Colorado 02 Sweet Dreams (8 page)

I didn’t think any of them might
like
me.

My eyes slid to the wall which was the direction of the bar and I said quietly, “Really?”

“Jesus,” he muttered. “You
want
that attention?” he asked and my eyes shot back to him.

“Of course not!” But I had to admit, just being a breathing female; it was nice to have it all the same.

“Then you’re on my bike.”

“No.”

“You get on it or I drag you to it.”

It was my turn to get in his face. “Why are you such a jerk?”

“I can live with you thinkin’ that, even though I’m protectin’ your ass,” he returned.

“You missed a word. You meant to say my
fat
ass!”

Then I slid the opposite direction from his arm, went to the filing cabinet where I stowed my purse and snatched it out. When I turned to stomp back to him, he was standing in front of the door with his arms crossed on his chest and watching me.

I walked directly to the door, put my hand on the knob and stared at it when I demanded, “Out of my way.”

I felt rather than saw him move, threw open the door and stomped out.

Dalton had my tips ready by the time I got out and he handed them to me with one of his easy smiles and then turned to a customer.

“Sit awhile, have a beer?” Jim-Billy asked while I shoved my tips in my purse and I looked at him to see he was smiling at me.

“Thanks, Jim-Billy, no,” I replied as I felt Tate enter my vicinity. “I skipped lunch and need some dinner.”

“Take you out to dinner then,” Jim-Billy suggested and I felt Tate stop at the end of the bar close to me but I was looking at Jim-Billy.

“You leave that barstool?” I asked and his smile got wider.

“To take a pretty woman to dinner, yeah,” he answered.

“You’re on,” I said to him.

“You’re going?” Wendy called, practically skipping up to us before coming to a sliding halt.

“Yeah, Wendy, I need dinner,” I told her.

“That’s cool,” she replied and looked at Tate. “Hey Tate, can you be sure Lauren and I get a shift together soon?”

“She’s off tomorrow and she’s days for awhile,” Tate answered.

Wendy looked at me. “Then I’ll call Tonia and ask her to switch shifts with me on Saturday. She’ll be thrilled. She hates days. She’s a night owl.”

“Wendy, babe, you know we need you on nights,” Tate put in.

Her head tilted down so far to the side her ear nearly touched her shoulder.

“Aw, Tate, come on. I want a shift with Lauren. Just one,
please.
Don’t sentence me to full on Jonelle and Tonia for
weeks
,” Wendy begged and I turned to look at Tate thinking that perhaps Jonelle and Tonia didn’t just treat me to their frosty demeanor, maybe that was just who they were and having to work with that day in and day out (or, in this case, night in and night out) would suck.

Tate’s eyes stayed on Wendy. “Tonia shifts, you can have Saturday.” Then his eyes moved to Jim-Billy. “You take Ace to dinner, you walk her to the hotel.”

“Jackson, man, why you think I’m takin’ her to dinner?” Jim-Billy asked and I felt my eyes widen.

“I thought it was because I was a pretty woman,” I said to him and he grinned at me.

“It is, darlin’. It’s also because there’s four boys at the pool table lookin’ hungry like a wolf and their eyes are pinned on you,” Jim-Billy replied.

I didn’t look at the pool tables and I didn’t want to admit Tate was right so I said to Jim-Billy, “Did you just quote Duran Duran?”

“Duran who?” he asked and Tate chuckled so I bit back my laughter because I didn’t intend to share even that with him.

Instead, I walked to Jim-Billy and pulled him off his stool by his arm.

“Feed me, handsome,” I urged, linking my arm through his and leaning into his side.

“Okay,
now
it’s just me and a pretty woman,” Jim-Billy returned and that’s when I allowed myself to laugh at him.

“See you Saturday, Lauren!” Wendy yelled.

“Yeah, Wendy, Saturday,” I yelled back.

“Hotel,” Tate called after us as we walked to the door.

Jim-Billy lifted a hand in a wave but didn’t turn and I didn’t respond at all. I wasn’t on shift anymore, Tate Jackson or whatever-his-last-name-was had ceased to exist.

I turned to my buds at the pool table and shouted, “I’m off to dinner with my sugar daddy! See you guys later!”

“Bye Laurie!”

