Face the Music Page 13

  She’s even prettier than I thought she’d be with a clean face.

  “You look great,” I say softly.

  From her profile, I see her gaze move from her bag to a spot in front of her, a small tilt of her lips, and if I’m not mistaken, her shoulders drop slightly as if my compliment released tightness in her. “Thanks.”

  Before things get too uncomfortable, I turn around and dig through the fridge for dinner, grateful when I hear her heels disappear down the hallway.

  These feelings I have for Ashleigh are unacceptable!

  I just don’t have a clue how to rid myself of them.

  Chapter Twelve

  Ashleigh

  “You’re a dick.” I open the door of Ben’s house to let in my ex-best friend. After ditching me to deal with Judge Dread at Elliot’s school two days ago, Bethany was also a no-show yesterday, so she’s been demoted to semi-friend.

  She brushes by me, laughing. “Go ahead and be mad, but it’s proven that the best way to learn anything is by doing and how were you going to learn unless—”

  “I stopped listening somewhere around ‘learning.’” I use air quotes for that last word and shut the door to reclaim my position on the couch where Elliot and I are watching Disney’s The Princess and the Frog.

  “Which totally proves my point,” Bethany mumbles and sits on the other side of Elliot, who gives her a quick smile. “You two look like zombies staring at the television as if it’s brains.” She tickles Elliot.

  The kid pushes her arms away, laughing. “Stop. Ray just died.”

  Bethany flashes an exaggerated frown. “Oh, my apologies.” Bethany shifts on the couch to face us. “Did you do your homework before you started watching this movie?”

  “No,” Elliot answers absently while Ray’s little firefly body is released to the

  bayou. “I’ll do it later.”

  “What about your science project?” she says.

  Elliot seems to not have heard her, her eyes glued to the television.

  Bethany doesn’t say a word, but jumps up, hits the power button on the TV, and doesn’t react to our stupefied responses.

  “That’s messed up,” I say.

  “Hey! It was almost over!” Elliot says in her I’m-about-to-lose-my-shit voice.

  “Great, then you can watch it after you do your homework.” With a firm couple flicks of her wrist, Bethany motions for the kid to get up. “Come on, sit up and get it over with. You know the rules.”

  “Ashleigh doesn’t make me do my homework,” Elliot mumbles as she stomps to the kitchen table.

  She’s right. I don’t. First grade homework is a joke. What could they possibly give the kids to do at home? Color?

  “Elliot, Ash is learning how to be the best nanny she can be, and you have to help her with that. Homework gets done when?”

  Elliot flops into the seat at the kitchen table as if she’s lost all bones in her body. “After school and a snack.”

  “Exactly. And you’re not allowed to watch TV until it’s done, right?”

  She doesn’t answer.

  “These have always been the rules. So let’s take a crack at whatever homework you have, then you can go back to your movie. Okay?”

  This is exactly why Bethany is so much better at this nanny shit than I am. I don’t think anything I learned in school became all that useful to me as an adult. Working in a bar, I have no use for random facts about the Civil War or Lewis and Clark. I use shitty grammar, but so does everyone else. People practically speak in text abbreviations. SMH. IKR. FML.

  The most valuable things I learned in school weren’t taught in a classroom or through boatloads of homework. They were taught in my relationships in middle and high school. Like how to spot a real friend, or not to trust a boy who tells me how sexy I am and how badly he needs me—until he doesn’t. Before I spiral too deeply into thoughts of the past, I focus on Bethany as she bends over Elliot, placing her school shit in front of her.

  She’s going to be a great mom someday.

  A tinge of sadness tightens my chest.

  “What’s wrong?” Bethany seems to appear in front of me. I was so lost in my head I didn’t register her move.

  I paste on my big, fake smile. “Not a thing, chicken wing.”

  Her eyes narrow. “You’re lying.”

  “No, I’m not—”

  “What were you just thinking about?”

