A Is for Alpha Male (4 page)

Fortunately, once we got her out from under his influence, it took hardly any time at all to build her back up.

See, Allison is one of the best kind of people. One hundred percent pure of heart, her every intention good.

I’m a horse of a different color. I’m mostly good-hearted, but there’s also a jug full of cynicism and just a pinch of unabashed frigidity in there.

A faithful student of Live and Let Live, I mostly try to stay out of other people’s business and choices. After all, I wouldn’t want someone nosing around in my less than perfect life. However, if the person you’re planning on messing with is me or someone I love, be prepared to deal with the unmitigated wrath of Mama Wolf.

Try to smother the bright light that beams out of my Mama, and I’ll rip your fucking throat out with my teeth.

Metaphorically speaking, of course. I’m not a cannibal.

Therefore, one could say I wasn’t content to just let Allison’s dear old ex go on his merry way post-divorce.

No fucking way.

What could a petite little girl like me do, you say?

Well, it just so happens I had a bigger, stronger partner at my back, known by all as my brother.

Going on some theories I had been harboring, I had Hunter do a little digging (all of this completely under Allison’s radar), and it turns out Mr. CFO was doing a little borrowing of the company funds. Read: Embezzling.

I hear prison is an absolutely lovely place.

Meanwhile, my dear sweet mother and I were in a convertible, on a road trip, with nothing but the prospect of perfectly worthy men in front of us.

Seemed about right to me.

A smile crept onto my face, and I peeked out from under my Maui Jim sunglasses to look over at my Mom.

Her bare feet were up on my dash, her head was back against the head rest and rocking, her lips moved to the rhythm and lyrics of the song, and her right hand was riding the resistance the air provided in a wave motion.

Bringing my eyes back to the road ahead, I relaxed into the seat, pushed the pedal a little closer to the floor, and lost myself in the sound of the radio and the heat of the sun on my face.

Destination: The Beach.

ETA: As soon as fucking possible.

WHEN WE FINALLY got to Gulf View, Alabama, we were exhausted. I’d like to tell you that we got all dolled up, swathed on the war paint (aka makeup), and went out on the town, but that would make me full of shit.

It was a long drive, coming in at around nine hours with stops. Plus, we had had to make the decision that this was our destination in the first place.

It was easy in the beginning, when we were just leaving Knoxville, because I knew we needed to get on 75 south pretty much no matter what destination we settled on. However, about an hour and a half into the road trip, around the time we were getting close to Chattanooga, I made the executive decision that we needed to make a decision.

Helpful of me, huh?

Thus, a discussion ensued on the merits of Florida that ended in my (unfounded) declaration that Florida was “so last season”. After considering Tybee Island in Georgia and Gulfport, Mississippi, we decided that Gulf View was the way to go.

And it was pretty much for no reason whatsoever. We started to discuss the features of each place but quickly tired of that, and ended up doing Eenie, Meenie, Miney, Mo on Allison’s fingers instead.

So basically, we just let fate steer our course. Fate, and a tiger we caught by his toe, that is. Let me tell you, he was fucking ferocious.

Allison was settling into the room and ordering up some room service (that’s right, no Motel Six for the girl’s trip), and I was on my way down the hall to get some ice.

Knowing it would only get harder the longer I waited, I called Hunter. At least this way I would have some privacy, and Allison wouldn’t be able to see the insecurity glaring off of my face.

Two shrill rings sounded in my ear before he picked up.

The ringing may have been shrill, but I would take that over a callback ringtone any day. Everyone knows that there’s a four ring courtesy if you’re not going to leave a message. If a person doesn’t pick up after four rings, you hang up. If they want to talk to you, they’ll call back. But when you call and there is no ring, but instead, some insidious pop song playing in your ear, how do you properly gauge the time of a four ring courtesy?

You can’t. That’s how.

“Hey Sis. It’s about fucking time you called your one and only brother,” Hunter’s deep voice announced over the line.

Keen to keep the conversation in the vain of verbal sparring rather than disappointment, I went right back at him with my own dose of attitude. “Well, Jesus. I guess I have a sister now, huh? Your fragile emotions taking it personally that I didn’t call you before now? When do you start your period? Tomorrow? Maybe we can get our cycles to sync up when I get home.”

Raucous laughter filled my ear, and I couldn’t stop the smile from transforming my face.

“I love you too, Sis.”

My face softened and my walls lowered. Those were words I couldn’t joke about and took all too seriously. “Bottom of my heart, Hunter. And you know that’s the damn truth. I promise I meant no offense when I didn’t call,” I responded in a much softer voice.

“I know. Just wanted to hear your voice. Have fun, and look out for Mom. Don’t let her get too Cougar-y, and try to reset her compass so it points somewhere other than asshole.”

“I feel you, my man. Though I’m thinking just a little Cougar action may be a good thing.”

“Yeah, yeah. Just make sure he’s potty trained.”

“Ro-ger.”

Disconnect.

I pulled my phone away from my ear and looked, just to make sure he was actually gone, before slipping it into my back pocket.

