Stacking the Deck (A Betting on Romance Novel Book 2) Read online

  Dum. Dum. De-dum. Dum-de-dum-de-dum-de-DUM…

  “Oh, crap,” she said.

  Carter turned to look at her. “Is that your cell phone?” Liz nodded. “Unusual ring tone.”

  “I prefer to think of it as an early warning system.” Carter’s eyebrow did that wingy thing at her in question. “It’s my mother.”

  Her purse strap jingled again.

  “Aren’t you going to answer it?”

  “I can call her back.” Liz picked up a bulb of garlic and sniffed it. She looked at Carter. “What?”

  “Your mother is calling.”

  “I—” Oh, crap. That’s right. Carter didn’t have a mother. She’d died when he was little. Some terrible accident. Liz fought not to squirm under his gaze. She pulled out her phone. “Hi, Mom!”

  She gave Carter a cheery smile and braced herself for the volume. He’d think she were a cad if she held the phone at a safe distance from her ear like she usually did.

  “Elizabeth! I’m glad I caught you! How’s the weather? I hear you might be in for some rain this week! You can never trust the Weather Channel, though. They are so often wrong! Elizabeth?”

  “Yes?”

  “Oh, I thought I’d lost you! You’re so quiet!”

  “I’m in the grocery store, Mom.”

  “Where?”

  “The— nevermind. What do you need?” She glanced guiltily at Carter. “I mean, why are you calling?”

  “It’s your dad! He’s worried about the patio. He doesn’t want the pavers to have grass growing out of them. You know how awful that looks! Can you make sure they use that special sand that keeps the grass from growing?”

  “Special sand that keeps grass from growing? I’ve never heard—”

  “Polymeric,” said Carter as he threw a watermelon into the cart.

  A watermelon?

  Liz put her hand over the phone. “What?”

  “Polymeric sand. It keeps grass from growing between the pavers. Tell her it’s standard now for all our jobs unless the customer wants wider, greenscaped joints.”

  “I have no idea what you’re talking about,” she said to him.

  “Here.” He reached out. “Let me talk to her.”

  “I don’t think—” But he’d already grabbed the phone.

  “Mrs. Beacon? Hey! It’s Carter McIntyre. Yeah… I know, quite the coincidence that we’re both here.” He winked at Liz. “Listen, just so you know, I use polymeric sand all the time now… Yes. It is a little more, but I know you and Mr. Beacon will be happy with the results… Absolutely... Any time… Sure... You take good care, too.”

  Carter handed back her phone, and Liz stared at him, shocked he’d managed to have a meaningful exchange of information with her mother in less than twenty seconds.

  “Mom?”

  “She hung up. She had to go. By the way, she says you need to eat more red meat. You’re looking pale.”

  “She did not.”

  “Okay. She didn’t, but I think we’ve spent enough time in the produce section. I need protein.”

  “Protein?”

  “Something other than bunny food.”

  Liz rolled her eyes. “Right.”

  She continued on, trying to focus on selecting whole grain bread and carrot sticks and 100-calorie, low-sodium pretzel packs, but Carter kept throwing in things like chips and sour cream dip. Bricks of cheese.

  Before long, Liz found herself reaching for manly things without even thinking. Big red slabs of meat. Potatoes. Bacon. Which didn’t even make sense, because hadn’t she and Grant sworn off nitrates? But there it was, lying in the cart with everything else. And, truly, the roast beef sandwiches weren’t anything without the bacon.

  Forty minutes later, they stood in line at the check-out, Carter throwing in Twizzlers from the candy rack and Liz pretending not to notice how ruggedly sexy he was as she casually flicked the end of her ponytail over her shoulder. More than once.

  She caught herself mid-flick and made herself reach for the jug of milk without any more flirtatious body movements.

  “Carter McIntyre? Is that you? I swear, you are the hardest person to get ahold of!”

  Liz stilled, the milk jug sweating in her palm. She’d know that sicky-sweet, never set a pinky-toe below the Mason Dixon Line, fake Southern Belle voice anywhere. Valerie Stinson. Bleh. Liz could almost feel her ankles swell and her breasts deflate with every saccharine syllable gushing from Valerie’s annoyingly bow-shaped lips. She watched out of the corner of her eye as Val tucked a wisp of blonde hair behind one ear and smiled dazzlingly—at Carter, of course.

