Love Me Like You Do: Books That Keep You In Bed

by Fields, MJ

  “That’s always your first question.”

  She holds the back of her hand to her head and leans back. “I am on my final days. When you get to be my age, the clock ticks louder. I’d like to see some great-grandchildren before my demise.”

  “You’re more likely to get them out of Emma. She and Parker are looking at condos.”

  Grandma leans in, but this time, she actually whispers, “I don’t like that boy.”

  I return her sentiment, “Me either.”

  We’re the only two in the family who aren’t impressed with Emma’s boyfriend, Parker Ryles.

  First of all, he’s a flautist with the Pittsburgh Symphony. Second of all, he’s a total pretentious asshole. He’s the kind of guy who talks about Monet like it’s a religious experience or how he was moved to tears when he walked the Great Wall. He says Ohn-teh-mehnn’s instead of Entenmann’s, and he said he’d rather smoke crack than shop in a Walmart. If he were here, he’d convince Emma to ditch the bonfire and stay in with him to watch a documentary on some boring historical icon, and then they’d talk about said documentary for hours.

  But I digress.

  I don’t hate him for those reasons. I hate him because, every time he walks into my parents’ house, he makes comments about “quaint Americana” and “how interesting it must have been to grow up in a home with one shower.”

  In short, he’s a douche with a flute.

  “Your mother told me you’re dating a police officer,” Grandma says and then takes a swig of her drink.

  I look into the dining room at the crazy cat lady that is Pam Paige. She really needs to get her gossip in order.

  “Sorry, Gram. No handcuff-fetish fantasies for you. Adam is just someone I’m volunteering with.”

  “Adam?” She shakes her glass, making the ice clank. “This wouldn’t happen to be the boy from high school?”

  “No, that was Brad.”

  She lowers her head and gives me the stern eye. Her blues, which I inherited, are looking at me through cataracts. “I’m talking about the one who carried you home after you sprained your ankle.”

  My mouth drops with the notion that, “You remember that?”

  “That kind of act is never forgotten.”

  She’s right.

  Adam and I were practicing in his driveway when I tried doing a layup. It was a poor attempt. I dribbled the ball, taking three steps, and leaped up on my left foot, arched my right arm with the ball, and dramatically missed the hoop. I came crashing hard on the ground and rolled my ankle.

  Adam was on the ground beside me in an instant. His hands were gentle on my injured leg. “I don’t think it’s broken.”

  The sharp shooting pain radiated from my foot and up my calf. I reached for my ankle in agony but couldn’t actually touch it. My eyes were scrunched in, my mouth pulled back to fight the pain. “Feels like it.”

  “You need to see a doctor though. Shit.” He sounded worried.

  My eyes opened and looked down at my ankle. I expected to see a bone sticking out or something. “What is it?”

  “I don’t have a car.”

  “Oh.” I bit my lip as I studied his brow. It was turned down, and his teeth were grazing his lip. The pain in my ankle temporarily disappeared.

  Temporarily.

  “Ow!” I tried to move my foot, and the blistering pain shot straight to my head. I fought back the tears.

  “We have to get you home. Hop on.” He turned around and offered me his back.

  “I can call my dad. He’ll pick me up.”

  “I can get you there faster.”

  He tugged on my arm and draped it over his shoulder. I wrapped my arms around his neck and let him lift me off the ground. He swept my leg up with one hand and then my injured leg with the other.

  For a mile, I buried my head in his neck and breathed in the sweet scent of Adam while he told me the story of every broken bone he’d ever gotten—a broken collarbone from peewee football, an arm from rollerblading, and his nose from walking into a baseball bat. I accused him of being accident-prone. He said it was just a hazard from always being in the middle of the action.

  When we got to my house, my mom ran out in a frantic mess.

  Turned out, it was a minor sprain that healed rather quickly. There was no need for the urgent rush home, but the gesture is one that has lived in my memory all these years…and Grandma’s, too, apparently.

  “Good men are born that way. You find one, and you hang on to him,” she says.

