Good Girls Beg (Entitled Sins #1)

Chapter 1

CHAPTER ONE

TEDDIE

"Holy fuckballs." I didn't jump back fast enough. The Cadillac Blackwing flew past without slowing, wheels sending up a spray of water in its wake.

I swore under my breath and dripped onto the already wet sidewalk, soaked through. My jeans and faded sweater clung to me.

At least no one saw me. Right?

Okay, there was a zero percent chance no one was watching me right now.

I peered out from under the rim of my basically useless umbrella. My gaze caught on the new sign on the front of the bar across the street. People bustled inside the already packed venue. Several stopped to snicker at me before heading inside.

I sighed and closed my umbrella before ducking my head and stepping into Loams.

"You're not dripping everywhere, are you?" Dad called out.

"Just a little bit," I admitted. "Looks like Nefarious is getting some business."

Dennis Ward, known to me as Dad, grunted, and grabbed a bar towel to toss at me. "It's a novelty. It'll wear off sooner or later."

"Of course it will," I replied.

I dabbed at myself and tried not to notice how empty their bar was. Loams was practically an institution here in Saltgrave Cove. Always busy. Always bustling with noise, activity and music.

Until another bar opened directly across the street. Now it was practically empty, the lunchtime rush nothing but a trickle. That is to say, two people sat at a table near the window, sipping wine while gazing out at the ocean.

Another sat on the corner, typing on her laptop. The half-empty coffee in front of her looked cold. Beside that was a sandwich that didn't look like it had a bite taken out of it. Saltgrave was the perfect place for a novelist to come and get over writer’s block.

Although, I mused, on days like this maybe they should have called the city Raingrave Cove. We seemed to get more than our fair share of it. Late spring and summer thunderstorms were something to behold. From inside where it was nice and sheltered.

I was as dry as I was going to be without a change of clothes, so I tossed the towel in the hamper behind the bar and turned to the man who'd raised me, my hands on my hips.

"Things are a little…”

"Don't start with me." He pointed a soda gun in my direction. "Things will pick up."

I put a hand in front of my face, although I knew he wasn't going to spray me. "What are you going to do if they don't?"

In the corner of my eye, I caught sight of Indie, my fathers' office manager. She started to step out of the office, with what looked like an invoice in her hand. She grimaced behind Dad's back and ducked inside again.

Apparently things were worse than my fathers were letting on. While I appreciated her loyalty to them, they didn't need to protect me. They knew that, didn't they?

"We have everything under control, like we always do," Dad said. "You don't need to worry.”

"Who's worrying about what?" From the look of the bucket and brushes in his hands, my other father, Grant, who I called Pop, had cleaned the restroom.

Since when did either of them do that? Not that they were above it by any means, but they had a cleaner for a reason.

So they had more time to run the business and interact with customers.

That was why they started the bar in the first place.

They loved nothing more than talking to everyone who came through the door, learning their life stories.

Understand what brought them in that day.

No one left here feeling unwelcome. That was their whole mission statement.

It was practically written in the bright paint on the walls, and the art by local artists. Loams was a whole vibe.

"No one is worrying about anything," Dad said. That was a sweeping generalization, bought by exactly no one.

I raised my hand slowly. "I'm worrying about both of you. I know things haven't been going well since Nefarious opened." I bent a finger and pointed in the direction of the front door.

"It's nothing you need to lose sleep over, Teddie," Dad said firmly, as if I was still a little girl. "We've been through rough patches before and we survived. That's all this is, another rough patch."

He needed to spend more time practicing if he wanted to be convincing, because I didn't buy a word of it.

I slid my gaze over to Pop. He was usually the reassuring one. The man who told the worst dad jokes anyone ever heard. Laughing at everything, when he wasn't humming or singing.

He wasn't doing any of that now. His gaze slid to the customers, lips pressed together. Eyes that looked, if not defeated, then at least troubled.

"Things have been better." He seemed to hate saying those words as much as I hated hearing them, but I appreciated his honesty.

"Things have been worse," Dad argued, his brow creased as he frowned at his husband.

"I know you're trying to keep me from stressing about you," I said. "I appreciate that, but you practically raised me in this place. Of course I'm going to worry about you if you're going through a rough patch."

I decided Dad wasn't going to give me the whole truth. He'd do anything to protect me. I loved him for it, but I wanted to know what was happening. How could I help if I didn't?

I stepped over to Pop and placed my arm over his shoulders.

"Ah, you're wet." He looked me up and down and stepped away, playfully annoyed.

"Yeah, it's raining outside," I said as if he couldn't see for himself the water trickling down the windows, and the persistent thrum on the roof.

"I knew we put you through college for a reason." Pop grabbed the hem of his shirt and shook it out to dry it from where we'd briefly touched. "So you can tell us when it's raining and when it's not."

"Ha ha," I said, with a laugh. "What's really going on here?” My smile faded and I gave them my best serious face, hoping they'd take it, you know, seriously.

They exchanged a glance. Dad looked like he didn't want to tell me anything; Pop, like he wished he had nothing to say, but knowing I'd keep asking until he told me everything.

"Why don't we sit down?" Pop gestured to a table away from the customers, although none seem to be paying us any attention. The woman with the laptop in front of her, the edge of the sandwich in her mouth, her eyes still on her screen.

