Bad Girls Don't (14 page)

Skye shook her head and vowed to wipe Nathan from her memory.

 

 

Two weeks after Owen gave Skye the winning lottery ticket, Sue Ellen burst into her apartment. “You were on TV again! They showed your picture and said you were a million-dollar instant winner from Rock Creek.”

“Uh-huh.” Skye wasn’t the least bit impressed. She continued to pore over the Tivoli’s architectural blueprints, determined not to think about Nathan and that hot embrace they’d shared after her class.

He’d been avoiding her since then. Fine by her. He wasn’t the only man who could fill her heart’s desires. Or her body’s.

So, why wasn’t she interested in anyone else?

Maybe she should just have sex with him and get it over with. Booting him out of her mind wasn’t working as well as she’d hoped.

“We haven’t had any kind of winner from Rock Creek in ages!” Sue Ellen raved. “Not since I won Miss Scrapple several years back.”

“You mean Miss
Scrabble
, like the word game?”

“No way. I mean
scrapple
.” At Skye’s blank look, Sue Ellen added, “Come on, you’ve lived in PA for almost a year now and you’ve never heard of scrapple?”

“What is it?”

“A type of pork mush. You eat it for breakfast.”

“You were Miss Pork Mush?”

“Among other titles.” Sue Ellen pointed to the blueprints spread out in front of Skye. “What are you looking at?”

“The original plans for the theater. Isn’t it wicked awesome?” Skye’s voice reflected her enthusiasm.

Sue Ellen was not as impressed. “It looks pretty boring to me.”

“Boring? Do you realize that the Tivoli was only the third theater in the entire country designed and built for movies with sound?”

“So, how old does that make this building? Like a hundred and fifty years old?”

“No. It was built in 1929.”

“I was close. Do you think Mae West was here? I dressed up as her one Halloween when we were doing old movie stars. You know, that makes me think . . . maybe I should have a Halloween party this year. I still have that outfit. We could have the party at the theater.”

“I don’t think the renovations will be done by then.”

“Done? What’s to do? You just plug in the popcorn machine and stick in a DVD, or whatever you do to make the movies play.”

“The equipment has to be updated.”

Sue Ellen hoisted her bra straps. “I’d like to know whose equipment couldn’t use some updating. Or uplifting.” She squinted into the mirror above Skye’s head. “Do you think my eyebrows are too far apart?”

“It’s not something I think about, Sue Ellen.”

“Sure. Because your eyebrows are fine.”

“So are yours.”

“You’re just saying that to be polite.” Skye’s incredulous look made Sue Ellen laugh. “I’m sorry. You’re right. I forgot who I was speaking to for a minute there. You don’t say things to be polite.”

“Damn right.”

“So what about my eyebrows?”

“You’re asking the wrong person.”

“The story of my life.” Sue Ellen slumped onto the round red couch. “I always seem to hook up with the wrong person. Why is that?”

“Again, you’re asking the wrong person.”

“Right. The silver lining is that you’re more messed up than I am. Thanks.” She bounced back up again. “I need to repay you for cheering me up. What can I do? I know. I could help you decorate the theater! Pick color schemes, that kind of stuff. I watch HGTV all the time.”

Skye stared at her blankly. “What’s HGTV?”

“Home and Garden TV.” Sue Ellen sounded reverent. “It’s on cable TV.”

“I don’t have cable.”

“You don’t have a television, period.”

“I was getting too addicted to it when we were staying at my sister’s house.”

“There are worse things to get addicted to. Anyway, let’s get back to my decorating. What do you think? And, okay, I know that the trailer where I’m living now is a little over the top. My mom loved Liberace and that Vegas style. And I didn’t have the money to redecorate it the way I wanted when they gave the trailer to me after they retired to Florida. That’s not really my style—except for the velvet portrait of Elvis.”

“The Tivoli really doesn’t need redecorating. I’m going to restore it to the way it was in its glory days.”

“I don’t get why an edgy bad girl like you would be into old stuff like the Tivoli in the first place. It doesn’t make sense.”

Skye just shrugged. “I’m not into making sense. I’m into complicated.”

“Fine. So you restore the theater and then what?”

“Then she’s going to open a New Age institute here and show movies that inspire and feed the spirit,” Angel announced as she joined them.

