Honeytrap (13 page)

“You got it.”

“That's about all I know.” With him behind me, I was getting rattled, and I realized that I was pulling down on the hem of my shirt, fretting. I let go of the material. “I told you that I need to take an auto class. I love my truck, and I'd like to take better care of her.”

“‘Her,' huh? Since you're personalizing your truck, does she have a name?”

I arched my eyebrow at him. “I call her ‘my truck.'”

He assumed his usual cool-guy position, leaning back against the wall by his bed, his hands tucked under his armpits. “Well, how about that.”

“What?”

“Most girls I know have a nickname for their rides. Males, too, sometimes. Hell, the twins even call my Camaro—”

“Hugger,” I said, remembering what one of the boys had told me at the drag race. “Because of the kind of paint you used.”

“She has a steel-trap mind. That's dangerous.”

Right.
I
was the lethal one.

I moved over to his desk, and I thought I felt him tense up.

“Here,” he said, “let me . . .”

His voice ground to a halt as I moved one of the manuals aside, finding a few faded pictures of a young boy—not more than ten years old—and a woman who looked just like him, with her dark blond hair and gray-green eyes. They were at a park, holding onto each other and smiling as if they were each other's entire worlds.

“I forgot to clean up,” he said, right behind me. His voice was so collected that the only thing giving away his agitation was how he shoved the top picture into a manual next to it and pushed the book to the back of his desk.

After that, he didn't move, and his presence sent whispering bumps over my skin. He smelled like grease from the shop, musk, and that scent I could never identify. Actually, I recognized a trace of the spice in here, as if he'd tried to scrub it away recently.

Some kind of tobacco that he'd refused to smoke, now that Henry was living with them?

When I saw a pack of cigarillos tucked between a couple more manuals, I had my answer.

He saw where I was looking and grabbed the pack, tossing it into the trashcan nearby. “Darwin stopped smoking, and I did, too.”

“For Henry. That was thoughtful.”

“His lungs are tiny, so why pollute the poor kid?”

Our conversation dwindled, my gaze still on that manual he'd pushed aside—the one with the pictures.

I had to ask. “Was that you in the photos?”

“Years ago.” His voice was banded tight. “I was looking at them the other night and forgot I'd taken them out.”

“Is that your mom? She's pretty.”

He tightened all over now. “Was pretty.” He started to comb through the manuals, busying himself, and when he found the right one, he casually handed it over. Just as carelessly, he piled a couple more on the manual he'd put the photos in, like he was burying a memory. “Her anniversary passed less than a week ago.”

“Anniversary?”

I should've known by the way he was acting that I wouldn't hear anything good, and when his jaw clenched, I wished I'd kept my silence.

“Of her death.”

Oh, God. “I'm so sorry.”

“Don't be. There're already too many people who deserve to be sorry for it . . .” He faded midsentence, giving me a hard look that I'd never imagined he could pull off. I'd seen teasing, I'd seen seductive, yet never this.

But just as quickly as his gaze hardened, it heated up, like coals burning from the inside out, destroying themselves. As he turned away from me, going to his door, I thought he was going to usher me out because I'd stumbled across something I wasn't supposed to see, and he was ready to go on to the next, easier conquest.

I'd become a poker chip that might've gotten too expensive for him to play.

But when he closed the door, I realized I was wrong. He didn't want me out of here—he wanted me in.

My heart trembled like a trapped thing, my chest rising and falling. The more I tried to control my reactions, the worse it got, and I backed away from him as he came toward me.

“Once again,” he said in that inviting tone, “there's too much talk going on.”

I took another step back, banging into his shelves. Like a clumsy fool, I reached out to steady them. Really, I should've been more worried about being caught in his sights, marked.

Was he trying to make me forget I'd seen his pictures? Had introducing me to Henry to show off his soft side, then showing me his clean, unexpectedly nice house failed as a plan to emotionally suck me in and now he was distracting me? Had I seen too much about him?

I couldn't even swallow as he bent slightly, pressing his palms to just above my knees, where the skirt wasn't covering anything. He started to slide the material up and I panicked, dropping the manual, grabbing his wrists.

“That's not why I came in here,” I said.

