduated—and we moved to Denver and I hadn’t bothered transferring or anything.
I’d been stupid and in love—and maybe I was making that same mistake again.
“Why’s that?” Scott’s voice pulled me back out of my own brain.
“I’m an artist.”
“Yeah, I knew that. You had that thing at the gallery last month, right?”
“You remembered.”
“How could I forget that dress?” I grinned and stifled a giggle, instead drinking a little beer. “So tell me about your art. What exactly do you do?”
“I paint, draw, sketch. God, if I could, I’d love to make a living that way.”
“I’d love to see your work sometime.”
“I want you to. I sold one right after the exhibition.”
“Shit. Seriously?”
“Yeah. And she put another one on display. I really need to get my shit together and paint some new ones. I’ve got a feel for what she likes now. I just…haven’t been inspired.” I loved that Scott was interested in me, but I didn’t want to be under the microscope anymore. “What about you, Scott? Do you have anything else going on besides your band?”
“Does there need to be anything else?”
“No, not really. I just wondered if you guys have any big plans.”
“I’m just happy playing whenever we have the chance, but Lee and Andrew want more.” He took another swig of beer. “Thus, the demo CD.”
I sensed a little hesitation. “Ahhh…but…are you okay if it winds up going somewhere?”
He shrugged. “Maybe.”
“Why wouldn’t you be?”
He gave a sigh and stared at the amber liquid inside his glass. “I don’t like all the fucking attention. It’s bad enough when we play somewhere. Like last fall—we played at Bad Boys.”
“That’s the biker bar on the other end of Main, right?”
“Yeah. The place was fucking packed. And then the manager asked if we wanted to be the house band. I didn’t say shit, because the guys are already frustrated with me, but it didn’t work out anyway, ‘cause it’s hard for all of us to arrange a night to play. Our schedules are hard to coordinate. But it worked out for me.”
“Don’t you think you could get used to it?”
Scott shook his head slowly. “Did you like your art show?”
“I loved it.”
“I don’t like that kind of stuff.”
Before I could even ask why, our pizza arrived. Scott was right about something—I loved being praised for my creativity and ingenuity, and I couldn’t quite fathom why someone else didn’t love the accolades that came from showing off what you did best.
It made me want to dig deeper inside this man…even if it would be my ultimate undoing.
Chapter Sixteen
A while later, we were next door at Shooters, a sports bar. But we weren’t there for the widescreen TVs playing baseball and minor league football games.
We were there for pool.
It wasn’t a game I was good at—not that I cared. I was there for the company. Luckily for us, the bar wasn’t even half full. That didn’t surprise me, considering it was a weeknight. Scott took my hand, sending a shiver up my spine, but he wasn’t leading me toward the pool table.
Instead, we were heading toward the jukebox.
“We need some music first.” While he was fishing change out of his pocket, I noticed the tattoo with writing peeking out from under his sleeve. I lifted it so I could read the plain black script: Those who cannot remember the past are condemned to repeat it.
“Is that how that quote goes?”
“Yeah. The guy’s name was George something. A philosopher.”
“So why’d you have it inked on your arm?”
He dropped a couple of quarters into the machine, grinning. “‘Cause I’m one of those fucking idiots who forget and repeat the past. So it’s kind of like a string around the finger, only a lot more permanent.”
“Not a bad idea, though.” I hadn’t removed my hand from his arm. His skin was smooth but firm beneath my fingers, and the letters alone were art. Inspired, I silently assured myself I could try my hand at coming up with some tattoo art. How cool would that be to have someone like Scott wearing my art permanently? God, that idea made me hot.
“I need all the help I can get.” He plunked a few more quarters in the slot.
When I finally let his sleeve drop and looked up at him, I could tell it was pretty evident where my mind was going. His lips were parted, his eyes dark, but he was still caught up in whatever he’d been thinking about from his past—and I wondered what his words meant. Before I could ask, he said, “This song right here is one of my new favorites.” And then he winked.
It was bait and I bit, looking down to see he’d chosen Lamb of God’s “Set to Fail,” a song I’d last heard on the brink of orgasm. I felt a foolish grin threaten to cover my face. Was I blushing—or just feeling warm?
“Your turn. You pick.”
I chose another Lamb of God song, “In Your Words,” another one we’d listened to that night. And when he picked Slipknot’s “Psychosocial,” I chose “Duality.” When he punched in a number for an Ozzy tune, I picked Avenged Sevenfold. Him? Old school Asking Alexandria. Me? New school Bullet for My Valentine.
And so on until we’d used up the money.
As we turned to survey the pool tables, Scott said, “Definitely hope for you yet, Casey.” There were two guys in the corner playing pool, but the other tables were free, so we wound up taking the one we were closest to.
