Sweet Dreams

by Kristen Ashley

  Shambles was right, Moist Factor Five Hundred was a hit. But it wasn’t Shambles secret cake ingredient that made it a hit.

  It was my very own chocolate butter cream frosting.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Jonas

  The door to the bar opened, most of my body locked but my eyes flew to it.

  Nadine walked in.

  I heaved a sigh of relief.

  “Laurie, honey, you okay?” Jim-Billy asked and I looked at him.

  It was Friday. I was on the day shift. Tate was gone, picking up Jonas. I’d been on tenterhooks since noon, like Tate could step on Scottie’s beaming pad and beam himself and Jonas back and right outside the bar. But now it was nearly three and they could be here at any minute.

  I was not ready for this.

  Tate had told me before he left that morning that he’d bring Jonas by the bar to meet me then they’d go off and do their thing then they’d pick me up and we’d all go to dinner. I’d wanted to make Jonas a welcome home dinner and maybe buy my way into his heart through his ten-year-old boy’s stomach because I didn’t figure Neeta was a master chef. Though, if I waited until after my shift, they wouldn’t eat until late so going out it was. The diner could cook faster than what I had planned.

  I bought all the stuff for dinner anyway because I had Saturday off so I decided to make it then. I didn’t find out until I got in the bar that day that Krystal and Wendy had conspired against me. It was Wendy’s day off but she was coming in to take over for me at three thirty and Krystal had made last minute schedule changes so I had the whole weekend off.

  I didn’t want the whole weekend off. I just wanted Saturday. I told myself that this was so I could give Tate and Jonas time together. It was really because Jonas scared me half to death.

  The dinner I picked was a specialty of mine, my family loved it but Brad hated it, said it was over the top, said it was so many calories and fat it was impossible to count, so I only made it when I went home to Indiana. Pork chops stuffed with Rice-A-Roni accompanied by real bread stuffing like you make for Thanksgiving and green bean casserole (the gooey kind with the crispy onions in it and on top). This would be followed by red cake with that creamy, white frosting that took a powerful hold on my willpower not to eat it all before I frosted the cake.

  I made the cake the night before using nervous energy to do it. Tate had been gone, called away for a few days to round up a bad guy. Luckily, this only lasted a few days. Unfortunately, we’d fought when he’d returned which was the night before, approximately three minutes after I put the final flourishes on the frosting on the cake.

  We fought because, until that day, I’d worked nights so I spent the days while he was gone painting his room as a surprise.

  It wasn’t me painting the room that pissed Tate off. When Tate came home and saw it, he liked it, a lot if the kiss he gave me was any indication.

  It was the invoice for the blinds that Tate saw on the counter after we’d walked out of the bedroom and into the kitchen that pissed him off. I’d had a local man come in, measure and I ordered new venetian blinds. Really cool ones made of a rich, dark wood. They cost a fortune but they would be awesome with the curtains.

  Tate picked up the invoice, gave it a glance, looked at me and asked, “What’s this?”

  “Um… surprise part two?” I answered in a question because the look on his face was a little scary.

  “Lauren, fuck, did you not hear me when I said the blinds were gonna have to wait?” He spoke at the same time he agitatedly threw the invoice down on the counter.

  “Yes, I heard you. You said that you couldn’t afford them. So, really, you kind of need them… um… in a way…” I was talking stiltedly because his face wasn’t getting any less scary and because he actually didn’t need them in any way. “So… um… I bought them.”

  “Yeah, you bought them and I can’t afford them.”

  I didn’t understand so I asked, “You can’t afford them?”

  “Gonna be another hit to pay you back, Ace. Don’t need any more hits. My balance needs to start goin’ up, not sinkin’ down.”

  “No, I mean, I bought them, for you.”

  I thought this would go over well, since no one ever took care of him and Neeta had never given him anything but an orgasm. I’d given him those too and I was on a mission to suck him in as deep as I could get him so I had to pull ahead of all his history with Neeta and any other woman for that matter.

  This, however, did not go over well.

