“Okay,” I whispered.
“It isn’t that it’s too soon, you’re on the back of my bike, it ain’t too soon. You can buy sheets. You cannot install blinds.”
“Um…” I mumbled. “Can you explain the difference?”
“Sheets are chick territory,” he said without delay. “You gotta use tools, that’s dick territory.”
“Oh,” I whispered.
“Don’t tread on dick territory,” he advised.
“So, um… is a paintbrush a tool?” I asked cautiously.
“If you’re paintin’ the side of the house, yeah. If you’re painting mud colored paint in a room, no.”
“It’s terracotta,” I said softly.
“Whatever,” he muttered, his mouth twitching.
“Or, the paint chip called it Mexican horizon. The blue is dawn sky.”
“Definitely chick territory,” Tate replied, losing the fight with his grin.
“What about… pictures for the walls?” I asked.
“Chick,” he answered instantly.
“Um… could I ask that, instead of you getting angry and being a jerk, maybe you give me a head’s up when I’m doing something stupid?”
“Yeah, you can ask that and I’ll promise to do what I can do. But, Ace, since I was a kid, I had a temper. Tellin’ you that don’t mean I can’t compromise, just means I am who I am, I know who I am and you gotta take me as I am and learn to get over it.”
“Okay, then, can I ask, while I’m learning to be a biker babe, you try to be a bit more patient?”
The grin hit smile level and he let out a low chuckle before asking, “A biker babe?”
“I’m kind of in training, as you can tell.”
He burst out laughing so hard his body collapsed on mine but he rolled almost immediately so I was on top.
My face ended up in his neck, my hair in his face and he moved it away, sweeping it over my shoulders as my head came up.
Then, his eyes scanning my face, he murmured, “Martinis and manicures.”
“Dominic at Carnal Spa does manicures,” I told him. “He does really good hair. If his manicures are half as good, I’m covered.”
“Babe –”
“And I think Ned and Betty’ll let me use their pool whenever I want. They like me.”
“Laurie –”
“And martinis are bad for me. I get drunk on one and a half and I mean drunk.”
He smiled at me. “Then we’re hittin’ the home store sale.”
“We are?”
“Martini glasses. Fuckin’ you normal is hot. Make up sex is un-fuckin’-believable. Drunk sex might just kill me.”
“Tate –”
“Though, won’t mind dyin’ that way.”
“Tate!”
His face went soft and his hand slid into my hair.
“As cute as you are, tryin’ to be a biker babe and all, honey, I gotta pick up my boy,” he murmured.
I relaxed against him. “Okay.”
“I get him to Carnal, I’ll bring him by the bar so you can meet him.”
“Oh no,” I stated quickly. “You two be together. I’ll see you when I get home. Or, do you want more time? Maybe I should –”
“I’ll bring him by the bar to meet you. We’ll pick you up after shift and go out to dinner.”
“Really, I can –”
“Babe.”
“What?”
He didn’t speak and neither did I. It was a standoff.
Finally, I gave in, “Okay.”
“He’s gonna like you.”
“Okay.”
“Lauren, honey, swear to God, he’s gonna love you.”
I bit my lip and nodded.
He watched my teeth bite my lip then his eyes came to mine.
“You wanna know why I know?” he asked.
I nodded again.
“Because you want him to like you and you’re worried he won’t and you care about me. Jonas spends a lot of time with people who don’t give a shit about anything but themselves. He’ll respond to someone who isn’t like that.”
I relaxed against him again and repeated a hopeful, “Okay.”
“Get off me, baby, gotta shower.”
I rolled off but he rolled right on top of me.
“I thought you had to shower,” I asked when I caught his eyes.
He held my gaze for a moment and I couldn’t read his face before his head dipped and I felt his nose tweak my ear.
“I’m sorry I was a dick,” he whispered there.
There it was. That was all he had to do and I knew at that moment there would be times when he’d be a jerk and that was all he’d ever have to do.
My arms slid around him. “Honey,” I whispered back.
