Pretty Jane (The Browning Series Book 3) Read online

  “That may be a little too settled.”

  Miss James chuckled. “Have fun with that one, Dad.”

  Beau’s arm shot out to trap his giggling five-year-old as he streaked past.

  “Pranked you—”

  Beau grabbed the can from Max’s hands, disarming the kid with lightning fast reflexes, and hauled him up over his other shoulder. “Let’s go, Maximilian. I don’t want to be around when Ling’s daddy shows up.”

  They left the school with only thirty minutes to spare before the start of Max’s session at Journeys, so Beau opted to skip their usual playground break and head straight to the clinic. After parking in a shady spot towards the rear of the lot, Beau pulled Max’s lunch box from his bag, knowing full well the kid had probably only consumed one tenth of what he’d packed for him. “Front seat. Now. You need to finish your food.”

  “Don’t like it,” Max said, staring intently at the tablet in his lap. “Food is boring.”

  “Yeah, I know this ham and cheese must seem pretty boring compared to all that virtual food you’re demolishing, but, sorry pal, you need the calories. Electronics down.”

  Max hissed at him.

  Beau ignored it. “I’ll let you play with my phone for a few minutes if you finish the sandwich.”

  Max unbuckled his belt and climbed over the center console into the front seat. “The white cheese smells like yuk.”

  Beau peeled the slice of Swiss off, popped it in his mouth, and handed Max the remains. They ate in silence for a few minutes, his son side-eying the gnarly knot on the sycamore tree next to their car as Beau’s gaze swept the parking lot for any sign of PJ.

  Not for the first time did he curse the fact that the girl didn’t have a car. If she was here, she’d probably taken her skateboard to work, and Beau was about done with that thing altogether. PJ needed a better means of getting to and from the clinic, especially considering what had happened with Wade, not that Beau thought the guy was going to be gunning for her anytime in the foreseeable future after having Watson breathe down his neck Saturday night, but still…

  Maybe he should just buy PJ a car. It wasn’t like he didn’t have the money, and she did have a birthday coming up soon. He didn’t have to get her anything lavish. Just something kickass with fairly decent gas mileage. Something that would make her happy. Because Beau liked PJ happy, and he liked her safe, and he was just looking out for his friend… his friend whose sweater sat mocking him on a daily basis from the top of his dryer… his friend who he’d recently almost murdered a guy over—

  “Daddy, can we buy Shopkins for Ling?”

  “Huh?” Beau snapped out of his delusion to find his son had gnawed his sandwich down to the crust and was already jacking his phone.

  “Shopkins. Her needs a Series 5 Ultra Rare.”

  “I have no idea what that is.”

  Max turned the phone around, showing him a weird set of food toys with faces. “Have to get her these. She’s my girlfriend.”

  Beau didn’t know what was more impressive, that his five-year-old already knew how to shop the net, or that his son had already sorted out that buying extravagant gifts was really something most guys did for their girlfriends. “I hear you, pal, but maybe we should think about this for a minute. Are you sure you’re ready for that level of commitment?”

  Max was no longer listening to him; he’d turned the phone’s camera app on and was making weird faces at the screen.

  Beau sighed. “Yeah, me neither. Come on. We don’t want to keep Miss Rhonda waiting.”

  Beau zipped up the remains of his son’s lunch, and ushered him from the car. When they walked into the clinic, Max’s therapist was waiting for them in the lobby. She shot Max a fist bump.

  “How’s it going, dude?”

  “Ling and me pranked-ed, Daddy!” Max cried as he darted around her to the common room.

  Rhonda’s gaze zoned in on the little bits of foam Beau had evidently failed to sweep from his hair. “Oh, I can’t wait to hear about this,” she said with amusement.

  Beau raked at his bangs, smiling ruefully as he walked with her into the common room. The place was a lot less crowded than it normally was at this hour, and Max was taking full advantage, diving into the ball pit as Beau gave the woman beside him the update on how things had gone for his son at preschool. Only seconds into their usual debriefing, Beau felt her watching him. Not Rhonda. His son’s therapist was already dialed into the action going on in the ball pit.