  I’m about to make an excuse to walk away from her when she drops down onto the couch next to me. I don’t look at her because I know if I do, she’ll see right through me. “Work. It’s supposed to be busy—”

  “Ash.” How can she say so much using only one syllable of my name? “I know you. And I know you’d never get that look on your face thinking about work.”

  I peer at her, and when I do, her expression softens. “What look?”

  “The one that says you’re the only kid who didn’t get a present and you have to sit around and watch everyone open and play with theirs.”

  I laugh a little. “That’s pretty good.”

  “I know you. What is it?”

  I pick at the fraying strings on my ripped jeans. “Nothing. You’re just so good with Elliot and…” I suck in a deep breath. “You’re going to make a really good mom someday.”

  Her hand gently covers mine, the comfort she’s offered many times before when I’ve fallen into my pool of self-pity. “So will you.”

  I won’t.

  I squeeze her hand, then release her to go do something, anything other than thinking about all the ways I’ve fucked up my life.

  * * *

  After Elliot finishes her homework, we watch Prince Naveen and Princess Tiana share a sexy kiss in the bayou, then give three Barbies a makeover. Bethany’s stayed busy throwing together the fixens for tacos while I watch the clock as it ticks closer to five o’clock.

  When Ben gets home early, I can linger for a few minutes, chatting about his day or Elliot’s. His eyes always light up when he sees his daughter, and I can almost see the stress from the day fall from his shoulders.

  Convinced he’s not going to be home early today, I clean up the mess Elliot and I made in her room, then grab my bag to get changed for my shift.

  Elliot races to the kitchen and Bethany sets her up to grate some cheese while I excuse myself to the bathroom. My jeans and faded Jonas Brothers T-shirt make me look younger, a stark contrast from my clothes for work. Something about seeing the difference between the two washes me in sadness.

  First the conversation with Bethany on the couch and now this? Dead hormones around Anthony and my entire body lights up around Ben. Since when did my libido become discriminatory? I pull my birth control pills from my bag. Huh, another two weeks until I start my period, so that’s not it. What the hell is wrong with me?

  With little to no enthusiasm, I slip on my ripped leggings, skimpy tank, and heels. I throw two French braids into my hair and build upon my makeup with extra thick black liner and bright pink lips.

  I don’t look at my reflection when I turn to leave the bathroom.

  Ben

  “Ben,” Donna says from the doorway of my office, “Mrs. Jones is here to speak with you.”

  I check the clock and groan internally. “Fine, but I only have ten minutes before I have to go home.”

  I’ve made sure I’ve gotten home early every day, even if only by a few minutes, so that Ashleigh can make her shift at the club on time. Friday nights are bound to be busy at the club. She’s saved me by watching Elliot until I find someone else. The least I can do is make sure she doesn’t get fired from her bartending job.

  Donna nods, and soon Mrs. Jones steps inside my office. She has a file folder clutched to her chest as she takes the seat across from me. Donna makes sure the door is as wide open as it’s able before she goes back to her desk.

  “Mrs. Jones, I’m in a hurry to get home. What can I do for you?”

  “Mr. Gunthry and I stumbled across some
information I wanted to run by you.” She opens the folder on her lap and shuffles around some papers.

  “That’s fine, but if this is going to take a while, you should probably come back tomorrow.”

  “No.” She slides a paper onto my desk. “This’ll only take a minute.”

  I pick up the paper and see it’s a purchase slip for my car. “How did you get this?”

  “I assure you our methods are legal.” She lifts her chin to indicate the paper in my hand. “It says there your vehicle was purchased by Arienfield Records.”

  “Yeah. So?”

  “Two days after you contributed to the performance in Los Angeles.” When I don’t respond, she continues. “You do realize it was bad enough that you were on stage playing for and showing public support for Jesse Lee, but you were paid as well?”

  I rub my forehead, trying to keep from saying what I really want to say. “I was.”

  She hums low and disapprovingly. “This complicates things.”

  “You can’t be serious.”

