Shark Bite Read online

  Somehow, Zac, the Riptide player, manages to gulp down his entire pint before Beau does. Everyone is cheering, the sound almost deafening, and then Walt grabs the mic and begins to sing, while the entire Riptide team moves from their seats to surround him.

  “Oh, I used to work in Chicago, in an old department store…”

  Everyone joins in, “I used to work in Chicago, but I don’t work there anymore.”

  Then Walt shouts, “A woman came in looking for a hammer.”

  Everyone shouts back, “A hammer from the store?”

  Then Walt yells in his thick British accent, “A hammer she wanted; nailed she got!”

  Everyone responds, “Oh, I don’t work there anymore!”

  Walt hands the microphone to Shark, and it all starts over again.

  “I used to work in Chicago, in an old department store…”

  This is the weirdest thing I’ve ever seen. A hammer she wanted? Nailed she got? What the hell is going on?

  “I used to work in Chicago, but I don’t work there anymore,” they continue.

  Shark puts the mic right next to his full lips, “A woman came in looking for some Shakespeare.”

  “Some Shakespeare from the store?” the entire crowd responds.

  Shark yells into the mic, louder than I ever thought his voice could go: “Shakespeare she wanted; my Dickens she got!”

  Then everyone sings, “I don’t work there anymore!”

  Oh. My. God. This is a side of Shark I never knew existed. I glance over at Meric and Lindy, and they’re singing along, laughing their asses off. So I join in. I don’t really know what else to do at this point.

  6

  The whole time we’re singing “I Used To Work in Chicago,” my eyes are glued to Megan. I can’t seem to take my eyes off her, her expressions are so animated. As we complete each verse and its ultra-sexual punchline, I watch her face screw up first with disbelief that we actually just made that joke and then explode with laughter. She and Lindy are laughing so hard by the end of it, both of their faces are glowing bright red. Meric looks like he’s actually relaxed and enjoying himself, and for a guy as uptight as he is, that’s a pretty major accomplishment.

  After that one, we sing another song that’s even bawdier and lewder, and then the servers let us know our meal is ready, so we put down the mics and get back to what we do best: drinking beer and eating insane amounts of post-game carbs. I head over to the small table where Meric and the ladies are sitting.

  “Well, did you survive your first experience with rugby songs?” I set my plastic cup of beer down on the table and pull out a wooden chair to sit across from Megan.

  “Oh my god, those lyrics are terrible!” But she’s laughing when she says it.

  “Terribly funny you mean, right?” I tease her.

  “They’re so…sexist! Objectifying women like that…” She makes a tsk-tsk sound, but when she flashes her gorgeous eyes at me, I see they’re full of playfulness.

  “Hey, at least the guy doesn’t work there anymore.” I shrug. “It’s just a song.”

  “I know.”

  “Trust me, we have some way worse ones than that…” I look over at Meric, and he shoots me a grin because he’s heard them.

  “If they start singing the one about the bears, you probably better cover your ears,” Meric advises. “I think they manage to offend everyone with that one.”

  I cross my arms over my chest, grinning with pride. “Hey, there’s nothing like beating each other up on the pitch and then coming together to drink, sing, and break bread.”

  “That part’s nice, actually,” Megan concedes. “I really wasn’t expecting all this. It’s fun. Nice to see you can get along with the opposing team.”

  “Yeah, we’re gentlemen off the pitch, remember?”

  “That’s right.” She gives me a wink.

  “Hey, thanks for bringing that Cape Gazette sports reporter out today. That’s going to do a lot for our standing in the community. And he got some good shots of Matt, the guys, and me with the kids from Matt’s program. It’s going to go a long way toward helping us with our image problem.”

  Lindy stands up, and Megan closes her mouth, apparently swallowing down whatever she was going to say in reply as her eyes flash to her friend. “Sorry, guys, this preggo lady is starving. We’re gonna go get some food before it’s all gone.”

  “Oh, go right ahead,” I encourage her. “Knowing this crowd, that’s a distinct possibility.”

