Chapter 9
Chapter
Nine
“I’m sorry. Come again?”
Donovan’s jaw sets. “Same mom, different dads. I’m not a fan.”
“Of Cooper? Or his dad?”
“Both.” He scrubs a hand through his hair again. “Either.”
Sapphire Springs is small. While I was born and raised here, Donovan is a recent arrival, courtesy of the job at Smashbox. He probably would never have moved here otherwise. I’ve never run into him at the Halloween Howl or the Spring Fling or even the damn grocery store. And I can’t imagine he’s out there championing the town’s virtues to the brother he despises…who I’ve also never run into anywhere in town. This makes no sense.
The questions come boiling out before I can stop them. “Did he just move here? Why is he here, anyway? And how come you can’t stand him?”
“Six weeks ago,” Donovan says, ticking off the answers on his fingers. “Damned if I know. And let’s just say Cooper and I are…incompatible.”
I blink at him, realization breaking over me. “You call your brother by his last name?”
“He’s lucky,” Donovan forces out between clenched teeth, “that I call him anything at all.”
There has to be more to this story. I’m dying to know what it is, especially because Cooper was the subject of my premonition this morning and then fate stuck me in a car with Donovan, whereupon I promptly had another premonition that brought his brother back into my life a second time. Hearing the monster’s voice in my head when Cooper was touching me, then thinking about Julia…what if it’s all connected?
I have nothing but questions. But by the way Donovan’s jaw is locked down tighter than Fort Knox, I doubt I’m going to get answers anytime soon.
I try anyway, leaning forward to ask what happened between them that was so horrible, when the door opens and the Sinsters come barreling in, Hot Yoga Grandma among them. Their eyes lock on me and Donovan like rifle sights. And then, in unison, they chorus, “Hi, Rune.”
I shrink down in my seat, wishing I could disappear. “Hi.”
“We’re just here to discuss our book of the month. Right, Betty?” Louise Fontaine, who’s been Sapphire Springs’ head librarian since I was little, winks at Mrs. Grant over her bifocals.
“Right,” Mrs. Grant says, looking utterly unconvincing as she scoops a copy of Lucy Score’s By a Thread up from behind the counter. “Down-on-her-luck heroine meets rich but grumpy hero for some spicy workplace sex. Have you read it, Rune?”
Real subtle. I have, in point of fact, read By a Thread , but I’m not about to discuss it with a bunch of septuagenarians...especially when they seem to intend for me to use it as a how-to manual. How does this happen to me? “Nope. Sorry,” I say, hoping my brusqueness will put an end to this nightmare. But no.
“That’s too bad,” Mrs. Fontaine says. “Oh, well. You can listen in to our discussion. You might learn something.” And then, to my horror, she winks at Donovan, too.
The Sinsters settle down in the corner booth, and Mrs. Grant bustles around, getting everybody coffee and pie. Then she sits down, and all of them whip out copies of By a Thread , whereupon they promptly begin critiquing a certain salacious workplace bathroom scene, starring the book’s brooding hero, Dominic Russo.
When I turn my attention back to Donovan, he looks stricken. “What fresh hell is this?” he hisses.
“The Sinster Romance Book Club.” I shrug. It speaks for itself, especially right now, when he’s got a front-row seat.
“The what ?”
“They get together every month and read the smuttiest books they can find. Sort of an up-yours to the stereotype of prim and proper, older women. Since Mrs. Grant started it, they meet here. Although to be honest, I don’t think they’re supposed to get together until next week. I guess you could consider this a special session.”
I didn’t think it was possible for Donovan to look more horrified, but he manages it. “There is something very wrong with this town.”
“You’re telling me.” I slurp up the remains of my milkshake. “It could be worse. You should’ve been here the time they read an erotic romance and decided to demo all of the sex toys right on the counter. Now that was an eyeful.”
Donovan’s eyes dart from Mrs. Grant to Mrs. Fontaine to Hot Yoga Grandma, who’s pulled out her knitting. Her needles click, a hat for her newest grandson taking shape while she enthusiastically offers her opinion on the size of Dominic Russo’s equipment and his skill at wielding it. “You’re joking.”
“I mean…”
His eyes scan my face, disbelief clear in their depths. “Wait, you are joking, right? Tell me they didn’t really?—”
“You want the truth, Frost?” I give him a wicked grin. It’s nice to see someone else suffering for a change. “Or do you just want me to say something that’ll make you feel better?”
