Hotter than Texas (Pecan Creek) - By Tina Leonard Page 0,8
of my plumbing just fine. I’m not messing up a good thing.”
Jake felt better, because for a second he’d been afraid someone was going to say Sugar, and then he was going to be pissed, although he didn’t know why. These were his friends. They’d played football together in high school, gone through A&M as corps turds, then went straight into the military. After basic, they’d gone right to Afghanistan, then Iraq, all of which had been shitholes of unimaginable proportions, even for officers.
Despite his pride in his military service, it had left scars. Evert, the Pecan Creek kicker the year they’d won the football championship, had gotten his little toe shot off, which he claimed “fucked up my goddamn kick” every chance he got to tell someone—which was about once a week. Evert was proud of his kicking foot, and now he claimed his balance was off. He was a big man, good looking with blond sunny hair and a mustache that drooped like Droopy Dog’s face, and the ladies went nuts for him. Ever since he’d had the good fortune to make his way into Cat Jenkins’s bed a few weeks ago, he never mentioned his fucked-up kick, which suited Jake fine.
“I’m thinking about growing some bud,” Big Bobby said. “We don’t have any Mary Jane around here.”
“You don’t smoke pot,” Jake told the star wide receiver, “and if you grow any plants around here, I’ll kick your ass to the next county.” He glared at Bobby, who shrugged and ran a hand through black locks that rarely saw grooming tools. “You dumbass.”
“I don’t want to smoke it. It would be for medicinal purposes, like in California. I heard it’s profitable, and I could use some profitability.” Bobby got up to eye the table Jake had abandoned. “We don’t make any money at Bait and Burgers.”
“We don’t really try.” Jake frowned. “Making money takes a little bit of effort. You need money, Bobby?”
“No,” Bobby said. “But we can’t sit down here playing pool forever.”
“I can.” Jake dreamed of peace in his life. Some people needed expensive vacations to relax. He just needed a dark, quiet basement with a flashing Dos XXs sign. “We make our own brew. I farm a few acres and rent out a house. That’s plenty for me.”
“And you trade stocks like a Wall Street pro, Buffett’s kid brother,” Kel said. “You have income. We’ve got to do something with our lives. We can’t just sit here and circle jerk for the rest of our lives.”
Jake realized something of an uprising had been plotted among his lifelong comrades. He jacked himself onto a cracked vinyl barstool and waited. “Go on.”
“It’s all fine for you to hang out here, batching it,” Evert said. “You’re only responsible to you, Jake.”
And to the Pillars, who want me to save the town, but I’ve done all the saving I intend to do in life.
It was bad karma to think about saving things that could not be saved. “Do what you have to do. I understand you have families. Girlfriends. Whatever.” He shrugged. “You want me to buy you out of Bait and Burgers?”
Bobby German shook his dark lunkhead. Evert sighed and moved his big pumpkin in the negative, staring at his good foot. Kel tucked his chin before shrugging. “We need jobs. And there aren’t any here for us.”
Not unless you made peter heaters. Jake closed his eyes for a moment. A vision of Sugar, chestnut-haired, well-breasted and ballbreaking, rose to mind. She whines less than this crew, and I saddled her with a house I’d sell in a heartbeat if I could.
Still, these were his best friends. “Things should pick up around here eventually. August is a slow month.” Every month was a slow month in Pecan Creek.
He could barely stand to meet the desultory expressions on his friends’ faces. His cell phone rang, giving him something to do besides stare at gloom. “It’s Vivian,” he said. “Hang on and we’ll get back to this. I swear we’ll figure it out. Hello?”
“Jake? I’ve been thinking—”
“No,” Jake said, so on automatic that he practically bit his tongue. “What’s on your mind?”
“We need a mayor. A real live mayor of Pecan Creek.”
Jake blinked, his heart sinking as he recognized a big hook in Vivian’s pronouncement. Vivian’s plans usually had a stink bomb reserved just for him. “Why?”
“We don’t have one. All small towns have a mayor. Tourists love mayors. They love to shake a mayor’s hand, get that authentic small-town