“That, or show triple-X porn films. Where’s Toni?” Skye asked Angel.

“She insisted on staying with Algee at Cosmic Comics a little longer,” Angel replied. “He said he’d bring her up in a few minutes.”

“You’re gonna show porn films?” Sue Ellen whispered, only now able to form the words.

Skye rolled her eyes. “Relax. I was only kidding.”

“Right.” Sue Ellen wrapped her arms around her middle and tried to look blasé. “I knew that. Well, if I can’t help you with the decorating, how about the publicity? I’m good with that. Look at how many places picked up that story about my seeing the face of Jesus in that llama’s fur.”

“Lucy still hasn’t forgiven you,” Angel noted.

“Who’s Lucy?”

“The llama.”

“And she hasn’t forgiven me?”

Angel shook her head. “Did you expect her to? When you never even bothered to give her an apology for all that unwanted attention you sent her way?”

Sue Ellen frowned. “I don’t know how to apologize to a llama. Besides she’s out on a farm someplace.”

“It’s nearby,” Angel said. “Less than an hour away. I can drive you out there when I go visit them tomorrow. Then you can make the apology yourself.”

“I don’t know . . .” Sue Ellen shook her head. “What would I wear to apologize to a fuzzy animal?”

“The same thing you’d wear to apologize to a nonfuzzy one,” Skye said.

Angel nodded. “Or a person.”

“But don’t wear white,” Skye cautioned. “There’s a lot of mud and dirt out there.”

“Would jeans and a T-shirt be okay?” Sue Ellen asked.

“That should be fine.” Angel patted her on the shoulder. “Now that she’s pregnant, she’s just a little sensitive.”

Sue Ellen’s eyes almost popped out of her head. “Oh, my lord! Skye is pregnant?”

“No, Lucy is.”

“The llama,” Skye reminded her.

Sue Ellen got all defensive. “I knew that.”

“Knew what?” Algee asked as he joined them with Toni riding on his wider-than-an-entire-continent shoulders.

Sue Ellen answered, “That she’s pregnant.”

“The llama, not me,” Skye said. “So don’t go starting any rumors.”

“I thought you didn’t care what people said about you.” Sue Ellen looked concerned. “Milton is still spewing all kinds of lies, you know. And now his wife has started doing the same thing.”

“I wish you’d let me set him straight,” Algee growled after swinging Toni to the ground.

“Set him straight? Who’s crooked?” Toni asked.

“Republicans,” Angel and Skye automatically replied.

“Hey!” Sue Ellen was offended. “I’ve dated some very nice Republicans.”

Angel shook her head. “Don’t tell Lucy.”

“You’re not going to tell me that your llama is a Democrat, are you?” Sue Ellen said.

Angel laughed. “Of course not.”

“I should hope not.”

“She’s a reincarnated Independent voter.”

 

 

“Hey, buddy, you’re late!” Cole greeted Nathan the instant he entered a packed Nick’s Tavern. It was almost ten at night and he’d hoped the celebratory activities might be over by now. “Glad you could finally make it.”

“Yeah, well, you pretty much threatened to make my life miserable if I didn’t.”

Cole led him to the back of the tavern, where several tables had been shoved together. The area was separated from the rest of the room by the kind of bead curtains popular back when
Kojak
was in.

“Listen,” Cole was saying, “if I have to show up at this bachelor party, so do you.”

“He’s
your
brother. And I thought you had to do more than just show up. I thought you organized this deal.”

Cole shook his head. “I ended up having to delegate that honor to our cousin.”

“Which cousin? Not . . . ?”

“Yeah, I’m afraid so. Butch. He was the only one with enough time on his hands to take care of it.”

“The guy thinks he’s Martha Stewart.”

“Tell me something I don’t know.”

“Is that why there are little name tents on the table? Are those bow-tie-shaped sandwiches?”

“Afraid so.”

“This is Nick’s Tavern. Not exactly the Ritz.” The only Ritz these guys knew about was the cracker.

“It’s the best I could do. The VFW hall was booked for tonight. It was here or nowhere.”

“Nowhere sounds good about now,” Nathan muttered.

Cole pointed to the food. “Some of this stuff should be edible. Butch did all the cooking himself. Miniquiches, crab puffs, stuffed mushrooms . . .”

