Page 3 of Betting on the Bad Boy
As I opened the door to my place, my cell rang. I glanced at the screen and smiled. No matter how busy I was, I’d always make time for my grandmother.
“Did bingo get canceled this afternoon, and you needed someone to entertain you?” I teased.
Meemaw’s voice crackled through the phone. “They ran out of prizes. That Irene never gets enough prizes when they put her in charge. Why, if it were me, I’d make sure I had extra. And she calls the numbers way too fast. Half the poor folks couldn’t even keep up. I ought to just take over the bingo?—”
“That’s all you need, Meemaw... to be in charge of one more thing.” I kicked off my shoes and made my way to the bedroom. I might put in twelve-hour days at the office, but I could guarantee that between all of her volunteering, my grandmother had me beat.
“Well, it gives me something to do all day. I can’t just sit around here and twiddle my thumbs now, can I?”
“Nope, no twiddling. You don’t sit still long enough for that.” I could feel her grin through the phone.
“I just wanted to make sure you can still come down for dinner on Sunday. Bugsy finally killed that hairy, old hog and I’ll have a nice pork roast with potatoes and gravy.”
My mouth watered at the thought of a home-cooked meal. “I’m counting on it. Any chance you’ll have time to make one of your famous apple pies?”
“Rolled out the crust this morning, my boy. What time can I expect you?”
I chuckled. She knew me better than anyone. “Should be there by two.” I was scheduled to close Saturday night. That would give me time to sleep in and get a little bit of work done before making the ninety-minute drive back home to my grandmother’s farm.
“I’ll see you then. You know it’s always okay with me if you want to invite a friend. I’ve got plenty.”
Here we go again. “I think Murph’s got plans. Plus, then I wouldn’t have as many leftovers.”
Meemaw clucked her tongue. “I meant a lady friend. It’s high time you start thinking about giving me some great-grandbabies. I’m not gonna be around forever, you know.”
A lady friend... that would be the day. The only girl I’d ever invited over for a Sunday dinner had played me for a complete fool, and I had no interest in ever putting myself out there like that again. “Just me this time.”
“Sugar, you know I love seeing you. Just wish you’d find a smart, sassy, young woman to spend some time with.”
I cleared my throat, my signal for an immediate change in topic.
Having raised me all my life, my grandmother picked up on it right away. “Oh, all right. Think you’ll have time to help me put up some Halloween decorations at the center while you’re here?”
I pinched the bridge of my nose. No such thing as a free meal where Meemaw was concerned. She’d always figure out a way to get some manual labor out of me. It was worth it, though. If I could spare the time, I’d be willing to work all weekend just for a few bites of one of her melt-in-your-mouth pork roasts.
“You bet. Nothing too spooky, I hope. Don’t want to give Mrs. Blake a coronary.”
“Oh, pshaw. That’s not funny. You know she gets bouts of the angina. She’s taking two different kinds of pills.”
“Sorry, Meemaw. I was just kidding.”
“I know. You stay out of trouble now and drive safe. I love you.”
“I love you, too.”
At eighty-two, my grandmother should be taking it easy, not single-handedly running the senior center in town. With aseemingly endless supply of compassion and energy, she seemed a helluva lot younger than most of the people who frequented the place.
She always said she felt sorry for them. “Those poor old folks, no family around to look after them.” Pretty ironic seeing as how she was older than all of them and didn’t have any family left to look after her. “I have you,” she’d tell me. I just felt bad that I didn’t get back to see her often enough. She was a spunky ole gal that was for sure.
It was about time she stopped bothering me about settling down, though. I’d told her a million times—my focus needed to be on my career for the foreseeable future. But Meemaw had always had ideas of her own where I was concerned, especially after we attended my cousin’s wedding in Tennessee awhile back.
For a split second, I wondered about the woman from the sidewalk. Who would she be practicing all those moves on? What lucky guy or girl would be on the receiving end of all that newfound knowledge? Whoever it was would definitely have a better start to their weekend than me.
I tossed my phone on the bed and changed into some jeans and a flannel shirt. Much better. I didn’t mind dressing the part at the office, but would much rather live in a pair of worn-in jeans.
After shoving my phone into my pocket, I locked up and made my way back downstairs, ready for whatever another Friday night behind the bar might have in store.
CHAPTER 3