“Then was it for this?”

With that fire still in his gaze—dark and controlled by something that I wasn't sure had anything to do with me—he crushed his lips to mine.

I automatically thawed beneath him as he slipped his hands up to my waist then to my arms, raising them above my head. I gripped a shelf, unable to stop myself from responding with this fever that never seemed to go away.

He kissed me so hard that I made a small sound of desire, and he paused, sucking my lower lip, then brushing it with his. He looked down at me for what seemed like the longest time, his gaze still heated.

Then, as if he saw something in me that quieted all the loudness in him, he skimmed his lips against mine again, softer this time, tender and yearning.

What had just happened?

I couldn't sort anything out as I breathed him in. Then he pressed his lips all the way to mine, drawing at me lazily, taking up a sultry rhythm that had me thinking about our bodies sliding against each other, sweaty skin, wet and hot. My arms slipped down the shelves, my hands resting on my head as his palms dragged down me, his thumbs whisking over my armpits and making me buck against him.

With my hips molded to his, I could tell he was getting excited, but he didn't press me into his groin like Rex would've done. No, Micah just kept kissing me, his fingertips tracing down my sides, settling on my hips. All the while, he teased my mouth with his, coaxing me to forget everything except him.

The world seemed to mist away, molecule by molecule, floating from me, filling up with this moment. Only this moment . . .

As we pulled in breaths, the kiss suspended, seconds beating by as his hands squeezed my hips. He licked my upper lip, and I arched into him again. He did it another time, but now he swept his tongue into to my mouth with a naughty, sexy stroke, exploring me. I matched him, just as restless, caught in a vortex that was once again making my mind go blank and thoughtless except for a few stray words floating around.

What're you doing . . . ?

Can't you stop yourself . . . ?

We kissed and kissed, my body primed for him to go even further, to touch me like he had in the theater or in my room, peeling away my clothes, massaging every part that yenned for him. But this, right here, right now, was so nice. So perfect. It was like I'd tasted my first few sips of wine and was just getting to know what a buzz was like.

Buzz over my arms, buzz over my stomach, buzz between my legs . . .

A soft knock nudged my senses.

Someone at the door?

Micah rested his forehead against mine, then he kissed me once more as the knock came again.

“Micah?”

It was Lucille. Micah clutched my waist so hard it almost hurt. I bit my lip, watching him, wary.

“Yes?” he asked, and if he'd been trying to hide his frustration, he failed.

“T-minus fifteen minutes and counting before the twins close up shop and pick me up for the potluck. You ready for Henry?”

“Always.”

Footsteps down the hall, then blessed silence, Micah still leaning his forehead against mine. He laughed, air huffing against my mouth, getting me going all over again.

“You can stay,” he said. “Help me with Henry.”

“That'd turn out well.”

He backed away from me, still keeping his hands on me. His flesh seemed to sear into mine, even through my shirt and skirt.

“You really think I'm the kind of guy who'd get busy with you in front of my baby cousin?”

He was smiling, but I thought there might be a wound beneath it.

“Probably not.” I was getting a hold of myself, evening out my breaths as I toyed with the front of his shirt. His lips were still a whisper from mine, and that wasn't exactly helping.

So I steadied myself, pushing him away slightly, and then making my escape. He held up his hands, grinning.

If he kept looking so charming, I was going to be right back where I'd started, so I lightened the mood. “Even rakes have redeeming qualities,” I said. “Maybe they don't come in the form of a baby cousin, but . . .”

“Rakes?”

“You know, like Casanova, Don Juan, Valmont . . .”

The mood was lightening.
Bravo.

He tucked his hands under his armpits. “I've heard of the first two.”

“Well, Valmont's a character from an old movie Mom loves to watch with the girls. Mom would say you're a silver-tongued rascal just like him, coming on strong, then offering private glimpses of himself to pull a woman in. He and the other rakes say things like, ‘It's not that I want to have you. All I want is to deserve you.' Were you planning on saying something cheesy like that to me soon? Because I feel like that's where we were headed.”

He seemed to turn that over in his head, and I was pretty sure he was just about to laugh about it. Instead, he lowered his voice to that alluring tone that never failed with me.

