Love, Lies and Texas Dips (29 page)

His tires splashed through puddles as he drove away from the house, down the private drive toward Piney Point. Ginger stood on the wraparound porch for a while after, breathing in the fresh smell of the rain and running her fingers along the railing as she strolled around the side of the Castle. She felt something close to calm for the first time in days.

Until she caught her mother’s raised voice as she rounded the bend toward where the six-car garage hulked, invisible from the front of the house. Ginger hadn’t even heard the Jag pull in, but then, she’d been a little preoccupied with Kent.

“… yes, yes, it’s disgraceful if it’s true, but no one knows yet if it is, Mother,” Deena was yelling into her cell above the noise of the rain, as she carefully crossed the limestone courtyard toward the house, juggling briefcase, phone, and umbrella.

Ginger pressed up close to a columned post, straining to listen.

“Yes, I’m sure they’ll deal with her if she’s really pregnant …. No, of course, there’s never been a Rosebud in that condition …. Yes, if it’s confirmed, she’ll be terminated …. Now let Bootsie handle it, please …. She’s Ginger’s friend …. For God’s sake, don’t get involved.”

Deena didn’t even look up as she headed straight for the back door, and probably couldn’t have seen Ginger beyond the shield of her enormous umbrella anyhow. But it wouldn’t have mattered. Ginger’s sense of calm had quickly evaporated, and she ran back toward the front door, flying up the stairs and into her room.

No, no, no, no, no!
she thought with every step she took, unsure of how her hopes of debuting with her two best friends could so quickly go up in smoke. The GSC couldn’t terminate Laura over a pack of lies, they couldn’t! It just felt so freaking wrong.

Out of breath and close to tears, she grabbed up her Razr and called Laura, letting it ring and ring until she got Laura’s voice mail.

Damn!

“Call me as soon as you get this,” she said frantically before she got up and paced back and forth across her room, her cell in hand, waiting.

Only my dogs will not betray me.

—Maria Callas

I’m not the kind of girl who plays possum.
I’m the kind who runs them over.

—Jo Lynn Bidwell

Seventeen

Jo Lynn was only vaguely aware of the crack of thunder that rattled the windows in Dillon’s bedroom, hardly noticing how dark the room had gotten. She’d even lost track of how far along the minute hand of the clock had moved since she’d snuck upstairs after Big Ray had left her in the den with a Coke.

Her fingers kept tapping away on Dillon’s keyboard. She was so determined to crack his password and get in. But she’d tried everything she could think of—names, birthdays, anniversaries—and nothing worked. She’d just about given up when she thought of their conversation during the barbecue on Monday, when Big Ray had compared Dillon to some old quarterback named “Broadway Joe,” who, Dillon gushed, had passed for four thousand yards before anyone else.

She typed in BroadwayJoe4000, and Dillon’s computer let her in.

Oh, God—she
rubbed her hands together—
this is it!

All she had to do was open up his e-mails, and she could see what he’d been up to when she hadn’t been looking.
Then something distracted her, and it wasn’t another loud rumble of thunder.

She heard music, Fergie’s “Glamorous,” sounding very muffled, and she realized her cell was going off in her purse.

She grabbed for her bag and popped it open, hauling out her iPhone to see the call was from Camie.

“What?”
she growled, finally noting the time. She was surprised that Big Ray hadn’t come looking for her yet.

“I swear to God, you’re not going to believe this,” Camie said as breathlessly as if she’d just run a marathon. “I followed Laura Bell to her house from school, and Avery was in her freaking driveway, waiting. They talked for a while before he took off and then she hauled ass over to the country club.”

Camie stopped, gulping in a breath, and Jo Lynn urged her on, impatient, “Well, what’s next, for Christ’s sake?”

“I’m sorry, Jo, but you were right. I saw her with Dillon. She went over to his ’Stang and beat on the window, looking really upset. He got out instantly. I think he was alone in the car, but I can’t swear to it. You know how hard it is to see through his tinted windows.”

Jo Lynn leaned an elbow on the desk, suddenly lightheaded. “What did they do?” she pressed.

“They stood there in the rain, and he … he held her hand, like, squeezed it for a minute, before she took off and he got back in his car.”

“You’re making that up!” Jo snapped, and anger spread through her veins, swelling against her chest until she thought she’d explode.

“I’m not, I swear!” Camie whimpered. “Looks like you were right, Jo. That supersized slut is playing both of us for
fools. You think Avery and Dillon both heard the gossip about Laura and freaked out, each of ’em figuring maybe he could be the baby daddy?”

Jo Lynn didn’t even comment on that. She couldn’t. It was too gut-wrenching to even consider. “Where are you now?” she asked instead.

“I’m driving home. I didn’t know what else you wanted me to do.”

“Nothing,” Jo Lynn told her. Not a damned thing. “You’ve done enough.”

Before Camie had even said goodbye, Jo hung up, gripping her cell so tightly her knuckles blanched. She got up and walked across the room, dropping down on Dillon’s bed and doubling over. The idea of Laura with Dillon made her want to puke her guts out.

OhGodohGodohGod! This can’t be happening
.

She put her head between her knees and rocked herself, this close to hyperventilating.

Was Dillon really cheating on her with the Hostess Cupcake? Had he been lying to Jo all along, covering up his tracks? Had Laura slept with Jo’s ex
and
her current man just to strike back? Shit, if that was the case, it was a million times worse than anything Jo Lynn had ever imagined, more horrible than finding Laura’s number in Dillon’s cell or even her nightmare about Dillon escorting Laura to the Ball.