  She and Meric head to the line that’s forming at the buffet, and now Megan and I are alone. I still have images of her face while we were singing flashing in my mind, and somehow they’re right next to the images I have in my memory bank of that night we spent together. The overhead lights are making reddish-blonde highlights in her hair, and her pupils are dark, the copper centers indistinguishable. I’d forgotten how pretty she was. After our night together a couple of summers ago, when she let me know she wasn’t down with a casual relationship, I relegated her to the background of all our social gatherings. She was just Megan. There, but untouchable. I’d written her off.

  But the truth is, I’ve forced myself not to notice her. Because I can’t deny my attraction to her. I can’t pretend I don’t want her. Even if it’s not for a relationship—and that’s nothing against her. I’m sure she’d make a great partner for someone. She’s smart, funny, and obviously willing to go the extra mile for our team, and we’re not even paying her anything—that I know of.

  I’m the one with the problem. I’m the one who doesn’t do relationships. It has nothing to do with her. I’m the one who wouldn’t make a great partner for anyone.

  “Everything okay?” Her brows draw together slightly as she studies my face. I can only imagine that the remnants of my thoughts have etched themselves on my features.

  “Yeah, I was thinking about what else we need to do. Any luck with the sponsorship? Is your company going to—”

  “Oh, right, I meant to tell you,” she cuts me off. “I think I found a brand-new sponsor for you. I need to finalize things with the owners, but I’ll let you know next week, okay?”

  “Sure, yeah. That’s fine. Have you talked to the Legion about the carnival yet?”

  “I was kind of hoping you’d go with me,” she admits, a sheepish smile curling her lips. “And Matt too. You know, present a united front. And we can, of course, include them in the proceeds.”

  “If Matt’s okay with it. I’m more interested in raising our profile in the community than the money—though we need that too. But I think Beach Buddies really does need help in that department.”

  “Yes, exactly. So we’re going to do sponsorships, ticket sales, and some other ways to raise funds. I’m drawing up a proposal.” She gives me a wink.

  That wink. It makes me want to stroke my finger down her cheek and draw her close to me until our bodies mesh. Until my lips find hers. That wall I put up to keep myself away from her is crumbling, and now that she’s this close, it’s almost impossible to ignore what my body feels for her. And though I don’t see how it’s possible, there’s something even more alluring about her now than two years ago when I first met her. I can’t put my finger on it, but she seems more confident, more self-aware. She clearly loves her job, and it shows.

  Just when I’m about to ask her what she’s doing after the social, Walt takes the seat next to me.

  “Hello, there!” His eyes immediately pin on Megan’s. “Well, what do you think of your first rugby social?”

  “It’s really fun!” She flashes him the same smile she gives me. “I was telling Shark that we’ll need to meet with the Legion about the carnival.”

  “Oh, right…” Walt’s eyebrows arch, and he fingers the edge of the plastic beer menu that’s stuck between the salt and pepper shakers. “Not sure those chaps at the Legion will go for it, but I suppose it’s worth a shot.”

  “Why wouldn’t they?” Her brows scrunch together in that adorable way of hers.


  “Well,” Walt looks at me, and I give him a little nod before he continues, “those old chaps are overprotective of their field and facilities, and I don’t blame them for it. But, you know, they want to make sure nothing’s going to get torn up. And then there’s the liability and all that—”

  “We’ll make sure they’re reimbursed,” Megan says, her tone growing colder.

  Walt shrugs and smiles, trying to keep things light and positive. He’s much better at that than I am, broody old, cantankerous bachelor that I am. Some would say jaded. Yeah, I suppose that’s not too far off.

  “Okay, I’ll call you guys next week.” She sounds somewhat defeated, but she forces a smile as she scoots out her chair and rises to stand. “I’m gonna get something to eat.”

  Walt pats me on the shoulder and follows her over to the line. I watch them for a moment, him saying something to her, and her laughing. Her saying something back, and him laughing. Then he puts his hand on the small of her back to guide her forward in line.