  “Wait. Is that… Brainy Beacon?”

  Liz squinted at the label on the milk jug—as if deeply in need of determining its nutritional value before placing it on the conveyor belt.

  She didn’t think it was a stretch, acting as if she didn’t recognize Valerie, seeing as Valerie hadn’t been this particular shade of blonde in high school nor this buxom-y, either, to Liz’s memory. The cashier was waiting for the milk, though, so Liz handed it over.

  “What? Valerie? Valerie Stinson? Wow. It’s been… ages, hasn’t it? Actually, Carter and I—”

  “—were just heading home for dinner. Liz, you forgot the wine.”

  “Wine?” Liz fumbled the bacon, and it shot out of her hand at the cashier. The cashier gave her an annoyed look.

  “Yeah. Get whatever you like.”

  “But, we shouldn’t hold up the line—”

  Valerie batted her baby blues at Carter before her smile faltered. “Wait. Are you two... together?”

  Now why would that be such a shocker? Liz wondered. She slapped a chuck roast onto the conveyer with slightly more force than necessary.

  Valerie had never liked her. Liz had no idea why. Val had always been skinny and popular and super tanned. But, ever since that birthday party at Jenny Whitmeyer’s, Val hadn’t just ignored Liz like she once had, she’d taken every opportunity to give her the evil eye. Aside from the fact that Liz had thrown off the grading curve in World History class, she couldn’t fathom what she’d ever done to earn Valerie’s ill will.

  “They’re still bagging. You’ve got time.” Carter said, giving her a pleading look.

  Liz mumbled an excuse and scurried off to the wine aisle.

  She stared blindly at the display—red or white?—grabbed one of each color and hurried back toward the check-out. On impulse, she picked up a six-pack of ale as well.

  When she arrived, Valerie was still hovering, and, not unexpectedly, giving her the evil eye.

  “I thought this might go better with the sandwiches,” Liz explained, passing over the ale.

  Carter beamed and set it on the belt. “Perfect. Have I told you today how much I love you?”

  Liz might have stuttered if she’d had the breath to reply. Running to the wine and beer sections reminded her she’d skimped on her morning workouts two days straight. Loved her? She pinched her lips together. Was that the same way he loved his poor girlfriend? Val could have this guy.

  “Well.” Valerie’s bow-lips looked like she’d just swallowed a lemon. She glanced back and forth between them. Carter turned to swipe his credit card. “Like I was saying, I’d love to see you at the Dinner Dance. Friday after next. Seven o’clock until... whenever,” she drew the last word out meaningfully, speaking as if she and Carter were the only ones there.

  “We’ll be there,” he beamed, then he yanked Liz tight against his side, knocking the remaining breath out of her. He grinned and plucked his receipt from the cashier’s fingers.

  “What—?” Liz struggled to regain her balance, but Carter already had their bags in the cart and was headed toward the exit. She caught up with him in the parking lot. “What just happened in there? And what dinner dance?”

  “The Alumni Dinner Dance. And you just saved me. Remind me to kiss your feet later.”

  Kate’s toes wiggled excitedly in her flats. Faithless piggies. “Saved you? Is she an ex-girlfrie
nd or something?”

  “Are you kidding? Vampire Val?” He visibly shuddered. “You didn’t know that’s what they called her back in high school?” He was quickly gathering their bags while simultaneously glancing over his shoulder as if afraid Valerie would actually chase them down in the parking lot.

  “No. We called her other things.”

  “Yeah, well I’m just glad I was never a victim.” He made little nipping motions at his neck with his fingertips as if Liz hadn’t already gotten the point. “She’s been leaving messages on my voice mail for two weeks. I figured if I pretended we were together, it’d nip any stalking tendencies in the bud.”

  “I live in Chicago. How could we possibly be together?”

  “Long distance relationship. I could totally make her believe it. You don’t mind, do you?”

