Single Dads Club: The Complete Series Page 2

  “Kent!” a group of older gentlemen at the far end of the bar call out in greeting.

  What is this Cheers? Yeah, my mom likes to watch reruns.

  I wave my hand in the air to greet them and sit down on a stool at the bar.

  A guy, probably close to my age, places a napkin down in front of me. “I wondered when you'd show up here.” His lips turn up into a smile.

  He has one of those auras about him. One that suggests that even if he were homeless without a dime to his name, wearing ratty clothes and living in a cardboard box, he'd still be smiling.

  “Excuse me?” I ask, shrugging off my sweatshirt and placing it on the empty stool beside me.

  “You're George Kent's son?” he asks.

  I nod.

  “I'm Theo Murray's son.” His head nods in the direction of the back. “Our dads were friends.”

  I nod.

  “Well, what can I get you?” He snaps his fingers. “Actually, let me guess.”

  He looks me over, studying my face. Not in the mood to play this jackasses’ game, I interrupt his test of his psychic abilities. “I'll have…”

  “A Miller Lite. You're a beer guy.” He points his finger at me like it’s an imaginary gun.

  He grabs a glass from behind the bar and starts filling it from the tap before I can argue.

  “No bottles?” I ask because I'm not much of a beer on tap kind of guy.

  He glances over to his dad and back to me. “No. Tap only.”

  The smile fades for a second, but he smacks it back on. He places my beer on the napkin and I throw a five on the counter.

  Returning from the cash register, he leans on the other side of the bar, the lines of bottles to his back.

  “I'm Dane. Dane Murray,” he steps forward and puts his hand out in front of him.

  “Marcus.” I shake his hand and that perma-smile cements itself on his face once again.

  “So, Marcus.” He leans on the bar, his weight resting on his crossed forearms. “I really want to get into Deidra Hinkle's pants and if I have the dirt on you, she might just let me get to third base tonight.” He winks and I look him over again.

  Light scruff, light brown hair pointing in all different directions. Broad shoulders. There's no way this guy is in high school. Isn't it illegal to serve alcohol under eighteen anyway?

  “Dirt? Get in her pants? Is this a bar or a high school cafeteria?”

  Dane laughs, his head falling back and he smacks his hand on the top of the bar, pointing to me.

  “Well, I didn't really know what kind of guy you were, so I was testing waters.” He leans closer. “I’ve wanted to fuck Deidra Hinkle for a few years. She's the one good girl in town that refuses to fulfill her lifelong dream of being a bad girl. We're taking it in baby steps.” He shrugs.

  “And?”

  A low conniving smile stretches across his face. “So, everyone in this town is talking about George Kent's son. Will he sell the shop? What’s he like? If I supply the answers maybe she'll let me finally have a piece.”

  Is this guy for real?

  “I know it sounds juvenile, but there's something about the chase, you know? Gets me every damn time.” He shakes his head like he doesn't understand it himself.

  “Well, I haven't decided anything yet.”

  I lie. I don't owe him or this town anything. I refuse to play by their small-town rules by being an open book and letting them in. If I choose to move here I won’t feel the need to announce it to everyone. I'll work on the boats and maybe one day I can make this business profitable enough to relocate it to a city.

  Dane’s eyes narrow and I can tell he's doing that whole psychic thing again. “Okay, but you’ll tell me first, right?”

  I stare blankly at him. “Sure,” I say knowing that’s what he wants to hear.

  “Dane!” the booming voice of a man in the back of the bar interrupts us.

  “I'll be right back.” He pats the top of the bar and walks away.

  My gaze follows him, and the man says something, and Dane shakes his head. Please tell me they aren't asking about me. I'm not in the mood to deal with this shit.

  He returns a second later, taking my now empty beer and filling it up.

  “What are you doing tonight?” he asks.

  Doesn't he have glasses to wash or something? Then I glance around at all the empty tables and stools. Guess not.

  “I'm going back to my dad's.”

  Why I'm even telling him my plans, I have no idea.

  “Boring. Come out with me. I’m going to head to the next town over. They have a club.”

  I gulp down my beer. “Like a dance club?” Setting my beer on the counter, I contemplate my decision.

  “You know where you dance all night and grind with the ladies in hopes that they like what they feel?” He winks.

  “With the hopes of getting to second base,” I deadpan, and he tilts his head. “I know what a dance club is. I'm from Portland, or has that bit of information not made it through the circuit?” The shit attitude in me shines through and boy do I remind myself more of my father with every passing second I stay in this town.

  “Sorry. Portland.” The word sounds like it's painful for him to say. “The big city, right?”

  I could argue we have more than one stoplight so it's bigger than Climax Cove, but I refrain.

  “That's not what I meant.” I run my hand down my face before reaching for my glass.

  As I'm swallowing the last of my beer a stream of light pours into the dark bar. Turning my attention toward the door, a girl walks in, her blonde hair swishing back and forth along her back. She bypasses me and heads over to the old men in the corner. Bending down she kisses the man on the cheek who was talking to Dane earlier. He smiles at her, and she moves around the table giving each man a hug and a friendly kiss.