  “You bought them for me,” he repeated quietly but his voice was hard.

  “Yes, I thought –”

  He interrupted me. “No, babe, you didn’t.”

  “Sorry?”

  “You didn’t think,” he explained.

  “I –”

  “Got money,” he cut me off again, leaning a bit toward me. “Yeah, I know. It wasn’t in my face every time you put on clothes or spray on your fancy-ass perfume in my goddamned bedroom, I’d still know after you told me about your life with that fuckwad.”

  “Yes, I have money, but –”

  He broke in again. “No woman takes care of me.”

  “I’m not taking care of you, I’m –”

  “Takin’ care of me.”

  I lost a bit of hold on my temper and therefore snapped, “Would you let me finish?”

  “No,” he answered.

  “No?”

  “Actually, fuck no,” he amended.

  “Sorry?” I whispered and he leaned forward further.

  “I got a dick, babe,” he clipped.

  “I know that, babe,” I snapped back.

  “No woman takes care of me,” he repeated. “I make a home for me and my kid.”

  “I was trying to do something nice!” My voice was rising. “It’s just blinds, Tate.”

  “It’s you shovin’ your money in my face, Lauren.”

  I reared back. “It is not.”

  He leaned back. “You buy me sheets. You paint my room. What’s next? You gonna wash my balls?”

  It was at that I sucked in breath and lifted a hand palm up between us. Then I took my purse from the counter, snatching my car keys from there. I walked out to the car in the garage and used the garage door opener that Tate had given me that was in my car. I walked the opener to his Explorer, opened the driver side door, tossed it on his seat, went back to my car, started it up, backed it out and went right to Carnal Hotel.

  I checked in with Ned. Betty came out and we played Harry Potter Clue. They didn’t ask questions and I didn’t share. When Betty went to bed, I went to my room and crashed, wearing my makeup, taking off my jeans but keeping on the t-shirt I’d worn that day.

  This sucked because Tate had been gone for days and I missed him. And I missed being in bed with him most of all. I didn’t sleep great because I never slept great but also because I missed him and I was angry with him, both in equal measure.

  After a fitful night’s sleep, I got up, pulled on my jeans, slid on my flip flops and dragged myself to the reception desk. Betty let me into her house, she gave me face wash, an extra toothbrush and toothpaste. I washed my face, brushed my teeth, had a cup of coffee with her and told her I’d be back while she stared at me with an open face and kind eyes, inviting a talk if I needed it, ready to keep her mouth shut if I didn’t.

  I might have mentioned before, I really liked Betty.

  I went out to my car and drove to Tate’s. He was sitting on his deck, feet up on the railing, coffee cup in his hand when I pulled up his drive. I parked where Neeta parked, walked up the deck steps, keeping my eyes averted from him, went in through the sliding glass door and headed straight to the bedroom to get my bags.

  I didn’t make it to the closet.

  Halfway across the bedroom, Tate tagged me with an arm around my stomach and he pulled me back into his body.

  “Not fun sleepin’ alone,” he muttered into my ear as I pulled against his hold but he was stronger than me and
he switched our direction so we were heading to the bed.

  “Let me go, Tate,” I demanded, my hands shoving at his arm.

  “Gotta learn to get over it, Ace,” he told me.

  “Let… me… go,” I repeated.

  We made it to the bed, he twisted, going down on his back, me landing on top of him. I struggled, slid off his body, but he rolled over me, pinning me to the bed.

  I pushed at his shoulders but his hands came up my sides, sliding over my armpits, my triceps, my elbows, my forearms and then my hands. His fingers forcing themselves to lace between mine, he pushed my arms and hands to the bed over my head, all the while his mouth was working at my neck.

  “Tate!” I snapped.

  His knee came up, parting my legs.

  “Bet, way you catch fire, make up sex’ll be hot,” he muttered.

  “We are not making up and we are not having sex.”

  His head came up, I saw he was grinning and through his grin he said, “Babe.”

  “Babe yourself!” I spat.

  He burst out laughing and while still doing it, he kissed me.