“I might have some quarters in my purse if you want me to—”
“I told you I have this, Casey. I wouldn’t have asked you out if I couldn’t afford it.”
I nodded, smiling, knowing I’d misstepped yet again. What the fuck was wrong with me? Was I wanting to ruin this? “Okay. Sorry.”
Soon Scott was plunking more quarters into the table. While the balls dropped, Scott put the triangle on the table and began racking them up. “You know…we could make this interesting.”
Ooooh… “Yeah?”
“Yeah. We could make a bet.”
“A bet? Like what?”
“Not money—that’s too easy.”
I thought about it while he pulled the triangle off the balls. “Okay. How about this? If you win, I’ll do a sketch of you and sign it.” With the most serious look I could muster, I added, “You know it’ll be worth a lot someday.”
“You’ve got the idea. I love that. Okay…so if you win, how about I give you a couple of drum lessons. Would that be something worth playing for?”
Whoa…I wouldn’t have asked for that, but it didn’t mean it wasn’t something I’d like. I imagined making music was a lot like art. It was creating something out of nothing. Actually, it wasn’t nothing. It was making something out of pain or love or other emotions. So, yeah, I figured I’d enjoy that. Besides, I thought having Scott as a drum teacher might be…erotic somehow. I could get into that. From his expression, I could tell he already knew my answer.
But then those green eyes of his did so much more—they caressed me, probed my soul. If we could connect and make love—even fuck like animals—with our eyes, well…I was experiencing foreplay at the moment. I swallowed a deep breath. “Yeah, that’d be awesome.”
Taking my hand and pulling me close, he whispered, “And I’ll sleep with you.”
I slapped his arm playfully. “You don’t want to seem easy, do you?”
Touching my forehead with his, he gazed into my eyes, looking dreamy. Smitten even. It was almost overwhelming. “Oh, it’s okay if you think I’m easy, just as long as you know I’m not cheap.”
What exactly did he mean by that? His words had an unexpected heaviness, one that made my inner rabbit freeze. He was trying to tell me I had some kind of responsibility, one I didn’t know I wanted—and I had no fucking idea what to say next.
The easiest response was to kiss him, distracting us both from the moment. And it worked, feeling like I’d refreshed a webpage, causing us to return to our previous flirty, sexy date. “So…pool. Just so you know, I’m not very good at it. I haven’t played it a lot.”
Turning to the wall, he examined the pool cues, pulling two down. After giving each a cursory glance, he handed one to me, and I couldn’t miss the devilish grin on his face. “Are you asking for a handicap?”
I laughed as I felt a blush threaten to warm my cheeks. “No…the bets as we placed them still stand. I’m a big girl, Scott, and I can lose with grace.” My voice got quieter. “Besides, it’s kind of a win-win for me no matter what.”
That grin he flashed back nearly melted my panties. “That’s kinda what I thought, too.”
“Just don’t laugh at how shitty my playing is.”
“Never.”
“So how do we decide who goes first?”
“That’s easy. Ladies first.”
A middle-aged woman wearing a short black apron approached us. “Either of you need a drink?”
“I’d love a Bud. What about you, Casey?”
“Make that two.” I didn’t want to drink too much or anything too hard. I planned on having Scott claim his prize later and I needed to be at my best.
Leaning over the table, I aimed at the top of the triangle of balls, and a solid one actually landed in the corner pocket. Whew. Now it didn’t matter how good a player Scott was. Whatever the case, I got one ball in. Anything else would be gravy, as far as I was concerned. Smiling, I then moved to the side of the table, aiming to get another solid in the side but failed. Scott, on the other hand, turned out to be an excellent player, sinking a majority of his striped balls on his first turn. He had to take a break in the middle to pay the waitress for our drinks.
He missed the last striped ball he had to get in the pocket, turning the play back over to me. I frowned, not that I was having a bad time. “Hmm. Looks like I’ll be digging out my pencils.”
“Don’t give up so easily, Casey.”
Easy for him to say. The ball I shot wound up bouncing off the back of the pocket instead of going down. Maybe I could improve with time, but I didn’t want to play long enough tonight to get good at it. “Your turn.” I nursed my beer while he sunk his last ball, following it up with the eight ball. So…he didn’t just win, he did it decisively. “I won’t give you cooties, you know.” He stood then, a question in his eyes, not catching my joke. “Sleeping with me if I would have won…I wouldn’t have given you cooties. Didn’t know you were so afraid to lose.”
“Oh, shit. What the hell is wrong with me? I should’ve thrown the fuckin’ game.” Laying his cue on the table, he wrapped his arm around my waist and pulled me close. “But if I throw the next game now, you’ll know I’m doing it on purpose.” A quick kiss on my lips and then a wink before picking up his cue again. “Told you I wasn’t cheap.”
