by Wendy Cole
I quickly turned back to my breakfast. “It was a one-time thing,” I told him, flipping my now way-too-brown fried eggs. “It won’t happen again.”
“We didn’t have sex.”
I turned, but he was already walking away. He took a seat at the booth and grabbed a towel from the counter behind him.
I stared at his back.
He turned as he continued to rub the juice from his beard, and then he met my gaze.
“You kissed me, thank you very much, and you were ready…” His eyes sharpened, and his jaw twitched. He turned away. “But I don’t take advantage of drunk women, Tequila. Your virtue is safe with me.”
I breathed a sigh.
“Now, since you’re cooking my eggs, maybe you could make some for me.”
The inedible food sizzled angrily in front of me. “Sure thing.”
They say the way to a man’s heart is through his stomach. Maybe the way out of a man’s attention is through the same spot.
For good measure, I let them cook a bit longer with a smile on my face the whole time. When smoke started to billow up, I decided they were good enough and brought them over to the table.
Bard grimaced. “What the hell did you do to them?”
I schooled my features into a hurt and confused expression.
“What?” I feigned embarrassment with actual tears. My acting skills amazed even me. Maybe, if I ever managed to get my shit together, I could have a go at stardom.
He cleared his throat. “Nothing, it looks great.”
The words were spoken quickly, and I’d never seen a man look more uncomfortable. He fought to cut a piece of the egg with his fork, almost losing the battle. When he finally managed to work a bite away and place it in his mouth, his jaw worked comically. Each chew was accompanied by a loud crunch.
Maybe it was just me, but I didn’t think that was normal.
His eyes watered as he forced himself to swallow.
I couldn’t hold it in anymore. It was his face. I barked a laugh, and the moment I did, more followed. “You actually ate that nasty shit!”
He scanned my face through narrowed eyes. “Let me show you how to cook an egg.”
He pushed himself up from the table and made long purposeful strides over to the burner.
Like a pro, Bard cracked four eggs into the pan.
“They won’t be any better,” I pointed out. “There’s no butter.”
He hummed. “You don’t really need it.”
“If you say so.” I shrugged and took a seat at the booth.
The eggs were finished in no time at all, definitely less time than it took mine. I bit back a smile.
Bard set a plate in front of me. They definitely looked a lot better than mine. I sniffed the air above. It smelled better too.
Bard watched me close, a smirk lifting the corner of his mouth.
I took a bite, and my eyes widened. They were delicious. “How the hell did you do that?”
Bard’s smirk transformed into a toothy cat-like grin. “I’m a man of many talents, Tequila.”
“Talents I, thankfully, wouldn’t know about.”
“You like me.”
I had to fight to keep my face blank. Did I like him? No. I made it a point to not like anyone. Attachments were nasty little things that only led to disappointment. It was one thing with the old man, then the people here, but a man? This man?
“Reading people doesn’t seem to be your strong suit either.” I gave him a pitying look. “At least you can cook,” I offered, motioning to the food.
“You’re lying.”
“I’m really not.” I laughed, but the sound came out awkward. Something about him saying it made me almost believe I was. It was the way he perceived everything those freaky eyes made contact with. For all I knew, he was right, and I was simply lying to myself. “Why do you care, anyway? Why are we even having this conversation? You like me or something?”
Bard’s smile dulled, and as if to prove my point, those eyes sharpened. Searching. Probing.
“Maybe…” The word was deep and smooth. His voice was naturally deep, but when he spoke like that, it caused a reaction that was almost physical. I could feel the sound, each wave, as it reached my side of the table and wrapped around me.
Dangerous.
I squirmed. “It doesn’t matter. I told you. I’ve sworn off men. Last night was…me being drunk. Stop looking at me like that!”
His lip twitched at my outburst, and he focused on his plate.
I pushed myself up from the table, needing space. Using my hands, I cupped water from the faucet at the kitchen sink and took a drink.
“Who are you running from?” Bard asked.
I choked. He was so quiet, I hadn’t even heard him follow me, but now, with his presence behind my back, too close, it was impossible to think straight.
“Don’t worry about it,” I answered. My gaze roamed, fighting to find anything else to focus on: the corduroy curtains, the magnet for a pizza place on the fridge, the calendar hanging on the wall.
My eyes stopped and widened.
“Shit!” I scrambled past a confused Bard and hurriedly searched for my bag. I found it on the passenger seat but dropped it in my panic.
Large hands reached out and grabbed me. “What’s wrong?”
“I’m supposed to meet with my probation officer today!”
Shit! How could I be so fucking stupid? I was going to be late and hungover. I was going back to jail. Drake was going to find me. My lungs stopped working. He wouldn’t care what my excuse was. He’d been waiting for me to fuck up.
“Calm down,” Bard said. “What time are you supposed to be there?”
“Noon.” I looked at the clock. It was eleven thirty. Dammit! I’d never make it on time!
“I’ll drive you,” Bard said. “We’ve got plenty of time. The probation department is only twenty minutes from here.”
My gaze shot to him. “You’ve got a car?”
“Yes, I’ve got a car.” He had that look, the soft one that made my insides turn to mush. “Now, c’mon. Let’s go.”
