Smolder (Georgia Smoke #6)

• Seven •

“Working as in hustling frat boys at cards?”

Royal

Is Royal a nickname?

I was smiling at the stupid phone in my hand. I shouldn’t have agreed to exchange numbers with Amory Blaine. Sure, he was older than Merce, but he drove a Porsche and wore designer jeans. I wouldn’t ever fit into his life. This was a game to him. I just couldn’t figure out why he was playing it.

Nope. It’s my name.

As if anyone would nickname me that. Nothing in my life was royal.

The clanging of pots in the kitchen had me jumping up from the sofa, where I had been reading a book for one of my classes.

“What are you doing in there, Grams?” I called as I headed to the kitchen.

“Oh, just making a chicken potpie. You know how much my Vinson loves that. Thought he might want something nice and warm when he gets home from work.”

I opened my mouth to tell her that my father hadn’t worked in years, but I stopped myself. She was living in the past again, and maybe that was just easier for her.

The text that lit up my screen asked:

First name or middle?

I had long since stopped getting embarrassed by the name my mother had given me. It was part of my story.

I looked back at Grams as she pulled out the Crock-Pot that had been behind the pots.

“We don’t have the ingredients for chicken potpie right now. Why don’t I go run and get us something to eat?” I told her, walking over to take her arm and help her straighten back up before she fell.

“I was sure I’d gone grocery shopping just yesterday,” she replied with a frown.

Grams hadn’t been grocery shopping since my senior year of high school. I did the shopping and tried not to spend money on meals for dinner. That was an expense I couldn’t add to the others weighing on me. Having connections at a few places where I could get their leftover food at closing time helped keep hot meals on the table. Otherwise, we’d be eating grilled cheese and canned tomato soup every night.

“You were planning on it, but never made it,” I lied, leading her back to the living room. “ Wheel of Fortune is about to come on, and you can’t miss that,” I reminded her.

Her eyes lit up. “Oh, I almost forgot!”

She hurried up her shuffling until we reached her green chair. I covered up her legs with the afghan she had once made, then turned on the television.

“Who is that man? Where is Pat?” she asked, looking almost frantic.

I had explained this to her almost every night since Ryan Seacrest had taken over Pat Sajak’s place on the show, but rarely did she remember.

Amory’s text read:

It can’t be that bad.

I smirked. He had no idea.

I glanced back up at Grams. “Pat retired, Grams. That is Ryan Seacrest. He’s the new host.”

She scowled. “Well, that’s a shame. Pat was still young. Why would he do that?”

I knew better than to get into this with her. She refused to believe the man was almost eighty now because she didn’t realize she was eighty-two.

Crown Royal. I was conceived after my father and the woman who gave birth to me got drunk at a bar. She was drinking Crown Royal that night and said that was the only reason she was careless enough to have sex without protection. So, when I was born, she decided that it should be my name. Think it can’t be that bad now?

I hit Send, then glanced back up to see Grams still scowling at the television.

You’re serious.

I stifled a laugh.

Why would I make something like that up? Admitting it is bad enough.

It’s unique, but then so are you. What are you doing tonight?

I looked over at my book that I had to read in order to finish two papers for students.

Working.

He immediately began to type his response, and the fact that it made me giddy was a red flag.

Working as in hustling frat boys at cards? Or is it the pool table you’re working tonight?

Smart-ass.

Neither. Reading a book for one of my classes so I can do two papers on it for a frat guy and a football player.

There was a pause, and I wondered if that was it, if he was going to stop texting, but then the dots showed up again.

What book?

“WINDOW!” my Grams shouted at the television. “It’s a candle in the window, you idiots!”

How she could figure out the phrases on that show, but couldn’t remember how to brush her own teeth, I didn’t know.

Glancing at the clock on the wall, I knew it was almost time for Bruce to start shutting down the food counter at Zoom Way—the service station about a mile from our house. Rise and Dine had been closed for hours, and I knew they were all long gone. I couldn’t text my friend who worked there for the leftovers off the buffet. But Bruce, the manager at Zoom Way, would always give me the pizza, hot wings, potato salad, corn dogs, and fries they had left over at the end of the day.

I sent Bruce a text, then replied to Amory’s.

A boring one.

I closed the book and placed it on the side table before going to put on my shoes. While Grams was interested in the television, it was a good time for me to get dinner.

Okay, then for which class?

Grinning, I typed as I walked to the door.

Social Theory.

“Be right back with dinner, Grams!” I called before heading out to the car.

I wanted to wait and see what Amory sent me next, but Bruce had responded, telling me he would package it all up for me now. I needed to hurry. Wheel of Fortune only had about twenty minutes left.