“Bye darlin’!”

“Bye babe!”

“Bye gorgeous!”

“Later!”

And so on.

I walked out smiling because all those farewells were nice and no one tried to jump me and Jim-Billy in order to wrest me from him and drag me by the hair to their cave.

So take that Tate Whatever-His-Last-Name-Was.

Okay, so he hadn’t exactly ceased to exist… whatever.

Chapter Four

Nighttime Swimming

“Later!” Wendy called, hanging out the window of her blue Honda CR-V.

“Later!” I called back and then inserted the key into the lock of my hotel room, twisted it, opened the door, walked in, heard the door close behind me and fell face first onto my bed.

I’d just been to McLeod’s Gym, owned by Wendy’s boyfriend, Tyler, who was a six foot, blond powerhouse with biceps so huge I couldn’t wrap both my hands around one (and, at Wendy’s invitation and Tyler’s smiling agreement, I’d tried). Tyler did boot camps three times a week where fifteen insane Carnalites showed up at seven in the morning to be tortured.

On Saturday, Wendy had talked me into trying a session and I told her I probably shouldn’t unless I had a day off. Luckily (to Wendy’s way of thinking) one of the boot camps was on Tuesday.

Today. My day off.

I thought during the session I was going to throw up. Then later during the session I thought I was going to die. I didn’t do either and I’d survived and kept myself standing and breathing all through Wendy taking me to her and Tyler’s condo to make me a protein shake which consisted of organic Greek yogurt, a banana, a tablespoon of peanut butter, a squeeze of honey, a dash of milk, a bunch of ice cubes and a scoop of protein powder.

The protein shake was delicious and the best part of my morning.

But at that moment lying facedown on my bed, I was pretty sure I was going to die.

Regardless, I was on Day Eight in Carnal and, notwithstanding boot camp torture, I knew I’d made the right decision.

* * * * *

After my first day working with Tate at Bubba’s, Jim-Billy took me to dinner at the diner where he spent an hour entertaining me. I hadn’t laughed so much or so hard in so long I forgot how good the pain felt when your belly hurt deep down just from laughing. Jim-Billy’s eyes often strayed to my chest area but I could forgive that because all the rest of the time he was darned funny and definitely sweet.

After he walked me to the hotel, I entered to find my room had undergone a mini-transformation. There was a six drawer dresser on the wall by the door and my clothes that had been folded and stacked on the built-in dresser were gone and I found they’d been moved into the new dresser. On top of the standing dresser was a vase of fresh flowers. On top of the built-in there was an electric kettle, two huge coffee mugs with colorful swirls on them sitting next to a matching sugar bowl and a creamer with a jar of instant coffee next to that and two teaspoons. There were also two, brightly striped tea towels in colors that matched the cups and the sugar bowl was filled. A mini fridge sat beside the mug paraphernalia on the built-in and when I looked inside I saw there was a jug of milk, a bottle of cheap champagne and a note that read:

Welcome home, Betty and Ned.

PS: We already had the dresser and we weren’t using it.

Reading it, I walked backwards, clutching the note in my hand, until my knees hit the bed.

I sat down and burst into tears.

* * * * *

The next day I got up early, got ready to face the day and went to have coffee with Betty.

By the time I made it to her, she’d had her breakfast and opened up so I sat in reception with her while we sipped and chatted. Then I went to my car and drove it to the mechanics at the other end of town and learned very quickly what Tate was talking about the day before.

Carnal was definitely a small town and because of that, it would make it hard to avoid him.

I learned this because Tate was in the massive forecourt of the mechanics, standing by his Harley and talking to a man that was nearly as tall as him but older and softer with long gray hair pulled back in a ponytail and he sported a beer belly. The gray-haired man was wearing jeans, a black t-shirt and a black leather vest with a bunch of patches on it. Tate was wearing jeans, his boots and another tight, long-sleeved t-shirt, not a Henley this time and it was navy blue.

I ignored Tate, parked, got out and started walking to the door with a sign over it that said “Office”.

