Good Girls Don't (6 page)
“I want that for you, Erika. More than anything, I want you to find happiness—to find love—and to feel complete.”
“The two of them are meant to get together, and it’s going to be wonderful,” Erika continued, pushing the corner of the envelope under her folded jeans, then easing the drawer shut. “And I believe there’s a reason I came to Tybee Island too. I’m chasing my dream, and it’s going to be wonderful.”
Butch punched the door open, stormed in and dropped the beer on the counter. “I wanna make up.”
“I’ve gotta go, Amy. Everything’s going to be fine. For everyone.”
D
id coffee in the afternoon qualify as a date?
Colette didn’t think so, but she wasn’t certain. Maybe sharing a coffee was all Bill had in mind when he said they should get together while she was in town.
However,
she thought with a smile,
guys generally don’t locate your G-spot over coffee.
She laughed out loud, then waved away the stares of her fellow passengers on the MARTA train.
“Our next stop is Midtown. Midtown is our next scheduled stop,” a woman’s computerized voice cracked repeatedly through the intercom system.
Her stomach quivered. Funny that Bill had suggested they meet at Jitters for a break from work, since “jitters” accurately described her present state.
And why? This was Bill, after all.
But this was also Bill, twelve years older than she remembered. How had he changed? How had she? Would he even recognize her now? In her opinion, she still looked fairly close to the girl from high school. Her hair was shorter than he’d remember, and her attire was different now. She glanced at her navy pantsuit, practical pumps and silk chemise. Not exactly the look-at-me-type thing she wore back then. Would he take one look and realize she wasn’t the impulsive girl he’d befriended before? That she’d settled down and actually grown up? Did she want him to see her as settled?
The train screeched to a halt.
“Midtown,” the voice announced, and the doors slid open.
Colette swallowed, stood and took a deep breath before exiting. Jitters was a half block away, so she had a little more time to gather her composure before she saw . . .
Have mercy.
He casually leaned against one of the columns in the station. His jet-black hair was shorter on top, different than she remembered, but a tapered cut that befitted a successful businessman. Navy suit. Red power tie. Thick dark brows. Eyes the color of chocolate.
Had he always been that tall?
Her stomach pitched. She’d never been nervous about seeing Bill in the past. But she’d also never really “looked” at Bill in the past. Not the way she was looking now. The way she’d look at a hot, hunky, successful man in a gorgeous suit, totally worthy of a
GQ
cover, with a lean, fit frame, who was giving her a smile that was . . .
Real.
Excitement pulsed through her, and she laughed. This was her old friend, and she’d missed him.
“I thought we were meeting at the coffee shop,” she said, quickening her pace until she reached him and wrapped her arms around his neck.
Lord, did he always smell this good?
Laughing, he squeezed her tight, lifting her from the floor in a big bear hug, then gently placed her heels back on the concrete. “Good to see you, Lettie.”
“You too.” Her feet may have been on the ground, but her head was still floating, particularly when she looked into his eyes. They were alive with anticipation, and didn’t hold an ounce of the pain that she’d witnessed the last time they’d been together. God, how she’d hated hurting him before. And, man, how she’d missed looking into those eyes.
Bill held her there as the train pulled away. “You okay?”
Could he tell she was trembling?
“Yeah. Just can’t believe it’s been so long.”
“Me either. But never again. Deal?”
“Deal.”
“I know we said we’d meet at Jitters, but I was eager to see you,” he said.
“I was eager too.”
“Come on, I’ll show you the way.” He guided her through the station. “How was your flight?”
Without warning, she gulped air and started coughing. Lying was going to be even tougher when she was this close to Bill, with his palm against the small of her back while they made their way down the street.
“You okay?” he asked again, and stopped walking.
Colette nodded. Oh yeah, she was great. At the moment, she was lying to her old best friend, whose mere presence, by the way, was making her uterus do a happy dance. And why was that? It hadn’t been that long since she’d had sex—even if it wasn’t anything to write home about—but there was something about looking at Bill, and knowing that this was the guy who’d known her back when, that had her seeing visions of . . . naked Bill.
Bill, who was currently on the receiving end of a My Alibi lie.
Yep, she was super.
