Good Girls Don't (2 page)
She’d have lost that bet.
Shoot, she’d have put money on him staying true too.
Ditto for losing the wager.
“In case you’ve forgotten, Jeff and I have been over for two months. Matter of fact, I heard he put a ring on Emily Smith’s finger last weekend. Just as well, since he was banging her the whole time we were together. Hey, who knows? Maybe he found
her
G-spot. He sure never found mine.”
That sounded bitter. And she was
not
bitter. Relieved was more like it. She’d tried to make the whole commitment thing work, in spite of Jeff leaving much to be desired in the bedroom. In her bedroom, anyway. As she learned two months ago, he’d made his way through plenty of other beds during their time together.
“Maybe you should try this out. It’ll find the spot.” Amy picked up the translucent pink vibrator and held it to her cheek. “It’s waterproof too. And you don’t even need a man. Really, you should give it a trial run.”
Don’t need a man. Yep, that’ll fit the bill.
“Maybe I should.” Colette laughed. Heck, maybe a pink, rainbow, light-up G-spot finder was what she needed to get her out of this funk. Twenty-nine-and-knocking-on-thirty, she was still searching for a guy who could carry on an intelligent conversation, had at least some semblance of a career plan and—wonder of wonders—could make her toes curl as much as one of Amy’s toys. She was beginning to think she might have to let go of one of the three qualities. But if anything had to fly out the window, it would
not
be curling toes.
Amy lowered the vibrator and focused on the phone perched against her sister’s ear. “Hey, Colette, you dialed the number, didn’t you?”
Colette’s laughter lodged in her throat. She hadn’t heard the answering machine pick up. But there’d definitely been a ring on the other end.
Hadn’t there?
Yeah, she’d heard a ring. When had it stopped? More importantly, how much of their sisterly conversation had been recorded?
Dang.
A path of heat blazed from her throat to her face. She’d have to do major damage control at the office tomorrow for this faux pas. How do you explain leaving a message about sex toys on a customer’s voice mail?
But she couldn’t hang up. She’d used the cellular provided by My Alibi, and the fictitious name Amy’s friend had chosen for her company would be displayed on the caller ID.
She gathered her wits. So this wouldn’t be her best performance as a My Alibi representative; it’d be okay. She’d simply apologize and begin her regular spiel.
Taking a deep breath, she prepared to start the process of prevarication via the uncle’s answering machine.
Then she heard a responding exhalation on the other end.
No. Way. There was
not
a living, breathing person listening to her now. Hearing her discuss G-spots, no less, when she supposedly represented a computer-graphics training company. Certainly Erika’s uncle hadn’t answered the phone, heard her talking and eavesdropped on that steamy little conversation with Amy. Had he?
Only one way to find out. Tossing a wary glance to her sister, she mustered up her courage. “Hello?”
“Well, hello.”
C
olette’s eyes bugged at Amy, while Amy mouthed a shocked, “Oh. No.”
Erika had placed a big checkmark beside the best time to call, when her uncle wouldn’t be home. She’d even handwritten that My Alibi could simply leave a message letting him know she’d arrived safely at her destination and be done with it. Simple as pie.
Not.
Because the sexy hello sending a shiver down Colette’s spine definitely didn’t come from a machine. Flustered, she couldn’t remember the name of the fake company.
Time to stall . . .
Scanning the data sheet, Colette fumbled over the conversation. “Please accept my apologies. This is Colette Campbell with”—her eyes struggled to find the name—“Integrated Solutions in Tampa. I was talking to a coworker, and I’m afraid I didn’t hear you pick up.”
“Obviously not.” Muffled laughter echoed through the phone.
“Right. Well, I was calling to inform you that”—she pulled her finger across the page and read the full name—“Erika Collins arrived safely and has already started her training seminars. She asked that I call and inform you everything is going according to schedule. Also, if you need to get in touch with her at any point throughout the week, you can contact her at this number.” Colette recited the toll-free number established by My Alibi, the one that would ring directly to her cellular. If he did call, she would field the message and notify his niece.
“I appreciate your help, but I’ll call her cell phone when I need her.”
