The Love Scam - MaryJanice Davidson Page 0,3
would be you.”
Rake opened his mouth to let loose a devastating retort
(I’ll coherent you, tightass!)
but Blake was well into lecture mode. Which was kind of like Marshawn’s Beast Mode, only no one ever ever wanted to see it. “And the racket when you pulled in! Like this town isn’t barely tolerable as it is. A motorcycle and a leather jacket? How original. Lovely periorbital hematoma, Marlon Brando.”
I’ve gotta take this from Slutty McJudgypants? “Blow it right out your ass, Benjamin Tarbell 2.0.”
There was a crack! as Blake slammed his fist on the table. “I’m nothing like our father.”
Rake let out what he figured would be an eloquent snort, then embellished said snort with “What’s the new one’s name? Carrie? Terrie? Gerri? Fo-ferry? Fee-fi-fo-ferry? Ferr-ee!”
“Ava.” Blake inspected his fist. “And she’s fine. I have reasonable certainty she’s fine. As couples often do, we came to a mutual decision to give each other—”
Some breathing room.
“—some breathing room,” they finished, and Blake’s glare was a fearsome thing. “And you’re one to talk, little brother.”
No you don’t. Rake had zero intention of letting that one slide. “At least I’m open about what I want from them and what they want from me. You, you think you’re a gentleman because you insist they spend the night instead of calling them a cab while you’re both still breathing hard.” Frankly, his brother should just buy his own cab company and get it over with. It would save him a fortune in trouble and eons of time. “You’re just fooling yourself, pal. And they know it and I know it and Mom knows it and everybody but you gets it.”
His twin had his temper back under its usual tight control, and merely arched a dark blond brow. “Wanting the lady in question to spend the night rather than showing her the door once we’ve stopped sweating isn’t a character flaw, Rake, though it’s telling that you think it is.”
The twins glowered at each other but, to switch it up, remained seated. Usually by now they would be chest-to-chest, with Blake enumerating Rake’s many character flaws and Rake cordially inviting his brother to suck himself sideways.
After a long moment, Blake sighed. “This isn’t helping our mother.”
“No.” That’s why they hadn’t come to blows yet. They loved irritating the piss out of each other, but loved their mother more. Rake, suddenly desperate to occupy his hands, started stacking Splenda packets. “It’s not. So. What, then?”
“I propose we join forces. Hear me out!” he added when Rake shuddered. “You know she has a harder time dealing with us when we’re united.”
He snorted. “Truth. It’s like the Roadrunner teaming up with Wile E. Coyote. You never see it coming, and when it does come, it’s creepy and weird and everyone’s taken off guard.”
“Yes.” Whoa! A smile! Rake sometimes couldn’t remember if his brother even had teeth. “Creepy and weird is an outstanding way to describe the situation. Let’s initiate a conference call and let her know we’re going to work together to help her through this mess, no matter how complex.”
That’s … not an entirely stupid idea. “Yep, yep. That would definitely disarm her into allowing us to interfere. Help!” At his slip, he rapidly adjusted. “I meant help.”
Blake almost laughed, and seeing the light of merry mischief in his big brother’s eyes reminded Rake why he loved the son of a bitch. When Blake loosened up, he was almost human. “So: We will reach out at a time early enough that she will likely be in her room getting ready, but not so late that she has left to deal with the judgmental farmers’ brigade. Eight A.M. ought to do it. Can you be at my place in time?”
Ugh. Well, he’d just stay up extra late that night, avoid going to bed altogether until after the call. Also, Blake didn’t seem to get that they didn’t have to be in the same room to make a conference call. Or even the same state, continent, or hemisphere. “Sure.”
Blake’s eyes went all narrow and squinty, like when he was constipated or thought Rake wasn’t paying attention. “So when would that be, exactly?”
Rake shrugged. “Fifteen minutes early to work out the script. Say quarter to ten?”
Another put-upon sigh. “She is trapped in the central time zone, Rake.”
“Right.” Time for some fun. “Center means more toward the middle. Noon is the middle. So she’s two hours closer to the middle: Ten A.M.”
“I don’t understand.” As Rake opened his mouth to continue torturing his genetic