Waiting On You
Page 38

“Hey, gang,” Bryce said affably. “Are we having a party?”
Didi’s mouth was disappearing, her eyes narrowed, hands on her hips. “What’s going on here?” she asked, looking as though she smelled raw sewage.
“We figured Joe could use a change of scenery,” Lucas said.
“Mom, this is Paulie Petrosinsky,” Bryce said. “How’s it hanging, Paulie?”
“Hi,” Paulie said, her face igniting. “Um, nice to see you, Mrs. Campbell.”
“Aren’t you the Chicken Princess? From TV?”
Paulie’s face grew even more red, and Colleen made a note to use dishwater in Didi’s drink the next time she came into O’Rourke’s. “The power behind the chicken throne, right, Paulie?” she said. “Mrs. Campbell, Paulie is chief operating officer of her father’s franchise.”
Didi wasn’t impressed. “I’m still not sure why any of you are here.”
“Well, you forgot to pick me up, Didi, I had to get a ride from someone,” Joe said.
“And who gave permission for them to rearrange my house?”
“I did,” Lucas said, and Colleen felt a little thrill at the dark edge in his voice. So Heathcliff. “Joe deserves better than the storage room.” He looked at his uncle. “I’m sorry we didn’t think of it before.”
“Totally great idea,” Bryce said. “Dad, we can watch baseball in here, if you fall asleep, you won’t have to schlep off to your room.”
“Does anyone care what I think?” Didi asked, putting on a wounded look. “This is my house, too! It’s my money that supports us. It’s my hard work...” Her eyes widened with terror, and she staggered back a few steps. “Oh, my God! What the hell is that? Help! Bryce, help!”
Everyone looked around. “It’s just a dog,” Bryce said. “Chill, Mom.”
“Get that thing out of here!” Didi commanded. Rufus, sensing fear, felt fear himself and barked back.
“Stop! Get it out!”
“Don’t yell at him,” Colleen said. “You’re scaring him, and he’s likely to attack when threatened.” Granted, the last thing Rufus had attacked was the bacon she’d left out on her plate last week, but that bacon had been asking for it. “It’s okay, Rufus. Don’t mind the scary lady.”
His tail wagged, sweeping the remote and several doodads from the end table.
“It’s destroying everything!” Didi said. Rufus barked again. “Get it out!”
“Come on, Rufie,” Savannah said. “Wanna go for a ride? In the car? You wanna go in the car for a ride?”
Rufus leaped at the magic words, crashing against Joe’s bed (which only made him smile), jumped onto one of the chairs, barking with joy, then raced through the house to find the door that would lead him to his beloved pastime.
“I’ll wait outside, Collie,” Savannah said.
“Okay, babe. Thanks.”
“I’m sending you a cleaning bill,” Didi bit out. “Joe needs quiet. He can’t stay here. Lucas, move all this back to your old room.”
“Ellen and her parents are coming to visit,” Lucas said, and a little jolt of jealousy shot through her. “They want to see Joe. Can’t imagine what they’d say if he was in that dark little room in the back.”
Didi paused. The woman had always been an ass-kisser, Colleen recalled. “Fine,” she said. “I have a migraine. I’m going to lie down.”
With that, she tap-tapped across the tiled floor and stomped up the stairs.
“Sorry about that,” Bryce said. “She’s under a lot of stress lately.”
“No, of course,” Paulie said. She reached out as if to pat his arm, looked at Colleen for approval. Colleen nodded, and the pat was meted out, Paulie drawing in a shaking breath.
“Thanks, Paulie,” Bryce said. “So, Lucas, is Ellen really coming to visit? That’s great.”
So great, Colleen thought, then chided herself for being petty. “I should get going,” she said. “It was so nice seeing you, Joe. See you, Bryce.”
“Colleen, Paulie, I don’t know how to thank you,” Joe said. “But I’ll think of something. Tell your sister she’s my new best girl, okay, Colleen?”
“You bet.”
“See you at the gym, Paulie,” Bryce said. Paulie responded with a huge (and adorable) smile. Colleen smiled, too. Her matchmaking skills were working. Again.
“I’ll walk you out,” Lucas said. He held the door for them, and they went out on the porch. Savannah was throwing a ball to Rufus, then running to catch up to him. They went around back, the dog barking joyfully, and Colleen hoped the sound hurt Didi’s brain.
“Well, I’ll let you two make googly eyes at each other,” Paulie said. “See you around, big man.” She punched Lucas in the shoulder hard enough that he rocked.
“You’re good people, Paulie,” he said, giving her a kiss on the cheek. “My cousin’s lucky to know you.”
Well, well, well.
Paulie’s eyes filled with tears. “Shit, Lucas, thanks. That means a lot to me.” She socked him again, gave a watery smile and ran out to her car.
Savannah was conveniently in the backyard, judging from the sound of Rufus’s barks.
“We can probably pass on the googly eyes,” Colleen said, clearing her throat.
He wrapped her in his arms and hugged her against him, tucking her face against his beautiful, smooth warm neck. “Thank you,” he whispered, and her entire side electrified.
“Oh, you know,” she said, her voice wobbling. She tried to pull back, but he just held her tighter.
“Have dinner with me tomorrow,” he murmured, his lips so close to her ear. “I promise not to break your heart.”
