CALLIE (The Naughty Ones Book 1) Page 2

  “Hmm, and yet it wasn’t me hotfooting it out of a swanky hotel in nothing but my underwear and the last shreds of one’s pride,” she points out lazily.

  “You know, Gruffy, I’ve suffered enough for that! I can’t go to the store without at least one person smirking at me, and these four wild dogs never stop mentioning it,” I huff, going for another roll for the hell of it.

  Butter could be my friend.

  “I’ll get over it eventually, I think. If you explain to me what you were doing walking out of a place like that at eight in the morning when I know full and well you should have been at work hours before.”

  “Dammit, India! You can’t just leave me one freaking bone without throwing my carcass at her feet?” I yell, disgusted beyond my limits when Luci and Percy start cackling and Gruffy rolls her eyes as if to say “you’d think she knew us by now.”

  “Look, she starting asking questions about it and I didn’t want to lie, okay?”

  Yeah I’ll bet. I didn’t see her throwing the truth around three years ago when she thought she had crabs, but thankfully discovered an allergy to the new fabric softener she was using. Best two days of my life watching her scratch her crotch raw.

  “Stop picking on my poor Indie bear and start talking. little girl. Is it true you had a…a….what did you call that thing again, Indie darling?”

  Darling!

  “A night flower hookup.”

  My face hits my palms and I groan when Gruffy cackles and repeats her question, this time using Indie’s words and basically calling me a free hooker.

  “Look, I was having a bad day. The Dobber called and that PA I was dealing with for the event was making a million last-minute changes and I was just…having a bad day. So I may have celebrated a little too hard in the kitchen while we were packing up and…and I was a little over my limit when I saw him!”

  Not that I can clearly remember what he looks like right now. I don’t mention that to Gruffy or the others, because hello! I’m facing enough ridicule from the freaking Goon Squad as it is.

  I do remember lips—full, kissable, do-naughty-things-to-me lips. And eyes such a clear grey that they almost didn’t seem real.

  Damn, there go my clean panties again.

  “Bad day! Well in my day—”

  “You wore corsets and got around in a carriage drawn by a horse. Yeah, yeah, you can save the Stone Age lecture, old lady. I get where we’re all going with this, and I gotta say, I am not impressed by your lack of support. I had a shitty morning after a one-nighter, which I never do. Oh, and the worst part? Mr. Hotel told them to kick my ass out of the room before noon.”

  Okay, don’t cry, Callie. The last time you did that The Dobber was balls deep in some other asshole’s junk and you hated yourself afterward for showing your feelings.

  Dobber is my ex, who saw nothing wrong with screwing anyone.

  I caught him cheating. Well, that’s not true. I suspected for a while that he was cheating on me, and when I mentioned it he made me feel so bad for not trusting him that I took the last of my savings and took him on vacation.

  A week after we got back I found him boning one of his college students in my bed. On my favorite sheets! Man, I miss those sheets.

  “Wait, uh, back that up a mite. Did you just tell your old gran that the man you blessed with your slice of heaven not only ran out after sex, but he also had you kicked out of the room before you were fully ready to leave?”

  Yes! Here comes the love and sympathy I’ve been needing all week. Just one kind word from my Gruffy will make this all go away, I know it will.

  “Yeah.” Sniffle, sniffle.

  Gruffy huffs and shakes her head, her full lips thinning.

  “Well, girlie, it’s official then, aye? You didn’t listen to a word I said when I gave you girls the sex talk.”

  No. God, please no.

  “Now the way you give a decent gam and gobble—”

  “No, Gruffy!”

  This time it’s not just me yelling but Indie, Percy, Luci, and even Dot as memories of The Talk filter back and cause full-body shudders. See, Gruffy isn’t your average grandmother, and when she decides to do something she does it right and proper (as she says).

  Her version of The Talk ended up being a sex education that no fourteen-year-old should ever have.

  It scarred us all so deeply, we made it to college without losing our virginities, and that’s saying a lot since the five of us were always wild and nuts when we were together.

