Polished Slick (Natural Beauty) Page 6

  She threw her hands up and marched up the driveway toward the house. “I don’t know why I even bother with you.”

  “I can think of some reasons,” he called out, pounding up the stairs. “Every single one of them starts with a dollar sign.”

  * * *

  The parking situation on Yellowhammer Road was somewhat precarious. Seven cars and trucks parked on the shoulder in front of the large Rouse parcel. The mud-splattered trucks and custom low-riders seemed out of place in front of the elegant, two-story, antebellum farmhouse several acres back.

  Trinity whistled low. “What did Jerry say his father does for a living?” Even if it was old family property, it had to cost a pretty penny to maintain.

  She made a U-turn at Happy Home Road, and parked her coupe behind Jason Alberti’s souped-up minivan. He didn’t even have kids. “Poor guy,” she mumbled.

  He’d graduated high school a couple of years after her, so he couldn’t have been much more than twenty-two. Had to be a hand-me-down.

  She toggled her door locks with the remote clicker and picked around the cars toward the driveway at a pace that belied her actual lack of confidence. She actually thought there had to be something wrong with her—that she’d taken leave of her senses when the idea of crashing Jerry’s game night came to mind. Just because she was a chemist didn’t mean she couldn’t think outside the box when necessary.

  She’d been helping Juan package insect repellant bottles, and was being friendly, thinking it’d be good foundation work for when she was his boss. They made idle chitchat while they folded and taped boxes.

  “So, doing anything fun tonight?” she’d asked.

  He’d cocked one eyebrow up at her with wariness in his expression, and continued taping. “Oh, the same as always. It’s game night.”

  She’d nodded. “Oh, family game night. That’s such a nice tradition. Aunt Ginger and I have a little tradition, too. We do beer and brats at Christine’s every week.”

  He’d shaken his head and chuckled. “No, no. No family. It’s just us guys. You didn’t know? Bunch of us meet at Jerry’s once a week. We bring our game controllers and some snacks and we play video games until we pass out.”

  She’d stopped taping. “No. I didn’t know. No one ever tells me anything.”

  Naturally, he’d backpedaled. He shrugged and made his voice light, singsong. “Well, it might not be your scene. Bunch of smelly guys, belching and swearing. Not very delicate.”

  “I’m a chemist, not a florist. I’m not going to wilt. Would have been nice to have been asked.” She’d tried not to sound petulant, and failed. At least she hadn’t stomped her foot.

  “Hey, nobody asks. We just show up.”

  So, she showed up.

  She had no interest in games, but she figured it’d be a good opportunity for intelligence gathering…and to keep an eye on Jerry. She still wasn’t completely convinced of the viability of his security camera scheme, and wondered if the installation was meant only to disarm Nikki a bit while he figured something else out.

  Had she actually been thinking earlier, she would have asked him to install the viewing software on her computer, too, but she’d apparently been in some sort of hypnotic trance that rendered her brain into lard. Hell, she’d nearly started a fire at her workbench at four o’clock, because she’d been so distracted by Jerry’s profile while he was on the phone with a customer. She hadn’t realized how close her sleeve was to her cooker’s open flame.

  She made it halfway across the yard to the trailer before she froze and had to take a minute to process what she was seeing.

  Most of the trailer’s windows were covered in opaque black paint, but one frontward window was ajar. Through the crack, she could hear masculine voices shouting, groaning, congratulating. And from her position, she could just barely see a glimpse of a grinning Jerry and an impressively massive wide-screen television. The thing was taller than her car.

  “Shit.” This was hardcore stuff, and here she was, empty-handed. Conspicuous. She’d look like the rat she was.

  She clucked her tongue and thought briefly about fleeing to fight another day, but she’d come all this way out to the swampy hinterlands, so the least she could do was try. That box of granola in her trunk’s emergency box would have to suffice as a peace offering. They weren’t Doritos, but they were edible.

  Mostly.

  She retraced her footsteps down the driveway, and this time made it all the way to the door.

