8. This M’fer

THIS M'FER

Riley

"The bathroom's out of tampons."

These are the first words Lauren has said to me in days.

I turn and look at her as I go to grab an order.

She beats me to it. "I'm out at my place, too." Turning with the tray in her hand, she snaps back, "And I can't be trusted in your place. Remember, I'm one of two on Brett's suspect list."

"That's not?—"

"Tampons, Riley." she scowls. "Nothing more."

I glance at Mickey, and he shakes his head. "I deal in food, not that drama."

"And that's why I love you, Mick."

When I round the corner, I see my door open and think nothing of it. It would be just like Syd forgetting something and stopping by to grab it, or Mags and Iz just dropping by to crash at my place or Lo's. But no, nope, it's none of them.

The moment he looks in my direction, I am ready to let him have it, but Hudson puts his stupid finger to his lips, telling me to shhh . Then he turns and starts to do a sneaky stroll? Is he on his tiptoes?

Am I shook? Is this what shook feels like? Yes, yes, I am. I make a mental note that shook is actually the prequel to shock, and shock sets in as he approaches the lights that surround the parking lot. He crouches down and does an NFL player-sized version of the pink panther walk.

"Is he for real?" I laugh silently then ask myself, "What the fuck is wrong with him?"

"He's standing on the edge and ready to fall for you," comes from behind me. Lauren . "And I know damn well you feel the same way."

"Lauren, I?—"

"No, nothing more until you admit I'm right and stop being a fucking moron and tell him. Or I?—"

"You promised me," I cut her off as I look around to make sure no one heard her.

She pinches her fingers together, telling me to be quiet. "You're still so fucked up over?—"

"Don't."

"It doesn't matter that you were broken up; the man you loved died, Riley. He's never coming back. You're going to marry Brett because you don't love him in an all-encompassing, all-consuming way. You think it's safe. You're giving up. And you know what? It's sad to see the girl I've always looked up to settling for a miserable life."

I walk into my place and don't see my dress lying across the couch or counter, so I take the stairs up to my loft and find the white bag hanging exactly where I left it.

I should be freaking out, especially since I'm not freaking out at all. I'm having a Pink Floyd moment; I'm comfortably numb.

Instead, with tampons in hand, I return to the bar, tuck them under the sink, and then head back out to the bar and get through the night. I smile, I crack jokes, and when the night is done, and Lauren is heading out the door, I stop her with a hug.

"I love you, Lo."

"Well, no shit. I love you, too." Then she pulls away and heads out the door.

"You need me to stick around?" Mickey asks, walking out of the kitchen, backpack thrown over his shoulder.

"No, I'm done here." I shove my hands in my jean's pockets. "I may not go to the game in Vegas with?—"

"I'm not going to burn the place down. You need a break and extra time with Lo to fix whatever it is you two have going on. Every member of the staff is feeling the tension, which makes for a shitty work environment, and you promised me that would never happen here." He reaches up and tightens his man bun. "I'll never leave you short-staffed, but I can't work like this forever, you know."

"I'm sorry, I'll fix it."

He gives my elbow a squeeze. "I know you will."

I watch through the window as the lights from his truck begin to disappear down the road and make a decision.

I head over to my place, toss my phone on the couch, leave a note in case anyone wonders where I am, and grab my keys.

Fifteen minutes later, I'm walking up the steps of Hart's mansion, where Boone is standing in the doorway with a shit-ass grin on his face. "Go easy on him, Brooks."

"Will do." I look up at him. "Where is he?"

"Kitchen."

"Anyone else here?" I ask, suddenly remembering his family is in town.

"The other Harts decided to make it a mini vacation," he says, walking up the stairs. "If you need anything, just yell ‘I need you, Big Daddy Boone .'"

I roll my eyes. "Is that how Hudson calls for you?"

"You know it." He winks then nods toward the kitchen. "Follow the sound of the mixer."

I thought Boone was joking, as Boone typically does, until I actually hear the whirling of a mixer as I walk into the kitchen and find a shirtless Hudson Hart standing at the island with a giant spoon in his mouth, wearing sunglasses and a black beanie with the Knights' logo on it. And yes, that knit hat is where I'm focusing. Why? Because Hart is hot in loose-fitting jeans and a tee. But sans the shirt, exposing his body—the pierced nipples, the ink on his arm, the light sprinkling of hair traveling from his belly button to … fuck.

He's done it; this self-proclaimed ass girl is suddenly getting a bit hot under the booby traps over man nips.

He turns the mixer off, spots me, and yells out, "Fuck," holding his hand to his seriously defined chest. "Jesus, Ry, you can't say something when you walk in?"

Hot or not, he's infuriating.

"Like you did when you were sneaking out of my freaking house? Or stole my wedding dress? You have some freaking nerve, Hudson Hart."

"How do you know it was?—"

I force out a laugh as I wave my hand up and down in the air. "Do you think anyone could miss this?"

He points his giant spoon at me. "Your little bitch tried to fat-shame me the other night. Don't you do it, too."

"What?" I laugh disbelievingly.