Her heart thudded fast and hard. He smelled so good. Felt so right. Tasted so— Down, girl, she told herself, resisting the urge to bite his neck. “I can’t tomorrow. It’s the party. The Petrosinsky thing.”
He pulled back, his eyes so dark and liquid and beautiful, those soulful Latin eyes. “Then soon.”
Rufus came bounding into the front, Savannah right behind, and crashed against them, practically dislocating Colleen’s knee. “Oh, my God, are you guys kissing?” her sister asked.
“Not quite,” Lucas said, letting her go, and Colleen took a shaky step back. “Not yet.”
“You slay me, Spaniard,” she whispered.
“I do my best.” He smiled, and that just about sealed the deal.
She was in serious trouble.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
COLLEEN HAD FELT that Bryce needed to see Paulie on her own turf, where, one hoped, she’d feel more confident and secure.
The Petrosinsky home looked gorgeous in a French surrealism, circusy kind of way...the chicken statues loomed large and ominously cheerful around a yellow-and-red-striped tent on the lawn, and dozens and dozens of chickens were roasting over a huge barbecue pit. There was a table full of salads and summery foods¸ a lemonade stand, a full bar. A band played the grotto—yes, there was a grotto—and the Crooked Lake shimmered in the distance.
Colleen had picked out a dress for Paulie to wear, part of the “I’m a Girl” campaign, and then done her makeup (subtly, just some mascara and lip gloss to give her strong features a little more femininity) and hair, which was a bit of a challenge. But the dress was really cute—yellow and cheery, a full skirt that swished and swirled and showed off Paulie’s chiseled legs. It seemed to be working; Bryce had ambled up to Paulie right away, and, as instructed, she’d led him off on a tour of the many chicken statues that dotted the grounds, her adopted dogs following joyfully.
The sound of a rooster cut through the air; right. Ronnie Petrosinsky was having a crowing contest.
Lucas didn’t seem to be here yet. Should she be having dinner with him at all? Would they end up in bed? Just the thought made her knees buckle.
It didn’t help that every spot in town seemed to hold some wicked-hot memories. Wicked being the operative word. The first time she’d let Lucas put his hand up her shirt. The first time she’d taken his off. The first time, period, when she’d told him she loved him, and it seemed like his heart might break at those words.
She sighed, either with longing or frustration or nostalgia or lust or all of the above. Her special parts needed attention. This was a problem.
She needed a drink. Some wine would be nice.
“Sangria?”
“Connor, just when I’m ready to auction you off to a home for unwed mothers, here you are, redeeming yourself.” She took the glass, glancing around at the other guests.
“Looking for Lucas?” Connor asked. “Because you’re stupid and want your heart broken all over again?”
“Nice weather, isn’t it?”
“Coll...”
“I don’t want my heart broken, Connor. No.”
“Stay away from him, in that case.”
“Where’s your date, brother mine?”
“She’s not here. Are you kidding? With you and Mom here? Not to mention Dad and Gail.”
Sure enough, there was Mother Dear, tossing back a white Zinfandel and 7-Up, her signature cocktail. “You think she drinks that just to punish us?”
“I do, yes,” Connor answered.
Colleen took a sip of the sangria. “So this mystery woman, Con, she must be dying to meet your beloved twin.”
“Not really.”
“She is. Admit it.”
“We’ve been on three dates, Colleen.”
“Sex?”
“No comment. And you’d better not be sleeping with Lucas.”
“Really! So you’re doing it. Good. Is she blonde? I bet she is. She is, isn’t she? Lovely. You know, Con, for a while, I thought you were g*y. Figured you and Jeremy would make a great couple—”
“Okay, fine. I’ll shut up about Lucas if you’ll shut up about everything else.”
She smiled over the rim of her glass. “Deal.”
“Just don’t come crying to me when he—”
“You know what? I’m gonna go talk to Mom. It’s come to that.” She walked over to their mother. “Hi,” she said with a dutiful kiss.
“There’s your father and That Whore.”
“Yes.” Savannah was somewhere, then; Colleen scanned for her sister. Hopefully, she’d be off playing with some other kids; but more likely, she was hiding inside, eating in secret so Gail wouldn’t chastise her, poor kid.
Stan, Stan the Hairy Man was nowhere in sight. “No date for you, Mom?” Colleen asked.
“No,” Mom said, not taking her eyes off Dad and Gail. “That Stan was quite unappealing, it turns out. A little too fascinated with his work. All he could talk about was infected bowels and intestinal parasites.”
“And that put you off, did it?”
Her mother still stared at Dad, who was excellent at not seeing his ex-wife. His hand was on Gail’s back, just above the legendary ass.
Poor Mom.
“Here’s the thing, Colleen,” Mom said slowly, and Colleen braced for bitterness. “I never got over him. I should have, I wanted to, I know he cheated on me and I know he’s completely over me, but I still love him.”
There was no bitterness. And no false naïveté, either, no “lapse in judgment” excuse. It was, horribly, just a fact.
“I’m sorry, Mommy,” she whispered, squeezing her mother’s hand.
“I’m a laughingstock.”
“No, you’re not! You’re great. They love you at Blue Heron, and you have a lot of friends, and—”