Shame on You (5 page)

“I’ll wash your car for a week if there’s a Budweiser commercial during the next break.”

“What do I win, since we both know I’m going to get him first?” I ask with my own cocky smile.

“If you bring him in before I do, I’ll let you get in one good solid punch to make up for the hurt I caused you,” he replies.

Oh, man. He knows exactly how to sweet-talk a girl.

“Deal.”

I quickly accept the bargain with a firm shake of his hand and as he’s opening the front door to leave, my brain finally gets with the program and I realize I just agreed to this thing without asking what
he
would get if he caught McFadden first.

“Wait!” I shout to him as he gets to the bottom step and heads toward his motorcycle parked at the curb. “I know it’s a long shot, but what do you win if
you
catch him first?”

Griffin grabs his helmet and after securing it on his head and swinging his leg to straddle the bike, he turns to look at me, and son of a bitch if I can’t see the twinkle in his eyes through the visor of the helmet.

“If I win, you have to go on a date with me.”

He starts up the bike with a roar of the engine and peels away from the curb, and I swear to God I can hear him laughing as he takes off down the street.

I walk back into the house with a slam of the front door and stand in my foyer cursing myself and my stupidity.

GD gambling problem.

CHAPTER 8

C
ome on, ladies—harder! Faster!”

I hear a snicker from the corner of the exercise room at the fitness center and turn to see Paige thrusting her hips in the general direction of the heavy bag instead of punching it.

“Keep it up, McCarty, and you’re going to run laps around the gym,” I threaten her.

Paige gives me the finger and a sweet smile before turning back to the bag and punching it for all she’s worth. I scan the rest of my class of about twenty women ranging in ages from sixteen to sixty and I smile at the progress they’ve made in the last few months. Most of them couldn’t have hurt a fly when they walked in this room. Now, after a lot of hands-on instruction and some added kickboxing cardio, they can take down men twice their size.

I thought my Friday night self-defense class would be a good way to forget about Griffin’s stupid proposal. Unfortunately, nothing is working in that department. I can’t stop wondering if he’s serious or not. And if he is serious, what the hell is he thinking? A date? With me? Is he out of his mind? First of all, we’re friends. Or we used to be. And sort of are now, I guess. Or are we? Where the hell do we stand? I glance at the clock on the wall and realize it’s five minutes past quitting time.

“All right, class, time’s up. Great job. I’ll see you all next week.”

The sounds of twenty women hitting their heavy bags ceases and as they say their good-byes to each other and pack up their things, I walk over to Paige and Lorelei, who are sitting against the far wall chugging back water from their water bottles.

“Were you trying to kill us? I think my heart just exploded. Check my pulse.” Paige thrusts her wrist out to me.

I stare at her in irritation. Even after an hour-long workout, she still looks perfect. Not one piece of hair is out of place and she hasn’t even broken a sweat. Everyone else filing out of the room looks like they went ten rounds with Mike Tyson.

“How do you do that? How do you walk out of here looking exactly like you did when you walked in?” I demand as I take a seat across from them.

“It’s a gift. Now, tell us why you kicked our asses tonight a hell of a lot harder than you normally do.”

I sigh and start picking at the laces on my tennis shoes. “I made a bet with Griffin that if he catches McFadden before I do, I have to go on a date with him. Does that mean he asked me out on a date? I don’t know. Probably not. Or did he? Sort of. I think.”

Paige’s face immediately takes on a far-off, happy look and she folds her hands neatly under her chin. “That is so romantic. What are you going to wear?”

I ignore her and turn to Lorelei, my voice of reason.

“You told him no, right?” she demands. “I mean, this is the jerk who never told you Alex was cheating on you. Is he insane? He’s lucky you didn’t kick him in the balls as soon as the words left his mouth.”

I’m immediately bolstered by the fact that Lorelei used the word
balls
in a sentence and is on my side.

“That’s what I’m sayin’,” I reply, nodding my head in agreement.

“Oh, for the love of God. You two need to stop being Bitter Bettys. Not all men are jerks,” Paige complains.