My ass squelched as I sat in a chair. I winced and leaned forward, my elbows propped on the table.

"Okay, what's going on?" I fixed my fathers with a purposeful expression, as though I was the parent here, and they were a pair of errant boys.

"If things keep going like this, we'll lose Loams," Dad said reluctantly. "It's not just the new bar across the road." He took a breath before his words came out in a rush, "The landlord put the rent up again."

I leaned back, letting his words sink in. "Again? Didn't they just put it up?" How much rent do they possibly need?

Dad shrugged. "Yeah, but they put it up even more. When things were going well, we could afford it. But now…" He lifted a hand off the table to gesture around.

"Have you tried talking to them?" I asked. "Maybe they'll reconsider. You two have been renting this place for the last twenty years. Longer."

They’d moved down here to Saltgrave Cove from New York City when I was still in diapers, for a slower pace of life to raise me. Sometimes I felt bad for the things they'd given up, but they’d tell me they'd do it all again in a heartbeat.

"They don't care," Pop said in a bitter tone I couldn't remember having ever heard from him. "If we move out, someone else will move in. The landlord only cares about getting paid."

"I know you don't like the idea of borrowing money from anyone…” I said slowly.

"No, we don't." Dad cut me off before I could finish.

"Don't bite her head off." Pop put a hand on Dad's arm. "She's only trying to help. Right, Teds?"

"I know she is," Dad said wearily. "I'm sorry, Teddie. It's just… We're in enough debt."

He glanced down toward the tabletop and lowered his voice. "I don't know what we'll do if we can't hang onto this place."

"Maybe they'll give us a job over at Nefarious," Pop said with cheerfulness that wasn't forced. Bouncing back was what he did. If anyone found the upside in anything, it was him. He was the perfect balance for Dad, the realist in the relationship.

"We always draw a crowd on drag queen night." He pretended to fluff the back of his brown hair.

"I don't think a place like that has drag queen night," Dad pointed out, although he clearly didn't like doing it. After all, who didn't enjoy drag queen night?

"Of course not, because we're not over there," Pop said. "They're just a boring, stuffy old bar." He exaggerated a yawn.

"Brand new, state-of-the-art. All the latest everything," Dad said. "They don't need drag queens."

Pop pressed a hand to his chest. "Sweetheart, everyone needs drag queens."

"Exactly," I agreed. "That's why we need to do everything we can to keep this place open. Saltgrave Cove wouldn't be the same without it. People come all the way down here for drag queen night."

That might be a slight exaggeration, but it was popular, and my fathers loved it. They were the center of attention on nights like that, with their pink wigs, huge dresses, and bright makeup. Not to mention all the feathers. Fake, of course. Birds didn't come in the colors they preferred.

"We could have drag queen night every night and it might not be enough to pay the bills," Dad said softly, as if saying the words louder might make them even truer.

"We'll think of something," I assured him. "Whatever it takes, we'll keep this place open. I promise."

"What have I said about making promises?" Dad asked, looking at me through his bushy eyebrows. Yes, he kept them that way, even in drag. It was kind of his thing. I mean, his drag name was Caterpillar Hart.

"Don't make promises unless you're sure you can keep them," I recited. "Which is why I'm making you this promise: we will save this place, whatever it takes. We can start with a crowdfunding campaign. I know a bunch of people who will be happy to contribute."

They both wanted to decline, I saw it on their faces.

They hated the idea of taking anyone's charity.

The fact they didn't refuse spoke volumes about how bad the situation really was.

They must be right on the edge. That sent a skitter of anxiety through me.

What if everything I tried wasn't enough?

I shoved the thought away. It had to be enough. What's the saying? 'Failure is not an option.'

"When we get through this, we can have a special open bar night to thank everyone," I said.

The suggestion placated them. They both relaxed their shoulders slightly. As long as they could give back in some way, that would make it easier to accept help. They were proud, but they knew when they didn't have a choice.

"That sounds perfect," Pop said. The eager smile on his face suggested he'd mentally skipped right to that part, already making plans for a big event, their problems long behind them, as if they'd never existed. Rough patch? What rough patch?

I hoped like hell I'd be able to deliver. If I couldn't, the only thing they'd be looking forward to would be disappointment and bankruptcy. I couldn't let that happen to them after all they'd done for me. I owed them this and a whole lot more on top of it.

"I'll go and set things up." I placed my hands on the table and pushed myself to my feet. My shoes squelched. The fabric was cold where it stuck to my skin.

I thought briefly of the expensive car which covered me with a wall of water.

Not just because they should have slowed down for the conditions.

No, my mind went to the driver. People like that were the people I needed help from.

People with money, deep pockets. The kind of people who spent their holidays here every summer.

Who bought the biggest houses on the beachfront and held extravagant parties.

I suppressed a sigh. People like that didn’t help people like us. They were too busy helping themselves and raising rent for people like us. As long as they were comfortable, they wouldn't lose a wink of sleep at night.

"You're the best, Teds," Pop said standing to get back to work.

"Of course I am. You raised me." I smiled. "I'll see you both later."

I kissed my fathers on the cheek, grabbed up my umbrella, and headed back out into the steady downpour, humming “Singin' in the Rain” while I made my way back to my car.