Page 34 of The Wrong Guy
Charlene starts to leave, but looking at his phone, Winston calls her back. “Can we get a fresh pitcher too? The girls are incoming.”
I make one more shot, the striped twelve ball sinking easily. “Let me finish running this and I’ll get outta your way. Need to get home and figure out if I can slow down construction enough to get the guys paychecks for a while longer. Even one more week is something.”
Winston nods approvingly, understanding that I’ll take a hit for any delays, but it’s worth it if the crews get paid. That’s what being the boss is about. Not the dismissive shit Jed said before selfishly focusing on himself.
Wyatt glances at his phone, too, and grimaces. “Afraid not, man. The girls are coming for you. And if you say I warned you, I’ll tell Hazel you’re the one who taught Lester to tell her ‘you look like bullshit’ and let the hell rain where it will. Namely on you.”
Lester is the foul-mouthed parrot Hazel inherited along with Gran’s house. He’s a riot and a really quick learner. It took only one visit, a plate of scrambled eggs, and a picture of Hazel to teach him to say that to her and only her. But that was months ago, so I guess Wyatt’s been banking that tidbit to lord over me until the right time.
“Fuck, man. Why’re you going straight for a kill shot?” I frown at him and then realize, “Why’s Hazel mad at me? I didn’t do anything to piss her off.”
As I say it, I search my mind. It doesn’t take much to piss my sister off, but I can’t think of anything. I helped at Mom’s bakery last weekend so Hazel and Wyatt could go to Newport, I didn’t leave the toilet seat up when I visited last time, and I’ve caused zero trouble at Puss N Boots. There’s nothing else.
Winston pipes up. “My guess? Something from girls’ night in.”
“What’s that?” I ask dumbly.
“Avery called an emergency meeting tonight. Made cookies and lasagna because she ran into Wren earlier. Said she was shooting daggers at everyone who dared to look her way. That’s why I’ve got Little Man.” He pats Joe’s butt and starts bouncing as the boy wiggles happily in his carrier. “And got kicked out of my house tonight.”
“Same,” Wyatt agrees. “What’d you do to Wren?”
Oh, shit. Hazel’s not mad at me for something I did to her. She’s mad because of something I did to Wren. “Later,” I tell them, holding up two fingers and beelining it for the door. The last thing I want to do is talk about Wren ... with anyone. But especially with Hazel.
I almost make it.
The door opens right in front of me. “Going somewhere?” Hazel purrs, her arms crossed over her chest as she glares into my soul. When I open my mouth, she adds, “I don’t think so.”
Yep, I thought I was fucked before. But now? I don’t know what’s worse than that, but that’s what I am. I consider pushing past her, but even Avery—sweet, kind, gentle Avery—is lined up shoulder to shoulder with Hazel. A death squad of two against me.
I’ve already lost the battle, so I let them frog-march me back to the table, where Wyatt and Winston are doing their best not to laugh at my predicament.
Hazel pins Wyatt with a glare. “Why was he leaving in such a rush?”
Whoops, he’s busted.
Deflect, distract, disengage. “I was on my way to tell you that Wyatt’s the one who taught Lester the ‘you look like bullshit’ thing.”
My hope is that by throwing Wyatt under the bus, I can keep Hazel’s attention on him and I can make a run for it.
“Oh, he did, did he?” Hazel sings at her husband. But he’s not quaking in his boots like he should be. Instead, he full-on laughs and points at me.
“You actually think she believes you? Dumbass, she’s letting you think that so she can be mad at you again later when it oh-so-shockingly comes out that you’re the one who did that. She’s saving it for a future ass-kicking. Your ass, not mine.”
No way. She totally believes me.
But when I look at Hazel, she’s now glaring at Wyatt for spilling her top secret strategy. “Wyatt! Don’t tell all my secrets or you’ll be sleeping on the couch tonight!”
“Where I hear you’ve done more than sleep,” I add because he’s not the only one telling secrets. I know too much about that couch, their dining table, and Wyatt’s workshop behind the house.
Charlene drops a pitcher of beer and a basket of fries on the table and tells Hazel, “I know it’s your night off, but can you take care of this yourself?” She points to our little group. “I’ve got a group over there that might make my month of tips if I play my cards right.”
She slides her eyes to the right, and we follow to see a pair of pool tables surrounded by rough-looking guys who seem to be doing their own low-key pool tournament.
“Ooh, think they’d let me play?” Hazel wonders aloud, seeing dollar signs.
Charlene gives Hazel’s butt a friendly smack. “Girl, you know better’n to pull shit like that. Don’t mess up my good thing.”
Where Hazel sees potential pool buddies, I see potential problems. Bunch of guys, drinking, competing, a cute waitress ... this could go south quickly. “Charlene, you need help with anything, you holler at us, ’kay?”