  It was PJ. She sat at a table pushed up against the west wall of the room. He caught her in profile, her hair swept to one shoulder and spilling in long golden waves about the side of her face he couldn’t see. The side that was revealed to him took Beau’s breath away.

  He’d never seen PJ wear makeup like that before, all the soft hues highlighting the natural rosy undertones of her skin instead of hiding it, only the subtlest shimmer clinging to dusky lips quirking steadily upwards as her eyes found his across the room. They were sucking him in again. Beautiful soulful eyes sparkling like the sky at midnight. Beau could feel the pull of them, could hear himself rattling off his goodbyes to Max and Rhonda as he gave into the attraction and moved towards the table.

  PJ lifted her chin at his approach, a proud little tilt, like she was suddenly remembering the last words he’d said to her. Then she turned her head, and Beau pulled up short a few feet from her chair. Because the other side of her face was every bit as beautiful as the first, just in an entirely different way. She’d tattooed a series of hearts in various sizes about her temple and cheek, connecting the shapes in an intricate pattern of dots and lines. The entire effect was mesmerizing, and Beau couldn’t help the ripple of laughter that escaped him as he took in the joyful cascade of color spilling down her skin.

  She laughed too, her shoulders lifting in a defiant sort of shrug as if to say, “Oh well, this is me too. Guess you’ll just have to deal.”

  Beau took another step closer, his smile widening as if to say, “I can deal, Pretty Jane. I can deal with every gorgeous side you’ve got. Bring it.”

  Their silent conversation must have been fairly loud because suddenly there was the sound of a throat clearing. For the first time, Beau noticed the guy seated at the other end of the table. It was the therapist he usually saw with Max’s friend, Danny. Only today, Danny appeared to be absent, and Brecken appeared to be in charge of a pile of toys. He was cleaning them off with a spray bottle as he took in their exchange. “How’s it going, Mr. Browning?”

  “Not bad, Brandon. You?”

  “Can’t complain,” Brecken drawled, clearly unfazed by the name flub. “Keeping healthy, and having much more fun cleaning house now that I got my girl with me.”

  Beau’s eyes narrowed on the idiot leaning back in his chair, arms crossed under his chest.

  PJ gave an irritated crack of her gum, then aimed her spritzer bottle at him.

  “Okay, okay!” Brecken’s hands fired up. “I know where I’m not wanted.”

  Maybe he wasn’t that much of an idiot. Beau spared him a nod as the guy sauntered off. Then he turned his attention back to PJ, who was wiping down a yellow dump truck.

  Beau sat down beside her. “So, you officially on the clock, or what?”

  PJ rolled her eyes at the toy she was cleaning, a shy smile curving her lips. “Well, technically, I’m still in training for a few more hours, but, yeah, officially, I start Monday.”

  “You passed your test.”

  “Aced it.”

  Beau laughed as she blew on her nails. “Well, congrats! And welcome to the wonderful world of employment.”

  “Yes, sir. I’m a working girl now.” PJ pushed the truck away, leaning towards him as her voice lowered to a flirty whisper. “And if you’re real nice to me, I might let you look at my W-2s.”

  Beau chuckled as he leaned even closer, soft blond wisps tickling at his nose as he found her ear. “Then I promise to be real nice, Pretty Jane.” She gasped softly at his wo
rds, casual flirtation morphing into something heady in a heartbeat. Beau could smell the cinnamon on her breath, could practically feel the heat rising in her cheeks and the subtle vibration of her shoe picking up speed as it bounced on the floor, all of it driving him a little crazy in the head.

  He should probably stop right now. His son was still in the ball pit, some kids were playing a board game on the floor, and a teenager was passing around a tray of baked goods with his therapist. Beau was aware of these things, but only peripherally, because PJ was so close to his mouth it would only take the slightest shift to kiss the little purple heart at her temple. And the wildest thing was how much he wanted to do exactly that.

  She moved first, swallowing as she pulled away. “W-well, I guess you have been kinda nice the last couple days.” She sniffed as she went back to her cleaning. “That gif of the cat sliding around the frozen pond chasing the fish was a real winner.”

