Dirty Scoundrel(6)

"Thought this was the girl that turned you down, man."

I elbow Knox for sayin' that shit. He knows good and well who I came  after. There's only ever been Natalie Weston in my life, far as I'm  concerned. I'll flirt with waitresses and buy a girl a drink at the bar  if I'm feeling particularly lonely, but no one goes home with me. No one  gets my digits. Never been room in my life for anyone but her. Knox  knows that.         

     



 

Never been anyone but Natalie. Even now, thinking about her makes my  heart ache, just a little. Growing up, everyone at school hated Nat  because she was the rich girl and her daddy was an old, famous geezer  with buckets of money. She was all shy and sweet if anyone talked to  her, but no one ever did. 'Cept me. I remember how pretty she was,  though. How she wore these demure little pink sweaters and had her dark  hair all shiny and glossy like a movie star. Her big blue eyes and the  shy, reserved smile that she shared with me alone. Her lean little body  and the way she kissed.

I remember a lot about Nat.

And I remember the last words Nat ever spoke to me on the night that she  broke my heart. "What, you think I should stay here and marry you?"

Shit's burned into my brain. I can't forget. And now it's time to take  action again. I've let seven years pass. No sense in letting more slip  through my fingers. I gesture at the driver, then point at the gravel  parking lot that only has one other car in it. "Just wait here for us. I  don't think we'll be too long." I nudge my brother Knox. "Come on.  Let's go inside."

"Can't believe you dragged me out here to this," Knox says, but his tone  is amused and he's smilin'. Knox is a weird one. He loves to be  surprised, and I'm guessin' this is a big surprise. I know it is for me.  I keep picturin' classy, prim Natalie in this tourist trap and I'm  drawin' a blank. Maybe they sold the place? If so, they're still  involved somehow-there's only one Chap Weston, movie star. I know that  bastard well. He makes me fuckin' sick with how he put on this big air  like he's the world's nicest guy when he's really a controllin' jackass  and his daughter ain't much better.

I straighten my baseball cap as I unfold my long body out of the car.  I'm wearin' jeans and an old T-shirt that probably shoulda been washed  weeks ago. Maybe I shoulda did something with my beard and overgrown  hair, but I ain't here to impress Nat, I remind myself. Fuck it. There's  no getting through that ice.

I turn to Knox. "Stay out here."

"Fuck that noise." He grins at me, rubbing his hands. "I can't wait to see the inside of this place."

"You steal shit, you buy it. All right?"

"Thought we were here to put your ex in her place?" He cocks a bushy eyebrow at me.

Damn it. I glance down at my hand, where I have a big R markered in  across the back of my knuckles. It's for "Ruthless" and it's so I won't  forget. I've just always had a soft spot for Natalie. I'm just a big ol'  puss when it comes to her, and she wrapped me around her finger so  easily back in high school. Even now, I feel a mixture of longing and  anger when I think about how she led me around. What, you think I should  stay here and marry you? I rub the R on my knuckles again. "Just stay  quiet, then."

"Oh, I'll be quiet," Knox tells me, amused.

I shove my hands into the pockets of my jeans and head toward the  ranch-slash-museum. As I get closer, I can't help but think the place  looks rundown. Like a tourist trap that's seen better days. The garish  yellow of the ranch-which I don't remember, so it must be new-looks  faded near the windows. The building's huge just like in my memories,  but one of the windowpanes is cracked on the upper floor, and there's a  few tiles missing at the edges of the roof. The patio furniture set near  the Western-style fountain looks old and faded, and the gravel parking  lot's got potholes you could lose a boot to.

Whoever's running this place needs his ass fired yesterday.

Me and Knox head through the front door, and immediately, Knox makes a  sound in his throat. The place is . . . well, it's hideous. There's old  Hollywood memorabilia, along with kitschy decorations from movies and  pictures of Chap Weston everywhere. Cheesy music plays overhead. It's an  assault on the senses.

Off to one side, there's an old-timey signpost that has two arrows, both  pointing in the same direction. One says TICKETS, and the other says  GIFT SHOP. I glance in that direction . . . and my heart stops.

