Page 1 of Good Girls Beg

CHAPTER ONE

TEDDIE

"Holy fuckballs." I didn't jump back fast enough. The Cadillac Blackwing flew past without slowing, wheels sending up a spray of water in its wake.

I swore under my breath and dripped onto the already wet sidewalk, soaked through. My jeans and faded sweater clung to me.

At least no one saw me. Right?

Okay, there was a zero percent chance no one was watching me right now.

I peered out from under the rim of my basically useless umbrella. My gaze caught on the new sign on the front of the bar across the street. People bustled inside the already packed venue. Several stopped to snicker at me before heading inside.

I sighed and closed my umbrella before ducking my head and stepping into Loams.

"You're not dripping everywhere, are you?" Dad called out.

"Just a little bit," I admitted. "Looks like Nefarious is getting some business."

Dennis Ward, known to me as Dad, grunted, and grabbed a bar towel to toss at me. "It's a novelty. It'll wear off sooner or later."

"Of course it will," I replied.

I dabbed at myself and tried not to notice how empty their bar was. Loams was practically an institution here in Saltgrave Cove. Always busy. Always bustling with noise, activity and music.

Until another bar opened directly across the street. Now it was practically empty, the lunchtime rush nothing but a trickle. That is to say, two people sat at a table near the window, sipping wine while gazing out at the ocean.

Another sat on the corner, typing on her laptop. The half-empty coffee in front of her looked cold. Beside that was a sandwich that didn't look like it had a bite taken out of it. Saltgrave was the perfect place for a novelist to come and get over writer’s block.

Although, I mused, on days like this maybe they should have called the city Raingrave Cove. We seemed to get more than our fair share of it. Late spring and summer thunderstorms were something to behold. From inside where it was nice and sheltered.

I was as dry as I was going to be without a change of clothes, so I tossed the towel in the hamper behind the bar and turned to the man who'd raised me, my hands on my hips.

"Things are a little…”

"Don't start with me." He pointed a soda gun in my direction. "Things will pick up."

I put a hand in front of my face, although I knew he wasn't going to spray me. "What are you going to do if they don't?"

In the corner of my eye, I caught sight of Indie, my fathers' office manager. She started to step out of the office, with what looked like an invoice in her hand. She grimaced behind Dad's back and ducked inside again.

Apparently things were worse than my fathers were letting on. While I appreciated her loyalty to them, they didn't need to protect me. They knew that, didn't they?

"We have everything under control, like we always do," Dad said. "You don't need to worry.”

"Who's worrying about what?" From the look of the bucket and brushes in his hands, my other father, Grant, who I called Pop, had cleaned the restroom. Since when did either of them do that? Not that they were above it by any means, but they had a cleaner for a reason. So they had more time to run the business and interact with customers.

That was why they started the bar in the first place. They loved nothing more than talking to everyone who came through the door, learning their life stories. Understand what brought them in that day. No one left here feeling unwelcome. That was their whole mission statement. It was practically written in the bright paint on the walls, and the art by local artists. Loams was a whole vibe.

"No one is worrying about anything," Dad said. That was a sweeping generalization, bought by exactly no one.

I raised my hand slowly. "I'm worrying about both of you. I know things haven't been going well since Nefarious opened." I bent a finger and pointed in the direction of the front door.

"It's nothing you need to lose sleep over, Teddie," Dad said firmly, as if I was still a little girl. "We've been through rough patches before and we survived. That's all this is, another rough patch."

He needed to spend more time practicing if he wanted to be convincing, because I didn't buy a word of it.

I slid my gaze over to Pop. He was usually the reassuring one. The man who told the worst dad jokes anyone ever heard. Laughing at everything, when he wasn't humming or singing.