That was Hunter. When he was done talking, he just stopped. No warning, just dead air. Once we got old enough that we lived apart and actually called each other, it took me a good couple of months of phone conversations to stop talking to myself after he’d already hung up.

Continuing down the hall to the vending area, I took my time and walked at a languid pace. This was, after all, vacation.

Opening the door with my free hand, I walked into the little room and could hear the hum of the junk food and candy machines getting juiced with electricity. Stopping at the monstrosity of an ice machine, I picked up the bucket, re-situated the little plastic baggy liner, held it in place with both hands, and then realized that I needed a hand to push the button. It wasn’t one of the ones where you can just put pressure on the lever with the bucket; it was the one with a separate button.

Figuring I would just have to make do holding the baggy with one hand, I released the bucket with the other and pushed the button.

And then almost peed myself when it started making noise.

Jesus, it was loud, and not just with the sounds of the ice making its way into the bucket, but with a sickly moan that could only suggest that this particular machine was on its last life.

While cats have nine lives, ice machines only have five. I don’t know that that’s scientific fact, but it’s close.

Grabbing my bucket and putting some distance between me and the monster, I opened the door, made short work of the hall, and banged the door with my foot so that Allison would open it for me.

I patiently waited for a couple of seconds, the heavy drab door unmoving under my gaze.

When a big, extremely overweight, bald man in nothing more than a white bath robe opened the door and gave me a salacious smile, I felt my eyes go round with surprise, muttered a quick, “Oopsie,” and moved down the hall another two doors, this time actually paying attention to the numbers.

I didn’t even have to kick it this time, as my mom had propped it open on the little metal door stopper thing, but I did peek my head in slowly—just to make sure.

When I walked in, Allison looked up from her spot on the bed and took me in.

I wasn’t sure if I looked harried or normal, but I seemed to check out okay, because she didn’t shrink back in terror.

“You know leaving your door propped open like that as a woman, traveling alone, or with another woman as the case may be, is about the very last thing a self-defense instructor would recommend,” I preached.

“Yeah, well, I didn’t expect you to be out there for eight hundred years.”

“I’m pretty sure that’s, at the very least, a slight exaggeration, Allison. I was gone seven hundred years, max. Plus, I almost died at the hands of an ice machine, and a very large, very ugly robe-wearing gentleman tried to have his way with me.”

“Okay, Haley, that’s pretty disturbing, so I’m going to need you to dial back the drama long enough to tell me what actually happened.”

What? That was nowhere near as much fun. Not to mention, I was pretty sure she was the one who had started with the drama. Miss “you were gone eight hundred years”.

Rolling my eyes, I huffed and then told her how it actually went, stating, “The ice machine was loud, and I accidentally knocked on big, ugly guy’s door.”

Allison’s head seemed to take on a life of its own, nodding slowly at the same time that she pulled her lips in her mouth. Her whole body said quite clearly that I was unbelievable and that she was once again questioning my maternity.

Not giving her anymore time to stew on that, I moved on quickly to my next slightly unhinged topic.

“I also called Hunter, so you can get off my back about that.”

“I wasn’t aware that I was
on
your back about that, Haley,” she responded.

She wasn’t. I was just touchy.

“Geez, drop it already,” I whined.

What? I recognized that I was touchy, but I didn’t suddenly become a different person.

“I really hope this evil version of you only makes very brief appearances on this trip.”

“I know, I’m just hungry,” I said in an attempt to explain my actions.

“Well, then I guess it’s good that room service is on its way,” she informed me, as ever knowing my needs before I even knew them.

I launched myself at her full body, wrapping my arms around her tight and slamming her body into the bed, all the while squeeing, “I love you, mommy!”

Allison burst out laughing, and then tried to talk through her hysteria. “You know, life without you would be boring.” She stroked my hair a few times and then added, “It might be nice.”

I pulled back, scoffed, and informed her, “No way. You love me.”

A look of peace encompassed her face and her voice was like velvet when she murmured, “That I do, baby girl. That I do.”

“No way am I going to a beach bar,” I told Allison as we laid on the beach, soaking up some rays.

The rest of the night before was laid back and fun, my mood turning significantly less snarky once room service arrived. We watched a few movies, Rom Coms of course, and then fell asleep on opposite sides of our king sized bed.

Even at our age we had no trouble sleeping in bed together, turned toward one another and gabbing until one or both of us fell asleep. It was the fucking best, and I planned to do it until we were both shriveled, little, old women.

Therefore, it didn’t make sense to get a room with double beds. If we happened to find male companionship we would need another room anyway, as per the not-being-able-to-hear-you-moan rule.

We had gotten up pretty early this morning, had breakfast in a little street café, and then walked the shops looking for a salon that would be able to do my hair on extremely short notice.

I was nervous about getting it done at some random place, but I was pretty adventurous in the color department, going lighter or darker or adding highlights with the frequency that some other women would change their outfit.

Granted, they’d be pretty dirty women because I absolutely didn’t color it more than every four or five weeks, but you catch my drift.

Luckily, success had been found, and a fabulous black-haired woman named Alexandra had trimmed me up and given me a few sun inspired highlights without incident.

After that we hadn’t wasted time changing into our bikinis and taking up residence on the beach where we were now.