Page 58 of Loaded

At the end of the day, what woman hates money?

I almost take the 911, but in the end, I pick the XC90. It’s not flashy, but it’s roomy and nondescript. It’s the safe call, and I feel like I should play some part of tonight safe. When I pull into a spot in her apartment complex beside a truck, I’m glad I picked the car I did. Jake’s outside with Bea, and he’s kicking her tire. Neither of them sees me, which allows me a moment to spy on them.

“This thing’s a hunk of junk, Bea. I swear, why won’t you just let me buy you something that runs?”

“Because you’d get me something horrible.”

“You could just take one of my two cars,” he says. “I don’t need both.”

“Like I said. Horrible.” But she’s smiling.

“Pick what you want, then,” he says.

She sighs. “I can afford the car I have, as you well know.”

“I have more money than I need, asyouwell know, so—” He cuts off when he sees me.

Bea follows his face to mine. “Oh.” She glances at her watch. “Shoot.”

She’s wearing a very cute sundress, but she’s definitely not wearing boots. At least she’s wearing cute flats that are close-toed.

“I don’t have cowboy boots,” she says, “and I was going to try and find a pair at Goodwill, but then my car wouldn’t start and?—”

“Who gives a girl shoe requirements for a date?” Jake scowls. “Starting off on the wrong foot, man.”

Bea kicks him. “Stop being rude.”

“Ow.” He’s limping as he hobbles toward the apartment. Maybe that’s why he keeps glaring at me, but I doubt it. I have a growing suspicion that Jake’s feelings for Bea aren’t entirely brotherly.

“Are these shoes alright?” Bea looks nervous.

“They’ll be fine,” I say. “I’m sorry I stressed you out.”

She shakes her head. “No, you didn’t. But then you didn’t respond aboutwhyI needed them, and I was worried.” She takes in my outfit—Lucchese boots, dark jeans, a belt, and a grey western shirt with snaps in place of buttons. “Are we going to some kind of costume party?”

I can’t help laughing. “Something like that.”

“Huh?”

“Are you ready to go, or do you need to go back inside?”

Bea snatches her purse off the top of her car and walks toward me. “No, let’s steer clear of Jake. He’s always in a bad mood when I ask for a ride.”

“Seems like he’d be happy to fix your transportation problems.”

Bea sighs, following me to my Volvo. “Jake’s always extra. You just have to learn to say no around him a lot.”

“At least he means well.”

“He still thinks his whole career took off because of one stupid song I wrote.” She snorts. “It was his face, his talent, all of what makesJake Priestthat won. It had very little to do with my song.”

I remember that single, I think. “Was it the one about lemons?”

She pauses. “You remember it?”

“They played it like twenty times a day for a while,” I say. “Everyone remembers it.”

“Well, anyway, movies are a way better fit for him, I think.”

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