Wrong Question, Right Answer, Page 2

  I’m not known for my self-restraint when under the influence, and I am definitely going under tonight. It’s been a long time since I’ve really let my hair down. Almost five years, actually. The anniversary of the last night I wasn’t thinking clearly is approaching, bringing with it a lot of really messed-up memories. I could stand to forget a few of them tonight.

  I raise my glass to my friends. “To he who falls first!” I finish off my second cocktail with a heavy dose of slurping through the straw. Time to get this party started, yo.

  CHAPTER TWO

  I’m three cocktails in when I realize it’s just Lucky and me at the bar. I look around the room, squinting. “Where’d those assholes go?”

  Lucky doesn’t look at me when he answers. “They’re in the back room playing pool.” He’s hunched over a beer, his shoulders up around his ears, his leather jacket still on. He’s staring at the label on his bottle like he’s trying to memorize it.

  In the back room? “They left without asking me to play?”

  “They did ask you, but after you told them to fuck off, they left.”

  I spin around and jab him with my elbow. “I did not.”

  “Yes, you did.” He turns and looks at me. “Your memory is crap when you’re drinking.”

  I glare at him. “You looking for trouble?”

  The edge of his mouth quirks up in a sad half-smile. “Maybe.”

  I shove him away from me, knowing he’s just playing and not seriously flirting with me. Lucky is the king of charm, the hottest guy God ever created, and he knows it. He’s not a heartbreaker, generally speaking, but he knows how to play. I hate that all these cocktails have made my heart go on the fritz, made me think for a second that he’s actually into me. I have to take a deep breath to calm myself down. The damn memory of that kiss in junior high keeps trying to take over my head, and the sober me knows that I’d be no good for Lucky.

  “What’s up with you, anyway?” he asks, leaning into me a little. “You’re all fired up for some reason.”

  He straightens and takes a swig of his beer, never taking his eyes off me. It sends a shock of desire through me like lightning, striking me right in the pants. I’m in no mood for it or his careless games. Maybe he’s forgotten that the anniversary of the worst day of my life will be here in a few days, but I haven’t.

  “I gotta go make a phone call.” I grab my purse off the bar and slide down from my stool. I need to go find a quiet alcove where I can hear myself talk. The place is packed now and my ears are ringing from the noise.

  Lucky turns around on his stool, suddenly very interested in my plans. “Who’re you drunk-dialing?”

  “What business is it of yours?” I pause, standing in front of him, as I search through my bag for my phone.

  He shrugs, his hands hanging between legs that are bent up, his feet on the stool’s support rungs. “All your friends are here. Who could you possibly want to call if not one of us?”

  His question pisses me off. I know what he thinks, and he might be right, but it doesn’t matter. It’s none of his business what I do with my private life. So what if I want to call the brother of the man I killed?

  I glare at him, my phone dangling from my hand. “You think you guys are my only friends?”

  His smile is lazy this time, dulled from the beer. “I know we are. You’re too mean to have other friends.”

  “Apparently I’m not mean enough, since you think you can say that shit to my face.” I drop my purse and reach up to slap him, but he grabs my wrist and holds it inches from the cheek I was about to turn flaming red. His lazy smile hasn’t budged.

  “Let go of me,” I grind out, my arm rigid.

  He overpowers me and lowers my hand to my side before releasing it. “Don’t start something you can’t finish, Toni.”

  I don’t know exactly what he means by that, but it makes me want to squirm in my boots. “Oh, shut up.” I snag my purse from the floor and walk away with quick strides.

  How dare he. How dare he suggest I don’t have friends, tell me what I should or shouldn’t do, stop me from slapping him when he deserves to be slapped. I want to do a one-eighty and march right back over there to give him a lesson good and proper, but I don’t because he’s too sharp for me right now. He needs to drink another few beers before I’ll be able to get one over on him.

