Honeytrap (11 page)

The TV went from late show to late movie, and at some point, my phone dinged with a text.

I glanced at my alarm clock—it was after one. Mom still wasn't home but, then again, that didn't mean she was late. She and the girls would be hanging at the Angel's Seat, probably celebrating tonight's receipts.

When I got my phone, my nerves seized.

Rex

U up?

Shit. I was pretty sure he was checking to see if I'd finally read yesterday's message to Lana Peyton's account. It looked like it was time to peek at it. But, honestly, I did need something to get my mind off tonight's adventures with Micah.

I was ready for this now.

So I went to my computer and waited for it to boot up. Yup, if I busied myself with Rex, I wouldn't think of what'd happened today and tonight.

You're gonna fall for me one day . . .

After I was able to sign on to Lana's account, I went straight to her e-mails.
It's like tearing off a bandage
, I thought, as I read the message Rex had sent yesterday.

March 15, 12:02pm

Subject: ()

U still her?

And that's all there was to it. I wasn't sure if Rex had misspelled the “her” and had meant “here.” I would've preferred the second interpretation, because the “her” would've meant he was asking if I was still Lana.

Who did he want me to be? Or was this his way of opening up some kind of apology?

Based on how he'd acted this afternoon, I wasn't so sure about him feeling any kind of sorry. And if he was trying to make amends, did I even want to get square with him?

What was he after?

It wasn't like I was going to get any sleep tonight, anyway, so I grabbed my phone to text him. No way would I communicate through Lana anymore.

Shelby

I'm up.

Then I waited. An answer didn't take long.

Rex

U pissed about today?

No, I loved being the butt of jokes. My thumbs got busy.

Shelby

You didn't impress anyone except for your drunk friends.

BTW, you're still using Jason's e-mail to contact Lana?

Rex

Hah u didnt shut down her account.

Wow, so he was keeping tabs on me. I didn't take his bait and tell him about why Lana's account was still open; instead, I focused on
him
.

Shelby

Why are you still using Jason's ParlorFly e-mail?

Rex

I tell u if u tell me.

Now I was sure he'd e-mailed just to dangle a carrot in front of me, wanting to know why I was clinging to Lana in exchange for information about him. But, hey, thanks to Micah, I was getting used to lures.

Shelby

It is clear that you only want to taunt me. Goodnight.

Rex

Wait. Im sorry about today.

He didn't go on, but for Rex, this was huge. He was the cock of the walk around his friends, but behind closed doors, he wasn't necessarily a full-time jerk, and that part of him was finally coming out again. He was being the guy I'd seen at the lake, when he'd given me that look I couldn't figure out, like he really was sorry.

Since this was the first sincere, calm communication we'd had since the breakup, I let it run on.

Rex

U doing ok?

Shelby

I'm great. Lots to keep me busy.

Before I sent that one, I erased the last sentence. It might open a door for him to say something crappy about Micah. I retyped.

Shelby

I'm great. Café keeping me busy.

Rex

Im working out and training lots . . . mostly with beer. LOL.

My, was he friendly tonight, almost like he did miss me.

I turned that thought over in my head. Maybe, not long ago, I would've wanted him to miss me in that weirded-up little world I'd been living in, but now missing me just seemed messy, like a bunch of covers on a bed that'd been rumpled by . . .

I glanced over at my mattress. Micah.

My phone dinged, and I dragged my gaze away from the bed and back to the phone, my belly butterflying.

Rex

U fall asleep?

Shelby

Not yet but I'm tired. Need to say goodnight.

Rex

Ok. C u around?

Was he kidding?

Shelby

Night, Rex.

Then I killed the sound on my phone, even though he didn't send a text in return. When I went to my bed, I hesitated before getting into it, looking at the disturbed cherry blossom patterns Micah had traced on the cover.

As it started to rain again, I turned off the lights and climbed under the sheets, the chatter of my TV chasing me into a restless sleep.