  I want to tell her exactly why I’m hanging out with Adam again, but that would mean bringing up the accident, and I don’t need her worrying about me or the bar. Especially not after she cashed in her bonds.

  “If he’s so good, what’s he gonna do with a sinner like me?”

  “Isn’t it always the angels who like to run with the devil?” she teases.

  I laugh. A little devil, I am. A hell-raiser, as my mom likes to call me. The truth is, I’ve never really gotten into trouble. I used to sneak out of the house in the middle of the night, but what teenager hasn’t? I’ve been on my fair share of spring break vacations and go to just about every party I’m invited to, as long as I’m not working. But a lawbreaker? A bad girl? It’s part of the facade, the image I project to the people I know.

  “Dad says I should show people just how good I am on the inside. Problem is, I wouldn’t even know how to begin.”

  “That’s simple,” she says, patting my cheek like I’m a four-year-old child.

  I peek up at her with eager eyes, beckoning her wisdom.

  “Just do what you do best.”

  With a raised brow, I ask, “And what’s that?”

  “Throw a party.”

  Nine

  “This was a great idea!” Suzanne yells over the crowd, her yellow plastic hard hat on her head.

  It’s Construction Night at The Bucking Bronco, so we’ve been handing them out to everyone who walks in.

  “I need you to get people on the wrecking ball.” I hand her a tool belt with cash in it. “It’s a five-dollar donation to ride, so make sure they pay first.”

  She volunteered to help since the staff is crazy busy tonight.

  She looks up at the three-feet-in-diameter wrecking ball that is hanging from the ceiling. We removed the bull for the night, the ball hanging over the padded area where the bull usually sits. Riders have to sign our standard liability waiver.

  “Where did you get that?” she asks, pointing to the ball.

  “The guys at the scrapyard made it for me.”

  She lets out a laugh. “Of course they did. I bet they installed it, too.”

  “Hell yeah, they did. Even had the fire commissioner come and check it for safety. It passed with flying colors.” I beam.

  She chuckles and pats my shoulder. “The things you do when no one is watching astound me.”

  “Let’s just hope no one kills themselves. If they’re too drunk, they’re a no-go. Paulie is checking everyone before they get on.”

  There’s a squeal heard, so we both look up to see a girl flying in the air on the ball, doing her best Miley Cyrus impression. While she might think she’s being sexy, she actually looks like a hot mess.

  I walk over to the bar and make sure the bartenders don’t need backup. They are working hard as the crowd grows. We’re serving some specialty drinks, including screwdrivers, rusty nails, harvey wallbangers, velvet hammers, and boilermakers. I even have two extra shot girls walking around, serving cheap booze out of paint cups.

  With my super-short khaki shorts, bright orange tank top, and adorable construction boots I found for half off, I hop up onto the bar and call out to my crowd, “Who’s ready to break those boots in tonight?”

  Everyone cheers, so I continue, “We’re doing things a little different. When you walked in, you were given a hard hat. Make sure you keep that on because things are gonna get a little crazy in here! This is an active construction site, so watch out for falling
debris.”

  On cue, the bartenders grab their confetti guns and shoot bright yellow streamers into the crowd. The room fills with paper, and everyone reaches up to grab some.

  “All right! We’re raising money for a very special charity tonight. It’s called Homes for All Souls, and you can find information about it on the flyers on the tables.” I grab my special bottle of vodka. “Now, you’ve all been working too damn hard on this job site, so it’s time to party!”

  Paulie plays my song, and I do my Saturday night ritual.

  The staff is on point tonight. I had the girls come in early to go over the specialty drink recipes. Ron, who happens to be a graphics whiz, made a great ad to put on our Facebook and Instagram pages. We had white tank tops with our theme night logo printed for us at the press on Main Street. Everyone is in the spirit of the theme, and it’s a relief to have an amazing crew by my side.

