Miss February (The Calendar Girl Duet Book 1) Page 7

  So it wasn’t just me—he was also embarrassed.

  “Maybe. To be fair, you said to dress up. You didn’t say dress like a tramp.”

  “You don’t look like a tramp.”

  I glared at him. “Oh no? I think there were several women I passed in the hall who thought I was there to jump out of a cake.”

  “It wasn’t that bad.”

  “C’mon, Preston. Your mother was mortified.” And hey, I was pretty mortified myself. “And your father—”

  Tension rolled off him in waves. “Don’t worry about my father. I told you. He’s a controlling jackass who thinks he can run my life.”

  “They’re right, Preston. You and me—we come from different worlds. I heard you talking with your friends. So you and Suzanne are just on a break, huh? Did you bring me tonight just to piss off your father? If that’s the case, well done—you did it.”

  The car swerved hard to the right. I gripped the door handle, and for a moment, I thought we were going over. We traveled along the gravel until we skidded to a stop on the side of the highway.

  Preston stared straight ahead, his hands tight on the steering wheel. “That’s not true. It’s over. I told you that. I didn’t want to discuss my relationship with Suzanne or with you with those guys. It’s none of their business.” It was dark when he turned to me, not even a streetlight to illuminate his face, but his words were sincere. “I only care about what you think. I did break up with Suzanne. I told you that. If you never want to go back to the club, you don’t have to. And if my parents won’t accept you for you, then to hell with them.”

  Brave words, but I imagined they’d be hard to live up to. I didn’t want to come between him and his parents. As for the country club, that was an experience I wouldn’t want to revisit anytime soon—if ever.

  He ran his hand along the side of my face and held it so that I was looking at him.

  “Do you believe me? I’d do anything for you.”

  I wasn’t sure I believed him, but I was willing to try. “Anything?”

  He nodded somberly.

  “There’s a McDonald’s about a mile up the road. After trying to get me to eat tentacles and organ meat, the least you can do is buy me a Happy Meal.”

  Chapter Twelve

  It wasn’t unusual at all for me to dress in skimpy outfits when I was tending bar, but the getup I wore today had me squirming. And while I really was excited to have been chosen Miss February—once I got over the shock—and I didn’t have a problem posing half naked, especially for a good cause, I didn’t want to get frostbite in the process.

  “Can you turn the air conditioner down a little?” I asked, trying hard to keep from shivering. “It’s really cold in here.”

  “Not if we’re going to keep your nipples erect,” the photographer’s assistant answered without even looking at me. “We usually use ice, but we can’t get your top wet.”

  You’d think a long-sleeved turtleneck would have kept me warmer, but it was cropped to allow the bottom half of my breasts to be visible, which meant my back and stomach were also exposed. The matching red lace V-thong panties weren’t doing much to warm my lower half either.

  My nipples were erect, all right, and so was my skin. Tiny goose bumps populated my legs and stomach.

  The assistant finished fiddling with the lights and turned her attention to me, a quivering mass of flesh perched on the bar at Blondie’s.

  “I guess Antoine or I can pinch your nipples. That usually works.”

  She had to be fucking kidding.

  Reading my mind or perhaps the horrified look on my face, she continued. “Antoine is gay, so it’s no big deal. It’s no different for him than changing the f-stop on his camera.” She adjusted the bandanna covering her black-and-purple hair. “And I’m a lesbian, so at least I know what I’m doing. But you’re totally not my type.” She pointed her finger at me and waved it up and down. “Bleached hair, fake nails, fake boobs—not my thing.”

  If this calendar hadn’t been raising money for sick kids, I’d have taken my real boobs and my fake everything else and walked the hell out of there.

  “My boobs are not fake,” I said, trying to sound indignant while my teeth chattered.

  That seemed to perk her up. “They’re real? And they stay up like that?” She took a step toward me. “Can I touch them?”

  “No, you can’t touch them! I’ll touch my own boobs, thank you very much.”

