Meant to Be (22 page)

Sid blinked, as if trying to focus. “So you were raised by your grandparents?”

“Yeah.” She’d already said more than she should have. “When is your mystery guy going to get here? I’d hate to think we did all this for nothing.”

“Maybe later. How did you meet Lucas?”

Beth hadn’t thought about Lucas all day. She’d been too busy thinking about Joe and the alleged almost kiss. “We
met at work. Lucas is a popular guy in the office. Confident. Perfectly dressed. Ambitious.” She tipped back her glass and let the red slide down her throat. Her head and the guilt felt a little lighter. “It’s a wonder he ever asked me out.”

Sid’s glass hit the bar hard. “So he asked you out?”

“Well, I never would have had the nerve to ask him out.”

“Of course not.” Sid’s mouth flattened, and Beth remembered Randy’s words.
Sid’s been half in love with Lucas since high school.
She felt as if she’d just kicked a puppy.

“Lucas has his drawbacks,” Beth said. Sid needed to know what her crush was really like.

“What do you mean ‘drawbacks’?” Sid stared at Beth, waiting for an answer, sucking down her drink.

Beth set an elbow on the bar and rested her chin in her hand. “I’d only dated a couple guys before Lucas, and they always seemed to need mothering. Someone to take care of them. Cook and clean and organize and herd them around.”

“Sound like winners,” Sid murmured. “But what do they have to do with Lucas?”

“They were nothing like Lucas.” She shook her head as if to clear the tangling threads of her story. “I mean, he’s nothing like them. Lucas doesn’t need mothering of any kind. In fact, he’s more likely to do the mothering.” Staring into her wine, Beth added, “When he’s around.”

Sid sipped from her straw until the glass was once again empty. “What do you mean ‘when he’s around’? Don’t you guys work together? You must see him all the time.”

“You’d think so, wouldn’t you? But nope. Lucas is very dedicated to his work, so the job always comes first. Which
I know is a good thing, since he’s trying to give us a secure future, but sometimes, like now,” she said, waving her free hand around to indicate their current location, “it would be nice if a little of that focus could be on me.”

“Let me get this straight.” Sid signaled for Will to bring her another drink. “You’re going to marry Lucas even though you don’t like how much time he spends at work? I’ve never been married, but that sounds like a bad idea to me.”

Hearing the fact aloud, it sounded like a bad idea to Beth, too. But she loved Lucas. Didn’t she? Of course she did.

“Lucas is so kind and generous. The sweetest guy I’ve ever met, if a little distracted from time to time. He’s exactly the kind of guy my grandparents wanted for me. Smart, stable, not a criminal.”

Sid choked on her drink. “Did you just say ‘not a criminal’? Wow. Your grandparents had high standards.”

“They wanted me to do better than my mom. The bar wasn’t set real high.” Beth leaned her elbow on the bar and missed, nearly falling off the stool. Again. After righting herself she said, “I shouldn’t be complaining. He’s only working this much to move up in the firm and make partner.”

“Then what?” Sid asked.

“‘Then what’ what?”

“Once he makes partner, is he going to stop working so much? Won’t he still be working cases, and don’t those partner guys spend their weekends on the golf course?”

The partners did play a lot of golf. And not just on the weekends. In fact, Lucas was taking lessons so he could have another “in” with the big guys. Beth hated golf.

“I’m sure it’ll all work out,” Beth said, sure of nothing of the kind. Looking down she noticed her glass was empty again. “Did I drink that wine already?”

Their food arrived and Sid ordered Beth another drink, but then changed her mind. “I think we need some shots.”

“Some what?” Beth had never done shots before, but if the wine was making her this loopy, moving on to shots did not sound like a good idea. “I don’t think so.”

“Girls’ night out, Curly. Can’t have a girls’ night out without shots.”

Joe had just dropped the last load of dishes to be washed when the sous chef, Chip, let him know he had a call. He couldn’t think of anyone who would hunt him down at the restaurant. “Hello?” he said, hanging his apron up by the back door.

“You need to get over here.”

“Over where? Randy?”

