Tallulah Crush (Tallulah Cove Book 7) Read online

  “Well, your girl isn’t in earshot. You should let it rip,” she said.

  Turning to her, he spotted the way her lip twitched. “Nah, I’m almost afraid that if I start, I won’t be able to stop.”

  She rolled her head toward him and swung her crossed leg in a rhythmic motion. “Is that why you moved back to Tallulah Cove?”

  He shrugged and stared out at the campus that lived in his blood. The truth remained that no matter where he lived, Tallulah Cove never seemed too far away, and nothing fit quite the way his hometown did. “Well, I stayed in LA for three more years after the divorce, but between being ignored by her mother and the behavior of the kids around her, something had to change.”

  “What behavior?” she asked before sitting up and taking another sip of her water.

  “Picking on her for her weight,” he said quietly.

  Her head snapped around to him. He imagined under those shades of hers, her eyes had narrowed into furious slits. She had always been like that. A flash of fire followed by a slow, scathing burn. She blazed hot but made sure she aimed that wrath at the most deserving. “Yeah, well, I’ve got to tell you, that’s everywhere.”

  He smiled. “It seems to have skipped you.”

  Her mouth fell open. “Is that what you really think?”

  “Well, yeah. I mean, you were always so confident in school—”

  She snorted.

  “You weren’t?”

  She scoffed. “Do you think any girl was standing in the glow of girls like Madison Rowe and Kelly Steen?”

  “Despite popular belief, they weren’t that great.” He nudged her shoulder in an attempt to steer the conversation back to the lighter side.

  “Yet, you dated both of them.”

  He had nothing. Nothing at all to say to that because yeah, he did. When he looked back, he wondered what that guy had been thinking. He couldn’t claim that the idea of straight-up getting laid was in the forefront of his mind.

  Not that it wasn’t, either. Like any other guy, he wanted to, but it’s not like he dated who he’d dated for just those reasons.

  Which begged why?

  Madison and Kelly were co-cheer captains. He was the quarterback. His buddies, his team, hell, in all the depictions of the popular kids in movies, football players paired with cheerleaders.

  And the realization that he’d followed along like a sheep made his gut clench with regret. How the hell could he look his daughter in the eyes and tell her she was good enough when he didn’t live the example?

  “You get that all worked out in your head yet there, TJ?” she asked, dropping her sneakered feet to the metal of the bleachers with a resounding thud.

  “Yeah, not sure I like the outcome, but yeah.” He sighed. “I’m a shit.”

  She stood. “I wouldn’t go that far. You were one of the good ones. Maybe oblivious to some of the dillholes surrounding you.” She stared out at the field before turning back to him. “But you were the real deal, TJ,” she said before walking away.

  Yes, but was he really the real deal when he followed along with what was expected instead of dating the girl he’d really wanted to date all those years ago?

  Devin.

  When he dug through the old memories, looking for the reasons why he never asked, he didn’t like what he found.

  His friends would have made comments. The girls would have targeted her. He knew it then, and instead of subjecting her to it, he’d stayed away from her.

  He could make the argument that he wanted to protect her, but if he were honest, he wanted to protect himself, too.

  So, what are you going to do about it?

  The million-dollar question.

  He glanced at his watch. At the moment, nothing. He had a daughter to pick up from her National Honor Society meeting.

  Ten minutes after leaving the field, he pulled up in the loop of Tallulah Cove’s middle school and looked for his girl.

  She bounded out the door surrounded by four or five other girls, their hands waving and mouths chattering the entire time. At the sidewalk, two branched off to walk home, while another two met up with cars that had pulled in behind him.

  Rory bounded into the passenger seat with a huge smile and wide, hopeful eyes.

  “Hi, Squirt. How was school?”

  She rolled her eyes and sighed. “Ugh, stop calling me Squirt, Dad. It’s embarrassing.”

  He craned his neck to look around them. “Who’s going to hear?”