Donovan buries his head in his hands, as Mrs. Grant utters a stage whisper in which the words thong and I’d drop to my knees for him if I didn’t have arthritis are undeniably audible. “Christ Jesus,” he says to the Formica. “So in this little bathroom scenario that I can’t help but hear them describing, am I?—”
“Dominic Russo? Yes, unfortunately.”
“Oh my God. This is not—I—” At a loss for words, he rummages in his pocket and comes up with his wallet, dropping a handful of bills onto the table.
“We haven’t even gotten the check yet! Plus, I can buy my own milkshake.”
“You were the one who wanted to leave,” he growls at me. “Besides, we were in a wreck. With me driving. I’ll buy your damn milkshake. And…crap, I’ve only got hundreds.”
Now it’s my turn to gape at him. Sure enough, he’s rained Benjamin Franklins all over the Formica. “Why do you—ugh, never mind.”
He grunts, scooping up the bills and ferreting through his wallet with a desperation I haven’t seen since Charlotte ate a bad corn dog at the fair last year and had to make a mad dash for the Porta Potty. Mrs. Grant, who, it occurs to me, has probably not brought the check in an effort to prolong our agony, leans out of the booth and mouths at me, “Sugar daddy, yes!”
I want to die.
Triumphantly, Donovan locates a twenty and plunks it in the middle of the table just as my phone dings with a text.
Charlotte
Are you okay, Rune? What the hell is happening?
Me
I wish I knew.
Charlotte
You’re having milkshakes with…spreadsheet sex guy? Whose car you were in when it wrecked?
My face heats, and I glance over at Donovan, to make sure he hasn’t seen. Luckily for me, he’s poking around in his wallet, organizing the bills by denomination.
Me
How did you know any of that?
Charlotte
Have you seen the Shenanigans page today?
Me
Yes. Lots of unflattering pics of me. Why?
Charlotte
…
…
Oh, sweet summer child.
With a feeling of impending doom, I open Facebook. There, at the top of the Shenanigans feed, is a picture of me and Donovan, sitting across from each other at this very table. The Sinsters must have snapped it when they first came in, in the wake of Donovan’s confession about Officer Asshat. His expression is…intense. I’m transfixed, hanging on his every word. Above it is the caption: Sinsters sighting! Rune Whitlock and ‘friend’ recovering from car crash at the Grille. #sweettreats #fatedmates #goals #firstdatemagic
I let out an undignified squeak. Startled, Donovan looks up. “What’s the matter?”
“Here,” I say, shoving my phone at him. He takes it, brows knitting as he reads. His mouth forms the words ‘first date magic,’ but he doesn’t make a sound. Maybe he’s been rendered incapable of speech.
I glare at the table around which the Sinsters cluster, clutching their copies of By a Thread. Like little kids hiding comics inside their textbooks so the teacher won’t see, each of them has their cell phones sandwiched between the pages of their open novels. And every single screen I can see is showing that damned post.
Mrs. Hernandez, the high school’s retired robotics team coach, is typing furiously. A moment later, I hear the telltale ‘bing’ as a comment pops up on all of the Sinsters’ phones.
Donovan’s eyes widen, and I lean over the table, trying to see. “What did she write?”
Expression unreadable, he tosses the phone in my direction. It skitters across the Formica, coming to a stop just north of a spatter of milkshake.
Update: Trouble in paradise? #firstdatemagic turns #firstdateminus when Rune and ‘friend’ argue over splitting the bill. Fate brought them together, but will finances tear them apart? #staytuned #eyesontheprize #sinstersforthewin
Sweet purple ponies on ice skates. “I’m gonna kill them,” I mumble. “I’m gonna confiscate their phones, make you hack into every single one, and remove the Facebook app permanently. I’m gonna film their next Sinster sex party and stream it at all of their family holidays from here to eternity.”
I glance at Donovan for support, but he just sits there, looking like a carp that someone smacked over the head with a mallet, if said carp had a jawline that could slice diamonds, unfairly sexy hair, and a semi-permanent pout.
“Don’t you have anything to say?” I demand.
His jaw works, once, twice. And then he pushes to his feet. “Yeah, I do. One, as I keep telling you, I’m not a hacker. And two? Let’s get the hell out of here.”