I had long since had a strict personal edict that there was never a time when you were allowed to look bad. Of course, when I was in denial that my marriage was collapsing and I was ignoring the signs, I started to put on weight but I never quit doing my hair and putting on at least light makeup and a decent outfit before going out anywhere, even if it was a quick stop at the grocery store. Then I overheard two friends talking, I confronted Brad with what I heard them say, he came clean about Hayley and that he wanted out and I spent two months eating everything that was edible and dragging around town like the sorry-ass Tate thought I was.

One morning, I’d found I was out of coffeecake and since I ate half of one most mornings for breakfast, I got in my car in my pajama bottoms and a sweatshirt and went to the grocery store. I was on a mission for coffeecake but the minute I walked into the store I saw Brad, dressed in a suit and ready to go to the office, and Hayley, slim and perfect and wearing a fashionable, figure-skimming dress and high heels, all of this flashing toned legs and arms and her pert bottom. They were standing and waiting for drinks at the chain coffee booth at the front of the store. They looked perfect together and they were smiling at each other about something, clearly in their own little happy world bubble.

And I was in my pajamas, I hadn’t washed my hair in three days and I knew I intended to go to work without doing my hair, putting on makeup or ironing my clothes.

I didn’t get the coffeecake. I rushed back to my car, went home and took a shower, shaved my legs for the first time in forever, did my hair, ironed my clothes and made it to work with just seconds to spare.

I also vowed never to let myself sink that low again. Not for losing my beautiful Brad to the perfect Hayley, not for anything.

Unfortunately, I didn’t stop eating but at least it was something.

That day, in Carnal, at the mechanics, even though it was my day off, I still put on a to-the-knee jeans skirt that was a muted shade of red, a red that was just a bit off rust and my mushroom-colored, knit top that was one of the few articles of clothing that I’d bought in semi-recent times (which was to say, over a year ago) that Brad commented on, telling me I looked good in it (before he led me to our bed and took it off). It fit well, even a bit tight, had an empire seam under my breasts, a shelf bra that worked wonders against gravity, a deep vee that exposed just above a hint of cleavage and it was sleeveless. I’d parted my hair to the side, plaited it in soft French braids down both sides and secured it at the back with a big, oval tortoiseshell clip. I’d put in medium-hoop silver earrings that had a row of red beads dangling from the bottom and a wide, stretchy bracelet that was also beaded in different shades of red and brown. I’d also put on my brown sandals that had a short, but cute, heel that I thought did wonders for my calves, crisscross thin straps at the toe and a matching wraparound strap at the ankle.

I was lucky in one respect, I might be carrying extra weight but my legs and calves were impervious. Even slightly heavy, they were so well formed, they always looked good – this I got from my mother’s side of the family, bless her.

I started toward the office and didn’t make it when three men emerged from one of the two big, double bays in which there were a bunch of cars and bikes being worked on.

I stopped, waited and two of the three men glanced at the front runner, a close-cropped-black-haired man who had a thick goatee with a hint of gray in it and a solid body (great arms with lots of interesting-looking tattoos). He looked to be a few inches taller than me even in my mini-heels. He was wearing a white t-shirt, faded jeans and motorcycle boots and all (but the boots, but what did I know, they were black, they could be) were stained with black smears of grease.

“Hey,” he said when he was several feet away, his hands held a cloth that was also white with black smears and he was adding to the stains as he twisted it around his fingers. “Can I help you?”

I started toward him and met him halfway with a smile.

“Hi, that’s my car.” I twisted and pointed at my black Lexus, seeing across the forecourt that both Tate and the man he was talking to had their eyes on me. Therefore I twisted back to the black-haired man. “I need some work done.”

“What’s wrong?” he asked

“Nothing, I’ve just been on the road awhile. I need an oil change, maybe a tune up, the tires rotated and it’d be cool to get it detailed. Do you do that?”

He grinned at me and I noticed he had nice white teeth that seemed whiter against his goatee and tan face.

“Yep,” he answered and I smiled back at him.

“Great, how long will it take?”

“We’re covered,” he said, glancing over his shoulder at the mess of vehicles in the bays and then back at me. “Shop’s closed on Sunday. It’ll probably be late Monday.”

I bit my lip since I needed my car to go to Sunny and Shambles’s house that night.

He saw me biting my lip and asked, “You need a loaner?”

“You do that?”

“No,” he replied and I couldn’t help it, I blinked.

“Then, um…”