  “Just stop. Okay, Dad? If you don’t, you’re accidentally going to say it at the wrong time, and I’ll carry the stain until I graduate.”

  His mind shot back to his conversation with Devin, making his lips snap shut as he nodded his head in agreement.

  “Did Mom call to say if she would be coming for my birthday?” she asked, turning to look out the window.

  It didn’t matter if she hid it; he knew the look on her face. The hopeful expression as she flinched and hoped that this wasn’t the birthday that her mother finally decided not to bother.

  As much as he didn’t want to disappoint her, he wouldn’t lie. “I haven’t heard from her, but I only called yesterday so it’s early yet.”

  “It’s in five days,” she said, casting him a glance that told him she knew just what he was up to and she didn’t want placating.

  “Yes, I know,” he said, not having one clue as to what the right words were to acknowledge her, but not throw her mother under the bus while not building unrealistic expectations either.

  “Fine,” she said, crossing her arms.

  How the hell could he have been so wrong about Rory’s mother, Lisa? Both students at the University of Southern California, they’d dated for over two years before he’d proposed. They’d been practically inseparable despite the time she put into her marketing degree and the time he spent on the football field.

  He thought he knew everything about her. Her hopes, the ones she’d never dared whisper to anyone else, her dreams, and her biggest hurts. They’d fantasized about this life with a nice house, big yard, and kids.

  Sure they only had Rory, but that wasn’t his choice. She’d changed her mind, and despite their differences in the size family they wanted, they had everything.

  And she had quite literally had the pool guy.

  In his bed, every Monday afternoon while TJ stayed late at the college running drills and Rory had Girl Scouts.

  Every other mother stayed for the meetings. All but Lisa.

  He flexed his hands on the steering wheel. “Hey, what do you say we go to Grandma and Grandpa’s for dinner tonight? I don’t feel like cooking. Sound good?”

  “I guess,” she muttered.

  “You guess? This is Grandma and Grandpa…they have horseshoes and volleyball. I bet Grandma has a stash of chocolate chew cookies somewhere for a snack,” he said. Hell, he wanted some damn chocolate chews.

  “I’m on a diet.”

  “Rory,” he warned.

  She shot him a challenging look like the most seasoned attorney grilling a witness. “What? Is there something wrong with watching my weight?”

  A trap. Great. “There is if you’re doing it for the wrong reasons. And there is if you put unreasonable expectations on yourself.”

  “Dad,” she whined.

  “Have a cookie if you want one, and we’ll take a walk after dinner. Fair enough?” he asked, praying that she had expelled enough energy during the day that she might just have mercy on him and back down.

  “Okay,” she said as she began picking at the edge of her backpack.

  “Was there something else?” he asked, glancing at her before turning the corner onto Main Street, heading for the other side of town.

  “Well, yes. There’s this dance on Saturday, and I kind of want to go,” she said sullenly.

  There it was, the spear in his heart. “I don’t know, Rory.”

  “But all the other girls are going. They’re going together as a group so it’s not like I’d be going on a date.”

  Date? He was not ready to hear the word date coming from her mouth. On one hand, he’d rather keep her a kid a while longer, but she’d struggled with kids teasing her in the past, and if he kept her home, she’d be a target again. “If your mother comes for your birthday, she’ll likely still be here Saturday night, and she’ll want to spend the time with you.”

  “It’s not like she wants to see me any other time. I don’t see why I have to miss a dance for what she wants,” she said.

  And there it was. He’d do good to remember his daughter had far exceeded him in the brains department and could easily dismantle any argument he made on behalf of his ex-wife.

  “Okay. You have a point. You can go to the dance. If your mom is here, maybe she’ll help you get ready,” he said, doing anything he could to spin this into a positive.

  “I can’t wait for her to buy a dress,” she cried.

  “A dress?” A pounding took residence right behind his eyes.

  “It’s a dance. I need a dress,” she pleaded.

  “Maybe your grandmother—”

  Her eyes widened like saucers. “Oh God. Daddy, I love Grandma, but please, no.”