  I folded my arms, crossed my legs, and glared at her. I’d gone from feeling like a still life of a bowl of fruit to the prize sheep in a petting zoo.

  “Hey, if autoeroticism is your thing and you can keep those babies erect, go for it,” she said, dangling a pair of long-stemmed cherries in front of my face. “Just have them up and ready to go when Antoine is ready. We can’t be waiting on your nipples.”

  She waved the fruit in front of me. “Now open your mouth and stick out your tongue.”

  Preston called late the night of the calendar shoot. I was already asleep and had been for at least two hours.

  “How’d it go?”

  “Fine,” I whispered. “Just hoping I didn’t catch pneumonia.” I crawled out of bed and down the hall into the living room so I wouldn’t wake Izzy. “They had the AC turned so low I could almost see my breath.”

  “You’re kidding! Irena was okay with that?”

  “She wasn’t there. I have a key, so she didn’t need to come in until she had to start getting ready for the lunch crowd. We started at seven, and by the time she came in, I’d talked them into letting me pinch my own nipples so they could turn the AC off.” I tried to muffle a yawn.

  After a long silence, Preston spoke.

  “What?”

  “What what?”

  “What the hell are you talking about? Pinching your own nipples.”

  I giggled. “The AC was to keep my nipples erect during the shoot. But after I offered to pinch my own, and they stayed erect, they stopped trying to flash freeze me.”

  “I’ve never noticed a problem with your nipples.”

  “Preach. But I guess they were worried I’d ruin the shot or something. They even offered to pinch them for me, but I turned that shit down.” I tugged an afghan from the back of the sofa and pulled it over me. “I don’t let just anybody touch the girls.”

  His laughter rumbled soft and low.

  “And even though I refused to let him take matters into his own hands, so to speak, the photographer said he might have other work for me.”

  “What kind of work?”

  “I’m not sure. I’m okay with sexy photos, but I’m not doing porn, if that’s what you’re asking.”

  “Hey, you never know. With your looks and that killer body, you could make a fortune.”

  He probably meant that as a compliment, but I couldn’t help feeling disappointed that he would be okay with me doing those kinds of photos. But like I always did when someone mentioned my obvious (and maybe only) positive attribute, I played along.

  “Yeah, who knows? Maybe he could get me on the cover of Juggs.”

  When he laughed, my heart slipped from my chest into my stomach. When he finally got it out of his system, he cleared his throat.

  “Hey, babe, listen. Something’s come up at work, and I’m heading to South Carolina first thing in the morning.”

  I fluffed one of the sofa cushions and tucked it under my head so I could lie down. “How long will you be gone?”

  “A few weeks at least. For now. I’m sorry. I don’t really have a choice. The old man’s been coming down hard on me lately, and this is a big project.”

  I didn’t have the guts to ask if he’s father’s recent behavior had anything to do with me. I didn’t have to. Preston rarely spoke about his parents. Remembering how they’d reacted to me when we met, and how insulting his father had been, I didn’t push him either.

  “Will you be able to come home on weekends?”

  He was silent so long, I assumed h
e was trying to decide how to answer me. “I’m not sure. Maybe not right away. I’ll see what I can do, okay?”

  I pulled the afghan tighter and wrapped my arms around myself.

  “Okay. Have a good trip.”

  “I love you.”

  My throat was thick with emotion, and I had to force the words out.

  “Love you too. G’night.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  In late October, Irena threw a big bash at Blondie’s to celebrate the release of the Most Beautiful Bartenders of New Jersey calendar. She must have been counting on the exposure to make her some big money. She even set up a free buffet.

  Preston had flown up from South Carolina for the event. He’d even contacted Antoine, the photographer, and ordered a life-size copy of my photograph from the calendar. Irena hung it on the wall where anyone entering the bar would see it right away.

  I’d refused to wear the outfit from the calendar shoot to the party, but I did wear a short, tight red dress in keeping with the theme. Lynette had made me a white satin sash with Miss February written in red glitter. For an additional five-dollar donation, I posed in front of my photo for anyone who wanted to take a selfie with me.

