Love, Lies and Texas Dips (25 page)

“Just tell us one thing, okay?” Camie asked, walking briskly to keep up with Jo’s long-legged stride. “Who gets to follow the Swamp Donkey first? Me or Trish?”

*  *  *

Once classes had ended for the day, Jo Lynn gave Camie last-minute instructions then watched her take off in her blue Lexus coupe, following Laura Bell’s red convertible out of the senior lot and away from campus. If Laura didn’t lead her anywhere interesting in the next hour, Cam was off the hook and it was Trisha’s turn to spy on the Cupcake for a while. On the other hand, if Laura did make a newsworthy pit stop, Camie was to call Jo right away.

Jo Lynn climbed into her Audi moments after Cam’s Lexus disappeared down Taylorcrest. She started the car and pulled out her iPhone, calling Dillon to warn him she’d be dropping by on her way home. When she got his voice mail—something that happened
way
too often these days-she said, “To hell with it,” and didn’t even leave him a message. Instead, she put her Audi in gear and headed for chez Masters.

The Caldwell football coach always cut practice short on the Thursdays before Friday night games, claiming he wanted his boys fresh, not burned out. Jo was hoping to catch Dill alone so she could get something straight between them, namely that she had nothing to do with the gossip about Laura on the Web … even if she had to cross her fingers behind her back while she convinced him.

She flew down Taylorcrest and took a right on Bunker Hill, a canopy of thick-leaved branches blotting out most of the dreary-looking sky as she drove. Passing wooden privacy fences and pillared brick mansions set away from the street by wide lawns with curving drives, Jo reached Dillon’s cul-de-sac in about five minutes flat. His Mustang wasn’t anywhere in sight, but that didn’t mean it wasn’t safe and sound inside the six-car garage.

Parking the Audi in front, she strode up the sandstone path between the rows of royal palms, the breeze rattling the fronds overhead. She’d barely reached the carved teak doors and pressed the doorbell when she heard a car roll into the drive blasting its horn, and then Big Ray shouting out the opened window. “Well, hell, Jo Lynn, if I’d’ve known you were dropping by, I would’ve rolled out the red carpet!”

“Hey, Big Ray!” she called back, waving at him.

“You sure look mighty pretty in your school uniform,” he said as he climbed from his pimped-out black Escalade with its tinted windows and flashy rims. “Guess you’re here to see my boy.”

“Is he home?” she asked. “No one answered the bell.”

“Well, let me think.” He hitched up belted pants that couldn’t seem to get a grip on his hips below the oversized beer belly. He had a bona fide Stetson covering his patchy gray hair, though he swept off the hat as he approached, wiping sweat from his brow with his sleeve. “It’s Thursday afternoon, which means Cissy’s playing bridge at the Junior League, Juanita’s down at Canino’s getting fresh produce, and Dillon’s probably working out at the club.”

“Did he go with his teammates?” Jo asked, afraid that if Avery and Dillon got to talking, Avery might let it slip that
Jo had stopped by on Tuesday night to grill him about whether or not he’d slept with Laura recently. Then he could easily connect the dots linking her to the rumor on MySpace, and she’d be up shit creek without a paddle … or a life preserver.

“So far as I know, he goes on his own,” Big Ray said as he fumbled with the house key in one hand, his hat in the other. “But even if he’s with his friends, he won’t be long. So don’t worry your sweet little head. He should be here in an hour. You’re welcome to come on in and have a Coke if you want to wait.”

Jo thought about leaving but ended up nodding. “I’ll wait.”

“All right, pretty lady.” Big Ray gave her a wink. “After you,” he said, gesturing with his hat as he unlocked the door and pushed it wide.

A blast of AC set off goose bumps on Jo’s arms as she walked into the huge marble foyer.

Big Ray dropped his hat and keys on a glass-topped table beneath a dripping chandelier. “Go on and get settled in the TV room, why don’t you,” he suggested, “and I’ll bring you that Coke.”

