The Second Shot
The Second Shot
A Pacific Northwest Writers Association 2019 Literary Contest award-winner and an action-packed, steamy thrill ride of romantic suspense.
“The perfect mix between romance, mystery, and suspense.” —Cami, 5 star Amazon review
Saturday - Maxwell Ames
I have better uses for my mouth.
The words were etched in his brain.
Maxwell Ames looked across the room at Dominique Deveraux and felt himself physically flinch at a memory-driven whip of embarrassment.
An eighteen-year-old Dominique had arrived at college with an ice queen reputation and a pair of legs that had fueled half the hot dreams on campus.
But it hadn’t been the legs that had gotten to Max—it had been her lips.
Max had taken one look at Dominique and decided he wanted, no, needed to know what those lips felt like on his body.
And he’d declared, drunkenly, to an entire frat party that he would melt the ice queen.
He hadn’t doubted for a minute that he could do it.
He was a senior. He was a nationally ranked college wrestler—his body showed his effort—and he rarely had to do more than lift a finger to get panties to hit his floor.
Perhaps it had been the liquor that had made him stupid, but whatever the reason, he’d simply walked over and told her what he wanted her to do to him.
He recognized his mistake the second he heard the words come out of his mouth.
Her horrified expression only confirmed how badly he’d misjudged.
Then she’d gone from shocked to furious, but instead of slapping him, she’d pulled herself up to her full height, looked him in the eye, and declared loud enough for the rest of the room to hear: I have better uses for my mouth.
And then he’d stood there and let her pour the entire contents of her red solo cup down his front.
And now, six years later, his father had dragged Max into the Galbraith Tennis and Social Club and directly into revisiting one of his top ten stupidest moments.
“Dad,” said Max, turning to look at his father.
“She donates two-k a year,” said his father, staring across the party hall at a woman in beige everything. “She’s worth like eighty million. Would it kill her to scrounge a little more change out of the couch cushions for needy kids?”
“Dad,” said Max again.
“Yeah, what?” asked Grant Ames, finally making eye contact.
“You didn’t say this was a Deveraux party.”
“Uh, yeah?” said Grant, looking away again—probably scanning the crowd for more targets.
“Oh, that’s right. You went to school with them, didn’t you?
Dominique and Aiden? They’re probably around somewhere if you want to dig them up.
Eleanor usually commands appearances from the family at these little shindigs. ”
Eleanor Deveraux was running for congress.
Again. Or still. Whichever. These little shindigs were fundraising events masquerading as cocktail parties.
Max didn’t know why she bothered. Her nearest competitor was a bitter Republican that sounded crazy even to his constituents.
But his father, always on the hustle, spared no thought about why the party existed—he simply enjoyed that it did.
And of course, it hadn’t occurred to Grant to mention to Max who was hosting.
After the frat party incident, Max hadn’t even had the courage to apologize to Dominique.
His only consolation was that during all their other encounters she had treated everyone in the room with an equal amount of cool disdain—he hadn’t been singled out.
Generally, she hadn’t even acknowledged him, let alone what had happened.
“You said we wouldn’t be here long,” said Max, looking back at Dominique.
Her golden blonde hair was longer than the last time he’d seen her, laying in soft waves against her pale skin.
Those lips that had made him lose his judgement were painted a wine red that emphasized their size.
Her conservative pencil skirt and long-sleeve, high-necked blouse should have taken her allure down a notch, but as far as he could see, she was even more gorgeous than she had been in college.
Max had been with plenty of beautiful women—hell, his last girlfriend had been a model-slash-actress.
Dominique shouldn’t have been able to make the impact she did.
But here it was, six years later, and Dominique still hit him like a Mack truck to the libido even when the only skin he could see was her knees.
“We won’t be long, I promise,” said Grant, scoping the room, oblivious to the direction of Max’s gaze. “I need to make the rounds. Say hi to a few people and then we’ll be off for burgers.”
It was a lie. Max didn’t know why he’d thought his first visit to his father’s in over a year might warrant special treatment—particularly, since his entire childhood held evidence to the contrary.He wondered if there was a point in adulthood when a parent’s failings stopped mattering so much.
Dominique nodded along as the guy next to her talked.
He was a lean, good looking twenty-something with black hair and a designer suit.
Max watched in surprise as Dominique burst out laughing at whatever he’d said—Dominique had never been very demonstrative in public.
Her laugh made the guy grin, but, still talking, he leaned over and snagged something off her plate.
Dominique smacked at his hand, but the man leaned further away, dragging the morsel with him, and popped it into his mouth.
She flicked at his ear, miming patently faked annoyance.
In equally mock penance, her companion lowered his head and held out his plate and Dominique made a show of selecting something in recompense.
The only person he could remember bringing out that sparkle of playfulness in her had been her brother, Aiden.
It seemed that the ice queen had been melted after all.
Still chewing his stolen goods, Dominique’s companion looked up and scanned the room, homing in on the location of the other Deveraux family members.
Max followed the man’s gaze to the matriarch, Dominque’s stately and poised grandmother, Eleanor, holding court by the bar at the far end of the long, narrow room.
Then he shifted to Dominique’s red-headed investment manager cousin, Evan, amongst a bevy of Wall Street bros in the middle of the room.
And last, Dominique’s brother, the equally blonde Aiden, hovering by the buffet table in front of a wide expanse of floor-to-ceiling windows.
All of the Deveraux children had lived with their grandmother after a plane crash had left them orphans sometime during their early teens.
Max remembered thinking how nice that had sounded when his father had missed every single one of his college meets and was late for graduation.
He supposed it hadn’t really been pleasant for the Deveraux cousins, but at least they’d had each other and Eleanor.
Max realized, too late, that the scan was continuing on to the new arrivals in the room, which, in this case, were Max and his father.
Max found himself awkwardly making eye contact with the guy and knew that he’d been busted staring at Dominique.
He broke eye contact and turned to follow his father.
Max pretended to be absorbed in his father’s conversation with a white-collared, black-shirted Jesuit priest. After a few minutes of discussing the endowments and scholarship funds, Max’s eyes glazed over and he looked around the room, desperate for anything to take his mind off his desire to blurt out a question about pedophiles.
How did anyone take priests seriously anymore?
He found himself fidgeting with one of the tiny decorative pumpkins placed on the bar-height tables and biting his tongue.
With Halloween and the election around the corner, the party was decorated in a patriotic harvest theme.
The red leaves and orange gourds seemed attractive, but Max thought the hay bales by the buffet table seemed a bit too folksy for the Deveraux, not to mention the tennis club locale.
He suspected that the entire reason for their existence was to support the stars-and-stripes-bandana-wearing scarecrow.
After all, a politician couldn’t fundraise without at least a nod to the flag.
He snuck another glance at Dominique and realized that her boyfriend was scanning again.
Same pattern—Deverauxs first, then new arrivals, then the rest of the room.
There was something professional in the appraising stare, and Max felt the weight of it resting thoughtfully on him.
Max checked his watch and angled so he could watch Dominique and her guy.
She chatted in an easy, unaffected way, but at a minute fifteen, her boyfriend made another scan.
Then again a minute later. It was definitely a more than a casual glance.
Max tried to get a better look at the guy.
What was he? Boyfriend, bodyguard, security?
The suit was expensive, but he was drinking water as he watched the crowd.