A usual response. And one Colette was prepared for. “I’m afraid the conference center rarely picks up cellular signals, but I will be happy to relay your messages, Mr.”—another glance at the form, “Brannon.”
Her brain clicked madly as she read the name again.
Uh-uh. It couldn’t be.
“Bill Brannon?” she questioned.
“Yes.”
“From Sheldon?”
A slight pause echoed from the other end. This wasn’t Bill. Surely not. There were bound to be several Bill Brannons, right? Probably plenty of them in Georgia, in fact. This wouldn’t be—couldn’t be—the Bill Brannon she remembered.
But she did remember
that
Bill Brannon. She could see him so clearly, black hair cropped close on the sides, longer on top. Thick, dark brows. Eyes the color of mocha. Full lips. Strong jaw. He had the looks of a guy she’d date in a heartbeat back in Sheldon High. But she didn’t. That wasn’t the type of relationship they shared.
Because Bill Brannon also listened to many of her worries throughout middle school and high school. The nervous ramblings of a girl not nearly as confident as she let the remainder of the world believe. A girl who wanted more than what Sheldon offered, who wanted to be a successful businesswoman and have a real family one day, the kind of family she and Amy dreamed of.
Bill Brannon had been the best male friend she’d ever known, and the one she’d left on graduation night, when he confessed his true feelings—and she left Sheldon without looking back.
“I’m afraid you have me at a disadvantage,” he said.
Oh. My. God.
The Bill Brannon she knew—remembered—
was
on the other end of this line. With a deeper, richer voice than she recalled.
Her hand clenched the receiver.
“What did you say your name was again?” he asked. “Colette?”
Oh boy, she’d dug herself right into a hole. A big wide black one. With, sure enough, no end in sight.
“Colette,” she said, then swallowed. Maybe he wouldn’t remember. And maybe her mother would become a nun. “Colette Campbell.”
“Lettie?” Recognition slammed through both syllables. “Is that you?”
She hadn’t heard that name in twelve years, since the night she graduated from Sheldon High. The same night she’d told him the truth, then witnessed the pain in her friend’s eyes.
Her stomach knotted. “It’s been a long time,” she said, while her sister leaned forward, steadying her palms on the mound of sex toy paraphernalia she’d dumped on the sofa.
“Whoops,” Amy mouthed, her green eyes wide. “You know him?”
Fighting the way her throat closed in, Colette nodded.
“It
has
been a long time,” he said. “At the ten-year reunion, your last-known address was your house in Sheldon, and we all knew you’d kissed that place good-bye. So you’re in Tampa now?”
How was she supposed to answer his question? No, she wasn’t in Tampa; she was in Atlanta, the same as he was. In fact, she hadn’t moved that far from their small town in the North Georgia Mountains—merely far enough to reach a big city where she could make her mark and achieve her goals.
However, he thought she was in Tampa. Well, of course he did. Because
that’s
where the fictitious Integrated Solutions was located and
that’s
where she told him she worked. Heck, not only was Colette not in Tampa, neither was his niece.
Oh God, how could she lie to Bill?
As if on cue, Amy edged closer. “Don’t tell him,” she mouthed. “Please.”
Damnation.
According to the information sheet, Erika was currently on Tybee Island. Undoubtedly having a hot and heated time with her boyfriend while Uncle Bill thought she was working at a training conference. Lettie shook her head in disbelief. This was
so
not happening. Of all the people she’d never
ever
want to lie to, the name at the top of that list would be Bill.
Well, close to the top. The very tip-top name, of course, would be Amy. And therein was the problem.
“Yeah, Tampa is nice,” Colette said, while a wave of nausea covered her like a thick black cloud. She’d never even been to the place. Man, why did Erika’s uncle have to be Bill?
Colette had sworn she wouldn’t keep this job long. It was wrong, and she knew it. But it paid a heck of a lot more than a waitress, or a checkout clerk, or a salesperson, or a dog walker—or any of the other bizarre jobs she’d had in the past. And it helped her save the money she needed to get her business started.
She’d been convinced that was a good enough reason for helping cheaters. And she’d promised herself she’d only do it a few months. Half a year, tops.
Unfortunately, lying to Bill Brannon, the one guy who’d treated her better than any other—and the one guy she’d hurt more than any other—hadn’t figured into her equation.