  I make my way to the back of the bar, where there’s an alcove hosting an old payphone that doesn’t work anymore. Aside from a bathroom stall, this is the quietest place in the whole joint. As I scroll through my contacts, my tea-addled brain is assuring me that this is a great idea. I’m going to call Rowdy and apologize for shooting his brother five times in the chest. I grit my teeth hard to keep the emotions that want to take over in check, and my chin trembles with the effort.

  Maybe if I can get one person in that family to forgive me, I could work on forgiving myself. It’s a long shot, but at this moment, with my head spinning right round like a record, baby, it seems like an awesome idea.

  I press the button that will dial up his number, put the phone to my ear, and wait for the call to connect. But suddenly it’s just my fingers there at my ear and my phone is gone. It takes me a couple seconds to figure out what’s happening.

  I turn around and find Lucky there, holding my cell phone in his hand and smiling at me. He looks at the screen as he presses the red button to disconnect the call. “Rowdy LeGrande.” His playful smile turns into a frown as he glares at me. “You’re calling Rowdy? Are you completely insane, or what?”

  My nostrils flare as I grit my teeth. Lucky is so going to pay for that. I hold out my hand. “Give me my phone right now. I’m not kidding.”

  He shakes his head. “Nope. Can’t do that.”

  I take a step toward him but he raises the phone above his head. He’s over six feet tall, so even with my heels, I don’t stand a chance unless I bring him to his knees, which is very tempting right now.

  “Ah, ah, ahhh . . . keep your distance, girly.”

  “If you don’t give me my phone in the next five seconds . . .”

  He lifts his brows. “What? You’ll shoot me?”

  There is no conscious thought that passes through my mind before I launch my attack. I throw myself at him, screaming my war cry and going right for the eyes.

  Unfortunately, he sees me coming and throws my phone so he can capture both of my wrists using only one hand. With the other he pulls me against him.

  We both fall backward as one. When his spine hits the wall behind him and he smacks his head on the wood paneling, he hisses out a grunt of pain, but he doesn’t let go.

  Our faces are only inches apart. I want to claw him, scratch his eyes out and make him bleed for saying what he said, but I can’t do any of it. He has me in a viselike grip, and I’m too drunk to tap into my real power. The room is spinning and his face is so, so close. I can smell the beer on his breath. It should be disgusting, but it’s not. My heart feels like it’s going to explode, I’m so angry and confused. I have never known him to play so dirty before.

  “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that.” His voice is gruff, maybe with regret, but I don’t care. He crossed the line, big time.

  “Goddamn right, you shouldn’t have.” I struggle against him, trying to get away, but he’s twice as strong as I am. I bring my knee up, hoping to catch him in the balls, but he senses that coming and turns sideways, taking the hit in his thigh. The strike was hard enough to leave a bruise, but he doesn’t loosen his hold on me.

  “I’m just trying to help you . . .” he says through a hiss of pain, “. . . try to stop you from making a big mistake.”

  “I don’t need your help, asshole.” I thrust our interlocked arms up at his face, but he stops my attempted punch an inch before it makes contact. I change my mind about his breath; it is gross. Budweiser. Ick.

  “Looks like you do need my help. You were about to call Rowdy, the guy who masterminded the plan to kidnap your co-worker b
ut got away without any jail time because he agreed to mental health counseling . . . the guy who still wants to beat your ass or worse. Come on, Toni, you know better.”

  I don’t know why his words hurt me so much, but they do. I hate that I’m weak, that I seek the acceptance of the people I work with. It shouldn’t matter to me what they think. I choose my own way, I live my own life, and I don’t answer to anyone. So why do I care what he says?

  “Shut up, Lucky. You don’t know me.”

  His expression softens, though his grip doesn’t. “I know you better than you think I do.”

  I snort and then sneer at him. “Please. You think because you kissed me in junior high you know me?”

  Too late I realize I’ve shown him my hand. I should probably just forget about the whole damn thing like he has. It was ten years ago, after all. A lifetime. It doesn’t seem that long, though. Probably because, even after all this time, my heart hasn’t learned to leave the memory alone. Like it or not, that moment with Lucky has carried me through some really hard times. I’ve often dreamed of what could have happened with us and with me if I’d followed through on that emotion with him instead of running to Charlie.