“Is that what you'd like to hear me say, Angel?”

It was at that point I knew he was still batting me around like a plaything, that once he got what he'd set out to get from me, I'd be another Jadyn Dandritch.

But hadn't those pictures on his desk been for real? And why did it still strike me that they hadn't been part of his plan at all?

“Thanks for the lemonade and the manual,” I said, coolly picking up the book and going to his door to open it.

I left before he could turn the tables on me again, making me think I'd seen a part of him no one else had seen before, reeling me in that much closer, only to let me know that I wasn't any different than all his other girls.

I drove the straightest line I could back home, where I dropped off the mower and went back out again for work.

I didn't feel like such a straight arrow, though—not with Micah's kisses still on my lips, so vivid that I kept touching my mouth. I was only a few days into summer, and he already had me on a hook, even after I was determined to walk the good-girl path.

Micah = 3.

Shelby = 0.

Just when I was feeling like I'd never be able to hold my head high in Aidan Falls, I passed Main Street, slowing down when I saw Mr. Carmichael strolling with a book tucked into the crook of his arm. He wasn't far from his theater, so I guessed he was only taking a break from the refreshment counter, keeping his eye out for anyone who might wander up to the box office to buy a ticket.

The sight of him flustered me for a second. Had he seen me and Micah in the balcony yesterday? I hadn't run into Mr. Carmichael during my escape, so I wasn't sure. If he had gotten a gander at what we'd been up to, I might never be able to go into the Ritz again.

I was considering a drive past him with a friendly wave, just to test the waters, when he spotted me from the other side of the street, motioning for me to slow down at the curb.

I bit my lip as I lowered my window, and he stopped in front of the theater by the poster display.
Coming Soon:
Psycho
. I could relate.

His veneers were white in the sunlight. “I did some research on that Rocky Horror,” he called out. “Might be doable!”

Was he going to wag his finger at me next, saying, “And, missy, you were being rather doable with that Micah Wyatt yesterday, too. Did you think you could hide what was going on?”

But . . . there was nothing else from Mr. Carmichael.

I'd gotten away with it.

A heart-speeding burst of power attacked me. A rush. A
roar
.

I answered his Rocky Horror news with a thumbs-up. “That's great, Mr. Carmichael!”

He gave me a thumbs-up right back and then turned into his theater. I watched him enter all alone, wondering if anyone else was in there to see his beloved films, or if he ever really got to talk to anyone, now that his wife, Bonita, had passed on. Mr. Carmichael had been a huge part of Aidan Falls history, a part of so many lives, that it was crushing to know he'd gone by the wayside somewhere along the line, just like his theater.

A wedge of sadness and sentiment worked itself into my chest, and I ran my gaze over the marquee, its lights dim. But maybe that sadness wasn't just about the Ritz. Yesterday, I'd almost asked Mom if she and my father had ever come here . . .

A light bulb went on in my head. Why hadn't I ever asked Mr. Carmichael about it? Could I narrow down a list of fatherly suspects if he recalled any of my mom's dates?

I couldn't believe I'd never thought of this, but maybe it'd only taken Micah to stir up my curiosity this much, dredging the question out of all the muck in my brain. And maybe having to defend myself during this Lana Peyton debacle had actually given me some brass to start asking around instead of laying back, letting the answers happen to
me
.

Since there was plenty of time before work, I stopped my engine and got out, crossing the drowsy street at a jog. I'd changed into my café clothes, discarding my sandals in favor of Keds, so I was easily able to dodge a biker who turned the corner and sped past me.

I found Mr. Carmichael behind the refreshment counter, the lights in the case shining, highlighting his smile.

“Two days in a row,” he said. “What a treat this is.”

“I can't stay long, but I thought I'd say another hi.” I pointed at the popcorn machine. “And to get a snack.”

What the heck? I had a few bucks handy from last night's service tip-outs.

“Nothing tastes like the movie kind of popcorn,” he said after he scooped a bunch into a medium-sized carton. He fended off my money. “It's on the house. I appreciate good advice when I hear it, and if you weren't at the café this summer, I'd ask you to do some work for me.” He cleared his throat. “Although I can handle the crowds alone.”