“And you’re working for the company holding the conference?” he continued, aiding her eternal free fall into the black abyss.
“Yeah.” God, she needed to get off the phone. Guilt washed over her like a mudslide down the Appalachians. Any minute now, she’d need to hurl. Violently. With gusto. No, she hadn’t relished lying for cheaters, but all in all, lying to strangers hadn’t seemed so bad. Lying to someone who’d been her best friend as a teenager, on the other hand, was a different story entirely.
“I’m glad to hear it’s a reputable business. When Erika told me she had to spend a week in Tampa to train for her new job, I admit I had my doubts about whether the company was on the up-and-up. She has a tendency to act first and think later.”
I’ll say. She’s definitely not thinking now, or she’d be truthful with you.
“Glad to help,” Colette said, her insides churning miserably. Lying to Bill Brannon hadn’t been on her list of things to do today. Hadn’t been on the list of things to do this lifetime, truth be told, and she was ready for it to be over. And was he going to bring up the last time they saw each other?
Amy touched her hand. “It’s just one week,” she whispered. “And she’s really in love.”
As if
that
would make Colette feel better.
She decided to keep the charade moving and get off the phone before they traipsed down memory lane. “If you need to contact her, you can call the number I gave you.”
It’s completely bogus, you’ll be talking to me and I’ll be lying through my teeth. But, yeah, call it. And pray for me, by the way. I need all the help I can get.
“Wait. Lettie?”
Why the devil wasn’t he hanging up the phone? Probably because they’d been so close before and hadn’t talked in, oh, twelve years. Surely he’d want to play catch-up, even if their last conversation had been less than pleasant.
“I’m leaving Sheldon, Bill. I have to.”
She took his hand and held it tightly.
“And I—I don’t think of you that way. You’re my friend.”
And his response . . .
“
It’s not enough.
” Then he slid his hand from her grasp . . . and walked away.
“Lettie?” the deep voice on the phone repeated.
She swallowed. “Yeah?”
“How are you?”
How was she? She was making a living lying for frauds, one of which was his niece. In other words, she was pretty dang crummy, thank you very much.
“I’m fine,” she said. Another lie. What was one more now?
“That’s good. I always hoped you’d end up happy, with everything you ever wanted.”
Guilt, a mighty heavy emotion. Right now, she’d estimate its weight at two tons and climbing. She knew the truth. Her years at Sheldon could’ve been sheer hell if Bill hadn’t been there, the shoulder for her to cry on when her mother’s reckless antics had caused those telltale whispers whenever Colette neared. In response, she’d smiled, flirted, acted as though it didn’t matter. But it did. And she had dreamed of the day she could leave. Start a new life and pave the way for her sister.
The day after she graduated, she did. But in following her plan, she left behind the two people she cared about most. Amy . . . and Bill.
“I guess I’ll let you go now,” she said, while Amy sat beside her with her hand over her mouth.
“Lettie?”
Colette closed her eyes. Why did that name sound so sweet when coming from his mouth? She’d always thought “Lettie” held a hint of sordidness. But with Bill, it sounded almost angelic.
“Yeah?”
“Do you ever get to Atlanta? Does your work at Integrated Solutions put you traveling at all?”
Her eyes slowly opened. “Atlanta?”
Well, sure she got to Atlanta. Every day. When she drove down Interstate 85 toward the My Alibi office in Marietta. Or when she bought her groceries. Or when she slept in her apartment. Yep, she sure enough got to Atlanta.
“Right. You ever travel here?” he repeated.
“Sometimes.” Shoot, she was already heading to hell in a handbasket. What was another fabrication filling the lining?
“Next time you’re coming to town, give me a call. We could get together for old times’ sake. You know, go out to dinner or take in a show. The Fox Theatre puts on quite a few Broadway productions throughout the year.” He paused, while her heart started a slow, steady thump; then he exhaled thickly. “We shouldn’t have let things end like that.”
Colette smiled, recognizing the tone of her teenage friend in the husky male voice. He was right, after all. They shouldn’t have ended things like that. And for her part, she shouldn’t have left town before they worked things out.