“Sure thing,” Jo said, and wandered through rooms with high-arched doorways with elaborate columns, painted frescoes, carved sculptures perched on marble pedestals, and oversized furniture and fixtures everywhere she looked. Big Ray and Cissy Masters didn’t exactly know the meaning of the word “subtle.”

Her flats tip-tapping on the marble tiles underfoot, she made her way through a rear hallway lined with photographs of Big Ray in his glory days for the Houston Oilers, and
then of Dillon on the football field, throwing touchdown after touchdown, accepting the trophy for Caldwell’s MVP, setting the school’s passing record, posing with Big Ray at his car dealership, sitting in the shiny black Mustang Big Ray had given him when he’d won state, and on and on until her eyes blurred.

No wonder Big Ray always seemed so worried about Dillon blowing his image. It was obviously one they’d both worked hard to create.

She’d barely reached the terra-cotta-walled TV room and dropped her bag on one of the massive leather sofas when Big Ray appeared with her Coke in his hand.

“I left it in the bottle,” he said, “’cause that’s the way Dillon likes to drink it.”

“Thanks.” She smiled as she took it from him.

He glanced at his diamond-studded Rolex Presidential and winced. “Wish I could keep you company until my boy shows up, but I’ve got some business to take care of. I’ve gotta talk to a guy in Tokyo who likes to get cracking at five a.m. … his time, not mine.” Big Ray laughed and rubbed his sagging jawline. “So I’ll be shut up in my office for a while. You can holler if you need me.”

Jo Lynn patted his arm. “I’ll be fine.” She gestured at the giant screen hanging between two stag heads mounted on the wall. “I’ll just watch
Oprah
until Dill shows up.”

“You do that, sweetheart,” he said with a wink; then he was gone.

Jo took a sip of the Coke before setting it down and clicking on the television. She flipped around for thirty seconds before she switched if off again and began pacing the room. She peered out the windows at the magnificent gardens the
Masterses had landscaped around their Mediterranean-inspired patio and pool.

When she checked the clock, not even five minutes had passed. God, she was no good at sitting around, twiddling her thumbs. If only she could put the time to better use, she thought, and hesitated, glancing up at the raised ceiling and realizing that Dillon’s room was almost directly overhead, while his dad’s office was all the way at the end of the wing. If she just popped upstairs for a bit, no one would be the wiser, would they?

So that was just what Jo did. She left her Coke behind but slipped off her shoes and picked up her bag on her way out. Barefoot, she padded quietly across the tiled floors, returning to the foyer and the curving stairwell with its carved wrought-iron banister. Her shoes in one hand and her purse in the other, she wound her way up and up until she reached the second floor. Dillon’s room was first on the right, and she quickly opened the closed door and let herself inside.

Jo went over to the king-sized bed and sat down, dropping her bag and shoes beside her. Impulsively, she leaned back, reclining on the plush brown duvet, stretching her arms overhead and drowning in the scent of Dillon that flooded every breath she took. If she closed her eyes, it was almost like he was there, still asleep with his head on the next pillow, close enough to touch.

They’d had sex here before, when his parents were away, and Jo smiled, a warm sensation spilling through her as she remembered their early days together. When they’d first started dating two years ago, Dillon couldn’t get enough of her. He’d called and texted endlessly, had sent her flowers and driven over in the dead of night, enticing her outside to
sit beside him in the grass, where they’d stare up at the stars until they couldn’t remain even inches apart for another minute. Once, in the wee hours of the morning, he’d climbed onto her balcony and eased through the sliding glass door she’d left unlocked, slipping into bed beside her. She’d awakened to the feel of his mouth on her neck and his hands moving slowly down her body, his fingers sliding gently between her thighs …

Jo blushed at the memory, feeling warm in places that had been sadly dormant for a while, thinking that Dillon had been just what she’d needed after the way things had ended with Avery. She couldn’t bear it if Dill pulled away from her too.

She slowly sat up, eyes wide as she looked around her, spotting a few framed pictures of them on shelves crowded with trophies and ribbons and plaques. His bedside tables were stacked with men’s health magazines, Zone bars, and empty GU packs.