Lorelei and I stare at her in shock. Is she forgetting the name of our business and WHY we opened it in the first place? All men are most certainly jerks. The stacks of case files on our desks are living proof.

“What is wrong with you? How can you say that after what Andy did to you?” Lorelei questions her.

“Well, Andy should die in the fiery pits of hell and I think I’m allowed a little extra time to be bitter. You didn’t see the black Louboutins I was denied from buying in Nordstrom that day. But I can still have hope for the future for my two best friends,” Paige tells us.

“Well, good luck with that. I’m staying single forever. There is no man worth giving up my independence for,” Lorelei says.

“Right there with you, sister,” I agree as I put my fist up in the air to bump with hers and she just stares at it like it’s going to bite her.

“You two are impossible. You’re going to change your minds when you meet the right guy. And I’m pretty sure Kennedy here is going to be the first one eating her words. So, when’s the big date and can I do your hair?”

I scoff at her and push myself up from the floor.

“I am not going on a date with Griffin Crawford.”

Am I? No, no I’m not. It’s insanity to even think that for a second.

But he’s sweet, and good to your girls and every time you’re around him all you can think about is taking his pants off.

SHUT UP, evil Kennedy!

He’s an arrogant jerk who lied to your face and probably wouldn’t hesitate to do it again.

Thank you, good Kennedy.

“Why did he even ask you out in the first place?” Lorelei questions as she and Paige follow me toward the exit.

“He didn’t ask me out, remember? It’s just a stupid bet. I guess. I don’t know. I don’t even know if he was serious,” I complain. “I heard the word
bet
and all rational thought left the building.”

As we walk to our cars, I explain to them in great detail about how he showed up at my house the previous night trying to plead his case and his parting words before he got on his bike and drove off into the night.

“Oh my God. You know what this means, right?” Lorelei presses the button on her key fob for her sleek, black Mercedes.

“That Kennedy and Griffin are going to go on this date, fall in love, and live happily ever after?” Paige tries, but can’t hide the smile on her face.

“Will you pipe down with that shit?” I complain.

“No, it means that Griffin Crawford is going down,” Lorelei states.

“Oooooh, that’s hot,” Paige coos.

Great. Now I have images of him naked with his face between my legs floating around in my head. This is not good. Not good at all.

“Get your mind out of the gutter, Paige,” Lorelei scolds. “There are three of us and one of him. We are smart, resourceful, and good at what we do. If we can’t catch that twit McFadden and you lose this bet, I will turn my back on everything I believe in and go out on a date myself.”

Lorelei is right. Why the hell am I even worrying about the possibility of having to go on a date with Griffin? There is no way we’re going to lose because we kick fucking ass.

“You guys will seriously help me do this?” I ask, pulling open my car door and throwing my bag into the passenger seat.

“Of course we will. That’s what friends are for,” Lorelei states matter-of-factly.

I turn to look at Paige and she stands there with her arms folded in silence until Lorelei finally smacks her shoulder.

“Ugggghhhh, fine! I’m in. But for the record, I still think you should just go on a regular date with the guy.”

Ignoring her and the little butterflies in my stomach when I imagine what a date with Griffin would be like, I reach in and grab my cell phone out of the center console of my car and check my e-mail. When I see a fellow investigator’s name at the top, I almost jump up and down in excitement.

“How would you girls feel about getting to work on winning this thing tonight? One of my contacts heard through the grapevine that McFadden is going to be trying to sell his alien hats at Mulligan’s Bar and Grill tonight. If we hurry, we can make it there and catch this idiot. Someone’s got to be drunk enough to buy one and stall him.”

I glance up from my phone to see Lorelei with a huge smile on her face and Paige with an equally large frown.

“What now?” I ask her.

“We are not going out in public looking like this,” she complains, spreading her arms out, indicating her attire.

“You look like you just stepped off the cover of
Vogue
,” I fire back.

“Okay, fine. YOU aren’t going out in public looking like
that
.”

