Page 24 of The Spite Date (Small Town Sisterhood #1)

IF I’D WANTED A SHIT SANDWICH, I’D HAVE ORDERED ONE

Simon

Someone is sticking an ice pick in my skull and shining a spotlight directly into my eyeballs and someone else has loaded my stomach with lit dynamite and I am never, ever, ever, ever touching bubbly again in my natural lifetime.

“Don’t let them toast me when I die,” I whimper.

I would prefer to never touch bubbly in my natural afterlife either.

“Epic date?” the mother of my children says above me. “Or epic after-date?”

“I—”

Bloody hell.

I can’t remember.

Were I able to remember, I don’t believe I’d want to talk about it either.

Am I eating cotton balls, or is there some other ailment of my mouth that requires a doctor’s attention?

“Dad! Dad! Dad, there’s a carnival today.” The earth shakes around me, and the dynamite in my stomach threatens to explode.

“Will you take us? We were angels for Mum. We deserve to go to the carnival.”

“Bet they have funnel cake.”

“And lemon shake-ups.”

“And fried Oreos.”

“And burgers.”

“And cotton candy.”

“And fried fish.”

I groan and clutch at my head.

If I clutched my stomach, I fear it would revolt.

“Boys. Off your father’s bed,” Lana says.

“But we missed him, Mum.”

“Not that we didn’t love being with you.”

“Of course not.”

“We just missed him too.”

“You won’t miss him much longer if he pukes on you.” Lana’s cheerful voice reminds me of another reason I never married her.

She’s evil when I’m ill.

“Is it already eleven?” I whimper.

“It’s eleven-thirty,” one of the boys reports.

The ice pick picking at my skull hammers harder as my children climb off the bed. The sudden stillness makes me feel as wretched as the bouncing initially did, and I take several deep breaths to keep from losing the contents of my stomach.

This is bad indeed if I’m this close to vomiting.

I never vomit.

“We’re hungry,” Charlie says.

“And there’s a carnival,” Eddie says.

“With food.”

“To feed us.”

“We’re starving, actually.”

“Near to dying.”

“Out,” Lana says. “Go find something in the kitchen. Let me talk to—never mind. Kitchen was the magic word.”

The bed sags, and I whimper again as the sound of the boys’ footsteps fades beyond my bedroom.

“Saw the pictures,” she says.

Pictures.

Date.

Champagne.

Bea.

Bus.

Fuck.

She made me dinner in her bus.

I remember a willy dog.

And very little else. “Why don’t I remember half of last night?”

“Pinky said you drank three bottles of champagne almost all by yourself. That might’ve done it.”

I’d groan again, but groaning drives the spikes deeper into my skull.

“Mom was great last night for the caretaker, but she’s having a rough start to her day. I can’t stay long. And the boys are right. There are all kinds of hangover foods at the carnival today. It’s at the lake parking lot.”

“Rides?”

The world spins at the idea of carnival rides, and my stomach threatens to rebel.

“No rides. Face-painting, games, fortune-telling, and I think maybe a house of mirrors. Maybe. There was an incident a few years ago, and I’m not sure all of the mirrors ever got replaced.

” She touches my shoulder. “Much as I wish I could go, I’m out.

I’ll tell the boys to be good and ask your team to keep a close eye on them.

You’ll feel better once you puke and shower. Might as well get it over with.”

She’s unfortunately not wrong.

It takes nearly two hours, but I manage to get myself out of bed, showered, and semi-hydrated. And I also force my mood to improve after I realize I’ve missed a call from my parents.

Though I wouldn’t say I missed it.

Simply did not see it ring through, and would not have picked it up even if I had.

When I finally appear in the sunken living room, where the boys are playing a video game on the large-screen television, they pause the game and immediately hop to their feet.

“Can we go to the carnival now?”

And that’s how I end up dragging my hungover arse back out to the Athena’s Rest lake area.

I’m in a baseball hat and the darkest sunglasses I could find in my collection. All three of my security agents are amused at my hangover. My boys are oblivious though.

There’s much grabbing of my arms and tugging of my body this way and that as we approach the carnival. The noise is causing my headache to return before we’ve hardly reached the edges of the game booths, and the mixed smells of all of the food trucks are triggering more than a smidge of nausea.

But the nausea gets worse as I spy Bea’s burger bus.

Did I make an utter fool of myself?

The restaurant memories are clear. I do recall breaking down the toilet door to rescue her when the doorknob broke.

I recall returning to the burger bus.

I recall Bea frying corn dogs and chips while wearing that red dress.

And everything is hazy and murky after that.

“Burgers!” Charlie shouts, drawing the attention of half the carnival goers, who have now spotted me.