  Thus started the struggle and I did pretty well, considering Tate was bigger than me, heavier than me and stronger than me.

  Unfortunately, along the line, I caught fire and we had make up sex and Tate was right, it was hot.

  I was on my knees in front of him, my torso to the bed, my cheek pressed against the comforter, my arms straight out in front of me and my hands clenching the sheets when Tate encouraged roughly, “That’s it, baby, fuck yourself.”

  And I was. He was on his knees behind me but I was rearing back into him, doing all the work.

  “Tate,” I breathed, I was about to come but before I could, he pulled out so I cried, “Tate!”

  “Not yet,” he muttered, flipped me over, spread my legs then his mouth was on me.

  He was good at this because he had a variety of speeds and levels. He could go slow and be gentle or he could go fast and be hungry. It usually started with one and then moved gradually (and never fast enough but definitely good enough) through the rest.

  The beard helped. Loads.

  He was at his top speed, his most voracious, his hands cupping my behind, holding me to him when I gasped, “Tate.”

  He knew what that meant and his mouth was gone.

  “Baby,” I begged as his body came over mine, his hands lifting my legs to throw them over his shoulders.

  “Wanna watch,” he murmured and then he was inside me, his hands in the bed giving him leverage to pound deep.

  “Oh my God,” I whispered as it came over me and I watched his head tip so he was looking at our connected bodies.

  “Your pussy, baby, Jesus, so fuckin’ sweet,” he whispered back.

  “Oh my God,” I repeated as it washed in on a tidal wave, his head came back up and his eyes locked with mine.

  “That’s it, Laurie,” he muttered but I closed my eyes, my head arched back, my back arched up, my legs tensed, my calves digging into his shoulders and he kept thrusting, hard and deep.

  “Don’t stop, Tate,” I pleaded, still coming.

  “Fuckin’ hell, baby.”

  “Don’t stop,” I whispered and he didn’t, not until I finished and he did too.

  He slid my legs off his shoulders, wrapped them around his waist and then gave me his weight.

  His mouth was at my ear, his hand curled around my breast when he stated, “Oh yeah, Ace, make up sex with you is hot.”

  I’d had a very, very good orgasm but, nevertheless, that was when I belatedly remembered her was a very, very big jerk.

  “That was good-bye sex,” I announced. “I’m moving back to Carnal Hotel.”

  His head came up and he looked at me.

  “No you aren’t.”

  “Yes I am.”

  “No. You aren’t.”

  “I am!” I snapped.

  “Told you, Lauren, you keep igniting for me like that, I was gonna chain you to the bed. You try to check back in that fuckin’ hotel, I’ll do it right now.”

  “That’s against the law,” I informed him acidly.

  “How you gonna tell someone when you’re chained to my bed?” he asked.

  “You aren’t chaining me to the bed!” I cried loudly.

  “You aren’t moving back to the hotel.”

  “It’s home. You’re back in your house, Buster doesn’t need me anymore. And, might I add, you’re a jerk so I don’t want to be here anymore.”

  “You wanna be here.”

  “Do not.”

  “Babe, when you were on your knees, took everything I had not to go back to my calves you were fucking me so hard. You wanna be here.”

  “See!” I cried. “Jerk!”

  He smiled. “Babe.”

  “Get off.”

  “You’re not goin’ back to the hotel.”

  “Off!” I shouted and bucked.

  His mouth came to mine, his teeth nipped my lower lip and my body stilled because this was a surprise move, it felt good and, I was so angry, I didn’t want it to feel good.

  “I was a dick,” he stated.

  “Yes, you were.”

  “I admitted it. Now stop bein’ pissed.”

  “And what?” I asked. “You just get to be a dick and then admit it and I have to get over it?”

  He grinned and answered, “Yeah.”

  “Tate –”

  “Ace.”

  “I’m going back to the hotel.”

  His good mood fled from his face and he said, “No, Lauren, you aren’t.”

  “But –”

  “You need your own space for awhile, get an apartment in town. But you aren’t movin’ back into that hotel.”

  “But I –”

  “Jesus, we’ve had this conversation before,” he muttered.