  Surprisingly, even though I’d known most of these people my whole life, there were plenty who wanted my picture. But better than that, we sold out of all of the calendars Irena had ordered, which thrilled me, because the money was going to St. Jude’s.

  Preston sidled up to me when there was a lull in the picture taking. “Having fun?”

  “I am, but I’m exhausted.” I leaned against him and rubbed my cheek. “I can’t imagine being a real celebrity and doing this stuff all the time. My face hurts from smiling. And if one more person asks me to hold a cherry in my teeth, I might bite them.”

  He pressed his lips against my ear, and his words flowed over me like warm honey. “Well, if you insist, I’ll let you bite me later.”

  “Since this whole thing was your idea, I might just do that.”

  “What would you do for me if I told you I made a ten-thousand-dollar donation to St. Jude’s in your honor?”

  My jaw almost landed on my chest. “Are you serious?”

  “Of course I am. I’m proud of you.” His hand swept the bar, encompassing the crowd and ending at the half-naked picture of me. “This is amazing. All of these people are here for you, Rain. They all bought calendars, and you’ve helped raise a lot of money. I wanted to do my part too.”

  Before I could fully digest Preston’s generous donation and his comment about being proud of me for doing little more than taking off my clothes, Antoine appeared.

  “Have you given any thought to my offer?” he asked.

  Seemed like everyone wanted me to take off my clothes these days.

  “Not really. It’s been kinda crazy here tonight.”

  “What offer?” Preston asked.

  “I’d like to work with her more. I have a lot of clients who would be interested in a beautiful woman like Rain, and that body . . .” He kissed the tips of his fingers. “Incroyable!”

  Preston slipped his arm around my shoulders and winked at me. “I agree. Will you be paying her?”

  Antoine straightened and glared at Preston as if he’d just been insulted, but honestly, I had wondered that myself.

  “Of course. What do you take me for?”

  “And you’ll let her pinch her own nipples?” Preston laughed, but Antoine looked slightly miffed.

  I was feeling a bit miffed myself.

  “Preston, please.”

  “C’mon. I’m just joking. I think it’s a great idea. You can make a little extra cash. Why not?”

  “Can I think about it, Antoine? If it’s tasteful, I might be interested, but I really want a little time to make a decision.”

  “Absolutely.” He dug his card out of his shirt pocket. “Call me. If you’re interested, I can probably have some work for you in early January.”

  With no purse and no pockets, I tucked the card under the strap of my bra as Antoine headed back to his assistant, who was following Lynette around like a lost puppy. So much for her dislike of fake boobs. I knew for a fact that Lynette’s had been bought and paid for by her last boyfriend.

  Preston stood beside me, taking a careful stab at one of the cocktail meatballs on his plate.

  I wasn’t used to the attention and the constant references to my body was getting uncomfortable. I would never be celebrated for my mind, but a little respect, especially from the man who kept proclaiming he loved me, would’ve been nice. “Would you mind not bringing up my nipples as a topic of conversation? It kinda creeps me out.”

  He popped the meatball in his mouth and pushed it to the side so he could answer.

  “You’re kidding, right? I said I was joking.”

  “Still. I don’t discuss your body parts with anyone, and I’d like it if you did the same.”

  The apology I’d hoped for didn’t materialize. Instead, he blinked once or twice, and then burst out laughing. “Good one, Rain. I thought you were serious there for a second.”

  I turned with a flounce and came face to face with my own perky breasts and erect nipples.

  “Who are you pointing at?” I snapped, then I stalked off toward the pool room, where my 2-D image could no longer mock me.

  Chapter Fourteen

  The calendar was a huge hit. It sold out everywhere and also raised the most money of any other calendar the Beautiful Bartender organization sponsored. Thanks to Preston’s ten thousand dollar donation, of course.