I smiled at his half-hearted joke. During the silence, he grabbed the straw dispenser on the counter and opened it, reaching behind him in a cabinet and bringing out a box. He was a busy bee like me.

“I can do that.” I began to stuff the dispenser for him. “Doing odds and ends is my forte at the café. I'd love to help you out anytime you need it, too. I can only work on my suntan so much.”

He seemed pleased. “Speaking of the café, I haven't been over to eat there in months. How's it doin'?”

“It's rolling along, but I'll bring you takeout so you can see for yourself.”

He produced a rag and started to polish the counter with it. “I knew your mom was always going to stand out in life.” He paused, realizing he'd said something snaggy. “I'm not talking about all the notoriety she had by having you, but . . .” The cat got his tongue.

“It's nothing. You don't have to be delicate about the subject.” I closed the dispenser. Since we were on the topic of Mom, this was my opening, so I went for it. “You know, when she was young, she loved the Ritz as much as Evie and I do.”

“She still comes in for a matinee when she has a moment. Which isn't often.”

Do it, Shelby
. “I guess she used to come in with more than just herself back in the day, right? She was popular before she had me and was plunged into social purgatory.”

“Jackie did have more than her share of beaus.” Mr. Carmichael took the filled straw dispenser and put it back in place, doing the same with the box of straws. “Why, there was Aaron Markowski, Doug's daddy, and Chance Gutherie's pop, too—Wallace.”

I'd heard talk about Mom dating those two before, but, in spite of that, Doug and Chance had always made it clear that their daddies didn't have anything to do with me. The boys had been Rex's good friends, so I'd been inclined to believe them before they'd turned on me altogether.

Mr. Carmichael was giving me a sympathetic look now. “Why do I suspect that you're on a mission to find out about your own daddy?”

“I . . .”

“Shelby, if you want to ask me about it, I'd be glad to give you information. But I have to tell you that I won't be of much help. Bonita and I never did think this town's drama was more entertaining than what we could see here, on the screen. I never noticed Jackie date anyone . . . suspicious.”

If Mr. Carmichael, the perfect witness to the town's history, didn't have much more than that, who would? And who else around here would tolerate me, the girl who'd messed with Rex, enough to ever give me any leads?

Micah had told me that he'd been leading me on about knowing who my father is, but that he also might know someone who had a clue. Was he actually my only hope?

Mr. Carmichael put a box of napkins on the counter, then the dispensers, maybe knowing that keeping my hands busy would keep me from falling into a hole of disappointment.

“You'll find out someday,” he said soothingly.

As I worked away, I wasn't so sure.

***

Rex's first text of the day dinged on my phone a few minutes before I pulled into the Angel's Seat Café's dirt lot.

I sat in my pickup, wondering if I really wanted to put myself in a Rex kind of mood before going inside, but I still had a half hour before I was expected to start. Also, we'd left off on decent enough footing last night. Shouldn't I just see what he wanted?

I took a risk and glanced at the screen.

Rex

What's up.

Was I in a time warp where I'd been hurled back into the days when we could casually chat like this?

I evaluated the wisdom of telling him that I was about to go to work. If Rex was feeling his oats, I wouldn't put it past him to waltz into the café, just to show me and the world that I had no effect on him whatsoever. He might even act like an asshole in front of the customers and drive a few away.

Shelby

Nothing much up.

There. He could take that as he wanted it.

Rex

U in a better mood then last nite?

Shelby

I'm not in any kind of mood. Is there a reason you're texting me?

If he was going to pull the rug out from under me, it'd be now.

Rex

Just wanna catch up. We both said shit things. I usually get along with my xes.

Shelby

Your exes were star struck by you. That's why they never pointed out your extracurricular activities.

Rex

And ur a superstar cuz u *did*?

It'd been nice while it'd lasted.

Shelby

I didn't call you out on cheating for the glory of it. What would you have done if I'd cheated on you?

No answer, and I was fairly sure there wouldn't be. For all I knew, Rex could've been at the lake, on the dock with all his friends, showing them the texts and how I was still a bitch and that he could put me in my place.

