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“You don’t give yourself enough credit. Geez, you could be a model if you wanted to.”
“Because I’m tall and skinny?”
“Yes. And because you have great skin and gorgeous eyes and a mouth that would make the Kardashians jealous, and with the right bra, your boobs look amazing.”
“Anyone’s boobs can look amazing.”
“True. But then you’ve got that hair.”
Molly didn’t reply, because what could she say to that? She would always see Bones Malone in the mirror. Always.
“But, if like you say, he’s not jealous, then he’s trying to control you or impose his opinion onto you and that means you need to teach him a lesson. No man has the right to run a woman’s life.”
Molly couldn’t lie. She kind of liked the idea of teaching Nate Jacobs a lesson.
“How do I do that?”
Jade smiled. “Shove whoever it is he thinks you’re sleeping with down his throat. Make him squirm.”
A buzzer signaled the arrival of the kittens’ foster mom—thank God. Molly was just about done with all of this. She pondered things for a few moments, though. Teach him a lesson. Make him squirm. She thought of Nate and Chess together, of that woman pressed up against the one man Molly wo
uld never have. The only one she’d wanted since as long as she could remember. And maybe it was the devil nipping at Molly’s heels, but she whipped out her cell phone before she could her mind. It rang exactly once before he answered.
“Hey, sexy.”
She smiled and rolled her eyes. “Do you have plans tonight, Kyle?”
“Nope. What’s up?”
“You want to come to dinner with me?”
“Babe. Is that even a question?” She wasn’t sure when he started calling her babe, but it wasn’t the time to ride him for that.
“Good. Wear something dressy. Pick me up at five.”
Whatever his response was, she cut it off by tucking her cell phone back into the front pockets of her jean shorts. The Malones and Jessica’s family, the Bakers, along with the wedding party, were doing dinner at the golf course across the lake. She’d been dreading it since last night because she knew she’d be the only single in attendance, Nate would most likely bring Chess.
But now she had a plan. Now the tables were turned.
She turned as Mrs. Beckett, the kitten’s foster mom, slipped into the room, and felt lighter than she had in days. Let the games begin.
Chapter Four
In Crystal Lake, the Coach House was an institution of sorts. The place had been around since horse-and-buggy days, when it had been both an inn and the only place for miles where a man could belly up to the bar and slam back a whiskey or two. There were also rumors
that at one time, it had been a house of ill repute, never substantiated, though it made for a good story.
Nate smiled wryly as he jogged up the stairs to the entrance and pushed into the place. He was hit by that odor only an establishment as old as this could give off, a mixture of beer and grease. With the neon signs hanging on the walls, the black-and-white-checkered dance floor, as well as the dimly lit stage watching silently from the far corner, it felt like coming home to an old friend. The Coach House hadn’t changed a bit, and considering pretty much everything else in Crystal Lake seemed to have changed over the last ten years or so, this felt good.
It was four o’clock on a Sunday afternoon, and the place was busy. He spied Nash Booker behind the bar and would have headed that way to say hello, but Booker was currently in what looked like a bit of a disagreement with a sexy little redhead with more than her fair share of attitude. No way was Nate getting in the middle of that. He took a seat at one of the pub tables in the corner and ordered two large mugs of an IPA made from a local brewery he’d never heard of. The server, Pauline, highly recommended it, and who was he to disagree with a pretty lady?
His cell buzzed at about the same time she delivered the frosty mugs. He gave her a large bill and told her to keep the change while he glanced at his phone. There were two messages. One from his brother that said he was running ten minutes late. The other was from Link Major. The footballer was out with a pretty severe groin injury and wasn’t scheduled to play until later this fall. His text was simple and straight to the point.
Need a place to hide out. Can you produce?
Nate called him back but got Link’s voicemail. He left a message with instructions to contact his assistant, Sam, at his convenience, and then he called Sam and told him to expect to hear from Link and to make any and all arrangements needed to get the footballer to Michigan. He’d figure the rest out when Link landed.
Another person might have wondered why Link was looking to disappear, but Nate had been around athletes his entire life and knew better than to ask why, mostly because he didn’t want to know. At least not yet.