He gave my shoulder a bristly kiss and then he was gone.
I rolled into the unmade bed so the covers were over me and listened to the shower.
Then Buster came up on the bed and gave me a look that communicated, “Where were you last night?”
I cooed to her, she moved to me and flopped gracefully into the crook of my bent hips. I petted and she purred.
Tate left me after getting dressed and leaning into the bed to give me a kiss and Buster a stroke. Then I took a shower, got ready and went to work, calling Betty after I got there to tell her that I wasn’t moving back to the hotel.
“Didn’t think so, hon.”
“I’m sorry,” I said and I heard a surprised burst of laughter.
“Why?” she asked.
“Well, I told you I was coming home and I miss you guys, I didn’t…”
“Laurie, honey, you and Tate are right up the way. You didn’t move to Fiji.”
“Yes, but…”
“You’re still home. You’re just sleepin’ in a different place.”
That shut my mouth.
“Tell Tatum Jackson to let you loose every once in awhile. I miss my coffee time with Laurie,” she finished.
“Okay,” I replied. “I should get back to work.”
“See you later, hon.”
“Bye, Betty.”
We hung up and I stared at my phone thinking dang, but I liked Betty.
I went back to work and did my job for hours jumpy as a cat.
“Laurie, I asked, you okay?” Jim-Billy repeated.
My eyes had glazed over so I focused on him.
“Tate’s bringing Jonas to the bar,” I told him.
“I know,” he told me.
“I’m not good with kids,” I shared and he blinked.
“You ain’t good with kids?”
I shook my head as Krystal wandered to our end of the bar.
“You ain’t good with kids?” she repeated Jim-Billy’s question.
“No, they freak me out,” I answered.
“They freak you out,” Jim-Billy said.
“Laurie,” Krystal called me. “Two nights ago two boys were drunk and lookin’ for a fight. A beer bottle was thrown which means broken furniture is about two seconds away. You waded into that and, with a smile and a flip of your hair, you talked them down and had them laughin’. You can handle drunk, angry bikers bent on blood with a flip of your hair, how can kids freak you out?”
“I didn’t flip my hair,” I told her.
“Darlin’,” Jim-Billy put in, “you did.”
I looked at him. “I did?”
“Who cares?” Krystal asked impatiently. “I asked, you can deal with that, wadin’ in without thought, how can kids freak you out?”
“Those are adults,” I explained.
“Yeah. So?”
“Adults aren’t kids,” I finished.
“No, darlin’, they aren’t,” Jim-Billy agreed and I looked at him again to see he was smiling at Krystal.
“This isn’t funny,” I whispered and then, desperate, I leaned toward Krystal. “Am I dressed okay?”
She gave me a once-over and I took two steps back to give her the full view. I had on a pale pink blouse with a man
darin collar, little ruffles on the edges of the little poofed sleeves and darts up my ribs, molding the top close to my midriff. I had some cleavage going, for tip purposes (upon research, I’d found this was an excellent motivator for higher tips). My hair was down and styled. I had maximum makeup (for me, when it wasn’t evening makeup of course). And I was wearing jeans, a dark brown belt with little, round silver rivets at the edges and a pair of hot pink, high-heeled, strappy sandals. I had on my flowery jewelry at ears and throat and a bunch of stretchy, beaded bracelets in hot pink, baby pink, clear and blue.
“Well,” Krystal drawled, “you wanna catapult him straight into puberty and discovering alternate use of socks, you picked a winner.”
“What?” I breathed as Jim-Billy guffawed.
Krystal grinned and I stared at her because she rarely did that as in, never.
“You’re fine,” she assured me but I felt far from assured.
“I should go home and change,” I declared and turned toward the door.
Jim-Billy got up off his barstool, a virtual miracle in itself, and headed me off.
“Darlin’, she was jokin’. You look sweet,” he told me.
“Krystal doesn’t joke,” I reminded him.
