Honeytrap (14 page)

I'd known that look because I'd gotten one at the lake also.

Expression blank, Jadyn leaned back in her chair, drinking her tea, while Evie had her say.

“You know what? Rex is a collector of women. He does with them as he pleases and relies on his stature to stay in their good graces. I believe you two are the first ones to ever shake him off the way you did, and that's pissing the heck out of him.”

“Freud speaketh,” I said. Then I addressed Jadyn. “Evie's our resident psychoanalyst.”

Evie nodded. “I
love
my psych classes. I wonder how they could apply to marine biology and art . . .” Ending her contribution, she drank the rest of her tea and stood. “Hey, I told Jackie I'd help her get organized before service starts. We should do this again, though. Venters United. I like that.”

She was leaving me and Jadyn alone for some quality time. Sensitive, wonderful Evie.

As Evie made her way to the back, Jadyn pushed some of that curly hair from her face. “She's great.”

“Isn't she?”

“I always wanted to be friends with you two in high school. I guess God brings us our chances in the most unexpected of ways.”

I grinned. “How could the president of the cool clubs want to hang with the fringe art and nerd contingent? You were already the girl everyone liked and looked up to.”

“It just seemed like you and Evie didn't care if anyone else was a part of whatever you had going on.
I
always felt like I needed someone to validate me.” She traced the condensation on her glass. “You two seemed to be fine with who you were. Evie more than you, if I'm telling every bit of the truth here.”

I shrugged. “Yeah, well, I'm glad I came off that way, because I was the most uncomfortable person in her skin that you've ever met.” Still was.

“Maybe Rex only has relationships with the ones who're like that.”

I looked at Jadyn—really looked. “Sounds like you've been taking as many psych classes as Evie.”

We both laughed softly, and she kept tracing her glass, coming to a sudden stop.

“He doesn't text me,” she said.

It took a moment for me to get my head in gear. “Rex?”

“Right. I'm mortified to admit that I tried to contact him every way I could after I blew it with him, but he wouldn't hear my apologies.”

I dwelled on how she'd said “blew it with him.”

I frowned. “Why does it sound like you wouldn't say no if he asked you to get back together with him?”

She was so quiet that Neko Case had the chance to sing an entire verse. Then Jadyn sighed.

“I wasn't much his type in school,” she said. “I was popular, sure, but Rex was in the fast crowd. I never had any serious boyfriends, and Rex was a whirlwind who spun my head around. When he went back to college, where you were, I still had feelings for him. I got . . . neurotic, I suppose.”

Surprised, I said, “You didn't think he was going to give me another shot, did you? After what I did with Lana Peyton?”

Jadyn hunched over slightly. “Even after you broke up, he would talk about you all the time, and there was more than anger in what he said. You still had a hold on him, and he hated himself for it. I was certain that he still loved you, and that the minute he saw you at college again, he was going to drop me.” She smiled wryly. “Maybe that was my other neurotic side talking—the side that couldn't go to college and wanted to be there so badly. You were living my dream.”

“Oh.”

“I'm not saying that in a crazy, stalky way.” She pushed at her glass. “I'm saying that I felt like, at any minute, I was going to hear that Rex had left me behind for you, and when I had too much beer one night a couple weeks ago, I was vulnerable. I wanted to know that someone out there—even a Micah Wyatt—wanted me. How sad is that?”

“It's not sad, just real.”

A link seemed to connect us, and it wasn't only about being Rex's hated exes. Jadyn was, in a lot of ways, me.

She was also what I might be if I made the wrong step with Micah, although I was thinking, more and more, that maybe I'd met a different guy than she had. Jadyn didn't know about Henry or the rawness I'd seen in Micah this afternoon, after I'd found the pictures of his mom.

I reached across the table, resting one of my hands over hers. “You're going to move on from Rex, just like I'm going to do.”

“You can't forget him, either?”

“Well, I think guilt is the strongest emotion I've got where he's concerned right now. Guilt and heartbreak.” But thanks to Micah, it was easier to focus on something other than Rex. At least there was that.

“Guilt,” she said. “I hear you there.”