  I’m pouring liquor into someone’s mouth, when I spy out of the corner of my eye, one of the guys Victoria was partying with the night she got high. He has long blond hair and a beard. He’s standing in the far corner, talking with some girls. It looks innocent enough, so I turn away and go back to dancing. Noreen is extra sexy tonight, getting her twerk on. I know I have moves, but my ass can’t jiggle like that. I give hers a pat and walk back toward the other end of the bar. I strut my boots back and forth and hop down before the song is over.

  “Great party, Leah!” Jessica shouts over the music. Her mega boobs are trying to break out of a too-tight tank top. “The charity sounds awesome. Are they looking for more volunteers?”

  “Yes!”

  Not only do we need more people, but I could also use some friends on the scene to make my days a little more fun.

  “I’m teaching a summer program for the next few weeks, but after that, I’d love to lend the time.”

  She flips her hair and shows off her gorgeous, silky skin. She’s so pretty. I need to set her up with someone. Maybe she’d hit it off with Tim or Gary from Homes for All Souls.

  “I’ll text you the details.” I’m walking to the wrecking ball when I see the guy from the bike gang again.

  He puts his hand inside his pants pocket, takes something out, and palms it to one of the girls. My head goes into high alert. I look for Juice, who is at the front, all the way at the other end of the bar. Ron is in the back. Paulie is closest, helping a girl off the wrecking ball.

  “Paulie,” I call out to him, “grab Ron!”

  Without asking why, Paulie gets the two-hundred-fifty-pound bouncer while I work my way toward the exchange.

  “What do you have there?” I ask the girls.

  I recognize them. They’re a year older than Luke, which means they’re still in college and barely drinking age.

  “Nothing,” one says, holding her palms up.

  The other is clenching on to the shoulder strap of her bag like it contains a million dollars.

  I turn to the guy. His eyes are clear. His stance is confident, not like someone who did something wrong. For a second, I wonder if I made up what I saw. I eye up the girls and then look back at him.

  “What did you give them?”

  He smirks at me—freaking smirks—while leaning back onto the wall, crossing his arms, wearing his long-sleeved shirt even though it’s a thousand degrees and the middle of the summer.

  My nostrils flare. I whip my head to the girls. “Did you buy heroin from this creep?”

  “Heroin? No way. That stuff is harsh! We just got a few pills,” one girl says like it’s the most normal thing in the world. She puts a hand on her hip, her chin tilted down at me. “Come on, Leah, you know how to party. What’s the big deal?”

  “I don’t party like that,” I state as Ron and Paulie come up behind me.

  Ron grabs the biker to haul his ass out.

  “Watch the leather,” the biker says.

  I want to kill him for sounding like the great McConaughey from Dazed and Confused. Ron doesn’t seem to care as he pulls the guy away.

  I turn to the girls. “Did you take anything? Where are the pills?”

  The stares I’m getting in return show they realize the seriousness of the situation.

  “I’m calling a cab for you.”

  “You can’t make us go anywhere,” one of the girls says.

  “Of course I can. No drugs are allowed in my bar. And I’ll be damned if something happens to you on my watch.”

  “It’s not your bar,” the other says with a hip sway and a way-too-cocky attitude.

  I’m reeling at the fact that, out of this whole situation, that is the one thing she heard.

  “Out!” My hand points to the door.

  “Whatever. This place blows anyway.” She starts walking out.

  I follow them to the front, making sure they get their filth out of here.

  As I’m escorting the girls out, Ron and Paulie are walking in. Juice is inside the door, sitting on a stool.

  “He’s gone?” I ask, referring to the biker.

  “Yeah,” Ron says. He walks back to his post in the back of the bar.

  I look out the front window at the girls walking away. I really would prefer it if they had a ride. I have no idea what they took or when it’s going to kick in.

  “Damn it,” I say to myself.

  I walk out the front. I can’t in good conscience let them go, no matter how bitchy and immature they might be. I look to the right and see them in the parking lot, doing exactly what I was hoping they wouldn’t do. They’re talking to the drug-dealer biker.

  “Change your mind?” He pushes off the streetlight he was resting against and stands upright. “Three’s a crowd, but four’s a party.”