Whispers and murmurs race through the crowd.

Tank sighs.

Pinky sighs.

Butch sighs.

“Do we have extra painkillers?” I murmur to Butch.

“Two more hours before you can have more,” he replies.

I suppose this is my punishment for having a retired army medic in my security detail.

“Mr. Luckwood will sign autographs by the bounce house after he’s had a chance to enjoy the carnival,” Pinky tells a small crowd of people approaching us.

Translation: I’ll interact with the public once my hangover has died down a bit more.

“Can we get burgers, Dad?” Charlie says.

“I want a double patty with triple fries, and I still want to try the fish,” Eddie says.

“Do you think she has fish today?”

“Why wouldn’t she have fish? It’s a good day for a secret menu.”

“But if no one knows, will they order it?”

“That’s why you go on socials, you jackass.” Eddie whips out his phone and shoves it at Charlie.

I peer over their shoulders and spot an advertisement for Bea’s burger bus announcing secret menu items at the carnival today. Fewer than a dozen people have liked the post, and none have commented.

So odd.

Her food is delicious, and heaven knows she handed out enough free fish last weekend that she should have gained a larger following.

“See?” Eddie says. “She has fish. Let’s go get some.”

“It might not be fish. It might be a secret something else,” I point out.

Both of my children roll their eyes at me, then take off at a much-too-fast clip for my liking.

Both because my body still prefers slow and sloggy, but also because I don’t quite know what to say to Bea today.

Or why I’m feeling as eager to see her as my boys are to have more of her food.

“Did Ms. Best get as drunk as I was last night?” I murmur to Tank.

“She was sober as a doorknob before the two of you got in the burger bus,” he replies.

One of my eyes twitches.

I daresay that broken doorknob was the beginning of the end of me last night.

He smirks.

“Have I said thank you for delivering me home safely?” I ask him.

“All part of the job.”

We reach the comparatively short line for the burger bus, and I get the advantage of watching Bea and Hudson moving seamlessly inside as they wait on the two customers before us.

She’s in her tie-dyed shirt again, but the bandanna holding her curly hair back is blindingly pink and her apron is blindingly yellow. Her face is makeup-free, her smile is smiling, and her dimples are dimpling.

She’s a veritable flower.

One that I can’t fully appreciate because the bubbly is still impairing my senses and making very little enjoyable.

Except she’s enjoyable.

Watching her work—it’s spreading the bad kind of warmth in my chest.

The kind that says I like her, that whatever happened last night that I can’t remember, she was sympathetic about it and made me feel safe enough that my subconscious has decided I’d be a fool to continue being angry with her for setting me up to be her tool of revenge against her ex.

Especially after having met said ex.

Wanker only touches the surface of how I’d describe him.

You can tell when she spots me because her face freezes, then puckers, and then she gives me a pained smile before returning her attention to the order she’s taking.

Tank snickers.

“You caught that too?” I ask him.

“Everyone here caught that.”

“Do you…do you recall if I said anything I shouldn’t have while we were having dinner?”

“Wasn’t listening.”

“The next time I ask for champagne, please tie me up so that I may never again do this to myself.”

Once more, the man smirks at me.

And soon, it’s our turn to step up to the window.

“What’s on your secret menu?” Eddie asks before Bea can say a word.

“It’s fish, isn’t it?” Charlie says.

“No, Dad’s right. It can’t always be fish or else it wouldn’t be a secret.”

“ Ooooooh , is that what he meant?”

“It’s what I think he meant.”

The boys both look at her.

“Well?” Charlie says. “What is it then?”

“Corn dogs,” she tells him.

Is it just me, or is she intentionally avoiding looking at me?

Whatever did I say about my willy—my corn dog?

And why do I keep thinking of it as a willy dog?

“No fish?” Eddie whines.

“We take what we can get without causing a ruckus,” I tell him.

“Yeah, Eddie,” Charlie says. “I want two corn dogs and a burger. Do all of those come with fries, or do I need to order fries separate?”

“They all come with fries,” Bea says.

“Good. Do you do onion rings?”

“Oh, sneaky sneaky, are we?” She smiles at him. “Did you know that’s the secret menu side today, or are you just an onion ring kind of guy?”

“That’s my secret, but I’ll tell you if you tell me if you shagged my dad last?—”

I clamp my hand over his mouth. “Enough, young man. Only one corn dog for him with his burger, and no onion rings.”

Eddie grins. “Can I get four corn dogs and a burger and two onion rings if I don’t ask if she shagged you?”

Hudson leans out the window. “Are you two talking shit about my sister?” he growls.

Both of my boys leap back, clearly startled.

None of my security team attempts to protect them.