Real Men Will (Donovan Brothers Brewery 3)
Monica sighed again, the sound fraught with self-pity and martyrdom. “My first mistake was having sex with Jamie Donovan.”
The words stabbed straight into Beth’s gut before her brain could kick in. Jealousy rolled through on a horrible, sickening wave, even as Beth told herself it wasn’t true. Or actually, it might be true, but it had nothing to do with Beth. Monica’s Jamie Donovan was a different man. A different mouth. Different hands. He hadn’t touched icy Monica Kendall after he’d touched Beth.
Unless, of course, he made a habit of lying about his name.
“Jamie Donovan?” she finally managed to croak.
“Your friend?” Monica drawled.
“No, I… Is he the bartender? Blond hair?”
“Ha. I’d describe it as more a washed-out brown, but, yeah. That’s him. I can’t believe I let him talk his way into my bed. And then when I wasn’t interested in seeing him again, he told the police I had something to do with the robbery.”
“Really?”
“Yes. Can you believe it? What a loser.”
Jamie Donovan hadn’t struck Beth as any kind of loser at all. He’d been handsome and confident, and even in that brief interaction, his natural charisma had been obvious. “So you’re under investigation, too? It’s not just Graham?”
“It’s so unfair. Me! I keep thinking it’s got to be some sort of awful joke.”
“I can’t imagine.”
“I knew you’d understand, Beth. You’ve known me longer than almost anyone.”
That was a bit of an exaggeration. Monica had plenty of friends from high school, where she’d been the queen bee. And known wasn’t exactly the right word, either. Beth and Monica were, at best, acquaintances at this point.
“Beth, do you think you could do me a little favor?”
“Um…” Beth stared warily at her desk. “What kind of favor?”
“If the police were to get in touch with you, maybe you could mention that we had this conversation.”
“What conversation?”
“About Jamie Donovan. About how he’s trying to fuck me over because I wouldn’t let him fuck me sideways.” She laughed as if she were delighted with herself.
“Monica—”
“You have no idea what he’s like. You know the type—a woman’s never said no to him, so he can’t accept it when one does. He’s spoiled.”
Spoiled? Beth took the phone from her ear and stared at it in disbelief. If that wasn’t the pot calling the kettle black… “How can this possibly matter?” she finally asked. “Why would the police ever call me?”
“Well, they call me often enough, believe me. So if I happen to mention that you and I had this conversation…”
“Yes, we had this conversation. That won’t mean anything to them if they already suspect you, Monica.”
“So maybe you could tell them we had this conversation six months ago.”
Monica had shocked the hell out of her again. Beth shook her head and kept shaking it. “I’m not going to lie to the police for you.”
“It’s not really a lie. I mean, don’t you believe what I’m telling you? Jamie and I were supposed to be having a business meeting, and instead he got me drunk on that crappy beer, took me home and took advantage of me. And then when I—”
“He took advantage of you? That’s not quite how you sa
id it.”
“Listen to me,” Monica hissed. “I’m not going down for my idiot brother. I don’t have a gambling problem. I don’t spend too much money on coke and whores. They can throw him in prison for fifty years for all I care, but I didn’t do anything wrong. And you…” She took a deep breath as if she were gearing up for a scream. “You,” she ground out. “After everything my family did for you, the least you can do is back me up.”