  Allowing herself one bracing breath, she knocked.

  No one answered.

  The noise inside the tin can was now beyond the limits measurable by the decibel scale.

  “Dammit.”

  She knocked once more, pounding with the fleshy part of her fist.

  The response came in the form of the rat-a-tat of gunshots and explosions from the video game that had her clutching her chest.

  “Jesus.”

  She decided to just try the door, and predictably, the knob was unlocked. She stepped over the threshold before what little courage she had left fled away on one of those gunshot echos.

  The guys didn’t seem to notice her at first, even with all the air conditioning escaping through the wide-open door. The gathering of men was so transfixed, entranced, with the game, that an atom bomb could have been dropped in the Rouse yard, and they wouldn’t have heard it.

  “Fucking shit game, man.” Juan tossed down his controller, and pulled a foam earplug from his ear, looking up. Shoving off his seat, his gaze landed on her at the door. “Oh.”

  Now, seven more pairs of eyes turned in her direction. More earplugs came out.

  She gave them a nervous little wave. “Hey. I, uh…” She held up the lame box of granola. “I brought a snack.”

  Silence, as their stares shifted from her, to the box of organic sandpaper she held in her left hand.

  God forbid she ever actually get stranded and need to eat them.

  Juan was the first to speak. “Hey, Trinity. You want a beer? We got, like, six different kinds. No wine coolers or nothing like that, though.”

  As if she’d drink a wine cooler.

  She scanned the room, meeting the stare of each man, all mildly annoyed at the interruption. This was their woman-free zone, and here she was—a spy. A killjoy.

  Yeah, she’d need a little courage. “Sure, I’d love one. Give me whatever’s cold.”

  “Yup.” Juan shuffled over to the adjoining kitchen in his sock-feet.

  Jason immediately claimed the vacated seat and said, “Get me one too while you’re up, will you, Juan?”

  Juan mumbled something guttural and Spanish.

  Already bored by the newcomer, most of the gamers turned back to the television screen, and someone picked up a controller and restarted it.

  It was some sort of stalker/hunting game as far as Trinity could tell, and all the gunfire and flashing explosives on the screen were making her feel a bit nauseous. The sound was enough to do her in, but those masochists were staring at the screen straight on. The earplugs made good sense.

  Screw being one of the boys. She’d probably throw up if she had to focus on that screen for more than fifteen seconds.

  Juan held a longneck beer bottle out to her. “That’ll put a little hair on your chest,” he said with a laugh. He shuffled across the living room again, carrying two more beers, and dumped Jason unceremoniously from his chair. “I’m the master of the plaid chair,” Juan said in jest. “When you been coming as long as me, you can pick whatever spot you want. Long as it’s not this one.”

  Jason grumbled, but reclaimed the spot he’d previously been warming near the air conditioner box.

  Trinity stood there dumbly, just sipping. Watching. She was completely uncertain of what to do. Have a seat, maybe, and try to avoid staring at the television screen?

  No, they’d wonder why she was there at all.

  Jerry handed his controller to Jason, and abandoned his spot on the sofa end. He
passed Trinity at the archway between the open area and the kitchen, and gave her his usual condescending grin. “Surprised to see you here, Trinity.” He de-capped a dark beer and brought it to his lips.

  The look on his face wasn’t altogether hostile, but it wasn’t one she wanted to wake up next to every morning, either.

  If he was going to stare, she was going to give as good as she got, so she stared back, assessing the man in front of her.

  He’d changed out of his casual work clothes into even more casual attire: a bleach-splotched black concert T-shirt for a band she didn’t recognize, and baggy basketball shorts he wore low on his hips.

  Just how far up did those crashing wave tattoos go? To his thighs? Beyond?

  She sucked in some air and turned away, crossing her eyes at the television screen.

  The man obviously got out. One didn’t get those calves from sitting in front of a computer all the time.

  Jerry cleared his throat.

  “Hmm?” She wouldn’t turn. Nope.

  “Is there a game you want to try perhaps? Or are you here to gaze upon my splendor?”