  He shakes his head. “I’m not talking about that kiss.” Then he smiles, looking really proud of himself. “But I’m happy to know that you’re still thinking about it.” He tilts his head. “How long has it been? Ten years? Fifteen?”

  I’m livid. Not only is he thinking he can tell me what to do with my life, but he’s mocking me, too. “Who gives a shit?” I go completely still and fix him with a stare. “Let me go, and I’ll give you thirty seconds to get away before I come after you. Consider it an early birthday gift.”

  “I’ve got a better idea.” He stares down at me, not at all intimidated by my threat.

  I’d like to lock eyes with him, but I’ve had too much alcohol. The room is spinning, so I have to look away. “Oh yeah? What’s your idea?”

  His finger goes under my chin and he uses it to turn my head toward his. I look up into his face, unable to resist as he moves in closer. “Let’s try this again,” he says.

  And before I know it, his lips are touching mine and we’re kissing.

  CHAPTER THREE

  The insanity of that kiss lasts only about three seconds before I go ape-shit crazy, punching Lucky in the chest and yelling at the top of my lungs. If I had a weapon, I’d use it on him. How dare he! How dare he take my heart and play with it like it’s a toy!

  Lucky releases his hold on me instantly and jumps back, putting space between us so he can better control the situation. I recognize the move from our training. He holds out his hands in a gesture that might be designed to calm me down.

  People are looking over at us, wondering what’s up, but this is the kind of place where unwelcome kisses are a nightly event, so no one moves. They’re back to their beers and cocktails in no time, and I’m left with Lucky in the alcove, my heart going way too fast for comfort.

  “What are you doing?” I growl at him, wiping the back of my hand across my mouth. My lips are tingling. It feels like he’s still there touching me, his tongue licking mine, so I swipe with my hand again. I feel like spitting, I’m so mad.

  Lucky looks confused. “I’m sorry. I don’t know . . .”

  I look out of the alcove, praying no one on our team saw him do that. There’s no sign of anyone there, though. They’re probably still playing pool. Without me. My heart feels like it’s cracking in three different places.

  I grab my purse off the floor and throw it over my shoulder, bending a second time to scoop my phone up. Great. Screen’s cracked. I have to get the hell out of here before I do something worse than I already have. I shove past Lucky on my way to the front door.

  Unfortunately, he’s right behind me. “Where’re you going? You can’t drive. You’ve had too much to drink.”

  My breath is labored, and I don’t understand why. I run fifty miles a week. I could drop my bag and do a marathon in heels right now if I wanted to, but for some reason I can’t get enough oxygen into my system. Then I realize the problem; I’m suffocating because he’s so close.

  “Leave me alone. You don’t need to worry about what I’m doing.” I have a whole lot to add onto that sentence, like I’m not your girlfriend, or Who do you think you are? Or Why are you suddenly interested in me now when you let me go so easily ten years ago? But that would open up the door for him to say things I’m not sure I want to hear. He doesn’t like me, and I don’t like him. Not in that way. Not anymore. That kiss was a mistake, and we both know it. Both of them were.

  I don’t shout at him. I don’t say any of the things that would dredge up memories from ten years ago that need to stay gone, even though it might be satisfying to get those words out of my head and out into the world; instead, I search the street, hoping beyond hope that there’ll be a car out there that can take me home.

  I fully expect to see nothing, because my luck is complete shit, and yet there, just down the street, is a taxi with its green light on. God himself is looking out for me tonight. Thank you, Father, Son, and Holy Ghost. I break into a jog. When I get to the passenger side of the car and lean down, I’m out of breath. “You available to take me home?”

  The cabbie, reading a newspaper under his car’s dome light, looks up at me, in no hurry to answer. His drawl is slow and heavy. “Are you with Bourbon Street Boys?”