  She’s cute and with a couple of beers in me, it’s hard not to let my mind veer in the wrong direction.

  She walks behind the bar. “Get out, Sara.” Dane points to the small opening she just came through.

  Ignoring him, she pulls out a glass and grabs a bottle from the back, pouring and downing a shot in one swish.

  “Fuck, Sara.” Dane leaves me and grabs the bottle from her.

  She rolls her eyes, that attraction I saw when she first walked in vanishes. The last thing I need in my life is Gretchen the second.

  He turns to me. “So, what do you say? Do you want to stay here for the potluck dinner at the Veteran’s Hall or do you want to come with me to the club?” He raises his eyebrows up and down.

  “You’re going out tonight?” Sara, whoever she is, suddenly seems interested in what Dane has to say.

  “I’m going. You’re not.” Dane casts a glare her way and holds her gaze for a second. Something passes between them but I have no idea what it’s about. Obviously, there’s a history there.

  “You’re my brother, Dane, not my father.” She lets her bottom lip stick out in a pout for a second before she continues. “Besides, I need a break. Why do you think I’m here?”

  Dane shakes his head with disgust and while the two of them continue their back and forth, the debate grows in my head. I could stay home and move the antennas around just so I can watch the news while eating a frozen pizza like last night. Or I could go let off some of the frustration and melancholy with what might end up being a new friend if I stick around this town.

  “I'm in,” I say.

  Sara beelines over to me and bends over the bar in front of me. Her breasts lay on the bar top like they’re on the menu. “Hmm ... you're George Kent's son, right?”

  “Leave him alone, Sara,” Dane says behind her, but she pays him no attention.

  Her eyes narrow on me. “Oh, tonight's going to be fun.” She grazes her finger down my arm.

  My eyes catch Dane's and even though we’re not officially friends, only a dick would screw a buddy’s sister. Besides, I'm through with girls who love having a good time until they ruin the fun for everyone. And Sara screams the type you end up either having to carry home or cleaning up her vomit from your car.

  I’ll pass.

  Four

  The “dance club” turns out to be more of a country line dancing bar. I sit on a stool at a table Dane secured for us—almost having to wrestle it away from a group of guys in cowboy hats who look like they fight for fun—watching the couples two-step around in a circle.

  “Sorry, man, I guess they changed the night they have club music.” Dane sips his own beer next to me.

  “It's okay.”

  Nothing another beer can't solve. Seems to have been Sara’s view as well since she’s currently half two-stepping and half two-falling into her dance partner.

  “You better handle your sister though, she's about one turn away from puking.” I tip the bottle of my beer toward the floor.

  Her face is pale, and her partner is now holding all her weight in his arms.

  Dane presses his lips together and pushes up off his stool, walking toward the pair.

  I should’ve worked at the shop tonight. Gone through my dad’s client list, figured out what I'm going to do.

  The guy drops Sara into Dane's arms and he drags her over to the table.

  “I guess you're out of your misery early,” Dane says the smile he’s had on his face all night slipping from his lips.

  “Here.” I lay down a twenty on the table and take one last sip of my beer.

  Dane swings her over his shoulder, and I follow carrying her purse and jacket.

  Dane disposes his sister in the back of his car, and the two of us pile in to make the half hour drive back to Climax Cove.

  “Sorry, guess I'm not showing you a very good time.” The melancholy in his voice can be heard over the engine of his Mustang.

  I study the road, still not used to driving around in the pitch black with only headlights showing the way.

  “Don't worry about it,” I say, unable to pull my gaze away from the road, sure a deer or some other animal is going to jump in front of us.

  Dane's one arm is swung over the steering wheel and his other arm in his lap. Casual and confident. He’s probably done this trek a hundred times.

  “I wanted to show you a good time tonight so you’d know there’s more to Climax Cove than potlucks and bingo nights.”

  I glance over to find his gaze on me. “What are you, the town’s official tour guide?” I ask and wave my hand in the air. “I'm good.”

  Dane lets a heavy sigh escape. “My dad and his friends. They want you to stay, so, I was recruited to take you out tonight.”

  The lightbulb goes off.

  “Why?”

  He turns down the music and eases off on the gas as we approach a curve.

  “The town is struggling, and your dad's business brings in a lot of bigwig clients who bring their friends who like to spend money in Climax Cove.”

  His tone is almost one of ‘duh, do you know nothing about your father's business?’ Truthfully, I don't. After I turned eighteen, I maybe came down for a weekend or two, but once he wasn't obligated to pay for me anymore and I wasn't obligated to come down, the visits were few and far between.

  “Are you telling me that the town depends on my dad's restoration business?”

  Sara moans in the back.

  “So, help me Sara, if you puke in my car, you're buying me a new one,” Dane warns.

  She moans again as though answering him.

  He glances to the side at me. “Yeah.”

  My hand rubs over my face, as the darkness looms overhead. It was one thing when I was deciding for myself, it's another to feel that the livelihood of an entire town rests on skills I've yet to truly perfect. Mediocre skills at best.

  “Were you supposed to get me drunk and laid?” I glance into the back seat at Sara. Please tell me they weren't offering her up for the taking.

