Slow Heat

Chapter 6

Sitting on the perfectly manicured lawn, Wade slurped down his soda and tried not to think about the message he’d just retrieved from his voice mail. It’d been someone from the senior center reporting that if his father didn’t stop handing out contraband-alcohol and cigars-to the other residents, he’d be kicked out.

And then his father’s message, the softly slurred, “Yo, when are you going to get it? I don’t want to be here, I want to be with you.”

There’d been a long pause, and Wade had thought maybe his father had hung up.

He hadn’t.

Because there was more-his dad’s voice lowered, hoarse and thick, but even so, still filled with the despair that had coated most of Wade’s childhood: “Need you, Wade. Not your money. You.”

Uh-huh. He’d heard that before. Shrugging it off, Wade tilted the carton of fries up to his mouth, soaking up the last of the sun as it sank into the horizon. French fries and sunsets were God’s gift, he decided.

“I should have known.”

He looked up.

And up.

And up the best set of legs he’d ever had the pleasure of having wrapped around him. Which made him amend his thought. French fries were definitely God’s gift. But so were a woman’s legs.

And what those legs led to…

“You look like you just had really great sex,” Sam murmured, her eyes on his.

“You should know.”

She shook her head. “Why do you always circle back to that one bad decision? It was a long time ago, it meant nothing, and it’s never going to happen again.”

“Come down here and say that.”

She didn’t, reminding him that she possessed an unusually strong survivor’s instinct.

“How did you get to McDonald’s?” she asked.

“One of the guys lent me his car.” Leaning back, he dug into the bag for another carton of fries.

“How many of those have you had?”

“This is my second super-sized helping.”

“Maybe we should get your cholesterol checked.”

He laughed. “Are you worried about my weight?”

She slid her gaze down his body, and he could tell by the way she sucked her bottom lip into her mouth and how her eyes dilated that she liked what she saw.

“You know damn well you don’t have a weight problem,” she finally said. “You don’t have an ounce of fat on you, you lucky bastard. Your body couldn’t get more perfect.”

It’s an illusion, he nearly said. Instead, he popped more fries in his mouth and moaned out loud. “Good Christ, these are amazing. Every single time.” He offered up the carton. “How do you suppose they do it?”

“It’s the salt.” She sighed and stared at the fries, clearly wrestling with herself. After a moment, she grabbed the carton and dug in, and then let out a hum of pleasure that rocked through him.

He grinned. “Yeah?”

“Oh, yeah.” She licked her fingers. “Almost as good as an orgasm.”

He stared at her mouth. “Baby, nothing’s as good as an orgasm.”

“French fries are,” she said firmly. “Well, mostly.” She sighed. “Honestly, it’s been so long I can’t remember. French fries might actually be better.”

“Aw, now you’re just daring me to remind you how good it was in that Atlanta elevator.”

She slid him an assessing gaze. “You’re fishing.”

He smiled. “Guilty.”

“Are you that insecure about your manhood?”

“Yeah. Reassure me.”

She just shook her head.

With a grin, he patted the grass next to him, wanting her to sit with him, to just relax. Be.

Make him laugh some more.

Her black suit was dressier than her earlier one, the skirt shorter, the heels higher and strappy and pretty much blowing his mind as she shook her head and gestured to her hem. “I can’t get down there without flashing everybody.”

Probably true. He eyed the few people wandering around, then got to his feet, took off his jacket, and held it around her.

She hesitated. “We should go back inside.”

“Is there still fish in there?” he asked.

“Yes.”

“Then not yet. Come on, sit.”

“You have another phone number written on your hand.”

“The server at McDonald’s. You weren’t there to protect me.”

She rolled her eyes, then let him guide her down to the grass, cocking her head to look into his eyes. “Red meat agrees with you.”

“I know it. Other things agree with me. Want to guess what any of them are?”

“Ha,” she said. “And no. I don’t need to guess. I already know.”

“Well then?” he asked hopefully.

With a low laugh, she put her finger on a corner of his mouth.

The touch was like a bolt of lightning straight through his gut. As she lightly rubbed the pad of her finger over his lip, he had to make a correction. The bolt hadn’t gone to his gut, but parts south.

“Ketchup,” she murmured, then let out a throaty gasp when he sucked the tip of her finger into his mouth.