“I’m fine,” she said, her eyes watering.
He withdrew a handkerchief from his back pocket, then gently wiped her tears away. “Better?”
“Yeah.” Why didn’t it surprise her that Bill kept a handkerchief in his pocket? And why did she think he probably kept it for times like this? For wiping away tears. Had he wiped away his niece’s tears during the last three years? Colette looked at those dark eyes, at the mouth frowning slightly at the corners as he brushed the last teardrop away. Yeah, he had wiped all of Erika’s tears away. That was just the kind of guy he was. The kind of guy he’d always been.
“Thanks.”
He grinned, and she realized something else. She’d missed his smile too. “Think you can handle a cup of java now?”
“Sure. I only get choked breathing.”
And listening to you ask about a flight that didn’t take place.
“Good. Because we’re here.” He pointed to a small coffee shop, its exterior completely covered in cobblestone and its windows bordered in red-and-gold stained glass. A crimson awning with the Jitters logo—a tall, steaming coffee mug—balanced above the door.
Colette had heard of the locally owned shop, but she’d never ventured to Midtown to try it out. Matter of fact, she rarely left Marietta during the day, which would prove an advantage now. She could honestly experience Jitters for the first time . . . with Bill.
“I come here every afternoon,” he said, then shrugged. “Hey, if you’ve gotta have a vice, I figure coffee isn’t such a terrible one to tack onto your day. I remember you had to have a candy bar every afternoon before sixth period at Sheldon. Still need your daily chocolate fix?”
She shook her head. “I guess not.” It’d been years since she’d given up her afternoon ritual. She’d replaced it with a morning ritual, but that didn’t have anything to do with chocolate. And she wasn’t about to share that little secret with Bill.
“Guess we have changed.” He opened the door and waited for her to step through as a bell-laden ribbon announced their entry.
“Hi, Mr. Brannon,” a young waitress asked, her broad grin overpowering her pixie face. “You’re running a little late for your afternoon caffeine fix, aren’t you?”
Bill laughed. “I was waiting for my friend. Maria, this is Lettie Campbell. Lettie, meet Maria, the best waitress in Atlanta.”
The young girl giggled. “He just says that because I give him extra whipped cream.” She reached for two menus from a wooden bin by the door, but halted when an older waitress hurried toward them from the rear of the restaurant.
“Maria, you’re going to be late for class,” the woman scolded. Frowning, she took the menus from Maria’s hand.
“Sorry, Mr. Brannon,” Maria said. “You’re getting Mama today.”
The white-haired woman glared at her daughter. “Go to school, Maria.”
Maria shrugged. “Nice to meet you, Lettie. And I’ll see you tomorrow, Mr. Brannon.” She gave her mother a smile that said she wasn’t bothered at all by the older woman’s disapproval, then she headed out the door.
“That girl,” the woman muttered. She turned toward Bill. “Would you like to sit inside or on the patio?” She wore a red T-shirt and black pants, and had a short pencil tucked behind one ear. She was dressed like a teen, but Colette would guess Maria’s mother hadn’t seen her teens in a good forty or fifty years.
“Up to you,” he said, smiling at Colette.
“Patio.”
They followed the waitress while Colette tried to recall the last time a man had opened a door for her, or asked her where she’d prefer to sit.
She couldn’t remember.
The patio was small, with five circular wrought-iron tables decked with crisp white tablecloths and thick red candles.
“Your menus,” the woman said, dropping two thick folders on their table, then leaving.
“She seems to be having a bad day,” Colette said, as the woman barreled through the restaurant.
“Nah, that’s just the way Rita copes. She’s been grumpy ever since Maria started back to college. Rita’s convinced if her daughter gets her degree, she’ll leave town.”
“You know them well?” she asked.
“Just from my daily cup of coffee. Sometimes Rita feels like talking; sometimes she feels like throwing something.”
A loud crash sounded from the kitchen.
“Looks like today is a throwing something day,” he said, winking.
Her heart skittered in response to that wink.
“I’m glad you could take a break from work,” he said. “I thought that would help us get past—” he leaned forward and lifted his palms—“this.”
“This?” she asked.