Even though I'd suggested moving on from Rex, I wasn't sure if Jadyn was on board with the idea—it was in the way her gaze had darkened, like her mind was stuck in a shadow of memory that kept following her around, attached and unavoidable.

I wondered if it wasn't just Rex who had her pinned, or if it was the gossip in this town and maybe all the worthless feelings that'd been brought on by her cheating.

Looking at her sitting across from me, I realized that, unlike Jadyn, I was on my way to getting rid of all that.

I really did want to roar instead of whimper . . .if I could find it in me.

Rex texted bright and early.

Rex

How is he?

I was groggy, but as I leaned out of bed toward the nightstand where I'd set my phone last night, I was awake enough to know who “he” was.

What Rex didn't know was that I hadn't heard anything from Micah for two days—no pool house drop-bys, no popping into the café for takeout, no nothing. Hell, Rex seemed to be pursuing me more than Micah was; my ex hadn't stopped with the messages, just like a grade school boy who pulls a little girl's pigtails in the back of the classroom for attention.

Had Micah gotten tired of my resistance? Had I seen the man behind the curtain when I'd gotten a look at his mom? Or could leaving me alone be his newest strategy?

Any way I put it, he was winning. Whenever I worked in the café, I looked at the front door as someone entered, hoping it'd be Micah with his cocky grin. I stayed up late at night, wondering if he'd show up at the sliding glass door of my room, leaning against the side of it and giving me one of those long looks that threw me exhilaratingly off balance.

But lucky me, I had Rex's attentions instead.

Shelby

A good morning to you, too.

Rex

Guess ur ignoring my question.

Shelby

If you want to talk nice, I'm up for that.

Taunting is no fun if the other side won't react, and my reverse psychology had been working on Rex lately. Evie was rubbing off on me more than usual.

He changed the subject.

Rex

Am I ever gonna see u?

Whoa. It seemed like he knew a bit about reverse psychology himself.

Since I knew it'd be a bad idea to feed the troll, I didn't respond. I only stood from bed, hearing the chirping birds outside my window. He didn't send anything else, and that was cause enough for the birds to be singing.

But as I put down the phone, Rex's last text mocked me. All these secret messages from Rex, all the times I'd met Micah outside of the public eye . . . It was like I'd become the girl who existed for guys only in private.

Then again, I wondered if I existed for Micah these days at all.

***

“Obviously, it's time to move on with you-know-who,” Evie said as she combed through the clothing racks in Butterfield's, a boutique where the salesclerk had grimaced at me the second I walked through the door. Yay, another Rex fan.

I didn't remark on Evie's comment about Micah; I wasn't sure I was comfortable talking at all in this store, since it felt like enemy territory with that staring salesclerk and also a few mother-daughter teams who were shopping for swimsuits and dresses near the back and sneaking looks at me, too. At least they were only giving me cold shoulders, though.

But Evie had talked me into doing some weekend shopping at the strip mall, saying that it was my right to go wherever I wanted in town, and nobody's attitude should stop me.

I turned my back on the clerk, inspecting a flimsy sundress. Evie gave my arm a flick with her index finger.

“Hello. Did you hear what I said about moving on?”

“Mm-hm.”

“Because you're acting like that little flirtation of his meant something more than a bit of fun, Shel.”

“It didn't.”

“Then why the puppy eyes?” She dipped down to catch my gaze. “You didn't even like him.”

I felt a presence behind me, and Evie sighed and rolled her eyes at the interruption. I turned around to find the salesclerk. I recognized her because she'd graduated from Aidan Falls High about ten years ago and had always come to the football games.

“What's in your bag?” she asked me.

I processed her question, then glanced at Evie, who was going red in the face, as if she'd already figured out something I hadn't.

“I asked you,” the clerk said, raising her voice so that the other few customers in the shop turned around and watched, “what's in your bag?”

Was she accusing me of something? Like shoplifting?

My brain sputtered, too stunned to work.

Evie gave me a dire look. I didn't know if it was because she wanted me to stand up for myself, or if it was because she was just downright pissed that some lady had come over here to hassle us.