It's her.

Nat.

She looks . . . different but the same. The girl I remember from high  school had the prettiest little round face with big blue eyes, a plush  mouth, and a dimple that peeked out when I made her smile. I remember  those things about her, and those aren't any different. This Natalie is  dressed like an extra in one of the corny movies her dad used to star  in, though, and she's behind the counter at the gift shop, talking to a  couple. Her shiny dark hair is pulled into two girlish pigtails and  she's wearing an ugly-ass pink cowboy hat and matching fringed vest.  She's heavier than I remember, too. The Nat I remember was always  dieting in high school, obsessed with her figure. This one's given up on  that, I think. She's all lush curves and rounded breasts, and I gotta  say, I like the change.         

     



 

Not that I should be liking anything about her, but I do.

I rub the R on my knuckles again, because I feel a stab of anger and  frustration. I should be pissed as hell that Natalie thought she was too  good for me and ended up here. This is the same damn town we grew up  in, and she's working at a gift shop? How is that "too good" for a  Price? Ain't we at the same level? Even as I simmer with seven years of  resentment, I note that she looks tired, though, and the interior of  this place looks just as worn around the edges as the outside did.

"You gonna do this?" Knox asks as we step into the tiny gift shop. He  fingers a postcard, and I imagine it's gonna end up in his pockets  before the day is over.

I nod, swallowing hard. Damn. Seven years and it doesn't matter-one look  at her and I still feel like that dumbass schoolkid, thinking with his  pecker. No amount of writing on my knuckles is going to erase that. I  need to remember how she treated me. How she stomped on my heart and  turned her back without giving a shit about how I felt.

If she'd ever loved me like I'd loved her, she'd have never acted like  that. I was the only one in love. I need to remember that.

So I step forward and move toward the counter, where she's listening  intently to a family that's talking to her. They're tourists, obviously,  wearing khaki shorts and T-shirts, and two bored kids moving through  the gift shop like mini tornadoes.

"I was under the impression we could get our picture taken with Chap  Weston," the woman is saying, and she's got a stern frown on her face.  "We came here specifically for that."

"Mr. Weston's schedule depends on the day," Nat says in a cheery voice  that doesn't sound like her at all. She gestures at a blackboard on the  wall that has CHAP IS written across the top and a scribbly UNAVAILABLE  written underneath in chalk. "I'm afraid he's not going to be able to  visit guests today. I really do apologize."

"Well, is his daughter here, then? I was under the impression she ran  this place. Maybe I could talk to her and explain how we've driven all  the way from Nevada and we won't be here tomorrow." The woman's tone is  severe.

"I'm his daughter."

"I . . . Oh." The tourist laughs. "You don't look like what I pictured."

"Too young?" Nat replies. "I get that a lot."

"No, that's not it." The woman makes an uncomfortable noise in her  throat and Nat's face looks strained. I wonder what the hell she thought  Nat would look like. She's as pretty as she ever was, and her blue eyes  still haunt my damn dreams. If anything, she looks better now, because  those full breasts of hers are makin' the buttons on that white blouse  strain hard, as if it's a struggle to stay together and it's just  itchin' to bust open and show the world her pretty tits and-

And I'm gonna be spankin' to that mental image tonight, I suspect. I  scratch at my beard, frustrated at myself. I came here to put Nat in her  place, not feed my jerk-off fantasies.

"We just need one photograph with Chap Weston," the mom is pleading. "Can't you talk to him?"

"I'm sorry, I can't." Natalie's voice takes on a sugary sweet tone. "I really wish I could help, but I can't."

"Fat bitch," the woman says, glaring at Nat. "We're leaving. Come on, kids." She turns on her heel and storms past us.

I crack my knuckles, grinding my teeth. No one talks to a woman like that. Especially not my woman.

But when I turn, Knox shakes his head at me.

Right. Nat's not my woman. Never was. She just used me. I scratch at my  beard again, nervous. Shit. It's harder to be a ruthless asshole than I  thought. I wanna be an asshole to the wrong people.