  “With all due respect, Pastor Langley, the board who decides on this case is going to take this information seriously. A pastor who gets caught at a strip club is bad enough. A pastor who takes a part-time job at a strip club is a much more grievous offense.”

  I toss the paper back to her side of the desk. “All right, then I’ll just have to trust that the right decision is made.”

  She gathers the paper, scribbles a note on the folder, and closes it. “Thank you for your time.”

  I may or may not have flipped her the bird under my desk when she walked out.

  With less than five minutes to spare, I grab my stuff and call it a day. I say goodbye to Donna, who looks sympathetic, no doubt having heard the entire conversation in my office.

  I pass Mrs. Jones in the hallway as she talks to one of the worship pastors. I make sure to give them both an enthusiastic “good night” before I push out the swinging doors and toward my car.

  A shiny black sedan, all the windows tinted black, is parked close to my Jeep. Not the kind of vehicle I’m used to seeing in my small church parking lot. I squeeze between it and my car, then the sedan door clicks open and out folds a tall, built guy wearing a baseball hat. My lips curve because I’d recognize this pain in the ass in the dark.

  “You’ve gotta be kidding,” I mumble through a grin.

  “Finally, bro,” Jes says before slamming the car door and pulling me in for a back-pounding hug. “Been out here waiting for-fucking-ever.”

  “What are you doing here?” He smells like expensive cologne and leather interior.

  “I told her I’d give her a week. Time’s up. I’m here for my wife.” He checks out our surroundings, probably expecting a photographer or a fan to come barreling out of the bushes.

  His Rayban sunglass covered eyes snag on something over my shoulder. When I follow his line of sight, I see Mrs. Jones watching us through the glass doors of the church. I can’t see his eyes, but I can tell by the tightening of his jaw that he’s clocked the woman. She seems to take our noticing her as permission to make her way toward us.

  “Great,” I mumble mostly to myself.

  “Who’s the stiff?” he says, his gaze laser-pinned on her.

  “You don’t want to know.” I walk away from my brother, meeting her halfway through the lot. “Mrs. Jones, now is not a good time—”

  “Mr. Lee, it’s nice to meet you,” she says and shoves out her hand.

  My brother looks at her hand, tilts his head toward me, then back toward her. “Who are you?”

  “Janine Jones. I’m with the Department of Ethical Evangelicals.”

  “That’s a mouthful,” he says with a grin.

  I scramble to make our excuse to leave. “I’m late. We really need to get going.”

  Jesiah’s busy texting on his phone, not sparing Mrs. Jones a second more of his time.

  “Mr. Lee, if you wouldn’t mind, I have a question—”

  He holds a palm up toward her face, silencing her. “Pretty sure my brother said he was in a hurry.”

  I bite my lips to keep from laughing as Mrs. Jones’s face fills with color.

  The driver of the car Jesiah came in gets out and makes his way toward us. He’s clearly not just a driver but also some kind of security detail. He doesn’t say a word—seen, not heard, but overpowering the space with his presence.

  “Good night,” I say and head back to my car.

  Jes jogs up beside me. “Please tell me you’re not dipping your splash stick into that tightass’s man trap.”

  A chuckle escapes me. Whether it’s because what Jes said is funny or because of the sheer absurdity of what he’s asking, I’m not sure. “No.”

  He gets into the passenger side of my car. “Good. She’d be a lousy lay, trust me.” He slumps down in his seat and taps his nose. “I’ve got a sixth sense about these things.”

  “You’re not riding with your guy?” I say as Jesiah’s driver/security man gets into the sedan and pulls out of the lot.

  “I told him I’d call him if I need him.”

  Must be nice to have your own muscle on call.

  “Does Bethany know you’re here?”

  “No, I wanted to surprise her.” He cringes a little.

  “Translation—if she knew you were coming to bring her home early, she’d rip you a new asshole.”

  He stares out the window, a slight grin on his lips. “Pretty much.”

