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CHAPTER THREE
Heidi gave her head a self-deprecating shake and took a bite of her fried fish sandwich. She shouldn’t have teased Carine in the store. Before the words had entirely left her mouth, she knew she’d made an error.
Fortunately, Carine didn’t know what Heidi knew.
Carine didn’t know that Heidi had seen her naked, or in some state close to naked, almost every other week for a year. Heidi had watched her gasp, watched her snarl, and watched her come. Her pretending that her interest was completely platonic was quickly having to evolve into an Oscar-caliber performance. That was why, despite being there at the same time, she hadn’t played with Carine at Clay’s over the weekend. She’d needed a night to screw her head on straight and confirm that she could walk away at any time.
Obviously, she’d managed. She didn’t tell Clay to press the intercom button and ask Carine to get ready. Heidi had kept her ass glued to that office chair, drank rank wine, and wondered what color Carine had painted her toenails. She loved watching Carine’s toes curl.
Carine tugged open the truck’s passenger door, dropped her paper food bag onto the seat, and handed her giant fountain drink to Heidi. “Why’d you get this big freakin’ thing?” She heaved her skirt up to her knees and lifted a foot to the running board.
“Because I’m overcompensating.”
“Ha ha.” Carine settled in with her bag on her lap and slammed the heavy door. “Makes sense for Tim to have one because he’s gotta haul the occasional boat, but you’re just the exec lady. You don’t drive speed boats around the state.”
“You’re right, I don’t, but I did have the company in mind when I bought it. I figured Tim shouldn’t have to do all the supply runs. Makes the work faster if I can take a load here and there. And I still have my coupe. I drive it most days, actually. Gets much better gas mileage.”
“I was going to say.” Carine ripped the bag open atop her lap and poured out a few French fries. “I learned in college to never be the friend with the truck. There’s always going to be someone asking you to help them move. Besides, I like being a little closer to the ground.”
“How are you liking the new car?”
“Ugh.” Carine grimaced and hovered an open ketchup dipping cup over the fry pile.
“Don’t want to talk about the car?”
“I mean, I don’t want to talk about the car withyou. I still feel like a helpless shit for needing you to loan me a car when my last one did the death rattle thing. Grownups shouldn’t need their associates to bail them out of transportation disasters.”
“Associates” was a cold word, but Heidi supposed it best suited the nature of their relationship at the time. Beyond bumping into each other on occasion at Clay’s or when they both happened to be in Valerie’s orbit, Heidi hadn’t seen much of Carine before that first blindfold. Outside of a shared interest in kink clubs, they didn’t run in the same sorts of circles. Carine was an extroverted go-getter who liked pretty makeup and shoes with skinny heels. Heidi was a misanthropic crone who liked black coffee, red lipstick, and being in bed by nine.
“Water under the bridge.” Heidi took another bite of her sandwich and contemplated getting a second one to take home. Blue Boy’s was hit-or-miss with their quality. The crispiness and seasoning of the fish were wholly dependent on which cook they’d managed to shake out of bed that morning. Heidi had a hunch Leon was in. Leon hated everyone, but he could fry the hell out of a flounder, and heknewit.
Cooking wasn’t one of Heidi’s hobbies. Never had been. Between her and Tim, they’d kept themselves fed well enough when they were married. Still, there’d never been anything spectacular on the marital table. Much to her mother’s chagrin, she’d never developed the penchant for standing over hot stoves poking at things. Heidi didn’t have the creativity or patience for something that resulted in what was, in her opinion, a laughably small payoff.
“I do want to hear about your car,” Heidi said. “I was surprised you got a white one.”
“It was either buy what was on the lot or pay them extra to deliver something different. I haggled them down as much as possible, but I wasn’t paying that.” Carine shrugged. “So now I’m cruisin’ in the Drivers’ Ed special. I won’t tell you how many times teenagers have hurried over when I’m parked at the curb and pulled the door handle.”
Heidi snorted. She could imagine the look on Carine’s face—that twisted combination of fright and Southern belle annoyance.
“It’s hybrid, though,” Carine said with a sigh. “Gets good mileage, and the air conditioner doesn’t quit when the going gets tough, so I don’t complain.”
“That’s the spirit.”
“Okay, now, quick. Ask me about something that isn’t pitiful.”
“Hmm. Un-pitiful. You’re putting me on the spot.” Heidi let her window down and turned her body toward the small shack housing Blue Boy’s. The walk-up restaurant wasn’t much larger than the cardboard box her last refrigerator had been delivered in, but somehow, it’d survived fifty years’ worth of hurricanes, ice storms, flash floods, and sundry other Southern-flavored disasters. “Y’all got Leon back there today?” she shouted.
The lady in the hair net and plastic apron who was responsible for the money, drinks, and condiments leaned sideways to see past the farmer at the service window. “Leon here.”
“Yes, I thought so. Tell him I want two more of the flounder. Hold the bread. Gonna take it home and freeze it.”
“You don’t want no sides, then?”
“I don’t know. You got anything that’ll freeze and microwave?”
“Mashed potaters. String beans.”
“Okay, then. Do what you have to do. I’ll pay for the containers.”