“O’Hagan’s.”

Shit. Knowing Sid, some asshole grabbed her ass and she started a bar brawl.

“What’s going on? Is Beth okay?” His sweet-natured future sister-in-law didn’t seem like the bar-brawl type.

“Let me put it this way, neither of these ladies, and I use that term loosely where Sid is concerned, are feeling any pain. At the moment. But they’re going to feel like shit in the morning.”

Joe couldn’t believe it. “Beth is drunk?”

“Plastered. The bartender says they started doing shots a couple hours ago.” Randy didn’t sound amused. “Beth says
she doesn’t have a key, and I doubt you want me to drop her at Dempsey’s. Not in this condition.”

First thing in the morning he was getting Beth her own damn key. “I’m on my way.”

Joe let his dad know where he was going, then hit the road. Five minutes later he pulled into O’Hagan’s parking lot and saw Randy hovering behind a bench outside the pub door, looking like a handler trying to keep two rambunctious pups in place. The girls were giggling and snorting. Whatever the joke, Randy didn’t find it funny.

“All right, girls, time to go,” he said, lifting them each by an elbow. Sid jerked her arm away and nearly fell over the end of the bench. Randy moved to catch his sister, throwing Beth flat against Joe’s chest. The scent of sweetened vanilla filled his head.

Regaining her footing, Beth looked up with big green eyes, then breathed out a “Heeeeeyyyyyy.”

Her breath could fuel a flamethrower.

“Looks like you had a good time,” he said, putting some distance between them but continuing to help her balance. She carried a small purse in one hand and a sweater in the other. One thin strap slid off her shoulder, threatening to take what little material covered her breast down with it.

“I had the best time,” Beth said. Then turning to Sid, she yelled, “Hey!”

An unsteady Sid answered back, “Yeah!”

Their volumes seemed to correlate to their elevated alcohol levels.

Beth pumped her fist in the air and together they yelled, “BEST. BAR. EVER!” A fit of giggles followed and Randy seemed to hit his limit.

He tucked Sid under his right arm like a loosely packed sack of flour. “I’m taking her home. Good luck with that one.” Randy stalked into the parking lot while Sid squirmed and spewed profanities.

“Did he just say you should get lucky?” Beth asked between a wheeze and a grunt. “Who does he want you to get lucky with?” She searched the tiny porch, looking for the answer to her own question. This was not what he had in mind when he suggested Sid get her a little tipsy.

“Nobody’s getting lucky tonight. Especially not me,” he said, helping Beth navigate the large rocks covering the parking lot.

“Aw,” she said. “Me neither. Though right now it sounds like a good idea.” Stopping and turning to Joe, she asked, “Are you sure we can’t get lucky?”

J
oe experienced a sudden directional change in blood flow. His brain knew all the reasons the answer had to be no. Not the least of which was the fact he made a point of not having sex with a woman who could barely stand up.

But his dick didn’t seem interested in what his brain was communicating.

“You need coffee. That gourmet stuff Patty keeps around should do the trick.” While the coffee brewed, he could have a tall glass of ice water. Or two.

“Did you know that Sid is, like, an orphan?”

“Sid’s kind of old to be an orphan, isn’t she?” Joe asked, lifting Beth into the Jeep after her first three attempts to find the step failed. She reached for the seat belt and missed again, so he buckled her in. As he leaned across her, Beth brushed his neck with her lips. All remaining blood headed south in a hurry.

“Hmmmm…” she moaned. “You taste good. Better than I imagined.”

Maybe it wasn’t too late to switch with Randy. Sid as an angry drunk would be less dangerous than the sex-kitten version of Beth now sitting in his Jeep.

“What about Sid and this orphan thing?” he asked, his voice an octave higher than usual. Keeping her talking would keep her mouth from other things. Three “other” things she could do with that mouth sprung to mind.

Not helping.

“Sid’s an orphan, just like me.” Joe climbed into his own seat, and Beth’s hand landed on his thigh. “Did you know I was an orphan, too?”