She closed her eyes as he lightly raked his teeth over the pad of her finger. “I’m not going to have sex with you, Wade,” she said, her voice husky. “Not out here on the grass. Not inside. Not anywhere.”

“Sam I am,” he whispered, but he couldn’t help it. He was feeling odd. Uneasy. Restless.

Aroused.

Slowly he pulled her in using the lapels of his jacket. She resisted but was little match for his strength, going into a controlled freefall against his chest.

“Don’t make this into something it’s not,” she said very softly as she fit against him like she was made for him. “It’s just a moment. A weird sort of chemical attraction moment that can’t really be explained.”

“All chemistry can be explained. You plus me equals combustion.”

She flashed a quick, tight smile. “Dangerous combustion, don’t you think?”

“I’m not afraid of you.” He lowered his head to see into her eyes. “Is that it, Sam? Are you afraid of me?”

“Don’t flatter yourself.”

But she didn’t look sure, and he took mercy on the both of them and dropped the subject.

“I’m surprised at how long you’ve stayed out here,” she said after a moment. “You’re missing all kinds of photo ops at the rehearsal dinner.”

“Can’t have that.”

“No.”

She was practically in his lap, her hand on his chest, whether to keep him at bay or to hold on, he wasn’t yet sure.

“Wade.”

“Right here.” He dipped his head, his lips a fraction from hers.

“There’s no one around,” she said shakily, gripping his bicep with one hand, his chest with the other, like he was her only anchor in a churning sea. “No paps, nothing.”

“Then this one will have to be just for us.” Leaning even closer, he stopped only a millimeter away from her lips when she tightened her fingers on his chest, getting a few chest hairs in the mix. “What now?”

“I didn’t know your father was alive.”

Like a cold bucket of water. With a sigh, he set her away from him. “Where did this come from?”

“Mark mentioned it.”

“Mark has a big mouth.”

“What’s the secret?”

“There is no secret.” There really wasn’t. Wade had been born in a trailer and had nearly died that same day. Would have, if John O’Riley hadn’t gathered his son in a towel and brought him to the closest doctor at an Urgent Care nearly an hour away. Wade had been cleaned up and fixed up and handed back over two days later to his father, who’d gone home and found his woman gone.

This had left the mild-tempered, easygoing John in a bit of a quandary. He’d been a small-bit character actor who’d traveled from tiny town theater to tiny town theater, not easy to do with a baby and no woman. So he’d adapted, as all O’Rileys were apt to do, and switched professions from acting to gambling, aka conning.

And had become a professional drunk while he was at it. He hadn’t been a mean drunk, or even a particularly difficult one. Just quiet and sad and utterly clueless about everything, including raising a kid.

“Where does he live?” Sam asked.

“Oregon.”

“Do you ever go back?”

Wade had few memories from his childhood worth revisiting, so no, he never went back. Not for sentimental reasons, and not for his father, who’d done far better with Wade a thousand miles away making enough money for the both of them. Wade had lost track of the number of times he’d tried to get his father to rehab, and in fact, no longer cared. Things had been fine, just fine, until recently when John’d had a medical problem. A weakened liver. Shock. His doctor had told him he could quit drinking or die. So suddenly John was looking his mortality right in the face, and fretting about his lack of a relationship with his son. “I don’t want to talk about it.” Wade gathered his trash and stood up, offering her a hand, watching from hooded eyes as she struggled not to flash him her goodies beneath that short skirt.

She wasn’t entirely successful; he caught a quick glimpse of something black and lacy. “Pretty.”

“You are such a guy.”

“Guilty.”

She stood before him, looking into his face for answers.

Answers he wasn’t ready to give. “I’m going back to Mickey D’s for a hot fudge sundae,” he decided, pulling the borrowed keys out of his pocket. “Quiet people are welcome to come.”

“Meaning no more questions, I suppose.”

“Pretty and smart,” he murmured. He was only partially surprised when she walked along at his side. He knew enough about her to know she’d do just about anything for ice cream.

“Won’t the bride be upset that a member of the wedding party just up and left to eat somewhere else?”

“If it’d been anyone else but me, probably. Me, she likes.” He had them at the McDonald’s drive-thru in less than five minutes, and they were halfway back when he caught the red and blue lights flashing in his rearview mirror. “Shit.”