  Ignoring him, I look to the girls. “Why don’t you come back in? I’ll give you a ride home myself.”

  People are walking from their cars toward the bar, about to start their night to party. I give them a smile as they pass. The biker doesn’t seem to care if he has an audience or not. His attention is solely fixed on me and the sliver of skin showing between my shirt and shorts.

  His heavy boots thud on the concrete as he moves closer, making a clomping sound with each step. The closer he gets, the bigger he seems. He squeezes his dark brown eyes and slowly licks his front teeth. “I bet I could show you a real good time.”

  He raises a hand toward my cheek, but I force it away.

  “Don’t touch me.”

  He gives another smirk. His voice is low and a little raspy. “You’re missing out on a golden opportunity. With your connections in there, we could push a grand a night, easy.”

  He takes a step closer, and I fall back, catching myself on the side door of a car. A glimmer of sweat beads on my chest as my nerves catch up to me. The smell of leather and something sweet permeates off his body and into the air, which is odd because he’s not wearing leather. I’m about to call out to Juice even though he’s inside the front doors when an arm comes flying out and shoves the biker back.

  Adam pushes me to the side and goes after the guy again. The biker falls back, and Adam is on top of him, yanking him up by the collar and hauling him toward a police cruiser.

  The girls run off. I yell out to them, but it’s no use. One look at Adam, and their fear of being arrested just overwhelmed any sense of clarity they might have had.

  “What the fuck?” the biker asks as Adam cuffs him.

  He pats the guy down and reveals a screwdriver from the back pocket. He holds it up to the biker’s cheek.

  “Is this to clean your pipe?” He then digs into a front pocket. He pulls out what looks like mini water balloons and a Ziploc bag of pills. He gives the guy a second shove.

  “What was that for?” the guy asks, his face smooshed into the metal of the car.

  “For being a fucking scumbag!” Adam reads him his rights and slams the door with a velocity so powerful that I’m surprised it doesn’t fall off.

  He turns around and stalks toward me. “Damn it, Leah, what the hell
were you thinking?”

  His body is ignited, full of anger, with his shoulders up and hands clenched tightly. He’s red-faced and tight-jawed. I can feel the heat of burning rage pouring off of him.

  Juice and Paulie come rushing out of the front entrance.

  “What’s going on here?” Paulie asks, his chest puffed in alarm. “Are you okay?”

  I nod to let him know I’m fine, despite the fact that my heart is beating wildly in my chest and I can’t seem to catch my breath.

  Turning back to Adam, I shudder as I speak, more affected by the incident than I initially thought, “He was dealing inside my bar. We kicked him out.”

  Adam points to Juice. “You let her come out here with that piece of shit?” he shouts, irate, eyes wild with accusation and disgust.

  In an act of bravado, Juice starts toward Adam, but I hold my arm out to him.

  “I came out here to take care of those two girls who fled when you showed up. Now, they’re off gallivanting with pills in their system.”

  “What were you planning to do? Take them home? They would have just gone out again and did whatever the hell they wanted.”

  “I had to try!” I cry. “I couldn’t just let them leave.”

  Adam takes a step toward me. “This town has been going to shit, people have been getting high in this bar for years, and now, you suddenly have a conscience?”

  My mouth falls open. “Tell me how you really feel.”

  Paulie chimes in, “That’s not true. We keep this place clean. We’ve never had a problem.”

  Adam clenches his jaw. “Wonder why that is.” He’s still staring at me as he inches closer. “Nice outfit,” he says.

  I look down at my construction-worker ensemble. My jaw trembles. “So what? You’ve been using our bar to track drug deals. Maybe that’s something you should have let us in on.”

  “And have you play vigilante like you did tonight? That guy is a small pawn in the grand chess game that is Cedar Ridge narcotics. He should be leading us to bigger fish, but now, I have to haul his ass in and book him.”

  “So, this is my fault? I was trying to help those girls,” I cry.

  “You play and party and pretend like everything is A-OK. But guess what, sweetheart? This isn’t Leah’s world. Shit happens. People die.”