  Not expecting to hear that, I stare at him with my eyebrows scrunched up for a few seconds. I could have sworn he said . . .

  He continues in his rumbling voice. “I was hired to bring home people from the Bourbon Street Boys team. My fare’s already paid for the employees. If you’re on the team, I can bring you home.”

  “Yeah, yeah, I’m on the team.” I put my hand on the door, holding my breath as I wait for his acceptance.

  “Show me your ID proving who you are or call yourself another cab.” He looks like he’s about to pick up his newspaper again, so I wave my hand in his window.

  “No problem. I have ID. My name is Toni.” I don’t waste any more time, fearing Lucky’s going to get it into his head to come after me. I open the back door and slide in, flashing the cabbie one of my business cards so he can see I am who I say I am.

  There’s a hint of cigarette smoke clinging to the interior of the vehicle, and the upholstery has seen better days, but I feel like my knight in shining armor has arrived just in time to save me from myself. I turn around and see through the rear window that Lucky is walking over, heading to the passenger window where I was just standing.

  I grab the side of the front seat and use it to pull myself forward. “Let’s go. I’ll give you directions on the way. Head north.” I point out the front window to encourage him to hurry.

  The driver turns to look at me as he points out his side window. “That guy with you?” Lucky is leaning down, his flawless face suddenly in full view.

  Dammit! Now he knows I was trying to escape him. I throw myself back against the seat and hiss out a long breath. “No. That guy is most definitely not with me.”

  Lucky acts like he didn’t hear, but I know damn well he did.

  “Hey. Can I share this cab with you?” He smiles at me, making me want to both punch him in the face and kiss him again.

  I shake my head vigorously. “No. Get your own.” I can’t look at him. That face breaks my heart. How dare he kiss me like that!

  “Is he with the team?” the cabbie asks.

  Lucky and I answer at the same time.

  “No!” I exclaim.

  “Yes!” he affirms.

  The cabbie shakes his head. “Y’all need to figure out your stories. I got a job to do and I don’t earn my pay ’til I start doin’ it.”

  Lucky leans into the cab, fixing the cabbie with a stare. “You were hired to bring home the Bourbon Street Boys team members, and we’re both on the team. And she’s as drunk as a bicycle, so I’m just going to make sure she gets home okay before you dr
op me off.”

  Before I can say anything, the cabbie is looking at me in his rearview mirror and nodding at Lucky. The front door opens and Lucky gets in, slamming it shut behind him. He didn’t even have to show ID, the bastard. Bastard cab driver, too. Sexist pigs.

  I glare at the two assholes in the front seat, trying to decide what to do. I really want to get out of here and find myself another ride, but I’ve got way too many alcoholic teas in my stomach, and I don’t feel so hot. I need to get home and into bed. I’m going to mix myself up a very special cocktail before I pass out, though. It’s Thibault’s guaranteed no-hangover mix. I have a feeling I’m going to need a double dose.

  “We good?” the driver asks, looking at me in his mirror.

  I look out the side window. “Whatever.” Lucky better not think he’s coming into my house. I’ll break his frigging nose if he does. I’m trying like hell to do the right thing here, but I can only be so strong mentally before I have to let my fists take over and do the talking.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  The cab pulls up to the front of my house, and I get out. I don’t bother tipping, because I know Ozzie took care of that too. This is one of those perks we get with the job; when we celebrate, he makes sure we get home okay. Usually, it’s him driving us in his truck, but I guess he had other plans with his girlfriend tonight.

  I try not to be bitter about that. May’s a nice enough person, but my life was a lot easier when she wasn’t around. I had a lot more of Ozzie’s attention and focus and someone I could talk to when I had stuff on my mind. I don’t have the hots for him; he’s too much like an older brother for me to feel that way about him. But he’s kind of the center of my universe as my boss, because my job means everything to me. It rescued me from a really dark place, and it keeps me busy enough that I don’t think about my past all that often, and that’s a really good thing. I have an army of skeletons in my closet, and they’re each ten feet tall and always banging to get out.