When I woke up, I could've sworn I was hungover, even if I'd never been that way before. But this was how I imagined it'd make me feel—cotton-headed, sluggish, and slow to rise.

Micah's fault
, I thought as I tumbled out of bed. It was like I'd taken in too much of him yesterday and he'd made my system crash.

God, I couldn't wait until I got over this first-blush addiction to what he did to me and got back to being my old boring self—normal, logical, future-minded. There was no future with a guy like him, and that was a fact.

I threw a long T-shirt over my camisole and shorts, grabbing my phone out of habit, then padded out of the pool house and entered the main one through the back. I headed to the kitchen, where women's voices wove in and out of one another like the buzz of bees in a garden. I'd overslept long enough for even the winos to wake up before I did.

I was fixing my ponytail out of its bedhead slump when I trudged in, raising my hand in a yawning hello and going straight to the fridge for orange juice and milk. Frannie, Rainey, Juanita, and Mom were gathered around the island counter, pots and pans hanging over their heads as they dined on grapefruit and pancakes, which weren't my thing.

Frannie laughed at me, her apple cheeks glowing. “Witness what too much late-night TV does to this generation.”

Juanita also looked well put-together for a wino, her thick, dark hair waving over one shoulder. “I think someone's been watching too much
Walking Dead
.”

More laughter ensued, and I chortled along with them, grabbing a glass from the cupboard, along with a bowl and oat cereal. “Young people need more sleep than old ones,” I said.

“Smart-ass.” That was Rainey, whose nose had gotten sunburned from her outside work yesterday, even in spite of the humongo straw hat she'd been sporting.

I poured the oats into the bowl. “Y'all are chipper this morning.”

Mom beamed. “Based on what I calculated last night, this was an even better week for the café than I thought. Yesterday really put us in the black—Juanita had that one table that kept ordering the San Saba hill country reserve pinot. Their bill came to four hundred, and that was before they bought some bottles to take with them!”

High fives all around. I even joined in, because if we could get more wine-loving tables, we'd be in some real business.

“Know what?” I asked, splashing some milk in my bowl. “What if the Angel's Seat got a reputation for its local wine list? And how about carrying more craft beers? You could have nearby wineries and breweries put on tastings to draw people and pair the lists with the food. Mom, I could get on that this summer, revamping the website and getting you up and running on social media. This could be
huge
if you set yourself to doing those lists.”

Frannie tapped her forehead. “Always thinking, this one.”

“That's why I like to have her around.” Mom smiled at me, then stood, taking her empty plate to the sink and rinsing it. “So, Shel, what do you have going on today besides the café later?”

“I was going to weed the gardens, then maybe hit Evie's pool with her. Why?”

“The mower's ready to be picked up from the shop.”

Suddenly, the only sound in the kitchen was the water swishing out of the faucet. The women exchanged glances, then surveyed me.

The name “Micah Wyatt” hung above us like a piñata, ready to be swatted. But maybe Mom was the only one who'd be up for doing that, seeing as Frannie was grinning at me and the other two were very, very busy wiping their mouths with their cotton napkins.

Mom turned off the water, shaking the moisture off her hands. “Can you find a moment to get the mower today? I'll give you the money you'll need.”

“No problem.” I'd just tell my hormones to roll with it. “I can go this afternoon.”

I expected her to lecture me again about Micah, but she only smiled once more and left the room. The rest of the club watched her as we heard Mom's footsteps on the stairs, then a door closing.

Frannie leaned toward me. “Someone's got a love life, and it sure isn't anyone sitting at this counter.”

Juanita's turn. “Are you talking about Shelby and that Micah kid? He's not her type, Fran. She's a college girl and has a lot more in store for her than that.”

That?
Was that how she saw Micah?

It was funny, how some people interpreted others. True, Micah didn't exactly put off a master of the universe vibe, but I hadn't been on top of the world lately, either. I'd been feeling so dirt-low that I didn't feel entitled to any kind of respect from anyone, even Mom's girls. But Juanita's comment told me that there were people who still saw me as someone with potential. At the same time, though, the knock against Micah sort of bugged me.

