Love on the Lake (Lakeside 2)

“Don’t try to hold that over my head. You’re more than welcome to take it back.”

“I don’t want it back. Come on, Aaron. I miss you. I can make it worth your while.”

I would like to say I can’t believe what I’m hearing, but I absolutely can. Portia’s mother had a slew of pool boys who came and went over the years. “Gifts” were always exchanged for favors. I shift enough that I can see Aaron and he can see me.

His expression changes from annoyance to disquiet. He pushes back his chair and stands, as he did when I left the table. The woman must realize she doesn’t have his full attention anymore and looks over her shoulder, as if she’s prepared to chastise the server. At least until her eyes land on me.

She’s not unfamiliar. Although she looks like every single woman in her midfifties who’s desperate to stop the aging process. But I have a feeling I’ve met her before in passing.

“Oh, hello.” She gives me an appraising once-over.

“Teagan, this is Katrina. I’ve done some work on her house in the past. Katrina, this is my girlfriend, Teagan.”

I struggle to contain my shock over the sudden g-bomb.

I extend my hand, as I’ve been taught to do. “It’s so lovely to meet you, ma’am.”

She blinks at me twice before she slips her hand into mine and gives me a dead-fish handshake, which is not unexpected, since I purposely called her ma’am to remind her that she could be Aaron’s mother.

Which raises all kinds of other questions. Ones I’m not planning to ask.

Katrina is about as warm as a week-old corpse, but the insult does the trick, and she leaves us, heading across the room to a table full of women. I have to wonder how many of them have experienced Aaron’s skill set as well. Not that it matters. I’m here with him on a date, and that tells me she and I aren’t even remotely in the same league. We’re not even playing the same game.

I’m not a secret he’s keeping locked behind a bedroom door.

I take my seat across from him. His expression has shifted, those summer-storm eyes taking on shadows. “Are you okay?” I ask.

“I’m sorry about that. If you want to go, I understand.”

“Go where?”

“Home. If you want to skip out on the rest of dinner, I can take you home.” He stares at his half-empty glass of root beer.

“Do you want to take me home? And by home do you mean your place or mine?”

His gaze lifts. “I don’t want you to be uncomfortable.”

“I’m not uncomfortable. Curious maybe, but not uncomfortable. Are you uncomfortable?”

“It’s awkward. I can’t go anywhere within a half-hour drive without running into someone I know. And shit like this happens. It’s one thing to hear about my reputation; it’s another to witness it firsthand.”

I wonder if this has happened to him before, in the past. If he’s tried to take someone out and one of the women from the other side of the lake has ruined the evening by approaching him. Or worse, propositioning him like Katrina did, in a public restaurant, of all places. “You live in a small town, Aaron; you can’t escape your past or your actions in a place like this. I knew that before I agreed to go out with you. And that”—I incline my head in the direction of Katrina’s table; she and another woman have their heads bent together, and they’re looking in this direction, so I smile brightly and wave—“isn’t exactly unfamiliar. I mean, my boyfriend slept with my best friend, and everyone knew. Except me. I can’t tell you how many times someone would come up to me in the middle of a public place and tell me how sorry they were. And how bad they felt for me. And two minutes later they’d be off in the corner, whispering with each other about my family scandal. Just like those women seem to be doing.”

“If I could go back in time, I would change a lot of things,” Aaron mutters.

“I think we’d all do that if we could see the future before it happened. Can I ask you why you slept with those women?”

Aaron rubs his bottom lip. “Convenience, I guess. I knew I was just something to pass the time. They were lonely, neglected, with husbands who traveled a lot. Although”—he raises one finger—“I never slept with the hockey wives.”

“Because their husbands are huge and could kill you?”

“That’s one reason, but mostly because those women are super devoted to their husbands. The women I slept with had already filed for divorce. Or said they were about to.” He shakes his head and pokes at his cheek with his tongue.

“That sounds like a story.”

“You sure you want to hear it?”

“If you don’t mind telling it.” Now that I’ve met Katrina, it doesn’t bother me that he’s slept with all these women as much as it did before. Maybe because they were serving a purpose and there weren’t any feelings involved.