  Trinity’s jaw dropped, but fortunately he couldn’t see it. “I…”

  “I’m just fucking with you. What’s up?”

  Her eyes closed, and she willed the burning of her cheeks to recede so she could face the jerk. When her rampant pulse simmered down, and she could hear things other than her heartbeat in her ears, she faced him and tried for an impassive expression. “Look, I’ll be candid. I wanted to watch the feed from the N-by-N cameras. I don’t have the software.”

  “Oh, I see.” He took another swig of his beer, and cocked one eyebrow up. “I’m feeling a bit used, Trinity.”

  She shrugged, and hoped it looked nonchalant. “Sorry. I figured someone should have eyeballs on the screen so we can call the police and Charlie if anyone unauthorized steps into the building.”

  “Well, it’s really not necessary. I’ve got a motion alarm set up on the feed so if anything in the barn moves, the program will beep on both Nikki’s computer and mine. But if you want to watch…”

  “I do.”

  He gestured to a door beyond the kitchen. “Bedroom. Make yourself at home.”

  She didn’t hesitate. She was desperate to get out of the man’s field of gravity.

  He was like a planet with a goddamned molten core, and she was a big magnet trying not to get pulled into its atmosphere.

  Why hadn’t she felt that way around him before? Surely, her condition hadn’t been brought on simply by the way he wore a pair of baggy shorts…or the way his moistened lips looked after a sip of beer.

  She shook off the thoughts, imagining a duck shaking off water, and let the bedroom door behind her close with a whisper.

  She patted the wood paneling of the walls until she found the light switch, and toggled on the overhead ceiling fan. The room now illuminated, she stood there in the corner, assessing the small bedroom.

  Well, it was more office than bedroom. Installed in the corner opposite her was a custom L-shaped desktop mounted to the walls with brackets. The desk bore a sophisticated-looking computing set-up featuring two large flat-screen monitors—one on either side of the L—a wireless mouse, a dock for Jerry’s laptop, the aforementioned laptop which was already booted up, some sort of electronic pad with stylus, and the requisite slick speakers men seemed to always geek over.

  She plopped into his leather desk chair and spun around, now assessing the double bed pushed against the wall. It was covered with a simple ocean blue spread, and ornamented by two pillows exactly.

  Utilitarian.

  They did at least seem to be good quality. Not those flat, disk-like things so old they needed either replacing or exorcism.

  The only other furniture besides the desk set-up and bed was a nightstand positioned between those two, and a couple of bookcases near the door. Unable to squelch her curiosity, she rolled the chair over and jiggled the nightstand drawer open. Brazenly, she rooted through the accumulation, finding various computer cords, an open box of condoms—plain latex and size ahem, at which Trinity’s face burned—and at the bottom of all that was some sort of leather-bound portfolio.

  She slid her fingers into the drawer and wedged the volume up, dumping off all the wires atop it.

  Pulling the heavy book onto her lap, she lifted the sturdy cover to reveal the first page.

  “Whoa. Didn’t expect that.”

  This must have been Jerry’s modeling portfolio.

  Her gaze went to the door, and she listened carefully for the sound of approaching footsteps. There were none. Best she could tell, the men were transfixed.

  She swallowed, and turned her stare back to the photos. The collection opened with an image of Jerry of about twenty with far less interesting hair, few piercings, and only one small visible tattoo. It was a generic, inoffensive catalog shot in which he wore the sort of swim trucks a mother would buy for a teenaged son.

  Next were wetsuits.

  Then came casual wear.

  Further and further into the portfolio she went, and the photos became less studio, and more artistic.

  In fact, she wasn’t actually sure if they were ads selling anything at all.

  “Oh my.” Hot blood surged from her heart to her neck and cheeks, and a wave of dizziness made her vision blur.

  She picked up a nearby software manual and fanned herself.

  “Oh my God.”

