Last Name - Dr. Rebecca Sharp Page 0,65

myself from my childhood bedroom, leaving my momma and Amy, who was her childhood best friend, to commiserate on how taxing I was on her nerves.

I wasn’t particularly quiet coming down the steps, scanning my house for Millie Jean—who was pregnant again—and Sue-Lynn, who’d been closer to Jake’s grade in high school until she’d been held back and put in ours. Last year, she’d married a very old widower with very old Southern money and it was only a matter of time before that paid off.

It was Chicktown’s worst-kept secret that she was just waiting to inherit as soon as he kicked the bucket.

That juicy piece of gossip had put my reputation on the back burner for a solid two months.

“Sue-Lynn?” My white, fuzzy bridal slippers—a left-over from last time—paused in the kitchen when I heard laughter.

My brow furrowed.

It had to be coming from outside.

Padding across the linoleum, the white and green check faded into a worn path that led to the back door.

Was Sue-Lynn outside?

The screen door slammed shut behind me, and I heard Sue-Lynn yelp just as I rounded to the side of my parent’s farmhouse.

“Jake?” I gasped in shock.

I couldn’t believe what I was seeing.

Jake, my fiancé, with his suit pants around his thighs, screwing Sue-Lynn, my friend, against the side of his future in-law’s house.

Two sets of wide eyes whipped to mine.

“Oh, fuck. Dix,” Jake grumbled, trying to disentangle himself from Sue-Lynn’s vagina as though there was any way to rectify this situation.

“Are you fucking kidding me?” I hollered as shock quickly and viciously turned to rage.

“Oh, no. Dixie doll, wait,” Sue Lynn whined, pushing Jake away from her while trying to right her bridesmaid dress.

My head shook and my vision turned red—but not before I saw the single pink rose in Sue-Lynn’s hand and my jaw dropped.

All those weeks. All those flowers.

“Have the flowers you’ve been buying from me been for her?” I ground out.

I didn’t know why that was the most pressing question right now, but it was.

“Dix—”

“Have they?” I cut him off.

Jake’s head fell as he huffed and tried to yank his pants back over his bare dick.

My gaze dropped to the ground, feeling like the whole world was spinning out from underneath me. “I’ll take that as a yes.”

I picked up the garden hose at my feet.

This was the kind of petty Chicktown revenge I knew would be all over the Gazette tomorrow, but I didn’t give a rat’s ass because it was goin’ to make me feel better right now.”

“Dix, please.” Jake held up one hand for mercy.

“Look, Dixie doll”—I hated when she called me that— “it doesn’t mean nothin’. Really. We used to see each other in high school and we just kind of fell back into it. But it’s just a silly fling.”

She just kind of fell back into my fiancé’s dick.

Jake’s head whipped to her as I turned on the water. “What do you mean nothin’?”

I had to laugh. I mean, what the hell else was I supposed to do when my fiancé was gettin’ offended because his dumb-as-a-doornail sidepiece insulted him?

“You know what’s nothin’, Jake Yarell? Us.” I gripped the squeeze-lever nozzle as though it were a real gun. “We are done.”

The next day

The Chicktown Gazette (front page)—Dixie Winston sinks Groom #2!

Chicktown’s Runaway Bride last spotted chasing her almost-hubby down Main St. while hosing him down. Jake Yarell is Strike Two for our infamous almost bride.

Batter’s up for bridegroom #3.

Twenty-three years old

“Now, which cousin of ours did you say this was again?” I yelled over my shoulder to my momma, dragging black liner across my eyelid.

“Jemima.”

My lips pursed. “I don’t remember ever hearing of a cousin by that name…”

It was certainly plausible. Everyone in Chicktown knew that my daddy, Chuck Winston, had family that spread through nine different counties in Alabama.

“It’s your daddy’s cousin, Judy. Her husband’s older sister’s son’s daughter.” She peeked through the door. “You should put all your hair up. It looks like you forgot a piece.”

I groaned, already forgetting the relationship she told me I had to this woman.

And why anyone would come to Chicktown to get married was beyond me.

I waited until she wasn’t looking at me before I pulled the curled strands I’d left in front of my right cheek back from my face. Angling my chin, I could see even the cover-up I’d put on early this morning wasn’t quite enough to hide the bruise on my face in the right light.

Looked like the hair was staying.

Swallowing over the lump