Calling His Bluff. Amy Jo Cousins
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was a time limit on finding it.
And she had stopped at the white line. But that last tap on her brakes must have happened just as the tires hit a patch of ice, because the car had slid forward a foot or two before coming to a complete stop.
And she knew that her passenger side rearview mirror was cracked. Some idiot parking his car must have clipped the mirror the night before, but the dealership said they had to order the part since her Jeep was so old, and it wouldn’t be in until Monday. She couldn’t work without her car.
It just seemed so unfair that she hadn’t done anything wrong and was in all this trouble anyway. When she tried to explain that to the officer, he’d flashed a palm in her face to stop her monologue. “Yeah, yeah, yeah. You can tell your side of it in court, lady.”
Now he was sitting in his cruiser, parked behind her, and she was too nervous to pull away from the curb. She was so angry her hands were shaking. She’d probably step on the accelerator and drive right into a parked car. But after it became clear that the police officer was more than capable of out-waiting her, she finally shifted her car into drive and pulled away from the curb. Her gaze jumped to her rearview mirror every two seconds until the cruiser finally got off her tail.
Now she didn’t want a meal. Or a book. She wanted to skip town. In lieu of that, she’d settle for some sympathy, damn it, for J.D. not calling her and for the hookers and for Officer Buttinski. And maybe a couple stiff drinks. She knew just where to go to get them.
Of course, in classic Chicago style, all the open parking spaces on the residential streets had been blocked with buckets, brooms and folding chairs by people who wanted to save the spaces after going to all the work of digging them out. She spotted one last unclaimed gap on the block, only to watch as it was stolen from her by a jerk in a Hummer who definitely had a tiny penis.
That was it. She’d had it.
Her tires skidded as she slalomed halfway into a spot blocked by two green plastic lawn chairs and slammed on the brakes. She was out of the car in two seconds, and she had a chair in each hand moments later. She was about to pitch them onto the parkway when she came to her senses.
Did she really want a rock through her windshield?
Two minutes and a quick search of her med bag later, the chairs were stacked neatly just off the curb and a hot pink Post-it that broadcast her apology was anchored to the seat with a chunk of ice. So sorry—Emergency! Leaving soon & will put the chairs back! Her Jeep was parked neatly in the stolen space.
She was still risking that her car would get attacked with a shovel, but if she had to drive around the block for one more minute, she was going to lose her mind. Or commit vehicular suicide.
Finally, she’d made it. The one place where she knew everyone would be on her side. She’d managed to wrap up early enough that it was still before five, so there shouldn’t be anyone around except for her favorite people. She yanked open the door to her brother’s pub, the original Tyler’s, and prepared herself for some sympathy.
“…I just felt sorry for Sarah because she was always mooning around about some guy she liked.”
This was not happening to her.
* * *
“I was just yanking her chain.”
It was a good thing he hadn’t actually sat down yet, J.D. thought, as he took another step back from the long wooden counter in front of him.
Tyler had both hands flat against the bar. He looked about two seconds away from hopping it and coming after J.D. with fists swinging.
“You kissed my sister?”
He couldn’t blame the guy. When you ask your friend to check up on your sister, you don’t really mean it in a carnal way.
“I asked you to talk to her, Damico. Tell me if you thought she seemed a little off. I didn’t tell you to put the moves on her.” Tyler wasn’t smiling at all. The man seemed pretty pissed, actually.
“Hey, I was doped up on pain meds when you called. Plus, I haven’t seen Sarah since she was a kid. I wouldn’t know if she seemed a little off if I talked to her all day.”
“Yeah, well, see with your eyes, not with your hands.” When Tyler yanked at the bar rag hanging from his belt and started polishing the counter in front of him like it was inspection time at the barracks, J.D. figured it was probably safe to sit down. Which was necessary, because after five days without crutches, his leg still ached like a son of a bitch. “Sarah doesn’t need her chain yanked by the likes of you. Dude, you don’t even know if you’re still married.”
Maybe not so safe yet.
“No way. I paid. I got the papers. Only one married here is you, bro. Thank god.”
He glanced reflexively over his shoulder when he heard the gentle creak of a hinge and shivered as a small gust of cold air hit the nape of his neck. He hoped whoever it was would take the heat off him. The petite blonde who came barreling through the front door of the pub, two small children hanging off her hands, fit the bill.
J.D. shook his head and smiled at the sight of the classic Gold Coast beauty, blond hair up in a twist and designer suit hanging flawlessly on her small frame. She definitely merited a second glance. Even though she was married to his best friend.
Grace kicked off her high heels, which skidded to a stop at the base of the jukebox, and walked across the spotless hardwood floor of the bar in her stocking feet.
J.D. had been out of the country when she conned her way into an under-the-table waitressing job at Tyler’s pub, using a fake name while she hid out from some cold and manipulative family members. It didn’t surprise him much that she’d fallen for Tyler. Women always did sooner or later. What did surprise him was that his buddy had fallen just as hard.
“I’ll trade you your children for a glass of pinot grigio,” Grace suggested to her husband. She threw J.D. a grateful glance as he scooped two-year-old Isabelle onto his lap, pulling out one of the baseballs he always had on hand somehow to start a tame game of underhand toss with four-year-old Daniel. “Thanks.”
“My children, huh? Were they that bad?” Tyler asked as he poured the wheat-pale wine into a glass and swirled it. He took a sip, nodded and passed it to his wife, who took a rather longer swallow before answering.
“I should never have told Chef Paul about Take Your Kids to Work Day.” Paul was her partner in the crowning jewel of her restaurant conglomerate. Grace narrowed her eyes. “He just happened to be working on a new dessert menu today.”
“And?” After a couple of decades, J.D. could read his friend’s face at a glance. Tyler loved listening to his wife, even when she was like this, a little cranky, a little frustrated and in dire need of five minutes to vent before she could relax. He shook his head.
“Have you ever seen a couple of toddlers after they’ve taste-tested three cakes, two ices and a torte?” she asked. “It’s like having two overgrown hamsters on speed, only you’ve lost their exercise wheel, so they just keep running around the room.”
Sure, Grace was a sweetheart, no question, and a beautiful woman, but Tyler was grinning for crying out loud. Charmed to his toes by her cheerful kvetching. And J.D. had to admit that once he might once have envied the joy his friend took in his family. After all, hadn’t he spent most of his childhood wishing his own family was normal?
Yeah, well, he’d been there, done that, and bought the T-shirt. It wasn’t until after you got home that you found out that the colors of your new purchase bled into mud the first time you tried to throw it in the wash. Thanks, but no thanks. It was abundantly clear to him that he’d do better to keep his romantic entanglements to an emotional minimum. It would lower his chances of getting kicked in the teeth, at least. Or of busting his other tibia. Playing honorary uncle was enough.
J.D. was watching Daniel dive headfirst under a table, chasing the baseball