  Hearing your grandmother calmly educate you not just about the mechanics and dangers of sex, but also the fine techniques that would ensure that we “got ours too” went a long way in convincing us all that sex was just plain evil.

  I’ll never give a blowjob without at least one shiver-inducing flashback to my toothless gran and Gramps cackling in the background.

  Ew.

  She sniffs at our desperate screams and the way Dot slaps her hands over her ears and shakes her head.

  “The way you girls carry on, talking about sex isn’t natural.”

  “It isn’t. Not the way you made it sound. I was terrified to let anyone so much as see it, and that time Dave Brokowski tried to show me his stuff I started screaming and running. The teachers at school thought I was having a fit!”

  Percy’s words have her laughing so hard, I take a minute to actually think about her glee and I feel my eye twitch.

  “You evil, evil woman.”

  “What? You all thought I was going to let you run wild and surround me with a hoard of your demon spawn before you finished your schooling? Give me some credit, girls. My dear old Abel warned me, he did. He said, ‘Elsie, darling, if you don’t do something about those five hooligans, you’ll be bottle-feeding a litter of the whelps’ whelps.’ God save me, I already had my hands full with the lot of you.”

  Fair point. Fair enough, at least, that not even Indie has a thing to say to that and instead turns back to me with an evil glint in her eye.

  “Back to the morning in question.”

  “Did you at least try with this one, Calliopeia Landry?” Gruffy asks, rolling her eyes at Indie. “Really, girl, a little effort wouldn’t kill you.”

  What? As if I never tried with The Dobber? What gall. Okay, so maybe it is a teeny tiny bit accuratem, but give me a break. My ex’s idea of good sex apparently did not include anything even resembling a clitoris. Or he was afraid of the poor little thing.

  I wonder if his gran also gave him the talk, and if she possessed a heart of brimstone and evil like Gruffy.

  “Gruffy.”

  “No. Really, Callie darling, touching it every now and then won’t have your hands falling off, and men…well, they need a lot more instruction and incentive than we do.”

  Not Mr. Hotel. Oh heck no. I may not remember anything of actual note, but I’ve been reliving some of it in my dreams. If I remember correctly, the man knows where my clit is and he knows how to use the thing for maximum output.

  God, I still get the shivers just remembering the well-sated feeling I finally registered when I didn’t want to die of embarrassment. I bet if I hadn’t been plastered, I’d be obsessed by now.

  “For your information, I did and he did and we did and it was good.”

  So good.

  That has them all giving me looks of disbelief and I find my offended sensibilities rearing their ugly little heads and making my lips loosen to a degree that I know will come back to bite me in the ass.

  “Oh really?”

  “Yeah, India. Really.”

  “M’kay, then tell us how you produced such an epic night of bliss that the man not only skipped out on you, but also had you kicked out on your spectacular ass the next morning.”

  “Firstly, thanks for the compliment, my ass was spectacular that morning. I guess it’s true what they say, sex does burn calories. As for the rest, how the hell should I know? I’ve never had a one-night stand before, and I certainly have never woken up in a
strange place with my ass flapping in the freaking breeze. Forgive me for not knowing what the hell was happening there. I guess I should have asked you for all the ins and outs of hookerdom beforehand,” I snarl, my stomach churning with every bite I take of the roll.

  India doesn’t even register my insults and waves them away with an airy nonchalance that makes my lips curl.

  “Well, whatever happened, it’s at least behind you and one step closer in getting Callie Landry back into the game,” Percy says, adding in her two pounds of wisdom. “Let’s all agree that he was the bicycle moment. You got back on that bitch and you still know how to ride. Pun intended.”

  She’s got a point. I haven’t so much as gone near a man in so long.

  “Sure. Okay, could we please just change the subject now? I had sex. I’m still in one piece, and as far as I’m concerned it’s behind me. Why don’t we discuss why I saw a man leaving Indie’s apartment wearing a red dress, worker boots, and a grin?”

  Chapter Three

  Pregnancy

  Callie

  I hate life.