  “I hope she hasn’t stayed as long as she has for my benefit. Ashleigh’s been doing a great job with Elliot. She’ll be fine until I get a replacement.”

  He’s silent before he turns to me. “Is that what you want?”

  “That’s the plan.”

  “That isn’t what I asked.”

  “I want whatever’s best for Elliot.”

  “Also not what I asked.”

  What the hell does he want to hear?

  I sigh long and hard. “I just want to live my life without complications.”

  “Complications…” He slides off his shades. “Is that what we’re calling orgasms now?”

  “Jes,” I try to reprimand him, but I’m also on the verge of laughing.

  “I say bring on the complications.” He shifts in his seat. “No joke, bro, drive faster. I’m dying for a little complication.”

  “You know your wife was created for more than to please your carnal needs, right?”

  “Ha! Of course I know that. But trust me when I say my wife enjoys meeting my carnal needs as much as I love feeding hers.”

  For no real reason, my eyes are drawn to the simple black wedding band on his finger. The lowering sun manages to catch on my gold wedding band, and I’m reminded that I no longer have a wife. And yet, I’m wearing the memory of what we had like a memorial on my ring finger.

  We chat about Los Angeles, the new house he and Bethany finished remodeling, and his drummer Ryder’s new baby. When I pull into my driveway, I see Ashleigh’s car and Bethany’s car parked in front. My stomach does a little… something.

  Jes is out of the car and halfway to the door by the time I get the engine shut off. The squeal of joy that comes screaming out the front door can only mean that Bethany is happy to see him.

  “Uncle Jesse!” Elliot screams as I walk through the open door. She crashes into my brother’s body, arms wrapping around his waist.

  “What’s up, squirt?” He has one arm around his wife and one arm hanging over Elliot. “You ladies having a good night—fuck, it smells good in here. Tacos?”

  As if I had magnets attached to my eyes, they’re pulled toward the hallway where Ashleigh stands, watching the couple, and my mouth instantly waters. As always, she looks incredibly sexy dressed in every sinful kind of skin-tight and see-through with heels that make her legs look impossibly long. Her lips are moving, but she’s not talking to me—her eyes are still on Bethany and Jesiah—so I take the extra seconds to drink her in.

  When her eyes finall
y come to mine, she looks wide-eyed and a little pale.

  “What?” I ask everyone in the room, because Bethany and Jes are now also looking at me as if I’ve been asked a question I didn’t hear.

  “That’s a great idea,” Bethany says, her eyes glinting with excitement.

  My brother kisses his wife’s head, hiding a smile in her hair.

  “What is?” I say.

  “Oh, I don’t know about that,” Ashleigh says at the same time. “I don’t think Ben would enjoy himself there.”

  “Where?” Why do I feel as if I’ve been pulled out of my life and dropped into someone else’s all of the sudden?

  “Jesiah suggested that you go out. It’s Friday night, so you don’t need to be up to go to work in the morning,” Bethany explains. “Go to Ashleigh’s club, have a drink, and let us watch Elliot tonight.”

  “I don’t know,” I say. Mainly because I don’t have a good excuse not to go.

  “It’s not like you have to stay late,” Bethany says. “Just go for an hour. Let loose a little. Do some people-watching.”

  “I can’t.” I realize then I’m clutching my keys so tightly, my palm aches. “I’m—”

  “Oh, go on.” Jesiah jerks his head toward the hallway. “Go change into something less stick-in-the-mud and go for one drink. You never go out.”

  My gaze settles on a photo of Maggie a foot from where Ashleigh is standing.

  What do you think, Maggie? Should I go?

  She doesn’t answer. But then, she never does.

  “Ben”—Ashleigh’s gathering her things, her bag slung over her shoulder—“you don’t have to. Honestly, you’d hate it there, what with all the drinking and dancing and—”

  “Having fun.” Jes laughs. “Yeah, good point. Ben’s liable to be a big ol’ fucking buzzkill.” He pulls a wad of cash out of his pocket and drops it into the curse jar.