Sam didn’t slow down in her consumption of her hot fudge sundae, scooping a huge dollop into her mouth, licking her lips in a way that nearly made him forget to pull over. “Probably you shouldn’t have been speeding,” she said as he turned off his engine.

He slid her a look as the officer came to the window, one hand on his gun, the other wielding a flashlight.

“License and registration, please,” he said. “Sir, do you know how fast you were going?”

“No,” Wade said.

“Thirty-five-ish,” Sam said helpfully from the passenger seat, “in a twenty-five zone.”

Wade turned and gave her a long look.

She smiled, and he had to shake his head. Now she smiled at him like that. Nice.

“She’s right,” the officer told him. “Thirty-five in a twenty-five.”

Sam gave Wade the I-told-you-so look.

“License and registration,” the officer said again.

Wade blew out a breath. He’d left his wallet in the hotel room. He’d borrowed keys and a twenty from Matt’s brother. This was not going to go well. He flashed a quick, apologetic smile to the cop. “You’re not going to believe this, hell even I don’t believe it, but I forgot my license back at my room at the Laguna Rey Resort.”

The cop gave him an unimpressed look, then slowly narrowed his gaze. “Wait a minute. Do I know you?”

Wade smiled in relief. Once in a while fame really did pay.

“I do know you,” the cop said. “Hey, you’re big in my house.”

Okay, so maybe this wasn’t going to be so bad after all. Wade reached into the glove box for the registration and handed it over.

The officer glanced at it and then handed it back without going to his vehicle to run it. He was smiling now. “Ah, man, this is my lucky day. My wife was pissed at me this morning, but an autograph from you will make it all better.”

“Absolutely.” Wade was perfectly willing to sign his John Hancock on a piece of paper instead of at the bottom of a speeding violation. He searched the car and came up with a pad of paper and a pen in the console. “How should I sign it?”

“If you could say ‘To Leslie,’” the cop said. “‘With love, Matthew McConaughey.’ ”

Sam snorted softly as Wade went still.

“She loves you, man. You still play the bongos in the buff?”

Wade slid his eyes to Sam, who rolled her lips into her mouth to keep from bursting out with laughter. He gave her the death-glare and looked down at the paper in his hand. He’d written the “To Leslie with love” part. And with a sudden genuine smile, he signed “Matthew McConaughey” with a flourish. “I’ve cut back on the naked bongo playing.”

“Cool,” the officer said. “Thank you so much.”

“My pleasure,” Wade murmured as the officer walked away.

Sam gave him one beat of silence. Then she burst out laughing.

He stared at her. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you laugh like that.”

She wiped a tear from her eyes and tried to collect herself. “I’m sorry. But Matthew McConaughey?”

“What? I look sort of like him.”

She laughed again, and Wade shook his head and drove them back to the resort, feeling irritated all over again. When they were back on the grass, heading toward the hotel doors, Sam put a hand on his arm. “Can I ask a question now?”

“I’ve been mistaken for him before, you know.”

“A different question.”

“No,” he said, knowing where she was going to go. “No other questions.”

“Do you really never go home?”

“Jesus.” He drew a deep breath. “Home? My home’s in Santa Barbara, Sam.”

“Are you in contact with him? Your dad?”

Yes. Monetary contact. Monetary payback for not being able to be the son John had apparently needed in order to not pickle his liver on a daily basis. “You’re harshing my ice-cream-sundae buzz.”

“I’m sure he’s getting up there in years but maybe we could bring him out for a game some time. Give him the VIP treatment.”

Uh-huh. Problem was, the old man would rather play cards than sit through a baseball game.

“He’d probably love it,” she said.

What John would love was conning everyone Wade knew out of their pocket change. “Stop.”

“But-”

“You know what, Sam? Mark puts up with nagging from Meg, but then again, she blows him every night, so…”

She narrowed her eyes at him. “I’m not nagging. I’m just saying that for the past three years we’ve done a special Father’s Day event. This year we’re having it at the Railroad Museum. Think of the positive, heart-warming press-”

“Jesus, Sam. Stop working and fucking drop it already. Please.”

And then, to be sure she did, he headed back inside.