  Beau accepted her retreat with a wink. “Glad you liked it… and I’m glad to see you’re doing better.” His smile slipped as he settled back in his chair. “I was worried after—”

  “I know,” she said a little too quickly, knocking over the spray bottle in front of her as she reached for an Etch A Sketch. She sighed as she righted it. “I mean, I know, and I’m sorry for not responding to you. I’m good, though, okay?”

  “Okay.” Beau glanced at his phone. “So your shift ends in a few hours?”

  “Yeah. Ms. Patrice said most of my shifts will end around 7:15.”

  “Well, that works. Max is done at seven. We can just wait and give you a lift home.”

  PJ shook her head as she finished off the last of the toys on the table. “Thanks, but I’m covered. Francine’s picking me up tonight.”

  “Oh.” Beau tried not to reveal both his disappointment and his concern.

  PJ must have picked up on the latter because she bit back another grin. “Okay, I’m pretty sure she’s picking me up tonight.”

  Beau chuckled as he nodded. “Alright, but if you should need me…”

  “I know.” PJ gave him another one of those shy smiles that did funny things to his heart.

  “I hate your skateboard.”

  “I know that too.”

  Beau really wanted to kiss this girl. And he wanted to buy her a car. “I’ll take you home next week.”

  PJ let out an exasperated snort. “Isn’t Max with his mom then?”

  Beau only blinked at her.

  “But you won’t even be picking him up—”

  “Fail to see the problem here.”

  PJ groaned. “Oh my god, you’re crazy.”

  He was. He so fucking was because Beau was done with the friend zone bullshit. He was done worrying about the age gap thing. He was done trying to suppress every wicked thought he had about PJ Bruister, and he was more than done fighting what was going on in his heart every time he entered her orbit.

  He rose slowly from the table. “I’ll see you Monday, Pru.”

  “Whatever,” she said a little breathlessly.

  Beau walked away with the heat of her gaze on his back and a smile on his face. He knew damn well that he wasn’t going to be hooking up with Mel, and he had zero interest in the number Artemia had slipped him that morning. The only woman he was interested in pursuing was the one snapping her gum as she tracked his departure from the room.

  Chapter 22

  Friday afternoon, PJ sat in her bathtub rubbing down every inch of her legs with her favorite margarita body scrub. Francine had given her a basket of the stuff that morning before jetting off to the club. Not long after her mother’s departure, PJ had gotten a call from Ms. Patrice asking if she wouldn’t mind running her first session at the clinic a little sooner than expected.

  Apparently, Thelma’s therapist, Mandy, had sprained her ankle during a track-and-field event at her college, and Ms. Patrice had been unable to find anyone else to cover for her. She’d felt bad about calling PJ on her birthday, but PJ hadn’t minded one bit. The only thing she’d planned to do that evening was scarf down a pint of Häagen-Dazs with Di. Now she could start earning some serious cash by helping out the drama queen known as Thelma Beauxfort, and she could see Beau. It was the latter of the two that had PJ humming along to Florence and the Machine’s “Dog Days Are Over” as she finished off her legs.

  PJ smiled as she inspected her work. Not a prickly hair anywhere in sight. Satisfied, PJ yanked the drain on the tub, snatched a towel from the vanity, and danced across the hall, singing along to the peppy tune blasting from her bedroom stereo. This was going to be the best birthday ever. She could feel it. Florence could feel it. PJ freed her hair from the claw pinning it up and whipped it about as she bounced in time to the beat of the music.

  It wasn’t that she didn’t like dancing. It was doing it around people that she objected to; the four-legged fur ball watching her from the foot of the bed didn’t count. PJ shimmied the last bit of moisture from her skin and chucked the towel at her hamper. It missed wide, but PJ was already twirling over to the closet in her birthday suit. She dressed, brushed her hair into a sleek pony, and did her makeup in a euphoric haze brought on by obscure pop songs, cat memes at midnight, and Beau Browning.

  If there were two things PJ was absolutely certain of after Wednesday night, it was that the man was now having lusty thoughts about her, and he was going to want to drive her home tonight. And this meant she needed to be prepared. She could glam up her eyes all she wanted, but the lips needed to stay bare. PJ swiped on a thin layer of ChapStick and turned to the cat on the bed.

  Dinah stopped grooming herself long enough to hit PJ with one of her judgy looks.