  And for some reason, seeing his hand on her triggers something in me.

  Something I do not like at all.

  I stuff my copy of the newspaper under my arm as I swing open the back door to my parents’ house. I wasn’t expecting the Cape Gazette to run the story so quickly, but having it will only help my case when it comes to what I’m here to ask them.

  “Mom, Dad?” I call out to the empty upstairs.

  I didn’t call first or even text to let them know I was coming. They’ve told me in no uncertain terms I should visit anytime. When I stopped working at the pharmacy with them and went to college, I didn’t see them nearly as often as they were used to. So they practically bribe me to come over sometimes. Usually with food. Turns out I’m rather susceptible to food bribes.

  The stillness of the house is a little disconcerting. I walk through the kitchen, setting the newspaper on the counter as I observe their empty breakfast plates. The leftover eggs on one of the plates still have a little sheen of moisture to them, so they haven’t been sitting there too long.

  “Mom?” I make my way into the hall and then into the living room, but there’s no sign of them. The TV is off, and their beautiful black tomcat is sitting in the sun-drenched window seat preening. And by preening, I mean he’s going to town licking his butthole. How quaint.

  I continue on down the hall to the study and the bathroom, but both doors are open, and the rooms are empty. So they are either upstairs, or they stepped out for a morning walk. They do that sometimes.

  I make my way up the stairs, and that’s when the sound assaults my ears.

  I swear to god, it’s my mother screaming.

  And she’s clearly not in pain.

  Oh my god! I can never unhear that, I think as I rush back down the stairs as fast as my legs will carry me. I run through the house at breakneck speed, running into a little table in the hall and sending the antique lamp on top of it crashing to its demise. Oh, shit. That was my Grandmother Adams’ lamp. They’re going to kill me!

  I slam the back door and, my chest heaving and lungs screaming for air, jam myself into the driver’s side of my car as the back door opens and my dad steps out wearing a ratty old t-shirt and a pair of boxers. Not the type of attire he’d ever be seen outside the bedroom in.

  “Megan?” he calls out to me. “Megan, wait!”

  I have so much adrenaline and disgust coursing through my body, my hand clenches around the gearshift, and I’m about to throw it into reverse and get the hell out of Dodge, but my underwear-clad father steps right in my path, blocking my exit.

  “Megan!” he shouts. I can see his scowl in my rearview mirror.

  My mother appears just then in a pair of cotton shorts and a t-shirt—and there actually may be a God after all because I think she’s wearing a bra. “Megan? Honey, where are you going?”

  Shit. I’m going to have to talk to my parents after interrupting their…uh…lovemaking? No. I cannot use that word. Sex? Ewww. No. Absolutely not. Let’s leave it open-ended, shall we?

  My heartbeat is starting to even out, but now my stomach feels like there’s a brick in it. It pairs nicely with the frog in my throat as I open the door and reluctantly plod my way toward them. “Hi,” is all I say.

  How am I supposed to talk to them about the very serious topic I came to discuss when I just caught them doing—you know what?

  “What happened to the lamp, honey?” my mom asks when I get within earshot of her.

  “I tripped. Sorry.” I shrug and try to force a smile, but my lips seem frozen in a permanent state of shock.

  She shoots a concerned look toward my dad before settling her gaze on me again. Her gray curls are blowing in the breeze, and I think this is the first time I’ve seen my mother without makeup on in years. She’s always so refined. So sophisticated. So old school—never let them see you without lipstick is her personal mantra.

  “I’ll go clean it up,” my dad says. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

  “Yes, I’m really sorry. I didn’t mean to—”

  I didn’t mean to do a lot of things I’ve done in the past five minutes, let’s face it, but I don’t think I’m able to express the actual extent of my deep, very deep—bottomless, actually—regrets.

  “Well, it’s a priceless antique, but at least you’re okay,” my mom states with a smile, and though it sounds snarky as all get out, I know she’s being sincere. “We’re so glad you stopped by, sweetheart.”