  “I guess I could—”

  “What about Aunt Melissa?” she begged with hopeful eyes.

  “She’s on a business trip and won’t be home in time,” he said.

  She threw up her hands and let them fall on her bag. “This is a disaster. I need someone who knows about dresses, updos, and makeup.”

  “Makeup?”

  “I can’t wear a fancy dress to a dance and not have makeup,” she said.

  He crooked his finger at her much the way his dad had at him a time or two. “The rule is no makeup until you’re thirteen.”

  He was losing ground every time he opened his mouth.

  “Oh, come on. Everybody my age wears makeup but me. Please?”

  “I’ll think about it,” he said, buying himself some time.

  “That means no,” she said with a frown.

  “That means I’ll think about it,” he said in warning. “Don’t push it, young lady.”

  “Fine,” she muttered, crossing her arms again and turning to look out the window.

  Basically, to look anywhere but in his direction.

  It’d be a damn miracle if he survived this father thing.

  He needed the help of a woman who knew fashion…and he knew just who to call.

  CHAPTER THREE

  Hiding Out

  “You’re a bit old for avoiding your parents, don’t you think?” Devin’s mother called from the dark living room just a second before the lamp snapped on, illuminating her questioning gaze.

  Busted.

  Devin’s steps faltered. She grabbed the door casing and leaned into the doorway. “Who says I’m hiding out? I was up early is all.” The denial rolled off her tongue as if the words were the gospel. As if her mother didn’t just shoot a razor-tipped arrow into one of Devin’s tender spots.

  “Don’t lie to your mother. Now, come on in here and sit down for a cup of coffee and tell me what’s going on,” her mother said as she pushed herself up out of the recliner and headed for the kitchen without looking back.

  “I was just on my way to jog at the track,” Devin called to her.

  “It can wait a few minutes,” her mother called back.

  Devin sighed and thumped her forehead against the wood before pushing away and following her mother. “No, Mom, it really can’t.”

  Her mom turned to Devin, the carafe in hand suspended over the cups. The look she gave Devin hovered somewhere between caring mother ready to pull the I-went-through-twenty-hours-of-labor card and shrewd business woman in the middle of a hostile takeover who called the other side’s bluff. “Why can’t it wait, Devin?”

  “I have to take off a couple pounds, and I’ve started a regimen,” Devin admitted.

  Her mother took a few seconds to pour two steaming mugs of coffee. “So that’s what this is…you’re in trouble with your modeling career?”

  “I didn’t say that.”

  Her mother nodded her head toward the table before heading over with both of their cups. “You didn’t have to. You’ve never been diligent about working out. Now you are all of a sudden.”

  Devin yanked out her chair, the scraping of the legs shrieking painfully loud against the tile floor, the squeal like an ice pick in the ear, making Devin flinch. The sound reminded her of the times she sat at this same table over the years for a lecture or a swiftly handed out punishment. It was something about the way she sullenly pulled out that chair that made the sound, and even as a grown woman, the shriek had become a soundtrack to demise in the McGovern house.

  “Gee, thanks, Mom. Any other criticisms for my lifestyle?” she asked as she slumped in the chair. Okay, not entirely mature, but she just needed a place to lick her wounds and try to get her shit together. She didn’t need someone up her seven-pound, more than ample ass taking her inventory.

  She just wanted support. Was that too much to ask?

  Her mother pierced her with a hard glare, her mouth pinched until her lips just about disappeared. “Don’t take that tone with me, Devin Marie.”

  “Sorry,” Devin muttered. When her mother started throwing around middle names, she meant business. Devin would be better off taking her lumps now rather than later.

  “Now, tell me what’s going on?” her mom said as she grabbed the creamer from the fridge before taking a seat next to Devin.

  “Same old shit. Pressure to be just right. It’s not like I haven’t been doing this dance since grade school. I’ll be fine.” Devin took a sip of the black coffee and smacked her lips as the bitter taste took over her mouth. She managed to get control over herself a second before the urge to spew kicked in.