He grabbed a set of keys I hadn’t noticed off the counter.
Well, I’ll be damned.
Bard led the way with long strides I had to run to keep up with. I was grateful. My life literally depended on getting to this appointment on time.
An older model Camaro was parked right outside the back door, primed down solid black, matte, with a large hood scoop and ground effects. It looked dangerous. It looked fucking sexy. It looked like Bard.
“Close your mouth and get in the car, Tequila.”
I shook my head and quickly climbed into the front seat.
Bard got in, jammed the key into the ignition, and the engine roared to life.
Powerful. It shook the car and rattled my teeth. What the hell did he do to this thing?
“Buckle up,” Bard called out over the noise.
I pulled the seat belt over me and slapped the dash. “I’m ready. Drive it like you stole it.”
He smiled the most gorgeous smile at me. My breath caught and held. So damn dangerous.
I quickly looked away and pointed towards the windshield. “Let’s go, or instead of Tequila, you’ll be calling me locked-up.”
A laugh rumbled out of him, one of the few I’d heard. It was throaty and deep, a lot like Zeke’s, only more. A shiver ran through me.
Stop it. Just stop. No men.
The car jerked forward, tearing out of the yard and onto the street. Bard didn’t bother with the speed limit. He shifted gears and tore around corners, and my body jerked savagely each time. I kept my mouth shut and gripped the dashboard.
Don’t let us get pulled over.
We made it to the probation office in twelve minutes, seven minutes early.
Once there, my mind cleared enough for me to focus. This was the most dangerous part of my existence. It was the place where he could find me. The officers assured me that my file would be k
ept confidential, but they didn’t know Drake. He had connections. I could only hope he’d think I skipped on the law too, and then, if he did use this avenue, they’d miss me in the masses that came and went.
My eyes darted up and down the street. I reached back and pulled out my hair tie, allowing my long black locks to fall forward and blanket my face.
“I’ll keep an eye out,” Bard offered. His eyes were probing again, taking in my hair and the way I kept my head down.
“I’ll be right back,” I said, climbing out and trying to look casual. “If anything happens, you just drive away.”
I didn’t wait for an answer before striding towards the building.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
The oppressive building loomed in front of me like the gallows, and paranoia weighed my shoulders down as I approached. Probation Department was spelled out in blunt, harsh, black lettering across the ashen block. My eyes darted about, ears primed for the sound of a throttle, praying I wouldn’t hear one.
But I had more than just the club to worry about. Officer Jones was not one to be fooled, and I was about to walk into his office looking fresh out of a drunk tank.
I kept my pace neutral, neither too slow nor quick. Nonchalant. I wasn’t nervous at all. I lied to myself, hoping it would bleed into my outward appearance. I highly doubted it was working.
When I stepped through the doors, my eyes immediately shot to the reception desk, to the bullet proof glass, and the woman who always sat behind it. Her head lifted, and I was once again struck by how absolutely miserable she looked. Like some cartoon villain, her face was a permanent scowl. She conjured images of dead puppies lying at her feet and mermaids tied up under the counter.
I approached her.
“Sign in. Take a seat.” She shoved a clipboard through the window and clicked away at her keyboard, probably emailing Satan.
Not bothering to respond, I wrote my name down and took my usual place in one of the hardwood chairs.
My nerves tingled beneath my skin. The musty aroma and general depressing atmosphere hit me every time. It caused my fingers to curl in on themselves and made each one of my muscles to tighten and hold.
The man behind the first door in the hall held my life in his hands. He was the hangman holding the lever that decided whether I lived or died. Sitting on that cheap waiting room chair was like standing on the podium with the rope hung loosely around my neck.
Only one other person occupied the lobby. He was seated across from me, waiting for his turn. Every couple of seconds, he’d clear his throat on and on and on. It echoed through the room. Each time, it grated against my already-shot nerves.
I took deep breaths and gripped the arms of my chair. I closed my eyes and tried to ignore, but each time he did it, my teeth would clench a little tighter.
He did it again. Loud and deep. The base to it sent images of mucus playing across my eyelids. I gagged.
He did it again.
I lost it. “For fuck’s sake! Can somebody give this guy a fucking cough drop?”
I awoke the kraken. The wicked receptionist zeroed in on me with laser eyes and ill intent. “Is there a problem?”
“Nope.” I was a fucking idiot. “I was just trying to help the guy out,” I said, voice overly polite. My eyes shot to the man, and I smiled at him.
He didn’t return the gesture, but he did stop clearing his throat.
Thank god.
“Jessie Murphy!” Officer Jones’ voice echoed out like the crack of a whip. I looked up to see the monster of a man standing inside the doorway.
He was a mountain, with dark mahogany skin and a head shiny enough to see myself on. He glared over at me with clear contempt.
I was quick to stand and walk towards his office.
“Good afternoon, sir,” I said, once again overly polite, as I took the seat in front of his desk.
I’d been in his office quite a few times, and it always looked the same. There was a plain brown wooden desk, bare except for the placard that read Officer Jones, a photo of a pretty woman smiling with a little boy, who I assumed were his wife and son, a laptop, and a bowl of candy.
