Pretty Jane (The Browning Series Book 3) Read online

  “Eh…” Lily shrugged again. “She’s alright. Bit shy. We didn’t chat much, but I know she’s a local gal because she had on a CSA sweater.”

  “Get the fuck out of here. She went to Christian Sisters?”

  Lily giggled. “I know, right. Old Dulton would be soooo proud.”

  PJ couldn’t stifle a grin as she pictured her former headmistress’s reaction to finding out one of her graduates was now a bestselling author of soft-core porn. Then she was giggling too, her shoulders starting to quake as she met Lily’s sparkling blue eyes.

  They fell out together, both bursting into laughter at the same time. And when Lily, the perfect princess, let out a rather unladylike pig snort, they only laughed harder. It took them a good couple minutes to calm down, and when they finally did, the giggle fest was replaced with an unfamiliar quiet. Unfamiliar because they were both smiling at each other. In a friendly kind of way. A sisterly kind of way.

  PJ wasn’t sure what to say next. This was really strange territory.

  Lily was the first to break the awkward silence. “Okay, well, enjoy them,” she said, watching as PJ shuffled through the books again, pausing on the Holt book with another doubtful expression. “All of them,” she added a little bossily.

  PJ sniffed. “Any sex in this one?”

  Lily sighed. “No, but honestly, sometimes just a kiss can be really hot, okay?”

  Considering the little chat she’d just had with her cat not more than ten minutes ago, PJ figured Lily had a point. “You may be right. No promises, but I’ll give them a try.”

  “Cool.”

  “Yeah. We’ll see.” PJ plopped the stack of books on the console table and scooped up her board. “I should probably be going. I’ve got work—”

  “Oh, yeah.” Lily was already backing away. “I’ve got a thing too. Just some apartments in the area I was checking out.”

  PJ locked up and followed the girl out. “You thinking of moving out?”

  “Well, it’s inevitable isn’t it?” Lily’s expression turned rueful and, strangely, a little pensive. “I’ll be twenty-one soon. I can’t live in the White House forever.”

  PJ nodded as they walked toward the parking lot. “Yeah, I know what you mean. I literally just turned eighteen, and already Francine’s all like ‘stop ditchin’ work. I expect rent money. Blather, blather, blather’.”

  Lily smiled. “Your mom is really cool, ya know.”

  “Yeah, I know. So’s yours.”

  “She’s a musician. That kind of goes with the gig.” Lily pulled her keys from the pocket of her jeans as she approached a sporty red Tesla in the lot.

  “Dani gonna make your birthday this year?” PJ asked curiously. She knew the famous country singer had tried to maintain a decent relationship with her daughter despite her hectic schedule and the infamous nature of her split from Lily’s father. Dani Fayette wasn’t going to be winning any mom of the year Grammys, but she’d seemed pretty cool the couple of times PJ had met her, and it was obvious she was proud of her daughter, frequently talking up Lily’s breakout novel, Sparkle, to anyone who would listen. Which was, of course, a shitload of people since the woman was a pop country superstar.

  “Not this year. She goes on tour in May.” Lily settled into her car with a smirk. “But she promised to come home for Christmas.”

  “Well, that’ll be fun,” PJ said conversationally, finding it surprisingly nice to be chatting with the girl.

  “Uh, yeah. You do know Daddy’s trying to get the whole gang back together for the holidays, right?”

  “Oh.”

  “That’s right. Think on that one for a minute.” Lily donned an oversized pair of sunglasses before punch-starting her fancy electric vehicle. “Don’t book shit for December. If I have to sit through the madness, so do you. The Colonel expects the whole family to be there.”

  “But I’m not even a Browning.”

  Lily laughed, sweeping her hair over her shoulder. “Haven’t you figure it out yet, sis? Once a Browning. Always a Browning.”

  PJ shook her head as the girl drove off.

  These people were nuts.

  And she was kind of falling in love with them.

  Chapter 23

  At the clinic, PJ was met with her second surprise of the day. Ms. Patrice had reworked her therapy session with Thelma to include a baking lesson, insisting that every girl deserved a fabulous cake on her birthday.