  Didn’t matter. She needed caffeine, but she was not touching sugar or cream. She glanced at the sugar bowl and could practically taste the sweetness on her tongue.

  All she had done was pass on the sugar, and all of sudden she wanted to grab a spoon and eat the granules straight from the bowl.

  Something she never did.

  She was losing her damn mind. Glancing at her mother and the confusion on her face as she stirred her coffee and regarded Devin, she couldn’t be entirely sure the beeline her psyche had taken for the funny farm was just from restricting herself. Her mother’s assessing looks were like the flat palm of a hand pushing her off a high dive.

  “I don’t know what that means, the pressure to be just right.”

  Devin took another sip of the coffee and decided she only lacked one thing in her life. An on/off switch for her taste buds. It would literally solve all of her problems. “I have to lose five pounds for the next shoot, or I’m out. I’ve gained two more since I’ve been here, so technically I have to lose seven.”

  “That’s ridiculous. You’re a plus-sized model,” her mother said with a huff as she pulled the spoon from her cup and it clattered to the table.

  “Yes, and we have to fall in parameters just like other models. Only for us, it’s trickier. We’re allowed to be seduced by food; it’s good for holding on to our curves. Until it’s not,” Devin said as she stretched her legs straight out in front of her and crossed her arms.

  She didn’t look half bad today. Black capris for working out and a black tank top that hugged her curves but hid problem areas. This time, if TJ were anywhere in the vicinity, she’d be ready. And she could actually keep herself from fawning over him like a twelve-year-old gazing adoringly at a shiny poster of her favorite teen heartthrob gracing her wall. She suspected it had been worse than that. More like one of those life-size cardboard cutouts where you could sidle right up to that guy and hump his leg if you wanted.

  “But it’s not like they’re going to weigh you at the shoot,” her mother said, the sound of her voice popping the image like a sharp needle stabbing into a balloon.

  Devin tilted her head and raised a brow. “You don’t think so?”

  Her mother’s gaze shifted away as she took keen interest in staring at the coffee in her mug, her hands spinning the cup slowly as she shook her head. “No way. I can’t believe that.”

  All of a sudden, the urge to talk about this head-on grabbed Devin by the throat. She was sick of burying it. Sick of trying to be that smiling woman from the magazines while off the clock. The world was given the final, shiny product. They didn’t have to see models slogging through bullshit to get there.

  “They’ve done it before,” Devin said.

  “But why?” her mother asked, her brow wrinkled in confusion, and a spark of anger flaring in her eyes.

  Devin shrugged. “Because they can. Oh, they’ll say it’s to make sure I stay in the parameters of the size fourteen they like to photograph. Make sure I’m not squeezing out anywhere or slipping out of my proportions. But really, I think it’s a power trip for them.”

  “Why can’t they just put you in a fourteen?” her mother asked.

  “Can’t have that. I need to be plus-sized but not too plus-sized. Can’t venture too far from their thin models and all that. They can handle plus-sized by those standards, but by the general population standards? God, no,” Devin said with a laugh totally devoid of humor.

  “That’s humiliating.”

  “It is,” Devin said with a nod.

  Her mother shook her head as if shaking off a bad memory. “Well, I don’t know why you put up with that. Certainly after all these years, you deserve more respect.”

  “Yeah, no. That’s not how this all works. Maybe if I were a size two or four, but a twelve? Nope, at their mercy,” Devin said, hating that at thirty-three she still didn’t control her own fate.

  Her mother sighed and flattened her palm on the table. “You’re going to have to help me out here, Devin, because I don’t get it. Why do you do this to yourself?” she asked with a shake of her head.

  She needed to turn the conversation around before the tinge of panic hovering around her edges took over with her mother’s probing. She’d take laughter, hell, even if she wanted to give Devin shit for not taking this seriously. Anything to wipe away the flash of pity in her mother’s eyes. “Well, I need to eat. And there’s that whole pesky not being homeless thing,” Devin said.