Can't Hardly Breathe (The Original Heartbreakers #4)

CHAPTER TWELVE

RYANNE HAD THE better car, so she drove to the city. They reached the mall in record time. The parking lot was overcrowded, big SUVs and trucks wedged into tiny slots meant for even tinier cars.

After a good fifteen minutes, her friend found an open space about a half-mile hike from the sprawling building with gorgeous glass walls. The smell of exhaust carried on the wind as they headed inside.

“So...you and Jude, huh?” Dorothea asked, deciding to probe for information at last.

Ryanne scowled at her. “No, absolutely not. He’s rude.”

“And yet the two of you nearly singed off my eyebrows.”

“You mean like you and Daniel did to me?” Her dry tone held a note of challenge.

“I... Daniel... This isn’t about me! You never share your personal quarters with the bar’s patrons, and yet you allowed Brock—”

“Who is a total he-slut.”

“—to spend the night, just so you could call Jude—”

“Who is the biggest asshole I’ve ever met.”

“—to come get his friend. Don’t try to pretend otherwise. Brock could have driven himself home this morning.”

Ryanne waved a fist in her direction, all mock fury and genuine indignation. “I will punch you, and I won’t feel bad or ever say sorry.”

Dorothea blew her friend a kiss. “No mention of me in your diary? What a shame.”

“You know I’m saving up to travel the world,” Ryanne said. “I will never change my plans for a man or a relationship. Besides, you need to be hounding Lyndie. She came to the bar last night and couldn’t take her eyes off Brock. He watched her, too. Well, when he wasn’t screwing a woman in the bathroom.”

The reserved, quiet Lyndie was attracted to the irreverent, womanizing Brock, and vice versa? Dang. The world had stopped making any kind of sense.

“This is almost more than I can process.” Dorothea rubbed her temples. “The next time the boys show up at the bar, call me. I want to be a witness if anything goes to court...the court of love.”

“You’re cruising for a bruising, Mathis.”

As they wandered in and out of stores in the too-crowded mall, Ryanne drew all kinds of male attention, considering her black leather pants appeared to be painted on. Meanwhile, Dorothea wore an oversize “Will Work For Hugs” T-shirt.

“Maybe we should go to a discount store,” she muttered as she looked at the price tag on a frilly pink dress. One hundred and twenty-nine hard-earned dollars could buy fabric for a theme room. Or a graduation present for Holly. “I saw a thrift store on the drive over. Let’s go there.”

“No way. You aren’t buying lingerie at a secondhand shop.”

“I know. Because I’m not buying lingerie anywhere.” There was no reason to do so. The next man she had sex with would never even see her. The lights would stay off from the first kiss to the last thrust.

Of course, that meant she wouldn’t see him, either, and she really, really wanted to see him. Whoever he was. Because he most assuredly would not be Daniel.

“Erotic underclothes are mandatory,” Ryanne said. “Not for the guy’s benefit but yours. Lace will help you feel as sexy as you really are.”

A girl could dream. “All right. One piece of lingerie.”

*

DOROTHEA BOUGHT THREE pieces of lingerie: a lacy ice-green bra, a pair of matching panties and a thong. Aka butt floss. She’d never worn a thong, and she wasn’t sure she wanted to start now, but Ryanne assured her the man in her life would thank her.

And what if she had to negotiate with Daniel again? Surely she would throw him off his game if she let him slide his hands inside the back of her jeans...and he encountered skin rather than granny panties.

Afterward, Ryanne drove her to a discount store. As they sifted through the racks, on the hunt for the perfect date ensemble, Ryanne said, “Are you moving back to the city after Holly graduates?”

“No. I’ve taken over the inn for good.” Dorothea would always be the safe harbor her sister needed.

“You don’t sound excited about that.”

“I’m not unexcited.” Though part of her still fantasized about being a storm chaser.

Strawberry Valley didn’t have its own news station, and the equipment she needed was far beyond her price range. Okay, okay, even free would have been beyond her price range. Equipment had to be maintained. She also needed a special vehicle that would require buckets of gas.

“Daniel Porter is your employee. Yours to boss around.” Ryanne held up a buttercup-yellow top, marked down seventy percent because of a small hole in the shoulder. “Why aren’t you dancing like your feet are on fire?”

The hole she could easily sew, but the color would make her skin look sallow, so she shook her head no. “One, I don’t dance. Ever.” She looked like a chicken with her head cut off. “Two, he’s only working for me for three weeks or until I hire someone else.” And, now that she thought about it, not a single person had applied.

Did no one want to work for her? Was that the problem? Her mom had never had trouble hiring, no matter the position.

“In three weeks, or whenever you hire that someone else, transition Daniel to the position of your boyfriend. The same rules apply. You get to boss him around.”

If only. “He’s not interested.”

“Are we talking about the same Daniel? I’ve mentioned I’ve seen the way he looks at you, right?”

“Looks can be deceiving.”

“You’ve wanted him most of your life, chica, and wanting like that doesn’t turn off just because you wish really hard. Take him. Let the rest sort itself out.”

Could Ryanne be right? Would Dorothea always want Daniel? Even if he fell in love with another woman and married her. In front of witnesses.

Did it matter? If he got married, she would never act on that want, would never be the side slice. After Jazz’s infidelity, she’d done a little research about why cheaters cheat, and many reasons had been listed. Sometimes the cheater justified or trivialized his actions. Cognitive dissonance, it was called. He—or she...nah, she’d stick with the male species today—convinced himself that what he was doing wasn’t really that bad, that other people had done worse and really, deep down, he was a good person. There was also sex addiction, as well as the desire to feel, well, desirable. Some men felt their earning potential directly correlated with their masculinity; when a wife or girlfriend made all the money, these males sought a way to prove their prowess outside the bonds of commitment. Some men thought they loved the other woman. Some just wanted to have a good time. Some just didn’t care about anything or anyone.

After a while, Dorothea had realized Jazz’s reason for cheating on her wasn’t important. He’d done it. Their child—the bridge between their lives—had died. They were finished.

Not even close to being finished with Daniel.