“Just started this summer,” said Hillary. “Wouldn’t want me to puke, now, would you?”
“Of course not,” said Vanessa magnanimously, turning back to Erik. “Well, I guess we’ll have plenty of time to catch up in the city.”
“Can’t wait,” added Hillary.
“You’re not twenty-one yet,” said Vanessa, giving Hillary dagger eyes. “My mama invited y’all for dinner on Friday night, and I was hopin’ Erik would take me out on Saturday night to a few of Raleigh’s hot spots!”
Erik sighed, forcing himself not to roll his eyes. Seemed like Van had the whole weekend planned for them. He glanced up at Hillary, who shrugged her shoulders at Erik. I tried.
“Hot spots, huh? I guess we’ll figure it all out once we get there,” he said, dreading the four-hour drive, the party tonight, and the prospect of Vanessa trying to get alone time with him all weekend. But what could he do? He’d have to put her off as gently as possible when they were alone but make sure his arm was around her every time Fancy looked over. What a fucking mess.
He turned to his sister and his fake girlfriend, concealing a grimace with a plastic smile.
“Well, pretty girls, I guess we all better get ready to go.”
***
Back at work on Sunday evening, her eyes sliding to the restaurant door every five minutes, Laire couldn’t help mentally reviewing her weekend as she bused tables, refilled water glasses, and impatiently waited, after what felt like an eternity, to see Erik’s face again.
Whether intentional or an oversight, the fact that Laire was seated beside Brodie Walsh at her sister’s wedding reception yesterday turned out to be a blessing in disguise, because she’d finally had a chance to confront him in a public way without making a big scene.
“Hey, sweet Lairey,” he’d greeted her, his eyes skimming greedily down the dusty-rose pink of her bridesmaid gown.
“Hey, snake,” she’d said amicably, appreciating the way all conversation at the table had suddenly ceased, six pairs of surprised eyes turning to Laire and Brodie.
“Now, baby—”
She stood behind her chair with her fingers biting into the back. “Don’t ya dare call me baby like we have an understandin’, ya yethy lout,” she hissed, her accent all the stronger for her anger.
“Come on, now. Y’all were singin’ a different tune on prom night,” he said, looking around the table uneasily at her sister Isolde; brother-in-law Paul; cousins Roland and Harlan; Roland’s fiancée, Maura; and Kyrstin’s best friend, Rachel. Brodie was on her turf right now, and he knew it.
She raised her chin. “I’m surprised ya remember prom night, since ya got mommucked drunk.”
“I waren’t that—”
“Yeah, ya ware,” said Laire. “So drunk, ya tried to kiss me all sloppy ’n’ prolly don’t remember me sluggin’ ya. But that’s how ya woke up wi’ a black eye.”
“Nah. That ware a fishin’—”
“Accident?” she finished for him. “No, it waren’t. ’N’ we both know it.”
He stared down at the table, knowing that he’d been bested and it was time to shut up.
“Ya never kissed me ’n’ ya never, ever touched m’ body, Brodie Walsh. Now, ya go on ’n’ admit that ’n’ we can let this go as friends. If not . . .”
He raised his head, nailing her with his eyes.
The thing about living on a small island? Everyone had a little dirt on everyone else. Brodie didn’t know what Laire had on him, but she could tell from his expression, he’d just as soon she keep it to herself.
“Fine. We din’t do nothin’,” he said, looking around the table at her kinfolk. He turned back to her and sneered at her as he bit out, “Happy now?”
“Overjoyed,” she answered acidly. “’N’ you will stop spreadin’ lies ’bout me.”
“Don’t matter nohow,” he said, looking across the church fellowship hall at Maddie Dunlop. He folded up his napkin, which he plopped on the table before him. “I got juicier fish t’ fry.” He stood up to his full six feet, two inches, and looked down his nose at Laire.
“Well, go fry ’em then, ’n’ let me ’n’ mine be.” Not one to back away, she looked up at him squarely in the eyes. “Give Maddie my regrets.”
“Cold bitch,” murmured Brodie as he pushed back his chair and sauntered away in Maddie’s direction.
Laire took a deep breath, pulled out her chair, and sat down, looking up at her sister, who stared at her in disapproval.
“He was a good catch,” said Isolde. “Shouldn’t have done that, Laire.”
“Nice enough kid,” added Roland. “Just a little wild. Ya could’ve tamed him.”
“Can’t just refuse everyone. You two would’ve made real pretty babies,” said Rachel, who wasn’t the prettiest or youngest girl on Corey and would likely be stuck marrying one of the Masterson twins.