  Over the next several months, Preston was home less and less; sometimes only once or twice a month. He spent the holidays at his family’s home in Palm Beach. My Christmas present had been delivered by courier: the latest iPhone and a MacBook Air. I didn’t like accepting expensive gifts from him, but this time, I agreed since I was also frustrated with my cheap-ass phone, and I didn’t own a computer. But I’d accepted the gifts under one condition—that he allow me to put the phone in my name and pay for the monthly service myself. He fought me on that, never understanding why I wouldn’t allow him to buy me things, but he finally relented when he realized it was that, or I’d stick with my old flip phone. I think knowing we’d never be able to Skype if he didn’t give in, finally had him seeing it my way.

  When Preston was able to get home, sometimes only for a day or two, I’d take the night off from Blondie’s, have Izzy stay with my mom, and we’d spend most of the time holed up in my apartment. Even though it was over with Suzanne, it still felt like I was some kind of secret that needed to be locked away. Preston’s father was to blame for our current situation. He was the one sending him to South Carolina and Palm Beach. For as much as Preston railed against him, his father pulled the strings, and he did whatever the old man wanted.

  Oddly, I was mostly content. Maybe I didn’t really want a serious relationship. Why else was I willing to settle for someone who made few demands on my time or how I lived my life? I hated to think that might be the case, but I was seriously beginning to wonder if I either didn’t want more or didn’t believe I deserved it.

  If I had the money, I would invest in some heavy-duty psychotherapy. I bet if I asked, Preston would’ve even agreed to pay for it.

  For now, sitting on Diane’s deck, drinking margaritas and watching the sun dip behind the pole barn was therapy enough.

  I licked a drop of salt from my bottom lip and stretched until my toes gripped the top rail of the deck, enjoying the warm night air. Summer wouldn’t officially begin for weeks, but it was already off to a great start.

  “I think we should declare every Sunday Margarita Night,” I proclaimed.

  “As long as you mix ’em.” Diane refilled her glass from the nearly empty pitcher. “I think next week we should switch to frozen margaritas. It’ll be warm enough.” She rubbed a sliver of lime around the rim of my glass and dipped it in the saucer of kosher salt on the table between us, then filled it to the rim. Squinting at th
e quarter-inch of pale green liquid remaining, she lifted the pitcher to her lips, tilted her head, and drank until it was empty.

  She blinked at me, her pretty blue eyes rimmed in pink from a few too many cocktails. “Should we mix up another batch?”

  “Nah. I have to drive home. Besides”—I swiveled my foot toward her—“I think the salt is making my ankles swell.”

  She stretched one of her legs up next to mine—which wasn’t easy, given my legs are several inches longer than hers—compared our ankles, and then knocked my foot off the railing with a grunt.

  I inched my chair beyond her reach and put my feet back on the railing. The sun was completely behind the barn now, and the sky had turned that magical shade of blue between dusk and nightfall.

  On a clear evening like this, when the stars would sparkle overhead, I felt closest to my dad. Somewhere, high above, I knew he was watching over me. Always.

  Other than the sound of a bug zapper hanging in a nearby tree, it was quiet. Unusually quiet.

  “Where’s Wally? I thought after last night’s crushing defeat that he, Bobby, and Dennis would be out in the barn, tearing that damn car apart trying to get ready for next week.”

  She made a face. “Oh, they will. They went to a mud hop. They’re drowning their sorrows in mud and beer, watching idiots in jacked-up jeeps with giant tires tear their transmissions apart.” She dragged a nacho through the last of the guacamole. “They’ll be at it again tomorrow night, trust me. He finally found a mechanic to replace Davy, so he figured they could afford to take a night off.” She licked her fingers. “I told him not to get any bright ideas. That money pit on wheels costs us enough as it is. I’ll be damned if he’s going to start racing in mud too.”

  The track was bad enough. I couldn’t imagine finding joy getting sucked into a mud pit.

  “Sounds horrible.”

  “You’re telling me. I went once. Two minutes into the first run, I was covered from head to toe.”