“I got a computer in my stockroom with a spreadsheet you made that makes stock takes a piece of cake. I got a full stable of waitresses and only one of ‘em gives me fits. Business is up so much I’m thinkin’ about lettin’ Dominic turn me into a redhead. So, even though Bubba is fishin’, I’m in the mood to joke,” Krystal stated and I forgot my nerves and walked back to the bar.
“Bubba’s fishing?” I asked as Jim-Billy settled back onto his stool.
“Didn’t come home last night, don’t ‘spect him home tonight, tomorrow or God knows when,” she answered.
I looked at Jim-Billy and Jim-Billy lifted his brows, his mouth a grimace as his ear tipped toward his shoulder.
I looked back at Krystal. “I’m sorry, Krys.”
Her face changed and I felt a knife in my gut because she let me see pain before she wiped it clean.
“No offense, honey, you know I like you but the worst thing a woman can hear is another woman, a woman who has a good man, sayin’ she’s sorry about your man.”
Then Krystal walked away and I grabbed onto the edge of the bar to hold myself up because my legs were trembling. This was with both sadness and anger, sadness for Krystal, but mostly anger at Bubba for making her feel that way.
I looked at Jim-Billy. “She was joking,” I whispered. “Then I messed it up.”
“She’ll be okay, darlin’,” Jim-Billy whispered back.
“I’m gonna get Tate to call Bubba and get his ass home,” I declared and Jim-Billy shook his head.
“Jonas is home which means Tate is home which means Bubba is g-o-n-e, gone. Even if Tate calls him, Bubba won’t be back until Sunday night.”
I felt my eyes get wide. “Always?”
“Yup.”
“But, Tate can’t come down to help if Jonas is here.”
“No, but he can if there’s trouble.”
I felt my lips thin.
I liked Bubba. He was funny and he was sweet and he called me gorgeous in a way that I knew he thought that was true. He wasn’t as good a bartender as Krystal, Dalton and Tate but he knew his way around the back of the bar. He was slow because he saw no reason in life to go fast.
But I didn’t like him taking advantage of Tate or causing Krystal pain.
“Uh… Laurie?” Jim-Billy called and I focused on him. “It is what it is and has been goin’ on a long while. Leave it be.”
“But –”
“Darlin’, listen to Jim-Billy, leave it be.”
“I –”
“Ace!” I heard, jumped and turned to the door.
Tate stood there. I’d been so caught up in Krystal and Bubba I hadn’t been paying attention. My legs started trembling again and I didn’t move a muscle.
“Babe, you gonna stand there starin’ at me or you gonna come meet Jonas?” Tate called.
“Go get ‘im, tiger,” Jim-Billy encouraged, I licked my lips, looked at him, nodded and walked on jellied legs toward Tate.
“Um…” I started when I got close. “Did everything go okay?”
“No,” he answered.
“What happened?” I asked as I made it to him.
His hand came up and curled around the side of my neck. “Tell you later.”
“Hey, Tate!” Krystal called and Tate’s head swung to her. “Laurie’s off. Wendy’ll be in in half an hour to finish her shift. She’s got the weekend.”
I stared at Krystal then I looked at Tate to find he was grinning down at me.
“Good news, Ace,” he said.
“I can always, you know, paint another room or something while you do boy stuff,” I offered.
“How ‘bout we do boy girl stuff, the clean kind durin’ the day, the dirty kind at night?”
I did not need him talking nasty prior to me meeting his son and therefore hissed, “Tate!”
He grinned, slung an arm around my shoulders and propelled me to the door. “Come meet Jonas.”
It was the time of judgment, I couldn’t delay and I couldn’t run so I wrapped my arm around his waist and let Tate take me to his son.
He was standing, shoulders leaned against the passenger side of the Explorer, a video game in his hands, his dark head bent to it.
“Good news, Bub,” Tate called, “Lauren’s got the rest of the day off.”
That was when his head came up and my step stuttered.
He was the spitting image of Tate. There wasn’t a hint of Neeta to be found. He was the most beautiful child I’d ever seen in my life.