My phone dinged.

Rex

If u had cheated, I wud have been mad 2.

I waited for the punch line, but his message just sat there, begging for a response. Was it me, or did he sound . . . reasonable?

I had to get to the bottom of this.

Shelby

Just tell me what you're after, because I'm not going through this all summer.

Rex

U shudnt have cum back if u can't stand the heat.

Ah, there he was, making a reappearance. My darling tormentor.

My temper flared, my thumbs got busy, and I didn't bother to wait five seconds before sending.

I probably should've waited.

Shelby

I can stand heat. In fact, bring it, Rex. Act like a stud in front of your friends. Demean me as much as you want because I. Am. Over. It.

Soon afterward, my phone sounded off again, showing a smiley face from Rex. To my eyes, the emoticon looked smug, like he'd gotten my goose. Like he'd set out to do just that in the first place.

When would I learn? I thought as I went to the café's entrance, barging in while shoving my phone into my purse. The few post-lunchtime customers who were lingering with their coffee and the Neko Case tunes on the sound system looked me over, going back to their laptops and iPads.

Then I saw a couple sitting at a table near the angel's seat by the wall.

Evie and Jadyn stood from their chairs, and I nearly stumbled.

Why hadn't I seen Jadyn's car in the lot? I hadn't been looking for it—too distracted by Rex—but still. Was I losing it?

They were both smiling as I approached.

Evie looked spritely with her spikey chopstick bun, lip piercing, leather bracelets, patched jeans, and Vans. “Told you she'd be early, Jade.”

Jade? How much time had they spent together?

As Jadyn glanced at me, her fingertips spidered on the table, like she needed to keep contact with something that would ground her. Her light cocoa skin looked creamier than ever under the low lighting from a few railroad lanterns in the corner. “I ran into Evie at the market before I got off work, and she invited me here for sweet tea.”

From the expression on Evie's face, I knew that she hadn't accidentally lurched into Kroger and tripped over Jadyn. She'd gone into full orchestrator mode, probably after getting bored by the pool after I'd left today.

But she only had everyone's best interests at heart, and when she gestured toward an empty seat, I took it, actually glad that Jadyn was One of Us right now. The more the merrier.

Jadyn tentatively took her seat as Evie started us off.

“Jade—hey, you don't mind me calling you that, do you?” Without waiting for an answer, she blazed ahead. “Jade was telling me about how she's ditching college group at church tonight.”

She wrapped her fingers around her sweet tea glass. Her nails were short but neat. “I haven't gone since . . . Let's just say it's been a couple of weeks.”

Ever since her episode with Micah. I wasn't going to embarrass Jadyn by pursuing the topic.

Evie, however, had no such hang-ups.

“You haven't been to the group since you went pre-Jesus Mary Magdalene with Micah Wyatt, right?” Evie shrugged at my
oh-my-God
expression. “What? She knows what happened. We know. Why beat around the bush?”

“It's okay,” Jadyn said. “It's refreshing to be able to talk about this with someone. My great uncle has no idea. He's been so sick that he hasn't been out of the house in months, and his friends haven't dropped by in a long time. There aren't so many friends alive anymore but . . . Anyway, I can't confide in him. I don't want to stress him out, either. And my friends . . . Well, Shelby already knows that story.”

And I'd told it to Evie earlier. Maybe that was why she'd hunted down Jadyn at the first opportunity possible.

“You can vent all you want,” I said. “We can be the Aidan Falls chapter of Venters United.”

I brought out my phone and showed them the latest from Rex. Evie had a few choice words after she read the texts, but Jadyn merely studied the screen.

Finally, she spoke, her hazel gaze soft. “If I didn't know any better, I'd say he still has a soft spot for you, Shelby.”

Evie groaned, but I shook off the notion. “He has a juvenile way of showing it.”

Jadyn nodded. “I think you just defined the entire Rex experience.”

“A boy in a man's body,” I added.

We exchanged glances that only ex-girlfriends could translate. She knew what I was talking about firsthand.

“At any rate,” I said, putting away my phone, “I think he's still got a warm spot for
you
. He gave you a look at the gas station yesterday that told me he still thinks about you.”