Page 41 of Hot Mess Express
But he doesn’t have to know that.
And I guess it doesn’t matter. “I don’t like bein’ hard on you,” he says, his whole tone changing. He does this, too—hot and cold, every time he decides to give a shit about me. “Iwantyou to do better, Anthony. If I’d gaven up on you, I wouldn’t be pushin’ you to help out with the business.”
“Givenup.” When my dad looks at me funny, not following, I just sigh. “I’ll go over the selling points for tomorrow. Allfive.” He grumbles something at that, then finally digs in to the donuts.
“You alright?” asks my mom quietly.
I must be showing something on my face. “Congrats on your, uh … your word game, Mom. You could just as well be playin’ some Harvard grad, don’t go sellin’ yourself short.”
“Oh, Harvard grads don’t have time for silly games. They all have classes to attend and papers to write and … and jobs. I think.” She gives me one of her bubbly-eyed, hopeful smiles dripping with sympathy for me that always breaks my damned heart. “Is that a new jacket? It looks nice.”
I glance down at it, forgetting I’m holding it at all. “Nah, it’s … it’s not mine.”
“Whose is it, then?”
Bridger beneath me on the floor of the church, his face, heavy breaths, eyes burning and furious.Washe furious? Am I recalling that part wrong? Why the fuck do I have this jacket?
“Satan’s,” I answer before finally making it down the hall.
I don’t know why I bothered to shower at all. By the time it’s noon, I’m already sweating again, heading down Main Street with this jacket still folded over an arm like I’m a butler or some shit.
I don’t think a lick about all that stuff my dad said.
Refuse to let it get to me like it always does.
I focus on my only task today: getting this damned jacket back to its owner. Since Cody’s location is always a guess, I decide to go for Trey, passing Wicker street and strolling to the clinic. Inside, I find Carla working the front desk, who helpfully lets me know that Trey just stepped out for lunch. “Need me to look at something?” she asks in a funny voice. “Bored outta my damnedmind. I mean, I won’t be able to tell you much ‘til Treyor Dr. Emory come back, but I’ll check out a weird mole on your back if you want me to.”
“I don’t have a weird—” I huff at her. “What good’s a clinic if neither of the doctors are even here?”
“Trey’s not a doctor,” she tells me sweetly.
I lean forward against the counter. “Carly. Ma’am. Miss.”
“It’s Carla, but you can call me Carly if you like, baby. I’m just a few years older than you. It isn’t weird.”
I ignore her flirting. I always do. “Can you tell me where Trey went for lunch?”
“You were awfully funny at the bachelor show thing.” She sits up and starts twirling a pen around her fingers. “It was staged, right? Your whole fumbling, clumsy, everything-going-wrong act? The girls and I totally thought it was staged.”
It wasn’t. The scar on my nose is proof. The whole thing went dangerously wrong. It’s now the biggest humiliation of my life. I’ve never been so humbled in the worst possible way.
“Yep,” I answer. “Rehearsed. Down to cuttin’ open my face.”
“What did y’all use for fake blood? And if it isn’t maraschino cherry juice, then I don’t wanna know. The girls and I have a bet going on. An unofficial bet. Sorta. Honestly, they probably forgot.”
My smile squeezes right up as I lean over the counter more. “Is it Biggie’s? Did Trey go to Biggie’s? Or Patsy’s? Or back home? Can you gimme a hint?”
“Did you know I used to be scared of his husband Cody?”
I’m really not in the mood for a chat. “No,” I answer anyway.
“Back when Trey and Cody were first dating—if dating’s what anyone with a proper mind would call it—I thought poor Trey was indanger. Marybeth and I both. Shoot, I remember hiding behind this desk when Cody showed up here unannounced once …”
“Well, I’m glad we’ve learned better.” I glance at the window,forming a laundry list of where I’ll go next to look for Trey.
“We also talked a lot about you back then.”
I turn back to her. “Say what?”