  “Okay, seriously, D. I’m not planning on sucking face with the guy in the car. Max is gonna be there. Come on now. That’d be wrong. It’s just in case Beau decides to walk me to the door again, and I accidentally trip on the welcome mat, fall into his arms, and inhale his tongue. These things happen.”

  Dinah went back to her nails.

  PJ powered off her stereo, scooped up her backpack, and headed for the living room. Her skateboard was propped against the table at the front door. She leaned down to retrieve it, smiling as she recalled Beau’s words, feeling a delicious sort of defiance as she lifted it up by the trucks. The sudden loud peal of the doorbell had her snapping out of her euphoric bubble with a jerk.

  PJ frowned. She wasn’t expecting company, and if someone was selling something, she sure didn’t have the time and she definitely didn’t have the money. PJ peered through the peephole but didn’t see anyone.

  Someone had probably sent a package. Probably, her dad’s wife. Jill worked for a mail-order cosmetics company and usually hooked PJ up with a bunch of nail polishes and stuff for her birthday.

  PJ relaxed, opened the door, and then jumped back, almost fumbling her skateboard in her surprise. Someone was, in fact, dropping off a package.

  Caught in the act, Lily swung up with a startled look as she clutched a parcel wrapped in hot-pink paper. “Oh! Hi, PJ. I didn’t think you were home.”

  “I am.”

  “I can see that.”

  They stared at each other for a few seconds. PJ looked down at the package; the wrapping paper appeared to be patterned with glittery white unicorns and sealed with a ridiculous amount of tape. “Did you just bring me a birthday present?”

  “Uhm, yeah.” Lily fidgeted with the curly purple bow stuck to the top of it. “I mean, if that’s okay. It is your birthday, right? April 3rd?”

  PJ eyed the gift suspiciously. “How did you even remember that?”

  Lily shrugged. “You’re April 3rd. I’m June 3rd. It’s not that hard to keep square. Here.” She thrust the present at PJ.

  PJ took it with a bemused mumble of thanks. Whatever was under all the unicorns was weighty for its size.

  “Well, alrighty then.” Lily swept a length of hair behind her ear and smiled awkwardly. “Happy birthday.” She turned, clearly ready to bolt.

  �
�What the hell? Aren’t you gonna watch me open it?”

  “Actually, I was just going to ring the doorbell and run. I wore more my sneakers today.” Lily pointed to her sensible pair of Reeboks.

  PJ felt a smile coming on, then checked herself, schooling her features into something stern. “Nah. You’re staying. You give a gift wrapped in unicorns, you own that shit, Browning.”

  “Yeah. You’re right,” Lily said with a hint of excitement. “Go for it.”

  PJ ripped into the paper. It came off in little chunks. “Jesus. You got some kind of tape fetish?”

  Lily giggled. “Sorry about that. But there are three in there, and I didn’t want them to slide around and tear through the paper.”

  PJ pulled the last bit of wrapping off the top and understood immediately what Lily was talking about. She’d given her books. Three of them. “Mistress of Mellyn.” PJ read the title of the first with a dubious quirk of her brow.

  “It’s classic Victoria Holt.” Lily nodded toward the aged hardcover like it was an old friend. “Gothic romance at its finest.”

  PJ shuffled through the stack. “Jane Eyre? Are you kidding me?”

  “Yeah, I know. Brontë isn’t for everyone, but seriously, the chick practically invented the genre, and if you’re a true goth fan you really need to eat your fruits and veggies before you get to your—”

  PJ shrieked. She’d skipped to the last book in the pile.

  “—dessert,” Lily finished with a smirk.

  “Holy crap! You got me a signed copy of Debauched in Davy’s Hall?!”

  Lily shrugged like this was no big deal, but a hint of pink had crept into her cheeks. “Yeah, well, I ran into the author at my book signing back in February, and I knew you liked her—”

  “You met Britni Howling?” PJ was absolutely floored. Howling had exploded onto the erotica scene fairly recently and had already cultivated a rabid fan base while maintaining a persona that was as shrouded in mystery as her novels were riddled with smut. The woman didn’t post author profiles, and her website wasn’t any more revealing… half-naked book covers notwithstanding. “What’s she like? Did you talk to her?”