Page 2 of The Wrong Guy

“Shit.”

I glare at Aunt Etta, only to find her already gloating. When I sniff in annoyance, her smirk only grows. “No wonder you always strike out with the ladies. No follow-through.”

“Oooh, burn!”

“She’s gotcha there!”

“Jesse, I think I’m in love with your aunt. That’s cool with you, right?”

I stare my buddies down one by one, and though they try valiantly to straighten their faces out, they fail miserably. “All of you are on cleanup duty on Monday.”

Mike laughs. “Dude, fuck you. I’m not even on your crew.”

He’s got a point.

We all work for Jed Ford’s construction company, but Mike’s an electrician while the rest of us work general contracting. Which means Roscoe and Alan are on the hook. They glance at each other and then back at me. Finally Roscoe declares, “Worth it.” He pops Alan in the gut, and they start laughing again.

“Hey, young ’un,” Aunt Etta calls, turning my age comment back on me to get my attention.

I sigh resolutely. She’s damn near run the whole table, and as soon as I look, she drops the eight ball in the side pocket, winning the game. Again.

“Good game,” I admit.

She hands her pool cue to Mike, letting her hand drift over his as she lets go and tells him, “You’re a cutie-pie, but a little inexperienced for a woman like me.” She pats his cheek a bit too hard and spins to walk away, her dark braid flinging over her shoulder. But I swear there’s a little extra pep in her step.

Mike’s tongue lolls out like a cartoon dog, but he manages to yell after her, “I can learn!”

Tayvious, Etta’s “HR complaint waiting to happen” cook, leans out of the food window. “I can teach you a thing or two, Mike. Things you never knew about yourself.”

Mike laughs good-naturedly. “Thanks, Tay Tay. Pretty sure the only thing I wanna learn from you is your famous fancy ketchup recipe.”

“You and everyone else,” he quips back. “But a man’s gotta have some secrets.” With that, he disappears back into the kitchen. Recipes are probably the only secrets Tayvious has, given that he tells everyone everything about his life—dates, what he bought at the local swap meet, and even the rash he got last month, which thankfully was just a bit of razor burn and nothing contagious, because I don’t think even unknown dermatitis would stop us from eating Tay Tay’s food.

Mike racks the balls, and Alan squares up to play a game with him while Roscoe and I sit at a table and watch. “You know Mike ain’t really after Etta, right? He just likes giving you shit.”

Cutting my eyes over, I see that Roscoe’s serious. “You ever meet his last girlfriend?” When he shakes his head, I grin as I watch Mike and Alan battle to clear the table. “Mike’s got a type. You heard of cougars? Well, Mike likes jaguars. Less than fifty need not apply. So he’s dead serious when he flirts with Etta, but she ain’t interested. Or if she is, I don’t want to know about it. Her business is her own, and I’ve got a strong preference for living, so I keep my nose out of it.”

He laughs, probably thinking I’m exaggerating, but I’m not.

I pour a glass of beer from the pitcher we’re working our way through and hold it up. Roscoe clinks glasses with me and toasts, “To a good week and good-er weekend.”

I sigh happily after I take a big sip.

And I know better than to jinx shit like that. You never say it’s quiet in an ER or restaurant, you never say what’s the worst that could happen before you do something stupid, and you never toast to a good weekend when it hasn’t started yet.

So I shouldn’t be surprised when the door of Puss N Boots opens and trouble walks in, but I am.

Chrissy Ford is standing by the door, looking around awkwardly and fidgeting with her bottle-blonde hair. In seemingly slow motion, people freeze as they realize who’s here and quietly alert their friends, the wave of recognition and buzz of interest moving around the whole bar until all eyes are on Chrissy.

I know for a fact it’s the first time she’s been here, because she’s persona non grata in Etta’s place. Once upon a time, long, long, long ago, the two of them were best friends. Chrissy was even going to be the maid of honor at Etta’s wedding.

Until Etta found Chrissy and Etta’s soon-to-be groom, Jed Ford, right in the middle of being real familiar. The fallout was ugly and continues to this day, which is what makes Chrissy’s appearance here all the more concerning.

“Shiiiit.” I grab my phone from my back pocket and send a quick text to my sister, Hazel, who’s the only person with a chance at refereeing a cat-fight catastrophe between Aunt Etta and her nemesis.

911. Not a drill. Chrissy’s at Puss N Boots. Get bail money for Etta ready.

Charlene gets to the door before Etta, narrowly saving Chrissy’s life. “Hey, honey-baby, normally this’d be the part where I tell you to grab a seat and offer to getcha a beer. But we both know the only thing you’d best be grabbing is your own ass as you get the hell outta here.” Charlene smiles widely and blinks her fake lashes as she offers the free advice with all the sassy fire she possesses.

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