Gibson and my mom discussed the finer points of fast-pitch softball, I pulled Shelby aside.
“I’m beyond sorry about the interruption.”
She gave me a wan smile. “It’s fine. Your mom is great.”
“You look tired. Are you okay? Do you want me to take you home?” She was pale, and those shadows under her eyes concerned me.
“I’m fine. Just a long day,” she said. “GT and June are going to drive me home. Juney’s hit her wall of peopling for the day.”
“You sure you’re okay?” I pressed. “I want to talk more about… before.”
Her smile was a slow burn. “I would also like to do more ‘talking.’”
“I would, too,” I admitted. “Scarlett might be a problem,” I warned her.
“We can handle her,” Shelby predicted.
I laughed. “Have you met my sister?”
“I believe we handled her just fine today,” she reminded me.
I remembered Scarlett’s face when Sheriff Tucker slapped the cuffs on Shelby. “We make a good team.”
“You ready, Shel?” George and June approached. June had a book under her arm and a head lamp on.
“Ready,” Shelby said, looking several degrees more energetic than she had a minute ago. I wondered if the show was for me or her brother. “I’ll see you back at the house.”
I wanted to kiss her again, but not with her gigantic brother, my paying client, hovering. It didn’t feel professional… or wise.
Shelby and June headed in the direction of the car.
“Funny joke today,” George said. He still didn’t sound like he thought it was very funny.
“Thanks for not pounding my face in.”
“As long as you’re good to my sister, that won’t become necessary,” he said, crossing his arms in front of his chest.
“Good to know. Appreciate the heads-up.”
He slapped me on the shoulder. It stung. “Now that that’s settled, we can return to our previous dudebro relationship. See you Monday?”
“Looking forward to it,” I told him, rubbing my shoulder.
“You better get back over there. Scarlett’s trying to talk your mother into doing shots.”
“Fuck.”
Me: My mom has officially been inducted into Bootleg Society.
Shelby: How drunk is she?
Me: She’s laying in the back seat singing Lady Gaga songs. I’m driving her to the inn and pouring her into her room.
Shelby: FYI. They have a hangover room service package.
18
Shelby
The pain in my back was a wildfire that existed to drive me insane. I couldn’t sleep. I’d known I’d overdone it. The whole day on the water, the party, the sun, the gin… the kiss.
Everything hurt. My back, shoulders, hips, wrists.
The only thing that temporarily blurred the pain was remembering every second of that kiss.
I’d kissed Jonah by a bonfire on a clear summer night.
I’d also discussed the possibility of a no-strings-attached fling with the man.
And then his mother and my pain brought everything to a screeching halt.
I’d had to grit my teeth to keep from groaning when I got out of GT’s car. My brother didn’t know. No one knew. And no one was going to know until I had it under control.
I tried to roll over, looking for a comfortable position on my mattress, and a pathetic moan escaped.
My room in the Little Yellow House was small. The bed was wedged in between cute little bookcases that doubled as nightstands. Not that there was a need for two of them. It would be impossible to fit two adults on this mattress.
I groaned again and winced. Fatigue, aches, discomfort. It was like a never-ending case of the flu. Which sucked because at least when I had the flu, I knew there was an end in sight. Not with this.
“Shelby?” It was followed by a light knock.
Oh, crap. Jonah. Oh my god. Was he coming in to kiss me again? Was he expecting more? Not when I was curled in a ball with all my synapses lighting up with pain.
The doorknob turned.
Maybe if I pretended to be asleep? I closed my eyes.
“I know you’re awake,” he said, amused from the door. “I’ve seen your sleeping face. Now, you look like you just ate a lemon.”
I opened one eye. “Oh, hey, Jonah. How’s it going?” Playing it cool. Casual.
“I heard you moaning. Thin walls. You okay?”
I winced as turning my head delivered a new shock of pain in my neck. “Must have been dreaming.”
“Or you must be lying,” he said, taking stock of me. I was curled in the fetal position, stiff as a board. Even I knew this didn’t look natural.
“I’m just coming down with something. Maybe I had too much sun,” I said lamely.
“Can I bring you some water or ibuprofen?