EDITH, AKA THE GUILTY LIAR
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If I were Tuesday, I would prance into my house and announce with the greatest of exuberance how I’d found the man of my dreams. I might then shake my ass stripper-style, fake-faint onto the couch, and then expect applause for my good fortune.
Instead, I slip inside my house where my parents snuggle on the couch watching one of the “Taken” movies.
Pa-Donovan glances back at me and asks, “Meet anyone on your hunt?”
His words feel mocking, but his tone is too full of affection for me to take them personally.
“No,” I lie despite my usually honest relationship with my parents. “I can’t seem to lower my standards enough.”
“I bet there’s a man somewhere in the world feeling like he’s missing something in his life. He just needs to find you.”
I share my father’s smile. A part of me wants to ask what he thinks about Duke. Am I chasing a pipedream? The answer is clear, though, and I’m unprepared for the dream to end.
That’s why I keep my mouth shut. I wish I could get Tuesday’s advice. So far, she hasn’t blabbed to anyone about my interest in Duke.
I still don’t speak up. I’m afraid in a way I rarely am. Duke feels like a special thing for me to enjoy, but only if I keep him a secret. As soon as he becomes the same Duke the rest of the world sees, he won’t be mine anymore.
I’m up all night, replaying my time with Duke. I’d nearly run away when I realized he was next to me at the bar top. I don’t know where my fear comes from. I usually face my problems because that’s the smartest way to handle them. Yet, the sight of Duke made me feel small and stupid.
He was softer tonight, less agitated than at the engagement party. I didn’t see a club president or Lola’s dad. I saw a sexy man making a move on a woman. Duke exuded an addictive warmth, leaving me as clueless as a moth dancing around a flame bound to burn it.
I hate such ridiculous thoughts. I’m not as clueless as a moth or a lovestruck kid. I’m a grown woman capable of viewing a man clearly, and Duke is too much of a hassle. I should skip out on our dinner.
Of course, I don’t. In fact, I plan to wear my favorite outfit—a black-and-pink flowery skirt and a pink top with short black boots. It’s my “date outfit.” To avoid drawing my family’s attention that next evening, I leave the house in jeans and a T-shirt before changing in my SUV on a back road.
Driving to Barkley’s Steakhouse in Uptown, I’m worried I look too desperate. The skirt isn’t too short. The hem is an inch above my knees. Barely any thigh is showing. The outfit is dignified. Men have reacted well to my skirt and top without turning into horny apes. No reason for Duke to think I look trashy.
I find him standing next to his motorcycle when I pull into the parking lot. Duke is wearing all black and looking casually gorgeous. His tattoos peek out from his sleeves, and I’m curious to see them close up.
Duke glances up from his phone and levels his blue-eyed gaze at me. Seeing him makes me feel stupid for hoping. I wish I’d stayed in jeans and a T-shirt. I don’t want him to know how much I want him.
I know how club guys are and how much pussy they get from easy women. Once he sees me in a skirt, he’ll think he doesn’t need to work hard to win me over.
These are the moments when I wish I could voice my feelings to someone. I imagine my ma reminding me how I have a good life without a man. I feel my pa patting my back and saying nothing will get easier if I hide in my car.
I even hear my great-grandfather, Zeb Earlham’s advice. He’d look at me in his ornery way and say, “You’re fine looking for a spinster, Agnes.”
Feeling more like Edith Mooney than a fidgety nerd, I free my ass from the SUV and shake out my hair. Duke struts over to me, admiring me in that casual way grown men can do. No gawking at my breasts or sizing me up like a piece of meat. His gaze washes over me before focusing on my face.
“You look beautiful,” Duke says in a tone that takes a sledgehammer to the protective armor around my heart.
“So do you,” I babble.
Duke smirks, completely in control here. He pats at his chest and nods. “It’s a new shirt.”
Rather than get annoyed by his cocky expression, I smile at how he teases me over his fancy new black T-shirt. He isn’t dressed up, but he looks fricking perfect. I think maybe he’s gotten a haircut since I last saw him. Just a little tidier around the edges. I want to believe he did that to impress me, but he probably figured he ought to clean up before Lola’s wedding.
I have to remind myself how Duke’s been married before. He’s been a father since I was a kid. This isn’t his first rodeo.
That’s probably why I wear a pout as we walk inside the restaurant. My heart is on the line tonight, yet I feel like Duke holds all the cards.