“The awkward stage of seeing each other again after so long. You’re still as beautiful as I remember, by the way.”
Heat bristled against Colette’s cheeks, and she didn’t know how to respond. He was right—this was awkward. But fun. She scanned the menu to keep him from seeing her face.
But Bill Brannon had always been a master at reading her; evidently, that was still the case.
“You’ve definitely changed,” he said.
She jerked her head up. Did he know she was a professional liar? “How?”
“The old Lettie wouldn’t have gotten embarrassed just now. In fact, you’d have put on a fake pout because I didn’t say you were
more
beautiful than I remembered; then you’d have punched me and told me not to get any ideas about stealing half of your Snickers in the afternoon.”
“True,” she admitted, while a surge of relief washed through her. “But it wouldn’t have mattered. You’d have taken half, anyway,” she said, really enjoying the stroll down memory lane.
“What can I say? I took what I wanted.”
“Did you?” she asked, unable to resist. “Always?”
His chair squeaked as he scooted forward, placed his elbows on the table and clasped his fingers under his chin. “No, I didn’t, or I wouldn’t have let you leave Sheldon that night. But, like we’ve already determined, we’ve changed.”
“So you’re saying you take what you want now?”
A deep dimple pierced his left cheek with the wideness of his smile. “Definitely.”
She mentally attempted to slow her pulse. Lord, she felt light-headed, but she didn’t want to stop this insightful conversation. Particularly not with this latest Bill Brannon admission. “And what is it you’re wanting right—”
“Take your order?” Rita said, halting Colette’s attempt to see how far he planned on this “thing” going.
Bill winked at Colette, and once again, sent her heart racing. “Go ahead.”
“No,” she said, handing the menu to Rita. “You tell her what I want,” she challenged.
Rita turned back to Bill and smiled. It was the first smile she had seen from the woman, and it stretched from cheek to cheek. “There’s forty-two choices,” Rita said, intensifying the pressure.
Colette laughed. “Pretty good odds,
if
you still know me.”
With his eyes never leaving Colette’s, he handed the menu to the waitress. “She’ll have a Snickers mocha latte with extra whipped cream. And I’ll have the same.” That dimple flashed again, and she fought the way it made her tongue want to lick it. Lord help her, this was Bill. But granted, this was a grown-up, confident and definitely male version of the brotherly friend from high school.
How did she ever look at him as a brother type?
“Well?” Rita coaxed.
“I’d have ordered an espresso,” Colette said.
The smile on the older woman’s face would rival any beauty queen’s. She cocked her hip and looked pointedly at Bill. “Looks like you were wrong—”
“But,” Colette interrupted, “after hearing you have—what was it called again?”
Bill’s look of triumph was priceless. “A Snickers mocha latte.”
Rita shook her head. “
Hmph
. I suppose you want the extra whipped cream too, right?”
“Definitely,” Colette said.
The frustrated lady left.
“Guess I’ve got some catching up to do, to figure out everything about you that’s changed since graduation,” he said.
“And I’ve got plenty to learn too. Like your niece. She’s living with you now?” Colette asked.
She’d have to choose her questions wisely, so he wouldn’t know that she already had his address, his typical work schedule, cell phone number and work number on an information sheet at her office. Lord, this lying business sure was easier when you were doing it to strangers.
His smile faltered. “Do you remember my sister, Ginny? She was eight years older than I was, so you may not.”
“I remember her. Black hair, very pretty.”
“Yeah, that’s Ginny.” He accepted his mug from the waitress and took a sip, then watched her do the same. “You like it?”
She nodded. “It’s delicious.”
What was the appropriate thing to do? To say? Did he want to talk about Ginny and Erika, or would he rather not? Way back when, she could tell when Bill wanted to talk, what he wanted to talk about and when he’d rather remain silent. Now, though, she didn’t have a clue. And that realization stung. They really did have a lot of catching up to do.
He continued sipping his drink, but finally placed it back on the table. “We lost Ginny three years ago to cancer, and Erika needed a place to live.”
There was a lot he wasn’t saying in the statement, but Colette assumed he didn’t want to get into the details now, so she played it as safe as possible. “I’m sorry about Ginny, but I’m not surprised you took Erika to live with you.”