Paulie frowned. “Oh.”
Colleen’s stomach lurched. “It’s nothing bad, Paulie. You’re really nice and smart and stuff. But, um...well...there’s a certain...smell? There’s a funky smell around you.” She winced. “I’m sorry.”
Paulie looked at Colleen a horrible, long minute, then bowed her head. “I don’t smell,” she whispered.
Colleen swallowed. There was that taste again. Why had the other girls elected her? Why hadn’t Mrs. Hess said something instead, or had Paulie see the nurse, who could talk about hormones and whatever? “I’m sorry,” she said again. “But you do. It’s hard to sit next to you sometimes.”
“Who was talking about this?” she whispered, and a single tear slid down her face and landed on the molded plastic desktop.
“Just...a few of us. I—we thought you should know.”
“I don’t smell!” Paulie yelled, then pushed back from the desk and ran out of the room.
And Colleen threw up. Not because of the smell...because of shame. Shame and greasy pizza. But the rumor flashed—Paulie smelled so bad that she made Colleen puke.
Paulie didn’t come back to school for the rest of the week, and Colleen had never felt so small. She told only Connor about the conversation, and when he said, “Oh, Coll,” she knew for sure she’d done something terrible.
Later that month, they learned that Paulie had bigger problems. Her mother had run off with another man, and Paulie would be living with her dad from now on. When she returned to school, she had a new haircut. Her clothes were better, and the smell was still there, but it was fainter. Eventually, it went away altogether.
A thousand times, Colleen wanted to apologize; a thousand times, she convinced herself that it was kinder not to bring it up. In tenth grade, they were assigned to the same group for a social studies project, and Paulie couldn’t have been nicer.
So if Colleen wanted to help Paulie with her love life, who could blame her?
Paulie stood in the vicinity of Bryce’s usual spot at the bar. Gerard said hi to her, but Paulie didn’t answer, just stared at Colleen as if she was facing a firing squad.
“How about a mojito, Paulie?” she said cheerfully, tossing some mint into a glass.
“Sure,” Paulie mumbled, rubbing her hands on her sweater.
And then in came Bryce Campbell, all easy male grace, tall and lanky, dressed in a white polo shirt and jeans. He waved and made his way to his usual place at the horseshoe-style bar. A strangled noise came from Paulie.
Colleen handed her the drink. “Hey, Bryce, don’t you look handsome tonight,” she whispered.
“Coll, you could whisper to me?” Gerard said. “I can think of a whole bunch of things I’d like you to say.”
“Shush, child, I’m talking to my friend,” she answered. She gave Paulie a firm smile. “Now’s good.”
“I’m not ready,” Paulie whispered.
“Yes, you are.”
“No, I can’t. Can you do it for me?”
“Like we’re in third grade, and you want me to tell him you like him?”
“Yes. Please.”
“No. Come on now. Handsome, shark, boobs, smile. And then you’re done. Now go.”
With a faint groan, Paulie inched toward Bryce, who was at the end of the bar, talking to Jessica Dunn. Hmm. Jess was way too pretty, all blonde and super-modelesque, Bryce’s usual type.
Paulie stopped just behind him and shot Colleen a terrified glance and appeared to freeze. Luckily, Hannah was behind the bar, too, so Colleen boob-skimmed her.
“Get your boobs off me. Sexual harassment and all that,” Hannah said.
“Shh.” She smiled firmly at Paulie, who took a deep breath, swung her shoulders and bodychecked him right off his stool, Jessica Dunn stepping neatly aside as Bryce sprawled on the floor. Colleen’s view was all too clear. “Goddamn it!” Paulie said. She reached down to help him up, tripped on the dangling end of the Thneed, stepped on Bryce’s hand and spilled her mojito right onto his head. “Shit! Shit!”
So much for soft and feminine. Colleen tossed her hair for the “abort” sign. Paulie didn’t notice, Gerard was wheezing with laughter, one of those guys who loved nothing more than the physical pain of others (he was a paramedic, after all). Now Paulie was hauling Bryce to his feet, but she was too strong, and she yanked him not only up, but slammed him into the bar, causing the hanging glasses to rattle and sway.
Colleen tossed her hair again. Coughed. Coughed again more loudly. Tossed. Coughed. Tossed. Cough ’n’ tossed.
“Wow, Paulie, easy does it, okay?” Bryce said, rubbing his arm at the shoulder. Paulie’s face was broiling-red. She took both ends of the Thneed and twisted them in anguish.
Another hair toss, this one so hard Colleen thought she might’ve dislocated her neck, and still Paulie didn’t see her. Colleen threw up her hands
“What are you doing?” said a low voice behind her.
Colleen’s heart froze, as though she’d swallowed a large ice cube, and it was stuck right over her heart.
She turned around.
Yep. Lucas Campbell.
None other. Standing approximately two feet from her, looking at her with those knowing, dark eyes.
Her skin suddenly felt tight. Mouth: dry. Brain: dead.
“What are you doing, Colleen?” Lucas asked again.
“Nothing,” she said as if it hadn’t been ten years since she’d last seen him. “What are you doing?”
“I’m here to see my cousin.”
“So go see your cousin.”
“What are you doing to my cousin?”
“I’m not doing anything to your cousin.” So mature. And did they have nothing else to say to each other? Ten years apart? A river of tears (hers) and blood (his...well, she wished it was his blood).
Lucas just looked at her, his pirate eyes unreadable.