The fat bitch had obviously gone completely out of control, and it would take more than chocolates and rumors to stop her. It would take something huge and heartbreaking and more destructive than anything Jo Lynn had ever dreamed up.

“Jo Lynn? Where’ve you gone to, sweetheart?”

Jo’s head snapped up at the sound of Big Ray’s voice on the other side of the bedroom door. She quickly grabbed her purse, stuffing her cell inside, and then she shut down Dillon’s computer, hoping everything was as she’d found it.

Quietly, she popped open the bedroom door and peered out. The coast seemed clear, so she scurried toward the stairwell, glancing over the railing to see Big Ray heading toward the kitchen.

She was just about to slip down the stairs when the front door came open, and she saw Dillon walk in, shaking rain from his hair. Jo backed up the stairs as Big Ray yelled, “Is that you, boy? Did ya see Jo’s car out front? If she didn’t leave while I was taking a call from Tokyo, she’s around here somewhere.”

Well, hell
. All she needed was for Dillon to find out she’d crept up to his room to snoop without Big Ray even knowing it. She’d rather flee now and answer questions later.
Much
later. She had to take care of Laura Bell first.

So she ran back into Dillon’s bedroom, shut the door, and raced over to the sliding glass doors on his balcony. She let herself out, the mist from the drizzle surrounding her as she clutched her bag in one hand and gripped the wrought-iron railing with the other, carefully stepping down the tightly spiraled stairs leading to the back patio.

The rain pelted her, dripping in her face and soaking her shirt to her skin. When she finally got to the bottom, she paused only long enough to push the wet strands of hair from her eyes before she ran like hell around the huge mansion, letting herself out the gate, slipping and sliding on the slick stone path that cut through the royal palms and led right to her car.

She got the Audi rolling as fast as she could, her fingers trembling when she finally dared to pull over beside the ditch off Bunker Hill once she’d completely cleared Dillon’s street.

Then she scrambled for her cell phone, speed-dialing Avery Dorman’s number, counting every second as she waited for him to pick up, her breathing fast and angry. As soon as she heard his familiar, “Yo,” she started in on him, talking so fast he couldn’t do much else but listen.

“I’ve had all I can take of that nasty Laura Bell getting into my business, and it’s time you helped me put an end to her sticking her face where it doesn’t belong! I have some plans for you and Ms. Humpty Dumpty that’ll set her up for a bigger fall than even she can bounce back from.”

Dripping rain onto her leather seat, her teeth starting to chatter, she sucked in a breath and rushed on, “And if you don’t play it out my way, I
will
tell on you, Avery. I’ll tell your parents
everything
that went down between us. Your daddy’s so strict and straight that just one word from me and he’ll be shipping your ass off to some military school so far away from the football field that every dream you’ve ever had will go down in flames.”

Jo stopped long enough for her heart to slow down, expecting Avery to say something,
anything
. When he didn’t, she barked, her hand shaking, “So which is it, huh? Are we on? Or is she worth your risking everything?”

Avery sighed, and Jo Lynn waited for his answer.

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

Since I was under deadline for this book while planning my wedding, it’s amazing that everything fell into place as beautifully as it did! For that, I have to thank Claudia Gabel, my incredibly insightful editor, who pushes me to make every scene as powerful as possible. Also, kudos to Christina Hogrebe and Andrea Cirillo, who put up with my insanity and make every challenge even more fun. My gratitude to all the teen girls I’ve spoken with and e-mailed with in the past year, who aren’t afraid to share pieces of their lives with me so I can get things right. And finally, to my mom (love you!), for all the freedom allowed me in my teen years. It sure makes for a lot of story ideas now!

C
OMING IN
M
ARCH 2010

T
HE
D
EBS
:
G
LOVES
O
FF

“How completely humiliating!” Laura Delacroix Bell declared as she flushed the toilet, then carefully deposited the plastic dipstick onto a Kleenex spread on the edge of the marbled sink. “I will get Jo Lynn Bidwell for this one day, I swear.” She hoped her overly attentive mother, Tincy—currently standing guard outside the door—could hear her every word.

Laura washed her hands and stared at her reflection in the mirror, noting the frustration in her pale eyes and the twin spots of pink on her cheeks.

Did every Rosebud at the first Monday-night meeting in October notice me leaving promptly afterward, escorted out by Bootsie Bidwell and Tincy, like a pair of pearl-wearing pit bulls?

As she’d walked between them, the nasty comments from MySpace had flashed inside her head: Did U hear LB is preggers? OMG, what a skank!

Red-hot anger pulsed through her blood all over again, just as it had the day she’d learned that someone—and she had a good idea who that someone was—had torn her reputation to shreds.

Sticks and stones can break my bones, but names can never hurt me
.

What a crock of BS
, she thought, swallowing the nasty taste that settled in her mouth.

Names do hurt, and that’s the truth
, Laura decided, having had epithets slung at her for most of her life, seeing as how her body had never been shaped like a toothpick. The girls she’d grown up with—and most of their mothers—lived by the credo “You can never be too rich or too thin.” Well, Laura was plenty rich, thanks to dear old Daddy Harrington Bell, the International King of Porcelain Thrones and Bidets, but she’d
never
been too thin. And she never would be.

Still, she’d been unprepared for the slurs flung at her when the rumor that she’d been sperminated had taken off just after school started. That lie had nearly cost her a spot on the Glass Slipper Club’s debutante list alongside her BFFs, Mac Mackenzie and Ginger Fore, and had turned poor Tincy Bell into a groveling mess. Her mother had begged Bootsie and the GSC selection committee to give Laura a chance to prove herself. So they had, and so had she.