Page 23 of One Mistake

“Seven minutes.” He crossed his arms and tapped one foot, blowing angry bull breaths out his nose. “Seriously.”

I clicked the remote and the TV went silent. “What’s wrong?”

“You think I’m stupid, right? Because I didn’t finish college and I tend bar and sweep floors. That I’m not good enough?” There was such hurt on his face, deepening the lines around his mouth and eyes, I just wanted to make him smile. “You’re a snob.”

Oh. One of us had a little complex about his jobs, and it wasn’t me. “I never said any of that.” I stood and sexy walked around the coffee table, continued until I was close enough to slide my hands under his shirt, feel his chest, and press my mouth against his throat. “I like that you tend bar. My dream night”—I pulled him down for a kiss—"is to have a very sexy and very naked you delivering me a margarita in bed. And then I want you to lie back and let me show you how grateful I am.”

“Are you making fun of me?” But he was smiling.

I ground my hips against his. “No. I really want a margarita and I really want you to deliver it to me in bed.” And afterward, when we were both basking in the afterglow, I’d ask what made him think I felt that way and what he’d been thinking in the car, but not now. Afterglow was the key.

He wrapped his arms around me and kissed the tip of my nose. “You have tequila?” I cocked an eyebrow and he chuckled. I always had tequila. “What about triple sec?”

I laughed. I was more of a two-step drink maker. Jack and coke. Rum and Kool-aid. Tequila and lime. More than that was too much work for a drink. “No, but I think I have a shaker of salt maybe an old packet of margarita mix.”

But before we could go further, the burner cell rang. I looked at Ryder, at his widened eyes. “Answer it.”

Yes! “Right.” I picked it up and swiped the screen then turned on the speakerphone function. “Hello.”

“I want you to know I have video of you putting the envelope in my mailbox and of your car driving off. I’m sending it to the police as we speak.” Her voice was steel. The same one she’d used all those years ago when we’d met in her backyard and she’d told me I would have to sign a prenup if I ever married Ryder. “It’s only a matter of time before they enhance it, get your license plate number and find you. And when they do…”

I clicked the end button. There went my career. My reputation. My life. Because this woman certainly didn’t sound like the kind who was willing to forgive and forget. More she sounded like the kind who would vaporize her enemies if she had a special magic wand that allowed it.

“Shit.” We’d driven there and away in my rental that would be traced back to me. With virtually no legwork on the part of the cops. They could figure it out, ruin me, and all it would take would be a phone call to the car company. “Fuck!”

Ryder ran his hand through his hair. “It’s okay. Calm down. I’m going to handle this.”

“How?”

He shrugged and my stomach rolled. “I’ll call and tell her it was a joke.”

“You’re kidding me, right? Because the last person on earth I would expect to take a joke is your mother.” Again, a picture of her vaporizing her enemies—me—flipped into my mind. “I’m going to lose my job. Lose my house and Mom’s house. I’m going to jail.” Oh shit. “You know what they do to cops in jail?” Watching five hours of Sons of Anarchy hadn’t helped my imagination one bit.

He put a hand on each of my shoulders and gave me a little shake. “Calm down. It’s going to be okay.”

“You don’t know.” My heart was hammering and my palms were soaked. The room was starting to spin. “Shit.” I swayed and Ryder caught me against his chest.

“It’s okay. Breathe.” He sat down and pulled me onto his lap. “It’s okay. Shh.”

It took a minute for my head to clear. But when it did, the visions of his mother came back. “Fuck. This is…I can’t lose my job, Ryder.”

“You’re not going to lose your job.” He smoothed my hair, then ran his hand over my spine. “Look at me.” He tilted my chin up and for a second I thought he had the most beautiful eyes I’d ever seen. The most beautiful everything. “I let you down before, handled every single thing wrong. So I know you don’t have a reason to trust me. But I’m going to fix this. I promise. You’re not going to lose your job or your house or anything else. You have my word.”

His word didn’t stop me from staring out the window waiting for the Maine State Police or the Glouster PD to ring my doorbell.

One Decade Ago

The crowd outside the Alpha house grew with every minute. Signs. Chanting. Loud shots for justice against the Alphas. There were girls crying. I wasn’t close enough to the front to see who threw the first rock, but even over the crowd noise, the sound of the glass breaking echoed in my head.

Campus police pushed the crowd off the lawn then set up barriers and yelled commands the crowd ignored. Avery Stroh bumped into my shoulder, knocking me into Felicity Fields, the Chancellor’s daughter. I knew them both vaguely, but hugged Avery when she pulled me out of the way of a flying beer bottle that shattered on the road next to me.

All I wanted was to see Ryder, to make sure he was okay. And maybe ask him about the girl in the video with him—Beth Cooper, a woman I knew all too well, but this was bigger than Ryder and unraveling quickly.

Felicity pulled us away from the crowd. “Come on. Let’s get out of here.”

I walked next to Avery. She had cut her hair off, turned it almost as white-blonde as mine, and shed her years of black eyeliner and lipstick. She’d traded her raggedy black jeans for a pair of blue jeans and her torn crop top for a tank top covered by a blue paisley scarf. She looked unrecognizable compared to the girl I’d met freshman year.

Felicity, on the other hand, was fresh-faced with her ponytail high in the back and her jeans low in the front. She had a delicate silver chain clasped over her bare midriff and her black pumps clacked with every foot we moved away from the frat house.