I eyed the bowl of candy.
It wasn’t there for me.
“Let’s cut the bullshit, shall we?” he began, his voice gruff. His chair let out a groan as his massive size pushed it to its limit. He noticed my eyes on the candy bowl and reached one large baseball glove of a hand forward to jerk it out of sight.
He grunted. “You look rough.”
“Thank you, sir.”
Another grunt, eyes hard, judging. “Have you been applying for jobs?”
I pulled the needed paper out of my bag and handed it to him.
He snatched the document and scanned then slapped it down on the desk. “Still don’t have one?”
“Actually, I got a job.” God, it was nice to say that to his fucking ass. That’s right. I. Got. A. Job. Asshole.
He didn’t look excited. Then again, the man never looked anything. His expression, his posture, his stare, all of it. Granite. Stone-cold.
Those dark eyes bore into me, and I couldn’t maintain the contact. I looked around the room: a photo of him in a police uniform with a man at his side, holding some kind of award and another frame, full of what looked like military medals.
There was a window in the upper corner, small and out of place. There were no curtains, but bars lined the inside. Who the hell would want to break in to the probation office?
“Where is the job?”
“It’s at a tattoo shop. Cutthroat Ink.”
“Zeke?”
My eyes snapped to his. “Yes, that’s the man that hired me.”
He leaned back in his seat, and the leather groaned as if the chair itself was screaming for help. “That’s good.”
I blanched. Did Officer Jones just say something was good? Like…in a positive way? Not negative at all?
“Good?”
“Yes. That’s good. Don’t be stupid and mess it up.” His tone slipped back to biting.
“Okay?”
He waved a dismissive hand. “You’re free to go.”
My mouth fell open. That was quick, unusually so. I stood, my movements slow, looking unsure as I exited the room.
“Oh, and Jessie!” he barked before I could reach the door.
I turned back. “Yes, sir?”
“Have a piece of candy.” His eyes stayed glued to his computer screen as the bowl of candy was held out stiffly in my direction.
I stared at the dish.
Now Officer Jones was going to give me some of the No-you-can’t-have-any candy? I didn’t think I’d ever been offered a piece of candy so angrily in my life.
I stepped forward and took a piece, similar to the way a mouse would steal cheese from the trap.
“Thank you, sir.” The words were barely a breath, and no sooner did they pass my lips, I darted from the room.
When I tore out the front doors, Bard was still parked along the curb. My steps were quick and anxious, and I fumbled with the door when I got inside.
He shot me a curious look before scanning the area. “Did you see something?”
“No. Just drive.”
Bard revved the monster of an engine to life and sped off in the direction of the shop.
The drive was silent, but as soon as we pulled up behind the motorhome, Bard cut the ignition and turned to me.
“What happened back there?” he asked, his eyes probing and always searching.
“He gave me a piece of candy.” I stared at the golden wrapped butterscotch in my palm.
Bard continued to study me.
“He found out I was working here, and he gave me candy. He knew Zeke.”
“I’m not following you, Tequila.” A familiar shiver ran through me at the sound of his voice.
“He’s never given me the candy before. It’s always just sat there. I’ve never been worthy of his precious fucking candy.” My voice grew more aggressive
towards the end. “Then I told him about this job, and all of a sudden, I was. He gave me one.”
Bard still had a strange look on his face. “So what? That’s shitty candy, anyway.”
I looked at him then. His eyes darted between my face and the small sweet in my hand. He seemed more confused than I was which probably made sense.
I laughed. “It really is shitty candy.”
Bard grinned at me. “You want some candy?”
“You sounded real creepy asking me that.”
His smile widened. “Considering you’re already in the car, it would be kind of pointless to try and kidnap you now.”
“True.”
He revved the engine back to life.
“What are you doing?”
“We’re going to go get some candy.”
“I don’t need candy,” I insisted, gripping the dashboard as the car lurched forward.
His response was to reach across the space between us and snatch the butterscotch out of my hand.
I looked back as he tossed it out the window. “Hey!”
“We don’t need that asshole’s candy. I’ll get you better candy.” He shifted gears and propelled us forward at an alarming rate.
“I don’t want to die over candy!” I gripped the dash harder.
He rumbled a laugh. “Drive it like you stole it. That’s what you said.” He did a burn out into the parking lot of the same grocery store I’d applied to, pulled into the first empty space, then turned to me. “I take direction well.” He smiled, head bent and tilted up at me. It was an appealing angle.
I stared down at him, and the urge to press my lips to his was far more tempting than it should have been.
Nope. I turned away and all but jumped from the car.
Bard followed behind like a wolf trailing its prey. I could feel his gaze burning into my back, too intense.
I made it through the sliding doors, found Lexy behind the counter, and was once again floored by how different she looked from the girl I’d seen the night before. It reminded me of myself. How many times had someone thought the same of me when I put forth my college girl persona?
Her eyes widened, and I paused to let Bard catch up. “Why does she look so surprised?”
He didn’t answer.
Was he so much of a hermit that seeing him at a store was a shock? Even hermits needed groceries. I hadn’t seen any chickens around the RV, and I highly doubted Bard laid those eggs himself.