home » Romance » Erin McCarthy » Full Throttle (Fast Track #7) » Full Throttle (Fast Track #7) Page 36

Full Throttle (Fast Track #7) Page 36
Author: Erin McCarthy

“So I’ll call the catering company for linens, Charity is handling the flowers, and Mrs. Ford is going to organize the food. Shawn, what is your mom going to want to do?”

“Drink.” Shawn shrugged. “No, seriously, I don’t think she will want to be involved in any way, but I’ll ask her.”

“She’s not going to want to be involved?” Mrs. Ford looked horrified. “Why ever not? You’re her only daughter.”

“Mom is kind of a free spirit. Mostly my grandparents raised me. She’s happy for me.” Which wasn’t even true. When Shawn had called her to give her the news, her mother had told her she was an idiot to get married and tie herself emotionally and legally to a man who would most likely screw her over in the end. It hadn’t been a helpful chat. “She doesn’t like details,” she added.

“Neither do you,” Harley pointed out. “It’s like pulling teeth to get you to offer an opinion on cake flavors or a décor theme color.”

“Which is why I can’t fault her for it.” Hey, she could admit that she was missing a craft gene. She had no interest in hand-cutting decorative paper signs for the milk-and-cookies bar Harley had thought would be supercute. She agreed. The concept was supercute. But that didn’t mean she wanted to cut shit.

Nor did she think Rhett was really the milk-and-cookies type. He seemed more like whiskey and caramel sauce. But then again, what the hell did she know?

“Don’t worry about it. You’re the bride. We’ll handle everything,” Rhett’s mother assured her. “I have six daughters living here in Charlotte. We’ll knock this out in a few hours, and with Charity and Harley’s help, you won’t need to worry about a thing.”

Shawn would think that was marvelous if it wasn’t for the fact that she felt guilty as hell. “Thank you. Y’all don’t know how much I appreciate this, seriously. I couldn’t do this without your help.”

“Should we do a slide show? You know, like pictures of you both growing up, then pictures of you together?”

Shawn gave Charity a look that hopefully conveyed how totally freaking stupid that was. “That’s going to be a short slide show. To my knowledge, there is only one photo of Rhett and me together, and it’s not one I would ever show anyone.”

“Oh.” Charity made a purring sound, tossing her blond hair over her shoulder. “Naughty, naughty.”

Really? Harley was about to find out what life as a single birth was like because Shawn was going to kill Charity. “I don’t mean that! Gawd. My mother-in-law is here.” It may not be real, but it still held all the trauma of the title for her. “I just meant it’s the shot from the courthouse when we got married and the lighting sucks. I look translucent and Rhett is scowling at the photographer.”

“That’s just the way he is,” Mrs. Ford said, waving her hand. “But you make a good point. We need to have a photo shoot done with the two of you.”

Shawn sat up straighter. “Oh no! That’s not what I meant. We don’t need to do that. It’s fine. I’m not very photogenic.”

“Oh, good grief. Of course, we’re doing it. I’ll call a friend of a friend and we’ll have it set up for this week.”

Well, if Shawn got her lack of organization from her mother, it was safe to say that Rhett got his heavy-handedness from his mother.

“Now what can I get the two of you for a wedding gift?”

“Oh, nothing, really . . . I mean, you’re giving me all this help with the party. That’s honestly enough. We don’t need . . . anything,” she finished lamely. Why the hell did Rhett have to work today? She couldn’t believe that she was being forced to deal with this on her own.

Of course, this whole farce was her idea, so technically, she should be the one dealing with it. Damn it.

And this morning, she had wanted him to leave because she’d been feeling vulnerable after last night.

“Dishes? Towels? Maybe some new bedding?”

Well, new bedding wouldn’t hurt. Her comforter was the same one she had used as a teenager, and according to the calendar, that was a long-ass time ago. “Bedding would be lovely, but don’t feel you have to.” Get anything for the greedy whore.

Oh, this was dicey moral ground.

“What size is your bed? A queen?”

“I’m not sure. It might be a double.”

“Well, let’s go take a look.” Sandy was up on her feet before Shawn could protest. “Which room is yours?”

“First door on the right.” Shawn scrambled to follow her.

She was already in the doorway, assessing. “That’s only a double, honey. Good grief, talk about close quarters. Young love is certainly cozy.”

“It doesn’t seem to be a problem.” It hadn’t. Yes, she had woken up with a body temperature of a thousand degrees from Radiator Rhett, but she would just use a thinner blanket. If he even intended to sleep in her bed again. Which he might not want to. Or she might not want him to.

“Regardless, you do look like you could use a little refresh in here. I’m happy to see that you’re practical and don’t waste your money on things you don’t need, but sweetheart, let me buy you some new sheets.”

Shawn glanced into her room over Sandy’s shoulder. It was a tired-looking bedroom she had to admit, with worn beige carpet and equally worn beige walls. She’d hung a picture of a sunset on the wall about a decade ago, and it was now crooked. The bed was even tilted at an odd angle from the wall, like they had shifted it last night during sex, and the sheets were destroyed. There was also a purple vibrator on the nightstand where she had tossed it after Rhett had gone to use the bathroom.

Oh. My. God.

With any luck, Sandy hadn’t noticed.

Then she turned, with pursed lips, and Shawn knew she most definitely had noticed.

Shawn wanted to die. She wanted to peel back the dingy carpet and bury herself under it.

Not that Sandy would say anything. But just knowing that she knew was horrifying enough.

Except she did say something.

Which meant that Shawn’s plunge into awkward hell was one hundred percent complete.

“Shawn, is Rhett not . . . satisfying you?” she asked in a low voice.

Yep. Hell. Certainly her face was on fire. “Of course he does,” she managed, wondering if she could pretend this was about a reference to say, something like his ability to meet her emotional needs. Not about why she needed to use a vibrator two days after her marriage.

Search
Erin McCarthy's Novels
» Flat-Out Sexy (Fast Track #1)
» Slow Ride (Fast Track #5)
» Full Throttle (Fast Track #7)
» The Chase (Fast Track #4)
» Hard and Fast (Fast Track #2)