You can yell at Rex but not at anyone else?
her expression said.

I guessed so, because I kept my mouth closed, thinking that I should just leave the store. But Evie wasn't about to take this treatment.

“Are you accusing her of stealing?” she asked. “Because you can't tag someone for shoplifting until they walk out the door—the charges wouldn't hold up.”

Her dad was a lawyer so I believed her, but the clerk could've given a rat's ass.

She pointed at my tote. “I saw her put something in her bag. That's just wrong.”

“For God's sake.” Evie pulled me by the arm. “Let's get out of this pit.”

But my embarrassment was morphing into anger. Shoplifting? That wasn't me at all. It wasn't even Lana Peyton.

“Here,” I said, yanking open my tote. “You can look. I didn't take anything.”

Other customers were beginning to inch toward us.

“Shel,” Evie said, urging me toward the door, “this is ridiculous.”

A middle-aged woman—a football mom whose son was a kicker—spoke to the clerk. “You should just call the sheriff.”

“I don't think so,” Evie said. “Shelby didn't steal any of this crap that was probably made by child labor in a sweatshop, so who wants it, anyway? Come
on
, Shel.”

Logic kicked in. What would this do to the café if I had the reputation of a criminal? Would people stay away as another punishment to me and Mom?

As I went to the counter and spilled out the contents of my tote, I faced everyone, daring them to comment.

The clerk didn't even sort through my stuff, but Evie got there before anybody else did, shoving everything back in my bag.

I was afraid that if I launched into a big “Shame on you” speech, my voice would quiver, so all I did was give everyone a look. One by one, they averted their gazes, touching the clothes on the sales racks like their shopping had never been interrupted.

Evie yanked my tote off the counter, marching out of the store ahead of me, and when we got outside, she didn't stop. She only spoke over her shoulder.

“How could you let them stomp all over you like that?”

Any and all answers crumpled into a sharp-edged ball in my throat.

“I mean,” Evie continued, “it was like the lake last week, when you let those assholes call you names. And here I thought you were improving, Shelby. Aren't you the girl who stood up to Rex at the gas station when Jadyn wouldn't?”

“Yes.” How could I explain that there was a difference between Rex and everyone else? Rex was one person, and he'd had only a few wastoid friends with him that day. But I'd seen how a bigger collection of people—especially so-called adults—could drive someone into seclusion when they were united in an opinion, just like they'd done with Mom all those years ago. Sometimes playing along was smarter, if not more humiliating.

Evie wasn't done. “Have you suddenly turned
into
Jadyn when I wasn't looking?”

I stopped short of the curb as Evie headed for her Geo, which we'd driven here. I'd thought I had a lot in common with Jadyn, but this wasn't one of the qualities I'd come up with.
Was
I a shrinking violet, too? Or could I have used a little more Lana in me today, even if she was the source of my troubles?

Evie halted, then backtracked. As she stood in front of me, she gently handed my tote to me, her eyes full of apologies. “I didn't mean all that.”

“Yes, you did, and I needed to hear it.” Tears were pricking my eyes, dammit. “I only wanted to keep the peace and get out of there as soon as I could.”

Evie hugged me, and after a moment, I hugged her back. The debris caught in my throat again, but I managed to talk around it.

“When I was on winter break with Rex here at the end of last year, things were so different. People would smile at me while we walked down the streets or went for a burger. They never really saw me before I dated Rex, but with him, I was . . . a person, I guess. Now I'm less than nothing.”

“But you never cared about being noticed by them.” Evie pulled back, wiping a stray tear on my cheek. “Why care about them now?”

I couldn't answer her. In fact, I thought about her question for the rest of the afternoon, as we went for an ice cream at Baskin-Robbins—which was blessedly empty—and picked up health and beauty aids at the drug store.

Was I afraid that I was going to repeat Mom's life and become a true outcast? Had I
liked
the way Rex had made me into queen for a day?

By the time I was perusing the shampoo at the store while Evie shopped for vitamins in the other aisle, I brushed off the incident at the boutique. Mostly.

Then Evie came around the corner, a shopping basket hanging from her arm. She was holding her phone and her eyebrows were knitted.