Shit.
Of all the gin joints in all the world, she started thinking, then squelched a blossom of slightly hysterical laughter.
Lucas Damien Campbell was here. Here in her bar. You think he could’ve called? Would that have been so much to ask, huh? Hmm? Would it? Hey, Colleen, I’m coming to visit my cousin, so be prepared, okay?
Colleen took a ragged breath, then coughed to cover. Unfortunately, the cough became genuine, and tears came to her eyes as she hacked and choked.
“You okay?” he asked in that ridiculously sexy, river-of-dark-chocolate voice.
“Yes,” she wheezed, wiping her eyes. “Just great.”
“Good.”
He dragged his eyes off of hers and looked over at the little knot of people at the end of the bar; Jess was laughing, Bryce smiling and Paulie looked like she was praying for a swift death.
“Are you trying to fix Bryce up with Paulina Petrosinsky?” he asked. Damn. She’d forgotten how...observant he was.
“No,” she said, proud of getting that one word out.
“Yes, you are.”
“No, I’m not.”
“Yes. You are.” He raised an eyebrow, and her knees wobbled. Sphincter! He was here. Here and beautiful, and damn it, older. A decade older than the last time she’d seen him, and yet it seemed like yesterday when he’d walked with her down to the lake and broke her heart. Irreparably, the bastard.
Her breath wanted to rush out of her lungs, but she held it in carefully, not wanting to induce another sexy choking fit.
She’d forgotten how he looked, like a pirate, like Heathcliff of the moors, dark and slightly dangerous...except for his eyes, which could be so sad. And so happy, too.
His black hair was slightly shorter than it had been years ago, but still gypsy beautiful, curling and black. He’d lost his boyish skinniness, had broadened in the shoulders. He hadn’t shaved today, and he seemed taller now than he had back then.
Back when he loved her.
He seemed to read her mind, because something flickered through his eyes.
In the year after Lucas left her, Bryce would come into the bar and mention him occasionally. Went to see my cousin last weekend, or Hey, Lucas is taking me and Dad to a White Sox game! Finally, in a rare show of vulnerability, Colleen had asked him not to talk about Lucas anymore. And in an even rarer show of understanding, Bryce seemed to get it.
She knew he was married. No kids—surely Smiling Joe Campbell would’ve mentioned that. She knew he worked for his father-in-law. That was about it.
She had told him never to call her again, never to write, and he took her at her word.
And now, her heart was jackhammering in her chest, and though she hoped like hell her heart wasn’t written all over her face, she was...terrified.
Lucas took a breath. “Colleen, I’m only back in town because Joe asked me to come. I imagine you know he’s pretty sick.”
Her heart gave an unwilling tug. “I do,” she said, then, fearing that sounded a little too matrimonial, she added, “Know he’s sick. I do know he’s sick, I mean. He’s sick, I know it, the dialysis, not easy, I guess, and I’m sorry.” Her Tourette’s of Terror, Connor called it when she babbled. Not that she was terrified often, but hell, she certainly was now.
“Thank you.” He glanced again at Bryce—right, right, there was something going on with Bryce tonight, whatever—then looked at Colleen again. “It’s good to see you.”
“Can’t say the same,” she answered.
His mouth tugged on one side, causing a respondent tug in her special places. Five more minutes, and she’d be back in love.
“Bryce doesn’t need more complications in his life right now.”
“And by complications, you mean what, exactly?”
“The Chicken King’s virgin daughter.”
“Oh, cool! That sounds like a Harlequin romance. I would definitely read that.” The Chicken King’s virgin daughter was nowhere to be seen at the moment. “And how do you know Paulie’s a virgin, huh? Maybe she’s the town slut.”
Yeah. This wasn’t going well.
“I doubt she’s the town slut.”
She bristled. “What are you implying, Lucas?”
He gave her a strange look. “Nothing. Just that Paulie doesn’t seem like the type.”
“Well, what if she is a slut, huh? Maybe Bryce likes sluts.” Time to shut up now, Connor’s voice—her conscience—advised sagely.
“I’m sure he does.”
“So what’s your problem, then?”
“I’m trying to have a rational conversation here.”
“Yeah, and I haven’t seen you in ten years, and you just waltz into my bar and start insulting me and bossing me around. I do know about your uncle and how sick he is, because guess what? I visit him. I like him. I bring him magazines and cookies, and he likes my dog.”
“You have a dog?”
“Yes, I do, so just...you just, um, put that in your pipe and suck on it.” Smooth, O’Rourke. She tried to look haughty and dignified. “Maybe I happen to think that Bryce needs someone to help him through this difficult time.”
“Maybe he has other things to deal with.”
“And maybe I’m right and you’re wrong.”
He tilted his head to one side. “I’m getting the sense that you’re still mad.”
“I’m not.”
“Leave my cousin alone, all right?”
“Make me.”
He rolled his beautiful (damn them) eyes and walked over to Bryce, hugging him.
Humph. He hadn’t hugged her.
“Let’s stop being stupid, shall we?” she muttered to herself.
Lucas said something, then smiled. Shit, that was a good smile. Hardly ever saw it, that was the trick. She, on the other hand, smiled like a pubescent monkey or jackal or hyena or some other animal that smiled a lot. “What do you think?” she asked Victor Iskin, a regular at the bar who had a well-documented love of animals. “Do hyenas smile more than monkeys?”