  “So?” I asked.

  Tate tried a different tactic. “You want, I’ll take you down, you go into a room and I’ll show you how easy it is to pop a lock or pick one.”

  “The doors have chains,” I reminded him.

  “Then once I pick the lock then pop it, you chain it and I’ll show you how easy it is to pop that.”

  “Ned and Betty will be right next door.”

  “You’re here, I’ll be right beside you. I’m bigger than Ned, I got more than one gun, I keep one close and I know how to use them. That compare?”

  I hated it when he was right.

  I didn’t tell him he was right. I changed the subject.

  “You keep a gun close?”

  He reached beyond me, opened a nightstand and came back with a gun, the butt of it resting against his palm, his ring and index finger curled around it, the other three fingers splayed wide. The natural, casual way he held it made my breath catch because, firstly, I wasn’t certain I’d ever seen a gun except my father’s hunting rifles and secondly, the natural, casual way he held a weapon freaked me out.

  “Oh my God,” I breathed.

  He reached beyond me again, I heard the thud of the gun hitting the nightstand and then he was back.

  “No hotel,” he declared.

  “I –”

  “And stop bein’ pissed,” he went on.

  “Tate, you were a jerk.”

  His hand came to the side of my head and his face got close.

  “Yeah, I was, baby, and I’m sorry. I gotta go get my kid, done nothin’ but talk to him on the phone for over two months and he’s meetin’ you. Got a lot on my mind and blinds were just one thing too many. You’re in my house and it ain’t in a gated community. It doesn’t have a pool and it doesn’t butt a golf course. You grew up on a farm but you became a woman that doesn’t belong here and right now, it fuckin’ kills me to admit it, I gotta focus on Jonas and I can’t afford to get you the goddamned blinds you want.” His words made me blink but he kept talking. “So, yeah, all that built up, I lost it and I was a dick.”

  “I don’t belong here?” I whispered.

  “
No, babe, clue in,” he answered. “High-class.” His thumb slid across my cheekbone. “Look around you. Not high-class.”

  “I grew up on a farm.”

  “And ended up an executive.”

  “I’m a waitress.”

  “Yeah, now. You think I don’t lose sleep wonderin’ what you gave up and wonderin’ when you’ll want it back and knowin’ I can’t give it to you?”

  “Tate –”

  “I got those demons in my head already, Ace, don’t need you throwin’ them in my face.”

  “I –”

  “In this town, people prioritize and the shit they gotta prioritize is not should they go to Paris for vacation or invest and buy themselves a condo in Vail. It’s a fuckuva lot different.”

  “Tate…” He opened his mouth to speak and my hand clamped over it. “Let me talk.”

  I could tell by his eyes he wasn’t a big fan of my hand over his mouth but I also could tell he was going to let me talk. How I could tell this, I had no clue. I just could. So I took my hand away and put it to the side of his face as he had his at mine.

  “You haven’t had a lot,” I told him.

  “Babe –”

  “Please, honey,” I whispered, he shut his mouth and I went on. “Wanda, at the home store, when she was advising me, she told me to take care of my man. I was trying to take care of you not,” I said sharply when he looked like he was going to speak again, “to take care of you take care of you but to take care of you, like a woman should.” My hand left his face, slid down his chest and around his back. “Baby, you live in a crash pad. Maybe it was stupid and maybe too soon but I was trying to give you a home. I just wanted to give you something because…” I paused. “Because… I don’t know, but I’m guessing, not a lot of people have done that for you and I wanted you to be able to count on me to do it.”

  “So you’re tellin’ me you’re takin’ advice on how to deal with me from some random, nosy chick at a home store?”

  That didn’t sound good.

  “Um…”

  “Ace, your ex, not a man,” he informed me. “I know men who got jobs like him, dress like him who are men, but Brad?” He shook his head. “No man has to make anyone feel less than him to be a man. That makes him less of a man, less of a goddamned person. What you wanted to do was sweet, but, babe, no offense, you don’t know dick about dealin’ with a man.”