Somehow I felt relief, letting myself believe that was all his comment had meant earlier. Still, I couldn’t help but wonder if he meant something else, like he wanted more…much, much more.
Scott began dropping more quarters in the table when I thought I heard someone yelling our names across the room over the sounds of “To the Stage.” He looked up and I followed the path of his eyes to spy Jim and Julie.
In seconds, they joined us. Julie and I said hi to each other while Jim slapped Scott on the shoulder. “What’s up, man?”
Scott took a drink of his beer. “What the hell’s it look like?”
“Yeah, and I’ll have you guys know I’m getting my ass thoroughly kicked.”
“That was just the first game, babe. Now’s your chance to even the score.”
Julie walked over to the bar while Jim looked over at me…and then did a quick scan of my legs. Seriously? What a fucking creep. Scott didn’t seem to notice, which made me question if I’d actually seen it.
Scott said, “Ready, Case?”
Jim said, “Hey—wanna play doubles?”
“Yeah, sure, I’m game. Casey?”
How could I say no, especially if Scott wanted to? Well, one game wouldn’t hurt, I supposed, and he had been spending all kinds of money on me. The least I could do was be gracious. “Can I go have a quick smoke outside first?”
“Want some company?”
“No. That’s okay.” I needed a little time by myself, but I wasn’t going to say so. Scott gave me his keys so I could fetch my purse out of his truck. Being alone was a mistake, though, because as I took a drag off my cigarette, Wendy’s words a few weeks ago wafted through my mind: If you get involved with Scott, you get involved with Jim.
Had this been what she’d meant—or was this the mere tip of the iceberg?
I looked back inside from my spot on the sidewalk to see Scott and Jim through the lit-up windows, laughing together like they always did.
Dammit.
Then Julie walked back to the pool table with two mugs of draft beer. She had her short blonde hair pulled back with a headband and she looked kind of cute in a jean jacket and cut-off shorts—but as skinny as people accused me of being, I couldn’t touch Julie. She looked scrawny, like she’d been starving in a third-world country. Or maybe like she had a drug problem.
When she handed Jim his beer, he slapped her on the butt.
Harder than he should have. Hard enough to hurl her forward.
It looked like she might have spilled some beer on the floor, based on everyone’s reaction. I let out a long, slow puff of air and crushed my cigarette out on the sidewalk before tossing it in the trashcan. I really didn’t want to go back in there now, even if my inner saint wanted to offer Julie a hand. Even though she’d done it to herself. I’d been there myself, so something deep inside wanted to help her.
But not at my own expense.
When I got back to the table, Scott asked, “Are you okay if they go first?”
“Yeah, that’s fine.”
Was it just my imagination or was Scott acting differently now?
Julie went first—and I thought immediately that Scott and I were going to lose. Julie seemed like a great player, and I assumed Jim was, too. That meant I would be completely humiliated.
After Julie sank three balls, she missed a shot, and Scott told me to go next. I nearly jumped up and down after getting a ball in. When I got ready to shoot again, Scott said, “Hold up, Casey.” Setting his beer down, he asked me to line up my shot again, so I leaned over the table, pointing my stick at the ball. Then he got right behind me, his chest pressing into my back, and he repositioned my arms while whispering in my ear to tell me how hard to shoot it. I could feel his body heat through our clothes, and then I doubted I’d be able to make the shot at all.
But I did exactly as instructed and it worked like a charm. Another ball down for our team.
Jim sounded like he was most of the way to drunk already. “Hey, that’s cheating.” Scott rolled his eyes but didn’t argue.
“Fine…I’ll do it myself.” Unfortunately, I wasn’t any good at it—or maybe I just needed practice. Either way, this second half of our date wasn’t turning out to be as much fun as the beginning. I hoped Scott felt the same way, and I planned to give him a hint after this game. Placing my hand on his chest, I told him, “I’m going to the ladies’ room, but I have no doubt you’ll have the game in the bag by the time I get back.”
“Nah. Don’t be so hard on yourself.” Unless it was my imagination, he acted like he wanted to give me a quick kiss but he wasn’t comfortable doing it in front of Jim and Julie. Damn those guys ruining our date.
I paused for a moment as Jim prepared to shoot. I already knew how good a player Julie was, but I wanted to assess all the competition. Maybe Jim would be less formidable with all the alcohol running through his veins. But that had been wishful thinking. Jim made his first shot, and even three sheets to the wind, he seemed almost as good as Scott. I was certainly the weak link here. So I turned and headed to the ladies’ room, hoping they’d put me out of my misery during my absence.