  I don’t quite know what to do or say to convince myself that it’s worth it anymore. I must be the unluckiest fool in creation, and I’m not even counting in the fact that God stuck me with the Good Squad and their woolly-haired billy goat leader, either.

  Right now my cosmic gripe comes in the form of me hurling my stomach lining for the fourth morning in a row.

  I’m pregnant and I don’t know who the father is.

  “Callie? Honey, are you alright?” Dot asks for the millionth time from outside the bathroom where I’ve been tossing cookies for a good ten minutes with no respite.

  How do pregnant women survive this without dying of dehydration and the “ew” factor?

  Poor Dot has been witnessing this spectacle for the last week, wringing her hands whenever I catch her looking at me, so I know that the cat is officially not in the bag anymore.

  “Dot…”

  I stop talking and start puking as I tackle the porcelain again. Dot finally loses her legendary patience and I hear the door creak open before a cool washcloth hits the back of my neck, making me groan in gratitude.

  “This is getting out of hand, Cal. You need to go to the doctor for a test to see if you’re—”

  “Don’t say it. If you don’t say it, it isn’t real.”

  Another heave hits me and I work through it with a dogged determination that leaves me sweating buckets before the familiar feeling of release sets in and I know this bout is over.

  Thank you, Jesus. At the rate I’m going I’ll have abs like Pink before my stomach starts swelling.

  “That’s ridiculous and you know it. Now come on and get up, Callie. We’re going to the freaking doctor and that’s final.”

  Great. The one time Dot decides to show off her hairy ones, it’s when I’m trying to doggy-paddle my way back to the boat of denial.

  At first I told myself it was just something I ate. When my pants got a little tight I told myself I should lay off the midnight snacking and join Gruffy and her cohorts for morning yoga in the park.

  When my nipples started feeling like Dracula was paying me nightly visits and chewing on them, I swore I needed to buy new bras or change the laundry soap we use.

  Now…

  “Don’t tell anyone.”

  Dot rolls her eyes and drags me to my feet, shoving a loaded toothbrush my way and grabbing a hairbrush to rescue my rat’s nest.

  “If I was going to tell on you, Cal, I would have spilled when Luci and Percy took me to that club last week. I haven’t told a soul and I won’t, not till you’re ready.”

  “God bless you. Indie would have printed up fliers and put an ad in the paper by now,” I say around the toothbrush as Dot assaults my hair with the brush and manages to pull it into a sleek tail on my head.

  “Indie would have hired a freaking sky writer.” She giggles as we walk into my bedroom and she starts pulling out my jeans and a pink tank with a light blue cable-knit sweater and my flat brown suede boots. “Get a move on, your appointment is in forty minutes and we still need to grab a cab.”

  “You made an appointment?” I mutter, pulling my clothes on with a huff.

  Some part of me was hoping I could skip down to the drug store and avoid whatever is about to happen, but apparently the little Mussolini wannabe who’s decided to take charge isn’t going to let this go.

  “I made it last week but we had those last-minute referrals we got from Mrs. Ives, and Indie and Percy have been over here almost every night for the last week. I rescheduled when we decided to take today off and regroup.”

  “You choose now to stop scampering around and avoiding conflict?”

  “Stop whining and let’s go. By the way, Gruffy and Aggy are going to that Star Trek convention tomorrow night, and she said we’re uninvited after we put that Team Pickard poster up on Facebook.”

  You know what’s weirder than my old granny dressing up and going to a convention? Walking into her bedroom and seeing the William Shatner shrine.

  ***

  “Well, you’re definitely pregnant. Just past two months if you’ve got your dates right,” Doctor Sheila muses, making me roll my eyes.

  Dot laughs and starts prattling on about not even having a shadow of a doubt since we have the date-stamped video to prove it.

  “You don’t look too happy, Callie. Want to tell me how the only patient I have who doesn’t come in for a routine weekly STD screening got pregnant on a one-nighter while on birth control?”