"Never mind." He scowls at the spoon as he sighs, then drops it in the bowl, places his hands on the counter, leans forward, and asks, "I'd ask what brings you here, but I'm assuming it's to deliver an ass-chewing that I may deserve but won't lie to your face and say I shouldn't have done it, because what I shouldn't have done was returned it. He's an asshole. So"—he steps back and crosses his arms over his hot-as-hell chest—"give it to me."

"You don't get to act affronted by me. I?—"

"You marry that asshole, Ry …" He shakes his head. "You marry him, you become one. He strikes"—he hits the ink on his arm—"you're doing it, too."

"Is that a fucking snake on your body?" I ask with disgust.

"You bet your ass it is." He turns and flexes, making the damn thing move.

"I'd ask why you'd do that, but it's not the reason I'm here." My eyes stall on his fuck-hot nipples.

"Peel your eyes off the pecks, Brooksie, and step back into the ring."

"I didn't come to fight with you."

"No?" His eyes and nostrils flare in sync, and my insides clench.

Without being offered a seat, I sit. "Can I get a spoon?"

He lets out a harsh, growly breath as he opens a drawer and pulls one out. "Yeah."

I position myself on my knees, lean over, and take a scoop. "Brett's always been a bit dick-ish, and I'm not gonna lie and say I don't like that about him." I shove the dough in my mouth, hold my hand over my face, and continue, "I've known him since we were kids, as a pubescent boy, as a shit hot high school athlete who I was in adolescent love with. He was my first everything, including my first heartbreak."

He bends down, resting his elbows on the counter, picks his spoon out of the bowl, and shovels a scoopful into his mouth as I force myself to keep on task, even when he licks the spoon and then his lips.

"We broke up before college and promised each other if we were single at twenty-five, it would mean we were meant to be together."

I stop when he grabs his phone off the counter and starts tapping his screen.

"Am I interrupting something? A late-night hook-up with a wanna-be WAG?"

He smirks. "Not my style, Brooksie. I'm just making notes."

"Notes?" I huff.

"Yeah." He sets the phone down on the counter, eyes locking on mine. "Questions I wanna ask when you're done she-splaining why a girl like you is settling for a fuckwit like him." He grabs the spoon and takes another scoop. "I'm all yours, Ry."

I'm all yours?

I tamp down the total freak-out that statement could cause and push on. "I went out with friends one night, fake ID in hand, and got pretty shitty. I saw something on IG while I was in the bathroom that messed with my head." I decide to leave out that it was a picture of Gina and Brett with the caption, " together again ." "I needed to get the hell out of there, so I left without telling my new sorority sisters, alone."

He picks up his phone and taps on the screen.

"Just freaking ask me."

"I will." He pushes it away.

"Fine, whatever, long story short; I was followed by a bunch of guys who …" I lift a shoulder. "They didn't get far; a man who I later learned owned the bar stopped them. He and one of his employees beat the shit out of five guys." I exhale as I close my eyes and say his name, "Devon was older, broody, and wanted nothing to do with me, but I was relentless in pursuing a job at his bar, and even more relentless in pursuing him." I open my eyes and smile softly. "I loved him." I pause when my voice cracks. "Will always love him."

He grabs his phone again.

"Just don't, okay? Just let me talk, and listen." I scowl at the counter. "I loved him, and I know he loved me. Our relationship was intense—the fighting, the fucking, the breaking up, and the making up. There was no simmer to us; it was always a roiling boil. The last time we broke up was because I suspected he was back to his old ways, and then …" The first tear falls, and I slap it away.

"Ry, you don't?—"

"He and Mick's wife died in a car accident."

He asks as he reached over and takes my hand, "Mickey Mick?"

I nod.

"Were they?—"

I nod. "She was driving. Mick thought she was being a friend and picking his drunk ass up." I shake my head. "Everyone still thinks that, and I'll never tell them any different." I look at him as I pull my hand back, readying myself for what's to come.

"I'm so sorry you went through that," he says quietly.

I smile slightly. "Dad and I worked through it; focused on a project."

"The Brewery."

I nod. "The property was a mess, but it saved me from losing my mind." I look up. "And so did Brett."

His jaw tightens, but he doesn't reach for his phone or say anything.

I exhale. "The week before Brett and I got back together, Mick and I met at the bar where we met and worked at on the two-year anniversary of their deaths. He looked like hell. He'd lost a ton of weight and was tweaking when he told me he found messages on her phone between them. I told him if he got his shit together, I wanted him to come run the kitchen."

He smiles and nods. "You did good work."

I shake my head. "He's so freaking good, Hart. His talent is lost at the brewery, and when he's ready to take on his own place, I'm going to kick his ass out of the Barn so he can show the world who the fuck Mick Mahone is."

"Make sure he tells you the secret to how he makes potato skins taste like they came from heaven."

I smile. "Right?"

He smiles back. "Yeah, no, he can't leave."

I could get totally lost in this—the easy way Hart and I can talk about anything—but after this, that ease will be gone.

I lean back and cross my arms around my middle. "He took off that night after telling me he'd be in touch. I proceeded to get shitfaced. I knew, but having confirmation killed me."

"I get that." He nods.

Looking down, I continue. "I, um, decided to fuck him out of my system, so I did just that."