  “Well, I wanted to tell you about a project I’m working on,” I attempt to segue way myself into the proposal I’ve been practicing since I woke up this morning.

  “Oh, what’s that?” my mom asks as she starts to head back inside.

  I follow her. “Let’s wait for dad to join us, and I can tell you both at the same time.”

  She nods and starts to clean up the breakfast dishes. I guess they don’t realize I caught them in the act. Either that or de-nial ain’t just a river in Egypt, if you get my drift.

  My dad comes back into the kitchen and hangs the broom and dustpan in the closet. “I’ll vacuum it later, honey.” He sidles up to her and presses a kiss on her cheek. Then he whispers something in her ear, and she giggles.

  Ugh. That’s not helping me cleanse my brain of the images that are floating around in there—the ones I’m desperately trying to repress, only to emerge in a future therapy session.

  “Meggie has something she wants to tell us,” my mom says, “something about a project she’s working on.”

  “Oh, that sounds exciting!” My dad rubs his hands together, then pulls out a chair at the table to sit next to me. “I hope that boss of yours is finally trusting you with some actual assignments and not just the grunt work she’s been giving you so far.”

  Oh, right. I’m going to have to fib about the origins of this project, but that’s okay. The team needs a sponsor, and that doesn’t really have anything to do with my job. I take a deep breath and lace my fingers together on top of the table in a businesslike way. “So, I’m working with a local rugby team, trying to get them some more exposure.”

  “Oh, rugby,” my dad interjects, “that’s a real manly sport, isn’t it? No pads and whatnot?”

  I laugh. “Yeah, I saw their game yesterday, and it was really something!” My heart races a little bit thinking of the leftover testosterone that seems to still be circulating in my system from such a massive exposure. I make it sound like a radiation leak or something.

  “So what kind of work are you doing?” my mom questions, her eyebrow arched like mine does when I’m just a little skeptical about something.

  “Well, the team is looking for some local businesses to sponsor them. So I’m recruiting sponsors to help offset the cost of jerseys and to help us with the fall carnival we’re planning for the community. It’s a fundraiser for the team, the American Legion, and Rehoboth Beach Buddies, which is a mentorship program for local kids.”

  “Oh, that’s great, honey! So
unds like a very worthy cause,” my mom says and looks at my dad with pride in her eyes.

  “Yes, it is. Kids and vets!” I say, knowing my parents have a heart for both. My dad was in the Marines way back when. Vietnam, I think?

  “I’m sure your boss feels really lucky to have you!” My dad reaches over and pats my hand with his. “Such a good work ethic. We miss you in the pharmacy, of course, but we’d never stop you from following your dreams.”

  “I appreciate that, Mom and Dad,” hmm, they really aren’t getting where I’m going with this, “but, like I said, I’m looking for businesses—” I look from one to the other, “—to sponsor the team.”

  “Right! Well, there are a lot of small local businesses.” My dad nods and grins, still patting my hand.

  “Yes, there are,” I agree. “And one of them happens to be owned by the people sitting at this very table!”

  “Oh!” My mother’s laughter comes out as a shriek. “I suppose she has a point, doesn’t she, Marty?”

  “Well, Beth, I guess she does. Are you asking us to sponsor the team?” my dad confirms, like I haven’t practically been beating them over the head with the suggestion for the last five minutes. Apparently subtlety is not the way to get a message across to my parents.

  I grab the newspaper off the counter where I left it on my way in. It feels a little tainted now since I discovered them…you know…right after I last touched it, but I’m trying not to dwell on that fact as I place it on the table in front of my dad. “See, here’s Matt Cameron from Beach Buddies…and that’s Shark Kelly from the Riptide.”

  My dad starts to read the photo caption when my mother rips the paper right out of his hands. “Shark? What kind of name is that?”

  “Oh, his real name is actually Shannon.” I shrug as I notice my mother studying the photo like there’s going to be a test on it later.

  “Shannon Kelly?” my mother repeats, lifting her gaze from the photo to me.