  Liz stared at him with a look that must have conveyed her complete and utter disbelief at his gall, because Carter grinned. “So, you do mind?”

  She shook her head and opened the truck door with a hard yank. “If I were you, I’d be more worried about whether my girlfriend would mind.”

  Carter stopped, half a dozen bags dangling from his fists. “What girlfriend?”

  “Exactly.”

  “No. Seriously. What girlfriend?”

  “Don’t pretend you don’t know what I’m talking about.”

  He chuckled and then stopped laughing when he saw her expression. “I’m pretty sure I’d know if I had a girlfriend. What makes you think I do?”

  She rolled her eyes. “You know. The one you were talking to on your phone? Back at the house? The one you supposedly love? Jeez. I feel so sorry for her.”

  “You feel sorry—” Carter repeated as he stared at her strangely, then his chin went up as he set the bags in the truck on top of the empty bottles where her feet should go. “Oh. That girlfriend.”

  “So you do remember her! Nice. I’d say Valerie’s lucky you haven’t returned her calls.”

  “You know, I think I’m seeing a whole new side of you I never knew in high school.”

  “You mean the side that isn’t conned by charming smiles and witty banter?”

  “You think my smiles are charming?”

  She climbed onto the seat. “Off topic.”

  “And, you think I’m witty, but I’ll let that go. No, I was actually thinking I was seeing a whole, new, less pleasant side of you.”

  “If you mean I’m not as gullible as I once was, I’m okay with that.”

  He shut the door and spoke through the window. “I was thinking, downright cynical.”

  Liz settled her purse on her lap as Carter slid into the driver’s seat, but instead of starting the engine, he fished his wallet out of his back pocket. “You know what? I’d like you to see my so-called girlfriend.”

  He shoved a worn photo under her nose. Liz pushed it away then pulled it closer again.

  “She’s—”

  “My grandmother.”

  “You’re dating your grandmother?”

  “No!” Carter yanked the photo out of Liz’s hand and stuffed it back in his wallet. “Oh, I get it. You’re laughing at me. Well, that’s not funny. That’s just creepy.”

  Liz stopped laughing, although his horrified expression was still pretty entertaining. “No, creepy is a grown man who keeps a photo of his grandmother in his wallet.”

  “That’s not creepy. It’s sweet.”

  “No. It’s kind of creepy.”

  “See? You’re more judgmental than you used to be, too. I happen to have a good reason for carrying this picture around. I promised Grams that if I ever do a job for one of the rich widowers around the lake, I’ll put in a good word for her.”

  “Okay. Now that’s creepy.”

  “That’s not—” He sat back in his seat. “Shit. You’re right. I’m pimping for my own grandmother! I was just trying to keep her from signing up for one of those internet dating services she keeps threatening to join. You’ve no idea how many weirdos are out there…”

  “I’m getting an idea.”

  “But, this is so much creepier.”

  “Yes. But, in a good, well-intentioned sort of way, I’ll give you that.”

  “No, pretty much in a ‘I think I need to gouge my eyes out’ sort of way.” He put a hand to his gut. “I feel nauseous.”

  “So, you don’t have a girlfriend?”

  “No.”

  “Just a randy grandmother looking for hook-ups.”

  “It’s not like that.” He looked askance at her. “Okay. It’s a little like that.”

  “And people wonder why I wanted to get out of Sugar Falls.”

  Carter chuckled, a self-deprecating, charming rumble as he started the engine, and for the first time since seeing him again Liz felt… relaxed.

  She grinned back and began rummaging through the bags at her feet. “Do you remember where they packed my pretzels? I’m starved.”

  “Forget pretzels. Where are the swiss cake rolls?”

  Liz sat up. “You can’t be serious. Those are pure sugar! You’ll feel sick eating those on an empty stomach.”

  “What are you, my mother? Have you ever even had a swiss cake roll?”

  “No. But—”

  “Then how would you even know? They happen to be the perfect balance of light, chocolaty cake and whipped confection.” He leaned over the shifter, the back of his hand grazing her calf as he fished around for the box. “Ah! Here they are! I’m doing the happy dance now.” He tore the box open and offered her a plastic-wrapped treat.