"For sure a better choice than shooting up."

Fuck, fuck, fuck.

"I know it's crazy, but I wanted to hurt him, so I did it right in the bar where he and I spent ninety percent of our relationship." I glance up at him.

"I mean, you do what you gotta do."

"Almost three years ago."

He nods.

"In Syracuse."

His eyes narrow, and we stare at each other for a little bit, and I swear I see it clicking.

"Ask the question, Hudson."

He steps back and crosses his arms, glancing at his phone. "Were you and fuckwit together?"

"No, not then. A couple weeks later," I answer.

He glances back at me. "I'm still a bit fucked up here, Riley, so I'm not sure I should ask the most looming question I have."

I swallow back the lump in my throat. "I think you should."

He grabs his phone and taps at the screen, then sets it down, leans forward, and grips the edge. "Okay, first question: have I ever been at this bar?"

I look down and nod. "Yeah."

"Jesus Christ," he murmurs. "Second question: were you there that night?"

I lift my chin.

"Was Lauren?"

I look up and meet his eyes, needing to do this without room for question. "No, she wasn't."

His facial expression changes from angry to stricken. "So that was you that night in the bathroom?"

"Yeah."

"You made your sister tell me it was her so you and Brett could what? Live unhappily ever fucking after?"

"Yes."

Boone walks in, looks at me, then Hart, then back at me. "You ready?"

"Ready for what?" I ask.

"To drive you home,." Boone answers as Hart begins walking out of the room.

"I'm fine to drive. I'm …" I turn and yell after Hudson instead. "Hart, I'm not finished talking to you."

"I'm not going to spill your sick little secret, but I'm not fucking wit you right now."

"Fucking wit me?" I yell.

I swear the whole mansion shakes when he yells, "Go home, Riley!"

I turn and yell at Boone, "I'm fine to drive."

He holds out his hand and shakes his head. "Keys, Brooksie."

"No, fuck that." I move to walk past him, and he moves, too. "And fuck you."

"Well, wouldn't that make for an interesting twist." He chuckles.

"Get out of my way."

"You don't want me to drive you? That's cool." He takes my hands and holds them up. "But Big Daddy Boone wouldn't let his little flower drive if she was shaking like this, and I'm sure as fuck not letting you. Call one of your girls, or let me give you a ride."

"I left my phone at home!" So Brett wouldn't track my ass.

"All right then, let's roll."

"And how are you gonna get back here?"

"One step at a time, Ry." He winks and wraps a big stupid arm around my shoulders.

Riding shotgun in any vehicle is something I've avoided at almost all costs since the accident. I truly believe they'd have both been alive if he was driving. But riding bitch in my own vehicle is even worse yet.

"Just … just don't drive like you own it, okay?"

"Probably be worse if I drove it like I stole it, huh?" He chuckles, and that does it.

I pull my feet up, bury my face in my knees, and I fucking lose it.

Boone's hand is on my back, rubbing little circles. "Just gonna let you know, I'm team Brooksie all the way."

I sniff. "Bullshit."

"No bullshit. I'm a girl, a dad, and a man; we're fucking dogs. Team you."

I wipe my nose with the sleeve of my shirt and roll my head to the side to look at him.

"But I'm also team anyone against a fucking tool like Brett."

"Of course you are." Part of me is relieved he thinks this is about Brett and didn't catch the reason I came here tonight.

"If I had a hot piece of ass who'd given me her heart, I sure as fuck wouldn't mind the thirty-minute drive into class every day."

Pissed, I spit some facts. "I wish everyone would stop acting like I'm blind to shit like that. That everyone would stop thinking I don't love my girl time as much as he loves his golf or seriously prefer the bed to myself at night and not worrying about who gets stuck in the wet spot."

He clears his throat and holds a finger up. "Gotta give me a second with the thought of that last part, but respectfully, ya know."

I smack him in the arm. "And you and your girl dad bullshit, you're no better."

"Come again?" He chuckles.

"Cory Sparks is a girl dad."

"He's got one hell of a girl, too." He smiles like I'm making casual conversation.

"Picture this, dipshit. Lily gets her heart fucking crushed, and some shit-hot football player tells her she's got the kind of face any man would dream of falling to sleep looking at, that her body is sexy as fuck, and what else was it? The ultimate stepmom?"

"Nothing wrong with telling the truth."

"Yeah? I could see how an idiot would think that, but an asshole would kiss her."

"Was supposed to be a quick peck. I didn't know she tastes like sugar. Told her that, too."

"You're a moron." I sniff.

"Hey now, be nice." He sighs. "If Lily's mom weren't getting her shit together, Sydney Sparks would be in for a world of hurt, but in a good way, ya know?"

"Just leave her alone, Boone; she's healing."

He lifts his chin as his grip on the wheel tightens. "She's going to make the right guy the happiest man in Blue Valley." He sighs. "But enough about sugar tits."

I smack him.

"She knows about Lindsey." He hits his turn signal to pull into the parking lot. "This shit isn't easy to say, but there's a girl named Gina who your fiancé spends a hell of a lot of time with. Make sure you look into that before you walk the green mile, Brooksie."