  On the third to last page, Jerry of around age twenty-five with almost all his current piercings and the start of his head of dreads lay on his back on a surfboard beneath a cloudy sky. He wore nothing but a teeny pair of swim briefs, showing off the cut of his obliques and hinting at…other things. Apparently the wave tattoos ended at mid-thigh. She swallowed. “Good to know.”

  The next page was Jerry, nude—or at least simulating nudity—flanked by two bikini models whom had their backs to the camera. Their hands shielded his scandalous bits.

  Trinity’s mouth went dry as desert sand, and she forced herself to swallow with great difficulty.

  The ad may have been for bikinis, but who the hell was paying attention to them with Jerry in the shot?

  She slammed the album shut, not wanting to see what was on the last sheet. If it were hotter than the photo before, she’d have to change her underwear.

  She shoved the book back into its place, piled the cords and condoms back where she thought they originated, and slammed the drawer shut.

  When Jerry poked his head in, Trinity had the laptop awake from its slumber and a hand atop the mouse.

  “Anything interesting?” he asked.

  Blood pounded in her ears. Had he found her out just like that? Maybe she had a naturally suspicious look about her. “Um…”

  “It’s boring, right? Told you so. Why don’t you come on out and have some pizza with us?”

  Pizza sounded good, but she wasn’t sure she could get her fingers to work in the required fashion to get it to her mouth, much less swallow it after what she saw.

  Holy hell. Ho. Lee. Hell.

  She shook her head, still looking at the computer monitor without actually seeing anything besides stars. “Um, thanks. I had a big salad before I came over. And the beer is filling, you know.”

  “Salad and granola bars. You on a diet?”

  That did it. A beacon in the fog. A trigger. She whipped around in the chair and scowled. “You think I need one?”

  Jerry was leaning against the doorframe with his arms crossed, wearing a smile she couldn’t parse.

  “No, I think you probably need the pizza.”

  “I eat.”

  “Right.” He shut the door.

  She forced out a long exhale, and turned back around. She finished the beer and it made her feel a bit less sprung, not that she had much experience with that, but she assumed that’s what the feeling was. She’d never been a woman who gave into carnal desires, and hadn’t planned on igniting that downward spiral a
nytime soon. The last thing she needed in her life was more distractions.

  “Keep your eyes on the prize. This is about work.”

  Said aloud, the idea was fucking ridiculous, even to her.

  She’d always been so good at compartmentalizing, but now that Jerry was on her radar screen, she might have to work actively at ignoring his little blip.

  He made a damned sexy little blip.

  CHAPTER SIX

  “Guys are gone.” Jerry pushed the bedroom door open to find Trinity still slumped in his chair, this time wearing his headphones and staring intently at one of his monitors.

  Half asleep, she spun slowly to face him, rubbing her eyes and stifling a yawn. She had a pile of his real estate listings on her lap, which she quickly discarded. “I didn’t notice the living room had gone quiet,” she said.

  “So, how have you been entertaining yourself these past couple of hours?” He eased around the bed corner and handed her an uncapped beer.

  She took a small sip before setting the bottle on the desk. “Well, I played a bunch of solitaire, and when that got boring I…” Her cheeks reddened. “I noticed the MLS listings, so I pulled them up online for a closer look.”

  “Oh.” He sat on the bed and leaned back against his pillows, crossing his legs at the ankles. Felt good to be horizontal after the day he’d had. “That fun for you?”

  She shrugged. “I wouldn’t say fun. More like interesting. I guess I’m a bit of a voyeur.” She tapped the stack of papers. “I recognized some of the houses, knew the people who lived in them…at least used to. I was curious about what they looked like inside.”

  “Ah.”

  “Are you moving?” Trinity furrowed her brow.

  “One way or another. This is a less than ideal situation. Did you think I wanted to live in a trailer in my parents’ side yard for the rest of my life?”

  Her eyes made big O’s.

  Ah, she had thought that. He chuckled.

  “Well, I…I dunno. Why do you live in a trailer in your parents’ side yard? Why not in the house?”

  He picked at the peeling label of his beer bottle with his thumbnail. “Let’s just say my mother doesn’t agree with my lifestyle choices.”