Frannie cut in. “I think Micah has a future, even if it's not a regular one. He's got that Camaro, and they say he rebuilt it from near scratch. That takes some talent.”

“Yeah,” said Rainey, eyeing me with a sunburned sparkle. “They say he's great with his hands.”

I was just shoveling in a spoonful of cereal, and it took all I had to keep from spitting it out.

I had to be blushing ten ways to Sunday, because the girls tittered at me. Then Juanita sighed.

“To be Shelby's age again. What I'd give for it.”

Frannie used the last of her pancake to swipe the syrup off her plate. “Speak for yourself. I might be drying up in some places, but I've got a lot of juice left in
me
yet.”

“Disgusting, Fran,” Rainey said, sliding off her seat and clearing her plate.

I'd finally finished chewing my cereal, swallowed, then said, “I'll tell you what—if y'all don't stop drinking those bottles of wine every night, you'll be dried up before you know it. That stuff dehydrates like mad.”

Juanita flipped me off in the nicest way possible, and I flashed her a sweet smile. Evie's ringtone sounded on my phone—Beyoncé singing about single ladies—and I dropped my spoon, jetting out of the kitchen and outside to the gaping pool where I had privacy.

By the time I got there, the ring had stopped, so I called her back. “Hey.”

“Hey. Is it a pool day or what?”

“Heck, yeah. Eleven-ish?”

She was fine with the time, but as she launched into a complaint about how her mom was already making her feel like she was in high school again by sticking her nose in everything Evie did, I started to wonder if this was a good time to tell her about Micah. Since I'd discovered that I should've told Evie everything about the Lana Peyton deal upfront, I'd decided to not keep anything from her again. She wasn't going to judge or hate me.

After she told me how her mom had been poking around her undies drawer while quizzing her about birth control, I closed my door and sat on my bed.

“I kissed Micah Wyatt,” I whispered, starting off slow. I'd build up to the rest.

“What?” I could tell Evie was hopping around her room. “How? When? What was it like?”

I gave her the details: the kiss in the theater, the under-the-sweater stuff, the sneaking into my room and fooling around on my bed. As she squealed, I had to remind her that Mom wasn't a fan, so please don't tell anyone. Also, there was the entire bet thing to consider.

“Like I was going to post a meme,” she said, and if a voice could do an eye roll, she would've nailed it. “So Micah really told you that you're gonna fall for him one day? Oh my God, that is the most romantic.”

“It was slightly delusional.”

“Whatever it was,” she said, “this is the most exciting thing that's happened to me since . . . ever. In a vicarious way, but, still. And it's perfect—you did just enough with him so that he can't say he won any bet he still might have going. I say make him your secret puppet love-boy, but don't give him bragging rights. Be a woman and roar a little.”

Jeez, Evie made me think that I could do anything I wanted, but she'd buried some good advice in all her enthusiasm. Kissing was fine. So was a little grabby-grabby.

But anything beyond that was definitely taboo . . .

***

I put in some weeding time in the rain-dewed gardens, then dropped by Evie's for an hour so we could slather on sunscreen and float on air mattresses in her pool. As expected, she wanted to know even more details about how Micah kissed and how he made his moves.

But when it was all said and done, the mower awaited me, right along with the player himself.

After going home, showering off, and putting on a breezy skirt, tank, and sandals—I swear I wasn't dressing up for Micah—I drove to Deacon and Darwin's shop and walked in like a boss. I had no idea what I'd say to Micah when I saw him. I mean, what do you say after a guy tells you you're going to fall for him someday? But I wasn't planning on sticking around for a long conversation.

I'd roared a little yesterday, just like Evie said I should, and that was good enough for me.

I entered the shop, the swish of the fans welcoming me and, like the last time I was here, I tried not to fidget after I rang the service bell. But I couldn't help switching from one foot to the other, definitely fidgeting, then trying my hardest to stand still.