She points in the general vicinity of my hair, which is pulled up into a messy bun on the top of my head, and then down to my clothes, which include a pair of black nylon running shorts and a baggy, gray man’s T-shirt with
ARMY
written in block letters across the chest.

“It’s a college bar. Who gives a shit what I’m wearing?” I complain.

“
I
give a shit what you’re wearing. And so would McFadden—you’ll stick out like a sore thumb. As your friend, I cannot allow you to do this to yourself,” Paige replies.

“We don’t have time for this. If we don’t hurry, we might miss him. I am NOT losing this bet.”

Paige walks around to the back end of her red VW Bug convertible and opens the trunk.

“Lucky for you, I always come prepared,” she tells me, pulling out three garment bags and a makeup case the size of a suitcase. “Both of you hightail it back inside to the showers. I’ll have the two of you runway ready in less than twenty minutes.”

Lorelei doesn’t put up an ounce of complaint as she turns and hustles back toward the building. Lorelei is always up for one of Paige’s makeovers.

“I don’t need to be runway ready. I need to be ass-kicking ready,” I argue.

“Are you seriously questioning my ability to do both? It’s like you don’t even know me, Kennedy O’Brien. That cuts me deep,” Paige says with a sigh and a pout.

Looking at the time on my cell phone, I mutter and curse to myself as I throw my hands up in the air in defeat and trudge along behind Lorelei. There’s no point in arguing with Paige; she will always win. And honestly, there’s a reason why she is the master at catching cheating spouses: she always looks gorgeous, she’s resourceful, and she never takes no for an answer.

GD model and her guilt trips.

CHAPTER 9

I
don’t see him yet, do you?” Paige asks as she scans the crowded bar.

“I can’t see anything through all this fucking mascara,” I complain as I blink my heavy eyelids and look around the packed room.

“Oh, quit your bitching. You look amazing,” Paige replies as she rests an elbow on the edge of the bar and signals the bartender.

Looking down at myself, I must agree. After Lorelei and I took the fastest showers ever, Paige unzipped the first garment bag and pulled out a black, pleated dominatrix-style bustier with a zipper down the front and two black buckles across the waist and a pair of skinny Seven jeans. It was badass and it was totally me. Unfortunately, it was also totally Paige’s size since the clothes she keeps stocked in her car are for her assignments.

As I didn’t have enough time to do anything other than throw on the ill-fitting clothes and hop into the car, Paige jury-rigged my outfit while I drove with a few well-placed safety pins, double-sided tape, and a sewing kit. A pair of tall, pointy-toed matching black boots with buckles on the sides completed the outfit and once they were on and Paige disappeared under the steering wheel while I was stopped at a red light to cuff the bottom of the jeans, you couldn’t even tell they were a mile too long for me.

I might keep the jeans to replace the ones I ruined during my and Griffin’s roll in the grass. Not to be confused with roll in the hay. Even though sometimes I think I
want
to be confused with a roll in the hay. With Griffin. Naked. In a bed. Or against a wall. Or on a kitchen table.

Shit!

“Could you order me a white wine spritzer, please?” Lorelei asks as she moves to my other side and perches on the edge of a bar stool, wiping the edge of the bar down with a wet wipe before placing her folded hands there.

As Lorelei scrunches up her nose at the bartender when he tosses down a bowl of peanuts in front of her that spill everywhere, I take in her usual work outfit—a cream, formfitting silk button-down blouse, black straight-leg dress pants, and black patent-leather Mary Janes and I have to admit, Paige really is a genius. Not because she had a perfect Lorelei outfit in her bag, but because she backed down when Lorelei threatened to have her committed if she tried to dress her in a red leather minidress and matching thigh-high stiletto boots.

“Sweetie, this is a dive bar. They probably don’t even know what wine is,” Paige informs her with a laugh.

“I’m confused. Why would this McFadden guy even come to a place like this? It’s a college bar. It doesn’t seem like his scene,” Lorelei questions as she looks around.