  “Eh. I may or may not have gotten hammered and done some stranger in his hotel room. Oh, and as for the pill, I had crab flu a few days before The Incident.”

  I glare at Dot now because “crab flu” is code for she fed me something that almost put me in organ failure when my stomach turned and I was weak as a piece of day-old lettuce.

  Sheila—we can all call her that since we went to school together and basically snuck our first drink and cigarette as one person—gives me a look and turns to Dot for confirmation.

  “Straitlaced had a quick flick?”

  Oh for crying out loud.

  “Yes. I had a one-night stand with a man I don’t know, and…oh God! I don’t even know his name,” I wail suddenly as it all comes crashing down around me.

  I don’t even know the name of the father of my child, and here I am, knocked the hell up and two steps away from telling Gruffy.

  What the heck am I gonna do? I can’t have a baby in this situation. One day the kid will look at me and ask me who his or her daddy is.

  What sort of horrible mom doesn’t even know?

  I guess I took after my mother, after all.

  By the time I calm down, Dot’s looking green around the gills and Sheila is shaking her head at me in sympathy.

  “You don’t remember anything?”

  “You know what happens when I drink wine,” I mutter self-consciously, my cheeks going scarlet when they both snort and try in vain not to grin.

  One time I got a little over the limit and a campus cop caught me streaking. It was a dare, dammit.

  “You should at least try to find out who he is, Callie. He has a right to know he’s going to be a dad.”

  You think I don’t know this? One night last week I had another one of those sex dreams and I almost remembered his name. It’s something simple I know it is. I just can’t quite put my finger on it.

  And yeah, I am ashamed of the fact that I was more interested in sex than getting to know something as vital as his name, but like Gruffy said weeks ago, once that water passes the bridge, it’s gone and done.

  “You could call the Hyatt and ask—”

  “Not in this freaking lifetime.”

  By the time we make it out of Sheila’s office and I’m feeling strong enough to walk on legs that still feel like noodles, it’s past noon and I’m ready to hit the sack and sleep for the next three days.

  Instead, I’m on my freaking way
to the Hyatt and Dot’s wearing a determined expression that, quite frankly, makes my labia shrivel in fear.

  Who knew the little mouse had this shit in her? She’s meaner than Indie now that she’s riled.

  “This is a bad idea, Dotty. We should go home, eat some cheese, and think about this,” I beg when we’re about a block away from our destination.

  “Nope. We’re going in there, you’re going to hold your head high, and we are definitely getting a name from that idiot,” she insists, her steely expression sending shivers of trepidation down my spine.

  We pull up to the entrance far sooner than I would like, and I hear her give the cabbie instructions to wait and keep the meter running while she drags me out with a hand clamped on my arm.

  “Now remember,” she whispers, straightening my sweater and flicking at a piece of lint. “You look that beefeater in the eye and tell him what you want. Don’t ask, and you sure as hell are not going to be cowering if he says anything about, ahem, you know what.”

  Said in that sing-song voice of hers, the statement is almost ludicrous, but the claw she clamps tighter on my arm and the strength she uses to drag me along behind her is telling that tone doesn’t matter.

  “I’ll call Danielle at the desk and beg her to get me a name.”

  “Yeah sure. I saw that video about as many times as Gruffy has. That poop head was just as happy to see your humiliation as Alphonso.”

  Buttheads. All of them.

  I allow her to drag me along, my head held high and pointed directly forward as the nerves and the need to run start jumping through my bones.

  We make it to the office where Satan’s minion can usually be found—probably watching porn, the little skeeze. I swallow my bile when Dot just shoves the door open and pulls me in behind her.

  “Well, well, well, if it isn’t Callie Landry. You here to show your ass again?”

  “Funny, Phonsie,” I mutter, curling my lip at him. “We need the last guest list from two months ago so we can update our records,” I lie, crossing my fingers in hope and a silent apology.

  He leans back into his seat and runs a hand through his oily, stringy black hair. I never noticed before, but with those beady little eyes I’d swear his mother must be a ferret. Or weasel.