Stacking the Deck (A Betting on Romance Novel Book 2)(49)

Taking her clutch and stuffing it into his shirtfront, Carter grabbed first one of her hands, then the other and positioned them on his waist. “To me.”

“I’m sliding into you,” she complained, pushing away with her hips and sliding forward again. Repeatedly. “This skirt is too slippery.”

Carter all but groaned. “Liz, if you keep doing that, I might begin to think you were trying to get my attention.”

Abruptly, she went still.

“Not that I was complaining.”

More silence.

“You holding on?” he finally asked.

“Yes,” came the muffled reply. She had her face pressed to his shoulder, not that he was complaining about that either.

“Here we go.” He tried to go easy as he entered the main road, as much to reassure her as to prevent her helmet from smacking him unconscious when he went over a bump. Her fingers clutched his ribs through his sport jacket, the warmth of her body intimately merging with his own. He blew out a breath and decided he’d better make it to this alumni thing sooner than later.

They rode in silence, Liz’s grip easing somewhat as she became familiar with the feel of the bike. Carter slowed to take the turn around the town common. He felt as much as heard Liz’s sharp intake of breath.

“What happened?” she cried over the sound of the motor.

Carter pulled up near the curb and braked. “What?”

“The fountain!” she pointed.

He nodded as they turned toward the local landmark. It had always been a favorite backdrop for prom and wedding pictures and, despite the signs prohibiting it, cooling toes on a hot summer’s day. The ornate center pedestal of the fountain was missing and one low wall caved in like an ancient ruin. Yellow tape flagged the area.

“What happened?” she repeated.

“Jack Adams. Choked on a chicken nugget while driving last year and passed out. Creamed it with his pickup.”

“That’s awful!”

“It’s all right. His steering wheel performed the Heimlich. He’s fine.”

“But the fountain! I can’t believe I didn’t notice before!”

“Don’t worry. It’ll be fixed by Founders’ Day. The Beautification League raised enough to fix it, re-lay the stonework around it and everything.”

“Oh? Are you and your uncle doing the work?”

Carter shook his head in answer.

“But the stonework around the base and all, I just thought—”

Carter gunned the engine and pulled back into traffic. “Too busy!” he hollered.

It was a lie, of course. In addition to Grams’ nagging, Pops had also told him to bid on the job, but Carter had balked—because Pops made it clear Carter’s name would be the only one on the bid.

He wasn’t ready. He knew Pops wanted him to take more of a leadership role in the business, take on more of the responsibilities. But, he preferred the physical labor. Once you moved into the contracts and paperwork, well, things always got complicated and disorganized.

And screwing up a prominent public project wasn’t something Carter wanted any part of. He might have ADHD, but he was at least smart enough to know that.





CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

____________________



Twelve years earlier…

“CARTER, SIT DOWN,” Valerie ordered. “I’m not done.”

Carter crouched down again in the Whitmeyers’ kitchen, not quite sitting this time, his old leather jacket creaking a little at the shoulder seams as he propped his elbows on his knees. It had belonged to his father—the jacket, that is—back when his father was young, vital… alive. It was the only thing of his father’s that he owned that had survived the fire. Grams had found it in the back of a closet when cleaning out for a church yard sale and given it to him, because it was too small for Ian.

It barely fit Carter, but he wouldn’t admit it.

He wore it everywhere.

Carter bit his lip and waited for the ridiculous game to end. He needed a smoke and that beer he’d guzzled at the back of John Beacon’s Chevette was making him feel a little fuzzy. And not in a good way.

Valerie gave him another one of her flirty looks and Carter half-smiled, his eyes feeling a little glazed, just so she wouldn’t get mad at him for not noticing. He felt sorry for her, always trying to get attention. She was pretty enough she didn’t need to sell herself short, but she didn’t seem to trust it. She flirted with every male body that crossed her path.

He didn’t feel like pissing off the jocks in their hoodies and varsity jackets, though. Although it happened often enough. Was it his fault girls gravitated toward him like moths to a flame? And, he was a teenaged boy. It wasn’t like he didn’t enjoy looking back. And more.

Sure, he was big enough these days nobody much bothered with him, but he was smart enough to know he was outnumbered here and shouldn’t piss anybody off by flirting with their girlfriends right in front of them.

He bit his lip again and waited for the bottle to stop spinning. It was making him dizzy watching it go round and round. He half wondered whether Beth was still in the pantry or had high-tailed it out of there already. She was so painfully shy she’d probably self-destruct if a guy kissed her.

The thought made him smirk a little at his own joke.