  He laughs for the first time tonight. At least the first real laugh.

  “That wasn't it. No.”

  I nod and a second later my phone rings in my pocket. Digging it out, Gretchen's number flashes on the screen. I press ignore and shove it back into my pocket. A minute later, another ding rings through the car alerting me to a voicemail. She's probably drunk and looking for a booty call.

  “What makes everyone think I can actually keep the business going like my dad did?”

  He shakes his head. “Your dad told them you were good at it.”

  What? That makes no sense. I haven't done anything with my dad in almost ten years as far as boats go.

  “Maybe he was wrong.” I respond more because I can't believe the quiet man who was my dad, ever boasted about his son. The son he ignored most of his life.

  “Believe me, George never minced words. Getting a compliment or an insult was hard. But he would go on and on about what you were doing up in Portland.”

  Working in a marina, fixing boats as they came in. Yeah, really something for him to be proud of.

  “Even if I do stay, there’s no promise his clients will stick with me.”

  “Man, and I thought I was the one who shucked responsibility.” Dane shakes his head more to himself I think, but his comment still manages to creep under my skin.

  “I'm not shucking my responsibility. I know nothing about running a business, let alone am I an expert on boat craftsmanship like my dad was.”

  We pass the sign to Climax Cove, and my body relaxes knowing I can escape this car soon.

  Dane shakes his head. “I think you're scared.”

  “I think you should mind your own damn business.”

  He nods. “Probably, but just like you, I know what it feels like to not disappoint anyone.”

  “You get an extra pie at the fair if you get me to stay or what?” My voice is edgy, and I need to get out of this car before I say something I really regret because besides his being overly interested in my life, he seems like a decent guy.

  He puts his turn signal on to head toward my dad's house.

  “Take me to the shop,” I say.

  We drive in silence, other than Dane lowly humming to himself and the odd moan from Sara in the back seat. By the time we reach the shop, the car and the town we just drove through feels like a straight jacket.

  “Thanks for the night out.” I open the car door and climb out.

  His car door opens behind me and when I turn to see what he wants, he's leaning over the top of his car, hands clasped together.

  “Hey, I know the town is small and you're from Portland.” Once again, he looks like he’s tasting vinegar when he says the name of my hometown. “But it's pretty great here. If you stick around long enough, you’ll figure it out for yourself. There’s a lot of people I'd like to see not lose their house. No one wants Climax Cove to become some deserted town.”

  I stare at him across the hood of his car. He's not at all like the guy I pegged him for six hours ago.

  “Noted.” I nod and walk into my dad's shop.

  The engine of Dane's car roars through the sleepy town and I sit in the desk chair, sliding it over to the boat my dad must have been working on when he passed.

  My chest feels like an elephant is sitting on it every time I think of what Dane said about my dad’s clients bringing so much business to the town. I was seriously considering relocating to this town, but now that I know everyone else's livelihood would rest on my shoulders? No thanks.

  Five

  “You hoo!”

  The rattling from the shop's front door jars me awake.

  “Marcus, dear.” A woman's voice bounces off the walls and rings in my ears.

  I fold myself into a sitting position, rubbing my eyes.

  “Oh,” the woman says.

  I peer up, seeing a haze of an image in front of me. I blink a few times and there stands Betty, back again with another dish covered in tinfoil.

  “Did you sleep here?” she asks, walking past me, in the direction of the fridge.

  “Um, yeah,” I say with a groggy voice. I wonder how she got in? Didn’t I lock the door last night?

  The shop phone rings.

  “Go ahead, I'll just organize this for you.” Betty waves her hand in the air. Her head is buried in the fridge while she's taking out some dishes and repositioning others.

  “If you're going to stay here...” I can’t hear the rest of what she says from the incessant ringing of the phone.

  Not in the mood to talk to whoever is on the other end of the line, I let it go.

  Betty turns around with a bottle of pink chalky stomach medicine I remember my dad giving me when I had a stomach ache as a child.

  “Go ahead, Marcus.” Her head nods in the direction of the phone. “It could be business.”

  “It can go to voicemail.” I meet her in the small kitchenette area my dad had installed in the shop.

  Back when he had more employees, they'd have lunch at the same table for four. I remember women coming by with crockpots and packed lunches for them.

  I guess business hadn't been stellar for my father since most of those people have disappeared.

  The phone clicks to the answering machine, and my dad's rough and unenthused voice sounds through the speakers announcing that they’ve reached Kent's Restoration, leave a message and he'll get back to them within a week.

  The sound of his voice brings a twinge of pain with it, but I’m quickly distracted by the realization of what he said. A week? What the hell? And why does he still have a rotary phone and an answering machine?

  The long beep of the machine sounds and then there’s a clearing of a throat through the speaker. “George, this is Bill Santora. I'll be coming into town tomorrow to discuss the plans for the charity gala. As we've discussed, we'll sail it back down here to San Francisco and auction the boat off. Call my office with any questions.”

  Click, the line goes dead.

  “Charity Gala?” I say more to myself, forgetting that Betty is in the room.