CHAPTER 46
Frankie
Nuh-uh.
No, thank you.
Whatever this is, it’s got “oh, hell no” written all over it. I don’t want any part of this. I would rather have leprosy than knowingly step right into a giant, steaming pile of drama like this one.
Where the star of the show is a woman who’s decided she despises me at first glance.
I know murderous jealousy when I see it.
Unfortunately, I happen to be fluent in that language. You don’t work in a strip joint for any period of time without getting good and familiar with jealous women. Jealousy comes in a lot of different flavors, and I’ve had a taste of all of them.
Some women are jealous because their birdbrained boyfriends deposited their whole paycheck into my sequined thong instead of their joint checking account.
Then there’s the women who agree to be open-minded and take their honey to a strip club for a hot date in order to warm them up for sexy time back at home—only to immediately regret their decision.
Or the brides-to-be who decide to crash the bachelor party and show their beloved who’s boss. And by crash I mean crash.
Like breaking shit. Tables. Chairs. Glassware. Heads.
The woman I’m looking at right now is of the latter variety.
She’s an extremely pretty woman, a bit older than me, with strawberry-blond hair and dark eyes.
She’s dressed very neat and tidy, everything pressed and crisp, and she’s super fit.
She may be dressed in jeans and a cotton blouse, but everything about her is just so.
And as her gaze goes from me to Special K and back to me, I’m suddenly glad for the gathered crowd. Otherwise, this chick would try to grind my face into the gravel and stomp on my neck.
Great.
Special K squirms in the saddle behind me, which causes Pussy to stick her head out of the top of the carrier. “Mrrrp?”
Yep, cowboy’s uncomfortable. Because this is personal. I want to jab my elbow in his ribs for leaving out whatever chapter of his story features this chick.
Because it’s an important one. And maybe a long one.
I find it interesting that he can recount the attempted murder and life-in-ruins part but completely forgot to mention the batshit crazy ex-girlfriend plot twist.
At least I assume it’s an ex-girlfriend. He asked me if I was married, but I didn’t think to ask him the same question.
Ah, shit.
“Take me back to camp,” I whisper to Special K. “I’m not doing this.”
Summer leans against Victoria. “See? What did I tell you?” She looks at me and smiles. “Frankie! So glad you’re here! We figured it wouldn’t be too much longer before we could hang out again!”
I try to smile at Summer, but the pinch-faced princess is walking our way. She moves like she’s got a steel rod in her spine and a stick up her ass. Her chin’s in the air.
She’s exactly the kind of angry and privileged woman I’ll do anything to avoid. Some of these types make a real effort to hide their essence. Others wear their truth like a badge of pride.
Like this woman. As she moves nearer to us, I half expect to see five letters stamped on her forehead: B. I. T. C. H.
The worst part of all is that she probably has a lot more right to be here than I do. Everyone already knows her. And she most certainly has more of a history with Special K than I do.
Only then do I notice the upturned faces of all the men. Special K’s brothers and father are staring at me, lips parted in collective shock.
“Hi, everyone,” I squeak, feeling ridiculous.
“I’m sorry, who is this, again?” the woman says with her fake-ass smile and blinking eyes. “What did you say your name was?”
Bitch, please.
She’s trying so hard to stay cool but she looks about a second away from a pressure cooker explosion.
“We were just seeing Harper off,” says the man I assume is Special K’s father, Jamie MacLaine. He walks toward her and tries to cup her elbow, but she yanks her arm away, her smile now nothing more than a grimace.
“Oh, my gosh!” Summer exclaims in a voice that sounds waaaay too sweet. I’m already cringing in preparation for what she’s about to say. “How rude of me! Sorry! Frankie, this is everyone. Everyone, this is Frankie and her sweet, sweet Pussy.”
“Mrrrrraaaoow!”
One of Special K’s brothers chokes like he’s about to swallow his tongue.
Everyone else is frozen like bucks in the high beams, including Special K’s dad and the woman I assume is Aunt Phyllis.
The cute little girl must be his niece Jasmine, who is blissfully unaware of the joke, but she’s looking at me with excited fascination.
Special K sighs deeply, then dismounts and helps me off DG. He throws his father a pointed look.
“Excuse me a moment,” Jamie MacLaine says, giving me a polite nod. He returns to Miss Priss and forcefully escorts her back to her car. She cranes her neck to look at Special K as Jamie places her behind the wheel and closes the door. “Save travels!”
The woman starts her car but is more interested in throwing death stares my way than actually putting the car in drive.
A collective murmur goes through the group.
“Well, isn’t this nice?” Aunt Phyllis says, studying her fingernails.
I look down at my own hands. They’re dirty, and my nails are cracked. I guess that’s what happens to a girl while roughing it.
Suddenly, I’m surrounded by women who are taking my hands and walking me away from the scene. “Where are we going?” I ask, a little unsure.
“Wait a second!” Special K calls.
“We’ll bring her back soon,” Phoebe yells back at him.
“You will?” I ask.
“Where should we take her?” Emma asks.
“Anywhere is better than this shit show,” Summer says.
“My place is closest,” Victoria says. “We’ll chill there while they sort out their drama.”
Pussy and I are shuttled inside a gorgeous mountain house on a large lake. The second I set foot in the entranceway, two golden retrievers bound toward me from the living room and go nuts trying to get into the cat backpack.
“Hhhhhhhhhhhhsssssssshhhhh!” Pussy complains.
I spin back around and head to the front porch. “This way,” Emma says, putting her arm around my waist. “My place. No dogs.”
We all relocate to another gorgeous house, and, just like she said, it’s dog-free.
I can see all the way to the back of the house where there’s a resort-sized pool and pergola.
Everyone stands in the living room, while Emma goes into the kitchen to cook.
I let Pussy out of the backpack just as her stepdaughter Jasmine runs in after us and slides to a stop in front of me, breathing hard.
“I want the cat!” she announces with glee. “I love cats!” She holds out her arms. “I’m Jasmine.” She’s such a cute little girl with dark curls and light blue eyes.
“Jasmine, this is Frankie,” Phoebe says.
“Hi, Jasmine,” I manage, though I’m overwhelmed and worried that I smell like woodsmoke and unwashed clothes. “It’s very nice to meet you.”
She blinks at me, her eyes huge. “You’re the prettiest girl I’ve ever seen in my life,” she whispers.
“You should see me after I take a hot shower.”
“Knock! Knock!” Aunt Phyllis sing-songs as she enters without knocking. “Mind if I join you?”
“Come on in!” Emma calls, popping her head out of the kitchen. “Food’ll be ready in twenty minutes.”
“That gives Frankie enough time to shower and put on something fresh,” Phoebe says, smiling sweetly at me.
I can’t believe all of these women are so nice.
I’ve always had women friends, but I’m also used to being around a lot of catty women.
But not here. No one except for resting ex-face from the driveway smackdown.
Summer plops down on the couch and puts her feet up on the coffee table. “Jasmine, show Frankie to the guest bathroom and make sure she has towels and find something of Emma’s for her to wear. Something comfortable and warm.”
“And then we’ll chat,” Victoria says, her eyes twinkling.
“I’d like that,” I say, truthfully. I have a million questions. And I have the feeling that I’m in the right place to get every one of them answered.
“Come on, Frankie!” Jasmine’s jumping and holding out her hand for me. “I’ll show you everything! Do you want to see my dollhouse?”
She proceeds to drag me upstairs.