  “No thanks.”

  He shrugged, peeled back the cellophane and ate half a cake roll in one bite as he threw the truck into reverse. He closed his eyes decadently as he chewed. Liz would have preferred he look where he was going.

  “Speaking of dancing,” she said, doing her best to ignore his little moans of pleasure as she simultaneously wrestled with a teeny package of pretzels and checked for obstacles in the truck’s path, “what’s this dinner dance thing you and Valerie were talking about?”

  “The Tenth Reunion Alumni Dinner Dance,” Carter said around a mouthful of chocolate as he drove toward the exit. “Val’s chair of the organizing committee. She’s been sending e-mails and calling people for months. I’m surprised you haven’t heard of it.”

  Liz’s mouth began to water as Carter finally swallowed and bit into the second half of his swiss cake roll. For all their empty nutritional value, they did smell awfully good. “I didn’t see any reason to provide a forwarding address when I moved to Chicago, seeing as I didn’t expect to be back.”

  “You’re here now,” he said, holding the second treat toward her mouth.

  She shook her head, but he didn’t move his hand and was coasting awfully close to the car in front of them, so she took a tiny bite. “Reunions aren’t my thing,” she said around the chocolate.

  “What? Afraid everyone will be staring at you?”

  “I just don’t see any reason to reconnect with people who weren’t important enough to keep in touch with in the first place.”

  “Don’t you even want to see who has gotten fat?”

  Liz gave him a look as the remaining cake roll disappeared between his lips.

  “Jenny Whitmeyer. Now Jenny Otterman.”

  “No.”

  “Yes. Big as a tank, sad to say.”

  “But she was so tiny in school! What happened?”

  “I think the sixth kid is what really tipped the scales.”

  Liz’s jaw dropped. “Sixth?”

  Carter nodded. “They’ve been busy. So you sure you don’t want to come? See who has hair plugs? Who’s on probation? Who’s already divorced twice?”

  “Someone’s gotten divorced twice? Who? It’s only been ten years!”

  “You’ll have to come to find out.”

  “I don’t know...”

  “Come on. I’ll be the envy of everyone to have you walking in on my arm.”

  “I don’t think that�
�s—”

  “Unless you’ve already been asked, which, seeing as you’ve just found out, seems unlikely.”

  “I’ll probably be back in Chicago by then.”

  “Look, if you don’t want to go, just say so. No hard feelings. I’ll just ask my girlfriend.”

  She gave him a look. “You’re right. It’s not funny,” she said.

  “Told you.”

  Liz fought not to smile as she looked out the side window, the familiar old brick facades of downtown passing by. Well. It wasn’t like it would be a date-date, she silently rationalized. More like a friend-date. Like tonight. “If I’m still here, I don’t suppose there’s any reason not to.”

  “Gee. Don’t get too excited.”

  “It’s not that. It’s just—”

  “Hey, don’t sweat it.” He stopped at a red light and laughed. “You always took things way too seriously. I’m just poking at you.”

  The light turned green, but before he started moving, he grabbed another pack of swiss cake rolls from the box and tossed it in her lap.

  “For you,” he said. “Even though you’ll never admit it... I know you want it.”

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  ____________________

  Twelve years earlier…

  “BAILEY, COME ON! I need your help! Blue, green or pink?”

  “Black.”

  Beth made a sound of disgust as she lowered the headbands she’d been holding up. “Would you stop sulking? I’ve got ten minutes before I’ve got to be at Jenny’s. You were invited, too, you know.”

  Bailey rolled her eyes which looked kind of freaky behind the heavy layers of goth make-up she had taken to wearing ever since she found out Jim Croce was dead and not just retired. Like Tinker Bell gone to the Dark Side. “Can’t. I’m getting my nose pierced.”

  “You’re not! Are you, really?”

  Bailey flumped to her back on Beth’s bed, her black combat boots dangling off the side. “No. I’ve got to work. Turns out when you’re the lowest man on the totem pole you don’t get time off for parties. Not that I’d go even if I could.”

  “Well, I’m going.” Beth put the green headband in her hair then switched it for the blue. “You know who’s going to be there.”