Old Metallica was coming from the service door that led to the back of the shop, and I wondered if I should hit the bell again. But then Deacon, with his pirate-pierced ears, blue eyes, and tanned face, looked through the door.

He broke into a big smile and cruised to the counter, whipping a rag out of a coverall pocket and wiping his hands. “Angel's here,” he called out.

Seriously? Micah had a big mouth. But my heart fluttered waiting for him.

Yet the only person who entered the lobby was Darwin, rubbing his short hair and tilting his head at me. “How you doin', Shelby?”

At least he hadn't called me Sunshine.

“I'm good,” I said, waiting for the king of fling to arrive next.

It didn't happen, though, not even after Darwin went in the back for the mower and Deacon rang me up for the bill.

Deacon slid me a look, then smiled. “He's not in right now.”

“Who?” Golly-gee-whiz, who could he be talking about?

He chuckled. “Micah. He's out on a call with my truck but should be back before he leaves for the day. We're closing early for the Chamber of Commerce potluck.”

I resisted asking just how everyone in the Chamber of Commerce liked Deacon's earrings and Darwin's tattoos. “I'm only here for my mower.”

“All right then.”

He told me the price and I handed over the cash. Through the front window, I could see Darwin putting my mower in my pickup, wrapping it in the tarp I'd brought. On his way back, he itched at his neck on the opposite side of his phoenix tattoo, and I realized there was a white patch there, like he'd cut himself shaving or was weaning himself off nicotine.

Deacon closed out the transaction. “That'll do it. I'll tell my cousin you stopped by.”

“No need,” I said.

“He'll want to know.”

As I bristled, Darwin came in through the lobby door.

“Really,” I said, “you don't have to bother. I'm not one of his victims.”

The boys laughed.

Maybe my experience with Rex and his friends had brought something out in me that'd been sleeping before, but it was up and running now. At least as far as saying things went—we'd see about the doing.

“Guys,” I said, gripping my wallet, “it's bad form to bet on women, like you did with me and Micah. I'm sure he told you that I found out about your games.”

Oh,
now
they looked embarrassed, shuffling their boots and clearing their throats.

Darwin wandered toward the service door. “I've got to . . .”

Deacon shot him a death glare, but Darwin still made his escape. Then, knowing he'd have to face the music for both of them, Deacon turned back to me.

“You're right,” he said. “But you weren't supposed to know about the bet. I guess someone overheard.”

“As they do in this town.”

He straightened up, and I felt a little sorry for him, because it did seem like he was rethinking this bet thing. “We didn't mean anything by it. Micah even dropped out of the bet the first night.”

Hadn't Micah told his cousins about the movie theater or being in my room? Sure, he'd insisted that there was no bet anymore, but I hadn't believed it.

Deacon brightened. “Say, let us make it up to you. Come to the Lonesome Star sometime and I'll buy you drinks all night.”

The Lonesome Star was one of those dive bars on the fringes of town where jobless men, hopeless women, underage kids with fake IDs from the nearest dry counties, and fun-loving scamps bought beer and ate barbecue.

“Deacon,” I said, “I'm not old enough to drink in a bar.”

“Ah. Right.” He inspected me, and not in the way Micah usually did, but more like a cousin would. “I keep forgetting who's what age around here. But doesn't everyone in college drink anyway?”

“Not like they do at the Lonesome Star.”

“I just keep thinking that you're Micah's age. He can legally get in bars now.”

So
that's
how old he was . . .

“Me and Darwin,” Deacon said, “well, honestly, we've been trying to stay away from the bars lately. It's time to make some changes in life, especially with Micah in the house now . . . and others.”

Did he mean the girls they'd had over last night? Yeah, Micah had mentioned them.

A low voice came from the door. “My ears are burning.”

I startled, because I hadn't been paying attention to anything but what Deacon had been saying about Micah. But there was the guy himself, dressed in his coveralls, his hair tied back as he grinned at me.

And, oh, that grin whispered thousands of words, warming
my
ears, too.