  PJ wasn’t too certain how fabulous it was going to turn out, but armed with a box mix and plenty of enthusiasm, she and Thelma were well on their way towards achieving some measure of culinary success. The temperamental teen had accepted PJ as her fill-in therapist without too much funk and was currently talking up a storm as she stirred a big bowl full of batter.

  “Prom is coming up, and Jeremiah Dax doesn’t have a date yet. I think he should take me because I’m a really good dancer. Dancing fast is super fun. I love to dance fast.” Thelma swirled a silicone spatula in the bowl with about ten times more force than necessary, sending clumps of rainbow chip batter splattering all over the counter.

  “That’s great, Thelma, but how about we slow down the mixing.” PJ moved her tablet out of the splash zone before modeling the correct movements for the girl. Thelma took her speed down a couple notches. PJ logged another star point.

  “I’m probably a better dancer than Lindsey Schuler,” Thelma said, resuming her chatter about her peers at Finkerton High. “I really don’t think Jeremiah should go with Lindsey Schuler. She’s a mean girl, and I hate her, and I hope she gets an FTD and her vagina rots out of her body—”

  “I think you mean STD, Thelma.”

  Thelma wasn’t listening. She’d gotten a glob of batter on her fingers and was trying to shake it off, her face twisted in a horrified grimace like she’d just been slimed with ectoplasm. PJ’s first instinct was to wipe the mess off herself, but Thelma reared back the second she reached out with a kitchen towel.

  “No, thank you!” she said sharply. “I can do it myself.”

  “Of course.” PJ set the towel down, feeling a jolt of embarrassment as the girl cleaned up beside her. Thelma didn’t like having her hands touched. PJ had read this in her file, but caught up in the moment, she’d forgotten. Witnessing the girl’s heated reaction was unnerving, mostly because she’d triggered it, but also because the aversion felt all too familiar. Thelma’s sensory issues, however, were directly related to her autism, and were probably something she didn’t have a great deal of control over. PJ couldn’t say the same for her own.

  Not wanting to spoil their fun in the kitchen, PJ shook off the awkward moment, then slid the empty box of mix over to Thelma so she could read the instructions on the back. “When you’re ready, we’re at the end of step two.”

  Thelma was much more careful dumping out the batter than she had been mixing it, so PJ gave her extra points for wrapping up the lesson without any further mess. “Nice job,” she said, after they’d gotten the cake into the oven.

  Thelma ripped off her headband, releasing her thick mane of strawberry-blond curls to spring out about her face. “Can I go listen to my music now?”

  “Sure. Let’s take a ten.” PJ followed the girl to a break room several doors down from the kitchen. After Thelma had settled in a squashy armchair in the corner of the room with her headphones, PJ turned to Brecken, who was sitting on the couch with Danny. “Keep an eye on her for me, okay? I need to clean up a spill.”

  Brecken waved her off before jabbing at the Nintendo remote in his hand, evidently locked in some super-intense Mario Kart action with the seven-year-old beside him.

  PJ walked back into the common room, smiling as she noticed Max sprawled out on the reading rug. Rhonda was running another Sustained Attention lesson with the boy, but Max looked about as intrigued by the Clifford book in her hands as PJ had been by the copy of Jane Eyre Lily had given her earlier.

  Rhonda paused in her reading to wink at PJ. “He made it through all
the monkey bars today.”

  “Nice, dude!” PJ knelt and offered the kid a fist bump.

  Max nudged her back with a warm little hand, his movements sluggish, as he mumbled a “thank you.”

  Rhonda logged the boy’s points with a chuckle. “Must have wiped him out, though. Bet he’ll sleep good for his daddy.”

  PJ ruffled the kid’s hair, then bounced back up, not wanting Rhonda to notice the cheesy grin spreading over her face at the mere mention of Max’s daddy. Was it wrong to kind of hope that Max would sleep well tonight? That maybe Beau would drive her back to his place, tuck the cute little dude into his blankets, and then lead PJ to some lavish master suite with a huge four-poster bed and a nightstand full of condoms? Was that so wrong?