Jo got up and walked straight over to the desk where Dillon’s laptop sat, screen open, Sleep button winking at her, daring her to take a seat and peek at Dillon’s e-mails, to see if he was keeping any secrets from her.
What’s the harm in that?
she decided, and ran her finger over the mouse pad. The computer instantly awakened, flipping to a blue screen that asked for his password.

Dammit
.

Jo Lynn looked at the alarm clock on Dillon’s nightstand, wondering how much time she had before Dillon got home or Big Ray noticed she was missing from the TV room. She gave herself ten more minutes—fifteen, tops—and then she had to be out of here. OMFG, if Dillon had any idea what she was doing …

She pushed the thought from her head and instead pursed her lips and placed her fingers on the keyboard, playing a guessing game, thinking of all the things she knew about Dill, every clue he’d given her as to who he was, and using that, knowing it would just take one lucky turn and she’d be in … unless someone caught her first.

When you have no problems,
you’re dead.

—Zelda Werner

Problems are like bugs.
The sooner you squash them,
the better you feel.

—Laura Bell

Fourteen

Getting through classes on Thursday was no picnic for Laura. The Pine Forest Prep motto might be
“Via, Veritas, Vita”
“The Way, the Truth, the Life,” but this was one instance when the corrupted version, namely “The Lays, the Booze, the Lies,” seemed to fit a lot better. Especially the lies. The worst part of it was Laura couldn’t prove who’d started the rumor that she was pregnant even though she was sure it was Jo Lynn Bidwell or one of her Bimbos.

She did her best to look cool on the outside, like the nasty buzz on the MySpace page didn’t matter and the ugly whispers (
“Who knew she was such a slut?” … “So who’s the baby daddy?”)
weren’t getting to her. She couldn’t let the Bimbo Cartel think they’d knocked her flat on her ass; she couldn’t stand to see them gloat. Though now she understood what it must feel like to be on the receiving end of Simon Cowell’s public whippings on
American Idol
, and it sucked.

Except for denying it when directly confronted—
“God, no, I’m not!”—
she forced herself to turn the other cheek, all the while praying the GSC would ignore any whiff of the
scandal that wafted in their direction. If Bootsie Bidwell and Company believed it, even for a second, Laura knew she was in for a truly rough ride. And she’d fought way too hard to get onto the Rosebud list to let her dream slip away under such an ugly cloud.

If Laura played Ginger the Eternal Optimist and tried to see anything good at all in this, she figured at least Tincy was getting something she wanted (without even knowing why, since Laura hadn’t filled her in yet). Laura was so upset she could barely eat, let alone sleep. If this rumor wasn’t cleared up soon, she’d drop a size within a week. While that might make Tincy ecstatic, Laura couldn’t imagine a worse way to shrink than the Totally Miserable Diet.

Her appetite wasn’t the only thing affected either. Concentrating in class had proved nearly impossible, particularly after Laura had been called into the headmistress’s office and Dr. Percy had flapped her jowls for ten minutes flat, grilling her about the rumor on the PFP grapevine that she was “in the family way.” When Laura had denied it, she’d been assured that bullying of any kind wasn’t tolerated at Pine Forest Prep. Like the Walrus could do a thing about it. Like that zero-tolerance policy made a bit of difference to the parents of the Bimbo Cartel, who wrote the school enormous checks so their daughters could get away with anything, Laura mused. Though her own daddy could buy her way off the hook if he had to, he wouldn’t need to, because Laura would never, ever torment someone the way Jo Lynn was tormenting her.

“I think all that hair spray from her pageant days must’ve made her truly mental,” Mac had remarked during a stilted and uncomfortable lunch during which each of the Three
Amigas seemed inordinately quiet, afraid to say something wrong after their argument following curtsy practice. It was one of the first times Laura had been relieved to see the lunch hour end.

Relief flooded her veins when the final bell rang at three o’clock. She bypassed her locker altogether and sprinted out of the ivy-covered buildings, racing to her car only to find someone had written baby on board in hot-pink lipstick across the windshield.