Page 33 of The Backup Groom
“This makes little sense at all,” I said. “Is the baby daddy a different guy than the one she’s going to kill for the insurance money?”
Dean held up his finger. “Hold on to that thought and look at that.”
We watched a woman walk out the door, looking quite perturbed. It was the same one from yesterday who Dean compared to the Harvey Keitel character inPulp Fiction.
He gestured to her. “What I don’t understand is why that woman came back if Amber cut her out of the deal. It makes no sense unless she’s trying to change Amber’s mind. What do you think?”
“You’re asking me? I have no clue. I don’t have an imagination like you.” I watched her leave, then turned to our youngest employee. “What’s your opinion on the subject, Brayden? I know you’ve been listening to our conversation. You can be honest.”
Brayden was one of my part-time employees who worked between ten and twenty hours a week. He was a senior at Mission Bay High School and also played on the soccer team, so he mostly worked Saturdays and Sundays.
Brayden shrugged. “I think Dean is full of crap.”
I gave him a high-five. “I love it.”
Dean shook his head, looking defeated. “Whatever. Go check on the trash cans.”
“There’s nothing I would rather do.” Brayden gave us a broad smile and made his way around the counter toward the trash receptacle by the front door.
I felt totally vindicated. “He’s got a bright future ahead of him.”
“He’s too smart for his own good,” Dean conceded with a little chuckle. “Okay, now that he’s gone, we finally have a minute to chat seriously. I know I’ve been joking around a lot, but it can’t be a coincidence that Amber has gone out with two Ryan Scotts.”
I was thinking the same thing. “Maybe they’re related. I mean, me and my dad have the same name, so you never know. And who was that celebrity who had five sons and gave them all the same name?”
“George Foreman, the boxer,” Dean said. “Sure, it’s possible, but highly unlikely since both Ryan Scotts appeared to be the same age. They’re definitely not twins because that yoga dude looks like a malnourished Jason Momoa wannabe with unmanageable hair. What is interesting, though, is that Amber suddenly seems to be a lot chummier with you. Maybe you’re next on her list of potential victims.”
I waved him off. “If anything, I am the one who has been chummier with her. Plus, I don’t think she even knows my real name. There’s no connection there at all.”
I was born Ryan Scott III, but to avoid confusion with my dad and grandfather having the same names, my family, relatives, and friends began to call me Scotty when I was a baby. The name stuck with me throughout the years, most likely because we had Scottish blood and the name was very popular in our culture. We Scots are proud people.
Honestly, I’ve always loved the name and have considered myself to be Scotty for as long as I can remember, as if it were my real name. It’s not like I have ever hidden my real name from people. I go by Scotty, but it says Ryan Scott on my driver’s license, tax returns, and credit cards. If anyone asks for my business card, it says Ryan “Scotty” Scott on the front.
Dean pointed to me. “Youthinkshe doesn’t know your real name? You don’t know that for sure. Women are smart, they’re wicked, and they’re shrewd. They pretend they’re not paying attention, but behind the scenes they’re frantically taking mental notes, memorizing details, analyzing data, and storing away facts in the back of their brains for future use. Then, when we least expect it, BAM! They pounce with every ounce, rendering the male population useless, lifeless, and speechless. We don’t know what hit us! We’re like a pile of nothingness, served with a side of humble pie, on a silver platter of embarrassment.”
“It’s a shame you haven’t had time to analyze this,” I said.
“Mock me, but this is why women win arguments against us. It’s also why men drink too much. Women notice everything. They contemplate, they annotate, they infiltrate, they manipulate, and they . . .”
I offered some help after he stalled. “Procreate?”
“Exactly! And then they terminate.” He smiled proudly from the last one, then tilted his head toward Amber, who was sitting all by herself now. “She’s obviously a black widow. I’m sure that has crossed your mind.”
I shook my head. “Not even a little.”
“You’re not thinking clearly—watch your back. You never know, Amber might try to sleep with you and then eat you alive.”
“There are worse ways to go,” I joked as I added more coffee beans into the grinder. “But seriously, something is going on with her. I wish there was a way for me to get her to open up, so I could be of help.”
“I’ll tell you what you need to do.” Dean squeezed the top of my shoulder. “Go over there right now and tell her your name is Ryan Scott. Then sit back and see how she responds. That’s all you’ve got to do.”
“I don’t know . . .”
“I’m serious! That will put the ball in her court and force her to make a move. And believe me, she will. I guarantee it.”
I cocked my head to the side, giving it a proper moment of contemplation.
“But first do me a favor, if you don’t mind,” Dean added.