  PJ strode back into the kitchen, wrestling with the questionable morality of her thoughts, and nearly jumped out of her skin. There was a woman standing near the stove. Her arms were crossed over the top of a Journey’s T-shirt this time, and her curls were pulled back in a far looser bun than they had been before, but there was no denying that this was the same lady who’d crashed PJ’s expulsion meeting several weeks ago, especially considering she was sporting another one of those stupid name badges with all the fraudulent stars.

  “Ivy Espinoza,” PJ muttered needlessly.

  “How’s it going, Miss Thang?”

  PJ’s eyes narrowed on the woman smirking at her. “What in the hell are you doing in here?”

  “Now, that’s the wrong question to ask altogether.” Ivy Espinoza, Counselor, OS, waggled her fingers in the air like she was shooing a pesky fly, then sucked in a big breath of sweet-smelling air, not even bothering to tell PJ what the right question was before she turned her attention to the oven. “Oh, I do miss cake,” she said, her sassy expression growing a little sad.

  PJ let out an impatient snort as she scanned the chick’s voluptuous frame. “Dang, just give up the keto thing already and embrace your curves. Now, what gives? Why are you here?” PJ motioned to the woman’s shirt, a thought suddenly occurring to her that had PJ feeling a little less hostile. “Wait. Do you have a kid who goes here?”

  “In a manner of speaking.” Ivy glanced back at PJ with a wry smile. “But if you’re asking if I have one of my own attending, then the answer is no. My daughter is grown.” Ivy sighed wistfully. “She makes the most wonderful cakes—”

  “That’s great.” PJ advanced on the woman. “Look, lady, I don’t know who you think you are, but you can’t just keep showing up everywhere saying all this cryptic shit and giving me utterly useless advice like you’re some kind of flippin’ oracle or something!”

  “Is it though?” Ivy’s chin lifted as PJ came to a stop a couple feet from her. The woman was nearly a foot shorter than she was, but she didn’t seem intimidated in the slightest, and as her piercing gaze locked onto PJ’s fiery one, a strange tingle traveled up PJ’s spine.

  Brushing away the sensation with a quick swipe at her neck, PJ glared at the woman. “Is what?”

  “My advice. You said it was utterly useless, but it seems to me you’ve been using it rather well.” Ivy gestured towards the common room. “You’re helping others…”

  PJ shrugged off the praise, knowing full well she wasn’t doing it for the purest of reasons.

  Ivy smiled, clearly sensing that this was the case. Then she closed the gap between them, and once again PJ felt that tingly sensation, only this time even stronger. The woman peered up at her, making PJ feel oddly vulnerable, as though she could see straight through what little makeup PJ had applied earlier. “And you’re helping Punky,” she added slyly.

  PJ gave a small gasp of surprise. “Hold up! How did you know my name?”

  “I’m an OS,” Ivy said, strolling towards the exit with a throaty chuckle. “I know all kinds of things.”

  “Wait!”

  Ivy paused, a perfectly arched brow rising expectantly.

  “Well, aren’t you going to tell me if I’m better or not?” PJ held up her fingers in air quotes. “Did I get right with myself?”

  Ivy let out a ripple of laughter. “No.”

  “Oh, come on, Ivy!” PJ was about ready to chuck the empty cake mix box at the woman’s head. “That is so lame. Can’t you just speak plainly? You’re a counselor, for god’s sake. Give me some straight-up counsel!”

  “Counsel?” Ivy seemed amused as she considered the word.

  “Yeah, you know, some actual advice. Like a regular counselor would give.”

  “Uhm.” Ivy pretended to mull things over, sweeping an errant curl behind her ear before straightening as though she’d just sorted out the perfect words of wisdom. “You should go to college.”

  “What?! You’ve gotta be kidding me. That’s the best you can come up with?”

  Ivy laughed as she slipped through the doorway.

  PJ gave into her irritation, grabbed the box off the messy kitchen counter, and threw it across the room. “That’s the worst. I’m not going to college!” she hollered, just as Brecken ducked into the room, eyes wide as the box ricocheted off the wall about a foot from his head.

  “Whoa! Ease down, birthday girl. I don’t know what existential crisis you’ve got going on in here, but it’s all good. You do not have to go to college.”

  PJ flicked him off.

  Brecken laughed, his expression growing sheepish. “But can you please go to the bathroom with Thelma? I think she might be having a feminine crisis.”