Yeah, right. The day Nathan ate a miniquiche was the day he turned in his service weapon, tossed in his handcuffs, and called it quits. “What about the entertainment?”

“Don’t worry.” Cole thumped him on the back. “I handled that myself. I think you’ll be pleased.”

A dozen burly guys were seated around the tables. They all greeted Nathan with varying degrees of enthusiasm, based, he suspected, on the number of alcoholic beverages they’d consumed so far. A beer keg sat at the end of the far table, looking incongruous among the dainty appetizers.

“You must try this,” Butch declared, stuffing a crab puff into Cole’s mouth.

One look from Nathan warned Butch that he’d better not try that maneuver on him.

Butch wisely backed away from him and focused on Cole. “Dee-lish, huh? I got the recipe from Martha’s website.”

“Recipes aren’t a big deal at a bachelor party,” Cole told him with his mouth full.

“Mine are,” Butch declared. “Eat up, everyone. We’ve got lots left.”

“Where’s the entertainment?” The question voiced by half the party was accompanied by the banging of a number of beer mugs and bottles on the table, knocking the name tents onto the floor.

“Yeah, where’s the entertainment?” the other half of the group demanded. “You promised us a show, Cole.”

“Right.” Cole checked his watch. “And it’s almost showtime.”

The bar was loud. But the minute Skye stepped out from the back room wrapped in a royal blue caftan, you could hear a pin drop. Next to drop was that caftan, revealing her costume.

Nathan almost didn’t recognize her, with the long, dark-haired wig and the Cleopatra eye makeup she wore. But no one else had lips—or hips—like that. It was Skye, all right.

Nathan told himself he shouldn’t have been surprised. But he was.

Skye was the entertainment. A flame ready to set off this powder keg of a group.

He had to step in. Right in front of her.

“What are you doing?” he demanded in an angry undertone.

“Belly dancing. Now get out of my way.” She planted her hands on his chest.

His hands covered hers and he stood firm. “You just won a million dollars. Why are doing this?”

“Because I said I would. And because the money hasn’t come through yet. Paperwork,” she muttered. “I hate paperwork.”

“Hey, Nathan, don’t hog her all to yourself!” the other guys protested en masse.

“Yeah, this is supposed to be
my
bachelor party,” Cole’s brother said. “If anyone’s gonna hog her, it should be me!”

“They’ve already had a lot to drink,” Nathan warned Skye. “To wash down those God-awful crab puffs. So, do
not
get them all riled up.”

“Who? Li’l ol’ me?” She seductively tiptoed her fingers up Nathan’s chest before catching him off balance and shoving him out of her way. “Ready or not, here I come, boys!”

A roar of approval filled the tavern and traveled down the block, garnering the attention of several passersby, who immediately rushed in to join the fun.

“Hey, this is a private party,” Cole’s brother complained as the crowd grew.

“Too late now,” Nathan said, his eyes fixed on Skye the Seductress.

Every male in the place had his eyes fixed on her as she performed her dance, her hips shimmying as if they had a life of their own.

“Take it off!” One overeager oaf made a grab for her top.

She sidestepped him and glared, while keeping her hip shimmy going. “Hey, I am
not
a stripper. You wouldn’t ask a ballet dancer to take off her tutu, would you?”

“Take it off!” the sloppy drunk repeated, shoving a ten-dollar bill down her cleavage while simultaneously attempting to rip off her sequined bra-top.

Before Nathan could make a move to help her, a totally pissed-off Skye shoved the drunk away from her. He stumbled a few steps before landing on the table, smashing everything in sight.

“Get off my crab puffs!” Butch howled. He might be a great cook, but he was an even better wrestler, having competed in the state finals four years in a row.

Fists started flying, and the fight was on.

Chapter Eight

An
hour later, Skye sat in Nathan’s office, gazing at him without a flicker of remorse. “I guess that file on me just got a little thicker, huh?”

Nathan reminded himself that he was an officer of the law, and that regulations precluded him from using their own dark wigs to strangle belly-dancing seductresses. Not that Skye was wearing the wig at the moment. She had it stuffed in her huge WWF tote bag—World Wildlife Fund, not World Wrestling Federation—although the way she’d shoved that drunk in the bar, she’d probably be able to hold her own in any smackdown.