“You're not gonna believe this,” Evie said. “My cousin just called about you-know-who.”

She hadn't been saying Micah's full name in public, but it was like she'd shouted his identity out for everyone to hear. My stomach coiled.

“What is it?” I asked.

She lowered her voice. “Amy doesn't know about your . . . exploits. She's just talky, and she heard that last night,
he
was at the Lonesome Star. Orin Fulbright—you remember him from school? Well, he started asking you-know-who about how his bet with you was going.”

That coil pulled into itself. “Did he tell Orin the bet doesn't exist? That he lost interest in me?”

“In a certain way he did. Shel, there was a fight . . .”

Oh, no.

Evie went on. “Orin said something colorful about you and how you'd grown up to have some great tits and ass over last summer and how you-know-who was lucky to be hitting all that and . . . Damn, Shelby, you-know-who knocked Orin right out of his barstool. Orin had friends, and they joined in, and our guy was alone, so . . .”

As Evie trailed off, I absorbed everything. Micah had the opportunity to brag about his exploits and he'd knocked the top off a guy instead? He'd fought for me when he could've just taken credit for making inroads with me?

It didn't make any sense.

“Is he okay?” I was gripping my basket handle.

“Sure. And they all got kicked out before the sheriff was called, so there were no arrests. Amy said it was one of those good-old-boy scuffles that they'll forget soon, but I don't know. Guys don't act like that unless . . .”

I was already shaking my head, absently grabbing a random bottle of shampoo from the shelf and dropping it in my basket. “It doesn't mean a thing.”

But it did. Dear Lord, it really did. Call it Cavegirl Syndrome, call it the opposite of a roaring woman, but something in me went tender, knowing that Micah had gone to war because someone had been shredding my reputation yet again.

Evie didn't put me through any psychoanalysis after that. We just went through the rest of our day, with her serving at the café and me bussing tables. I was so addle-brained that I almost crashed into Juanita, Rainey, and Evie a couple times on the floor.

What should I do about Micah now? Ignore that he'd taken some punches for me? That seemed crappy. But if I thanked him for his gallantry or whatever it was, I'd be opening a can of worms.

Stay away from him
, my common sense was telling me.

But something else—and it wasn't my libido this time—made a strong argument.
What kind of ingrate doesn't say a thank you to someone who stood up for her? What kind of dick lets that kind of protective act pass without a comment?

After the viciousness I'd encountered at the boutique, I knew I should appreciate anyone who stood up for me. But why did it have to be him?

Evie noticed my lack of coordination and, since she was the first to be scheduled to go home, she caught me in the backroom, near the sinks.

“Get out of here before you crash into a wall or something,” she said. “My tables are taken care of, so I'll take your shift over and bus until closing.”

“I can't have you doing double the work.”

“Hey.” She turned me to face her. “You'll return the favor for me someday when I'm sick or too distracted to deal. Go home and get some down time.”

Since I was more of a disaster here than at home, I took her up on her offer, promising I'd come over to clean her room or something. She was extremely in favor of that as I gathered my things, kissed Mom goodnight, and took off.

Really, I intended to go home, too.

But the voice in my head that was shouting
ingrate
won out, and I found myself driving toward the lake, toward Micah's house. I'd come up with a plan, though: I would write a note on some paper I kept in the dashboard. Thank him for his help. Leave it in the mailbox on the side of the road. No wait—anyone could find it there. I'd leave it on one of those cars in the shed since that was his space and probably no one else went in there. I hoped.

Yet the more I drove, the more I felt like a chicken. All I could see in my mind's eye were those women in the clothes store today, the clerk accusing me of something I hadn't done, making me hide my head in the sand yet again.

I couldn't be that girl anymore.

As I turned into the gravel lane leading to the twins' brick house, I saw lights on, a warm shade of yellow behind the curtains. Was Micah in there, playing with Henry?

The twins' trucks were in the drive, so I knew they were home, but Micah kept his Camaro in the closed garage. Was he even here?

Then I noticed the light in the car shed, and my pulse stuttered. Adrenaline raced through me as I pulled to a stop.