“Supposedly, he comes here all the time to try and recruit college kids for his cause. I guess drunk twentysomethings must be easy to fool into believing that aliens exist,” I explain as I tug the front of my bustier up a little higher so I’m not arrested for indecent exposure.

“Or drunk twentysomethings are easy to put foil hats on and convince to prance around the bar,” Paige adds.

“That too.”

“Oh my God. Oh no. Oh. My. GOD,” Lorelei whispers as she stares with wide eyes at something over my shoulder.

“Really, it’s not that bad. Just get a rum and Coke or something,” Paige says with a roll of her eyes as she digs in her clutch and pulls out a tube of lip gloss.

“Turn around. Wait, no. Don’t turn around. Oh my God. Okay, turn around really slowly but act natural,” Lorelei tells us in a voice filled with panic.

Paige and I completely ignore her instructions and quickly turn around at the same time.

The blood drains from my face and the noise from the bar suddenly disappears. Across the bar, right by the door, standing arm in arm with a gaggle of girlfriends, is Chloe with an
e.
I’m now even more appreciative of Paige and her decision to pretty me up before we left the gym. It’s bad enough that this bitch is thirteen years younger than me, but she also looks like Malibu Barbie with long, straight blonde hair, a spray tan, and fake boobs that are so high up on her chest she could rest her chin on them.

“Here, drink this,” Paige orders as she holds a shot glass full of amber liquid in front of me.

Without taking my eyes off Hussy the Home Wrecker, I grab the glass and down the shot, letting the fiery burn make its way down my throat and into my stomach. Handing the glass back to Paige, I demand another one and she puts her fingers in her mouth and whistles for the bartender.

“Someone needs to give that woman a cheeseburger. She looks like she hasn’t had a good, solid meal since birth,” Lorelei states as she gets up off her bar stool and links her arm through mine.

“She needs to be waterboarded with pasta and potatoes,” Paige agrees as she hands me another shot.

This one doesn’t burn as it goes down and I’m starting to feel a little better about the fact that I’m in a bar with my ex-husband’s mistress a few feet away and she looks like a porn star.

“It’s okay. I’m fine. Totally fine. No big deal,” I mutter to myself as another shot is placed into my hand.

“I think that’s enough shots,” Lorelei tells Paige as some of the alcohol misses my mouth when I tip the glass back and it dribbles down my chin.

“A little tequila is good for the soul,” Paige replies as she pulls a tissue out of her purse and wipes my chin.

The alcohol is starting to kick in and the liquid courage is flowing through my veins. Who cares if she looks like Pamela Anderson and is half my age? Who cares if she can put both her feet behind her head and is so skinny that when she turns sideways she disappears? Not me. I could kick her ass with no arms or legs. I could kick her ass with LORELEI’s arms and legs. I could kick her ass with my newly highlighted hair while swinging Lorelei’s arms and legs over my head.

I think I’m drunk.

“Maybe you should take her gun away from her,” I hear Lorelei mutter right next to me.

Just when I think my courage is off the charts, Harlot Barbie turns in my direction and we make eye contact. It could be the jukebox in the corner of the bar messing with me, or it could be the tequila, but I’m pretty sure I just heard the whistling tune of the gun-duel music that plays in old westerns.

The crowd parts like the Red Sea as she smiles and starts walking in my direction. Barbie’s sidekicks, Skipper and Stacie, follow closely behind her until she stops a foot away from me and they both bump into her back, sending them all stumbling forward in a mess of blonde hair and fake boobs.

“Oh sweet Jesus,” Paige mutters next to me.

“Kennedy! It’s so good to see you! These are my friends, Misty, with a
y
and Tiffanie with an
ie
,” Chloe says brightly.

“My IQ just dropped a hundred points,” Lorelei whispers into my ear.

Suddenly, standing this close to the woman who stole my husband, I don’t feel so good about myself. I can actually feel the tequila churning in my stomach and my awesome hair that Paige styled wilting into an ugly mess.

“How have you been? I feel like we haven’t talked in ages,” Chloe says with a pout of her perfect collagen-injected, bright pink lips.