  PJ sighed. She hadn’t even cleaned up one mess, and now she had an even bigger one. Irrationally, PJ wanted to blame all of it on the “five star” counselor who’d just walked from the room. “Fine, but don’t you dare let my cake burn, or you and I are gonna have funk, Brecken Toler.”

  Chapter 24

  Beau was early picking Max up at Journeys that night, so when he walked into the clinic he simply waved at the receptionist before taking a seat in the lobby to handle some business. He still needed to book that trip to the river for Eli. He owed his friend. Especially after the man had walked out on a date with his on-again, off-again girlfriend, Trish, to go rescue Lily Saturday night.

  Hell, maybe he owed himself a little something too. It had been a while since he’d gone on a vacation that didn’t involve cartoon characters and amusement parks. Beau checked his schedule, looking for a weekend where Max would be with Janelle, so he could go have some fun with the guys for a change. Then he fired off a text to his brothers and Eli.

  That done, Beau looked up from his phone, his attention momentarily caught by a teenager with dense blond curls, a sweater tied around her waist, and a tray of baked goods in her hands standing in the common room. She offered Brecken a piece of cake, her voice polite but slightly awkward. The guy accepted the treat with a quick “thanks” before popping the little frosted cube into his mouth. Then he winked at someone Beau couldn’t see.

  Beau turned back to his phone, ignoring the guy’s flirting and the subsequent murmur of voices as the dude disappeared from view with the blonde. The smell of cake was reminding Beau of something else he needed to do.

  He’d been meaning to find out when PJ’s birthday actually was. She’d mentioned in Sacramento that she was seventeen and three-quarters, so the date had to be coming up soon. Beau frowned, trying to remember if they’d ever done anything to celebrate her birthday when she’d lived at the Colonel’s. Nothing was coming to mind. The chick had been about as friendly as a hornet back then, and no one had been interested in getting stung. Beau scrolled through his friends list on Facebook, searching for her profile. His phone started buzzing. Beau switched over to his incoming texts.

  Nathan: River’s gonna be cold in early May. Mid 70s if we’re lucky.

  Jackson: Grow a pair, you pussy. That’s not the damn Pacific. Buy a wet suit.

  Nathan: Hell no, I’m not squeezing my junk into one of those nuthuggers. Not good for the motility. My woman would kill me.

  Jackson: Gonna pretend you didn’t just say that.


  Beau grinned as he watched his brothers poke at each other, missing them more and more with every little jab. He also couldn’t help feeling a twinge of guilt.

  Nate and his wife had been trying to conceive their first child for nearly a year, planning and praying for months without any luck. Beau and his ex had gotten pregnant without even trying. Life wasn’t always so fair.

  Beau: How’s Sarah doing?

  Nathan: Put it this way. I’ve been going commando her last eight menstrual cycles.

  Jackson: Jesus. I’m really gonna pretend you didn’t say that.

  Beau: Sorry, man. I’ll keep y’all in my prayers.

  Eli chose that moment to chime in with his usual brand of irreverence.

  Eli: Same here, bro. I’ll put that shit up to god right now. Prayers to the father for another little Browning with a penis.

  Nathan: Thx.

  Jackson: Schedule cleared. See y’all soon.

  Nathan: Will be there too. Hopefully with knocked-up wife.

  Beau chuckled at Nate’s message. Then Eli’s text popped up, and he was immediately frowning.

  Eli: B, You bringing Mel?

  Shit. This was yet another thing Beau needed to take care of. It wasn’t cool to just leave a girl hanging. He was the one who needed to grow a pair. Beau’s phone buzzed again. He shook his head as his youngest older brother pounced like the swinging single he was.

  Jackson: Who’s Mel?

  Eli: Fine honey I hooked my boy up with.

  Jackson: How fine we talking?

  Nathan: You’re a tool.

  Eli: Scale of 1 to 10. Probably a 20.

  Nathan: Later, losers.

  Beau: I’ll call her.

  Eli: No worries, brother. I just texted her the dates.

  Shiiiit. Beau ripped off his glasses and rubbed the bridge of his nose. His friend was like the matchmaker from hell. Possibly even worse than Artemia Wells.