“Didn’t know that,” he said, moving her hand onto her own thigh, which was bare thanks to her dress being shoved up under the lap belt. Trying to touch as little skin as possible, Joe pulled the dress back down.

“You’re such a nice guy. I don’t think people know that about you.” Beth tucked his hair behind his ear then ran one finger over his shoulder and down his arm, leaving a trail of fire in its wake. “I love your arms. Have I ever told you that?”

“Nope.” If he’d known what liquor would do to her, he never would have sent Sid on this stupid mission. “Maybe you should close your eyes for a while.”

“And your eyes,” she said, smacking him in the chest. “My God. You could melt a girl’s panties right off with those eyes. Such a pretty blue.” Her head lolled to the side, and she shot him a smile somewhere between sexy and goofy.

“What were you two drinking?”

“Tequila!” she yelled, throwing her hands in the air. Then she started a musical number. “Badum badubadu bum bum…”

“So much for stopping at tipsy.” Joe made a note to kick Sid’s ass as soon as she was sober. “You make a habit of throwing back tequila?”

“Never had it,” she slurred between hums. “Burned my nose hairs on that first one, but Sid said I’d get better with practice. And I did.” From the corner of his eye, Joe noticed Beth tapping her chin. “I can’t feel my lips.”

“They’re still there,” he said, returning his eyes to the road. “What’s this orphan stuff?”

“Sid and me are both orphans. Our parents are dead.” She flicked her bottom lip and said, “Ouch.”

In case whatever information Sid did learn was lost in the swill of tequila, Joe pushed for more answers. “Your parents are dead?”

“Yep.” Another flick of her lip and she gasped, clamping her hand around his bicep. “Oh my God!”

Joe slammed on the brakes, skidding the Jeep to a halt in the gravel along Middle Road. “What?” he said, searching the road for a dog or cat that might have run out in front of them. Nothing moved in the headlight beams.

An ear-splitting sound echoed from the passenger seat, sending his stopped heart into action again. His drunk and happy sex kitten was now a sobbing mess, rocking forward and back in her seat.

“Hey,” he said, throwing the Jeep in neutral and releasing his seat belt. “What happened?” Her hands covered her face, her head shaking violently from side to side. “Did something hit you?”

“Yes,” she cried, dropping her hands. “It just hit me that I’ve turned into my mother!”

Joe had heard women didn’t like to be compared to their mothers, but had no idea the concept would send them into tears. “I’m sure your mom was great.”

“No, she wasn’t,” Beth growled. The transitions from happy to sad to angry happened faster than Joe could process. “She was wild and rebellious and drank herself into an early grave.”

He wanted information, and he got it. Not what he was expecting.

The tears returned. “Granny was right. She said if I ever drank I’d be just like her.” Beth blew her nose on her sweater. “What am I going to do now?”

The situation had spiraled into dangerous waters and Joe didn’t have a clue how to get his bearings. Dealing with a sobbing woman was bad enough. Dealing with a drunk sobbing woman felt akin to facing down a cat-three hurricane.

At least with a hurricane, he’d have warning. He could be prepared.

Unable to answer her question, Joe drove the final block in silence while Beth continued to cry. He wanted to hold her. Tell her she was nothing like her mother. He also wanted to find this Granny person and point out how fucked up it was to tell a child who’d lost her mother how awful that mother was and not to be like her.

Who would do that?

Joe knew how it felt to lose a mother. He’d been ten when he lost his. How old had Beth been?

Pulling into the drive, Joe cut the engine and stared at the steering wheel. Beth’s sobs faded into sniffles, then the occasional hiccup.

“I’m sorry,” he said. Mediocre words atoning for more than a lost mother. He’d been an ass to set this scheme up. “How old were you?”

“What?” she asked, using her sweater as a handkerchief again. “How old was I when?”

“When your mom died.”

Beth waved his words away. “I wasn’t even two. I don’t remember her at all.” The crying jag apparently over, she looked around. “Do you have anything to drink at your place?”

“I’m not giving you anything but coffee.” Joe expected Beth to need help getting out but she was dancing in the driveway before he got a foot on the ground. “What are you doing?”