Is this bitch serious? She’s acting like we’re old friends and not like I walked into my home to find her deep-throating my husband on my couch. MY couch. The brown leather piece of perfection I got on sale before I left for Afghanistan. I had to bleach the couch two days later. And then it was completely ruined. I miss that couch.

I can’t even find my voice to tell her off. I’ve dreamed of this moment for months: coming face-to-face with my archnemesis in a bar with my friends, full of booze and looking awesome, and telling her exactly what I think of her while pummeling her face into a pile of wet dog food.

Instead,
I
feel like a pile of wet dog food. Wet dog food covered in shit and stuck to the bottom of someone’s shoe. I feel inadequate. I never feel inadequate. I never care what people think of me, but right now I feel sorry for myself and I want to go off into the corner and cry into an entire bottle of tequila.

Before I can cede my title of awesomeness to the better woman, I feel warm hands grab onto my hips and then slide around to my front, pulling me back against a rock-hard chest. I see Chloe, Misty, and Tiffanie’s eyes widen and their mouths drop open as fingers graze my bare shoulder and push my hair to the side before soft lips are pressed to my neck.

“Hello, gorgeous. Sorry I’m late. Traffic was a bitch.”

I close my eyes as Griffin’s voice rasps right by my ear, just loud enough for everyone in my general vicinity to hear. Without thinking, I turn in his arms and rest my hands against his chest. The corner of his mouth tips up in a mischievous grin as he stares into my eyes. One of his hands comes up and grabs onto the back of my neck, his other hand slides down to my ass and he pulls me roughly up against him. Without even sparing a glance to the three women behind me, his head swoops down and he crashes his lips against mine.

My brain shorts out and I can practically hear the crackling of electricity in my head when his tongue slides against my lips and I instinctively open my mouth to him. His tongue slides achingly slow against my own as he deepens the kiss and everything around me disappears. I tightly grab on to chunks of his hair on the back of his head to hold him in place as he tilts his head to the side to get a better angle.

Jesus, God, this man can kiss.

I raise myself up onto my toes and wrap my arms fully around his neck so I can press as close to him as possible while his mouth works slowly against my own. As his tongue continues to swirl around mine, I feel a tingle shoot through my body and it makes me want to wrap my legs around his hips and slide myself against the hardness I can feel pressed against my lower stomach.

Somewhere in the back of my mind I hear Lorelei clear her throat loudly and Griffin slows down the kiss, ending it with a few soft pecks on my swollen lips before pulling his head back to stare down at me.

“Ummmm, so what’s new with you?” I hear Chloe ask from somewhere to my right.

“Sorry to be so rude, but Kennedy can’t talk right now,” Griffin responds without taking his eyes off my face. Normally I would protest when a guy speaks for me, but he’s right. I can’t talk right now. I can’t even feel my legs. Do I still have legs? What day is it?

He continues to stare directly at my lips as he removes his hand from my ass and reaches into his back pocket, pulling out his wallet and extending his arm out in Paige and Lorelei’s general direction. “Next round of drinks is on me. If you ladies will excuse us, Kennedy and I are going to find a quiet corner where we can be alone.”

Out of the corner of my eye I see Paige grab Griffin’s wallet. He slides his palm up my arm and pulls one of my hands down from around his neck, entwining our fingers together and then pulling me away from the girls. I follow blindly behind him, not giving a crap where he’s taking me, as long as we can do some more kissing. When we make it far enough away from everyone, he turns to me and lets go of my hand.

“Sorry about that. It looked like you needed a little rescuing.”

The euphoria from the kiss leaves me with a
whoosh
and now all I can think about is punching the mouth that was attached to mine moments ago. He didn’t kiss me because he wanted to; he kissed me because he felt like he needed to. I don’t give a shit that his performance was top-notch and that I can feel Chloe and her friends’ eyes boring holes in the back of my head with their envy; all I care about is the fact that I was ready to mount him in the middle of a crowded bar and he just did it for show.

“I don’t need anyone to rescue me. Especially you,” I growl at him before turning and walking toward the door.

GD lack of self-control.