Then he smiled at me and my heart turned over.
“Hey Lauren,” he said.
“Um… hi Jonas,” I replied and Tate stopped me in front of his son.
“Dad said you made me a cake,” he told me.
“Red cake, white frosting,” I replied and his head tipped to the side.
“Red cake?” he asked.
“Um… it’s really chocolate but I dye it red. I don’t know why, it’s just, that’s what the recipe says so that’s what I do.”
“It got Moist Factor Five Hundred?” he asked and I knew they’d been talking about me, more than a little, more than likely a lot.
My heart started beating very fast and very hard.
“Yes,” I answered.
“Dad said that’s the bomb,” Jonas informed me.
“The, um… master of Moist Factor Five Hundred works over there,” I pointed to La-La Land, “at the coffee shop. He shared the secret of his success with me.”
Jonas took a step forward and twisted his torso to see beyond the truck to where I was pointing. Then he straightened and looked back at me.
“Cool,” he replied.
“Yeah, um… cool,” I reiterated.
He grinned.
My heart turned over again.
“You look just like your Dad,” I whispered and his back went straighter, giving him at least another inch.
“Be just like him, when I grow up,” he stated proudly.
“A football star?” I asked.
“Nah, a bounty hunter,” he told me.
“They carry guns and hunt dangerous fugitives,” I informed him something he probably knew and I probably shouldn’t remind him therefore I clamped my mouth shut after speaking.
“Yeah, why you think I wanna be like my Dad?” Jonas asked.
“Perhaps you can consider alternate future employment,” I suggested, “maybe an accountant.”
Father and son burst out laughing.
I looked up at Tate. “I wasn’t being funny.”
“I know, babe,” he replied, still chuckling. “That’s why it was hilarious.”
I looked back to Jonas and stated somewhat haughtily, “An accountant would not make his girlfriend worry while he was away at work.”
“Yeah,”
Jonas shot back with a smile, “but he also wouldn’t have a milf girlfriend either.”
I felt my eyes round as Tate said in a father’s warning tone but still I could tell from his voice he was smiling huge, “Bub.”
“Dad, seriously, she’s milf,” Jonas returned.
“Think it, boy, don’t say it,” Tate replied.
“Right,” Jonas muttered but he was still smiling at me and his smile was unrepentant.
Jonas had called me a milf. I knew what that meant and I didn’t know what to do with it.
Seriously, Tate from head to toe.
“I think I need a latte. Does anyone need a latte?” I asked then didn’t wait for them to answer. “No? Okay, you boys go on and do father and son stuff, toss a baseball, build a barn, whatever. I’ll get a latte and meet you home for dinner.”
Jonas looked at Tate. “They have smoothies?”
“We’ll find out,” Tate answered and my eyes darted to him because he was moving me toward the sidewalk and, I knew, La-La Land.
Jonas fell in step beside me.
Not Tate.
Me.
I looked down at him and I knew in a couple of years if I was still around I wouldn’t be looking down anymore.
“Are you tall for your age?” I asked.
“Yep,” he replied.
“Tallest kid in his class,” Tate put in.
“Do you play sports?” I asked Jonas.
“Yep,” he answered then he observed, “You’re tall. Did you?”
“I was a cheerleader,” I shared and both father and son laughed again. “What’s funny?” I asked into their laughter.
“Milf,” Jonas said under his breath and Tate chuckled anew.
“Cheerleading is considered a sport,” I informed them snootily.
“You flip around in a short skirt with your panties showing,” Jonas informed me back.
My eyes narrowed on his grinning face. “How old are you again?”
“Ten,” he answered.
“You act fifteen.”
“Thanks,” he replied.
“That wasn’t a compliment,” I explained and his smile got broader telling me he took it as one anyway.
We crossed the street and were a door away from La-La Land when I clarified, “Just because the subject has come up,” I looked down at Jonas, “repeatedly, a milf refers to a mother and I’m not a mother therefore I cannot be a milf.”