by Mia Kerick
“You sleep okay?”
“Never better.” A surprisingly honest answer.
“I’ve been waiting for you to wake up.”
“You have?” I don’t think I’ve ever blushed in bed until now. “What for?”
That grin—more rousing than morning sun. “A couple things.”
He climbs onto me as he did last night and allows the weight of his body to drop on my chest. It pushes the air out of my lungs, but I don’t mind.
“First, this.” He covers my mouth with his and kisses me eagerly. Like a kid with a new toy.
“Nice way to start a new day,” I croak when he finally lifts his head to gaze down into my eyes.
“I agree.” As soon as he rolls off me, I miss his heat and his weight. “There’s something else.”
I pull myself up so that I’m sitting naked in my bed, my back against the headboard. “What is it?”
Bodie moves to the edge of the bed and throws his feet over the side and onto the floor, presenting me with his broad, sculpted back. “Last night I said I didn’t much want to talk.”
“Yeah, I remember. I hope I didn’t press you for too many details.”
“Nah, you didn’t.”
An awkward silence falls between us, and I honestly don’t know what to do about it. We woke up somehow still in sync with each other, but it was short-lived. This morning’s discussion is by his choice, though. So, awkward or not, I do something that I’ve become accustomed to with Bodie: I wait.
“I didn’t want to talk last night because I didn’t want to tell you what I said to Jack to make him back off.”
“I’ve been wondering how you managed to get out of Jack’s office with your job intact.”
Bodie draws me to the edge of the bed so I’m beside him. I drag the sheet over my waist, suddenly aware I’m stark naked and he’s still wearing his trusty gray sweatpants. “So, here it is: I told him the truth.”
“The truth?”
“Yep, that’s right.” He takes my hand in his and laces our fingers together. “I told him that I couldn’t be with him ’cause I’m falling for you.”
“I…uh…” I scramble for the right words but don’t find them. “Bodie…”
“And Jack, well, he turned a little bit green. Said something like me and you aren’t ever gonna happen. Then told me to get the fuck outta his office. But he didn’t fire me.”
“You’re falling for me?” I don’t give a shit what shade of green Jack turned.
“I thought you would’ve figured it out already, seeing as what went down between us in this bed last night.”
Some guys give out hand jobs like grocery flyers. But I found one who thinks every act of physical passion is a precious part of caring about somebody.
“Not sure how smooth it’s gonna go at work tonight, but they say honesty’s the best policy, right?”
“That’s what they say.” I’m worried about tonight too. Jack showed a vindictive side when I refused to fall back into bed with him after the fucking-his-hair-stylist-on-the-couch incident. I experienced a disturbing amount of creepy late-night phone calls for months after I told him it was over, and the verbal harassment continues to this day.
“Come on, I’ll help you fix breakfast.” He grins.
And just like that, I’m in a relationship. I’m ninety-nine per cent certain I’m happy about it. The missing one percent is scared shitless.
Chapter 9
There’s so much about Bodie that I don’t know. My biggest question is how he can be so shrewd when it comes to keeping drunks in a bar under control, but so guileless with personal matters. He’ll take on three burly assholes with nothing but his two fists without a second thought. But he does not understand that honesty, when it comes to a person like Jack Wheeler, is no defense at all.
I glance at the door where Bodie is fending off the avid attention of three yoga instructors I recognize—both male and female—from Island Creative Poses Studio. He’s doing his best to prevent their interest from escalating by sidestepping from their space and pushing back gently on roving hands, but they aren’t having it. I see what he’s doing, though, and it means a lot. It wasn’t too long ago that the same three yoga instructors were doing their best to win Jack’s attentions and succeeding.
And Jack hasn’t showed his face at Surf’s Up since last Saturday night when Bodie told him his heart was otherwise engaged. That can’t be good.
The bar is less busy than usual, being a drizzly Tuesday evening. This allows me the luxury of spending more time on crafting each drink rather than slamming beverages on the bar.
“Hey, Mika, take a sip of this Painkiller.” I wave the tropical drink beneath her nose.
“A secret recipe?”
“Of course,” I reply coyly.
She snatches the glass, bypasses the paper straw, and sips from the side. “If you weren’t gay, I’d kidnap you and make you my own private bartending sex slave.”
“In other words, you like it?”
“In other words, I want you to make me and Nico some Painkillers at closing, so we can, like, sip tropical deliciousness, stare into each other’s eyes, and feel no pain under a fake palm tree.”
“Anything for you, Mika. Think you can hold down the fort for a few minutes? I want to run to the convenience store down the street to grab every jar of cherries they have. Got another drink in mind.”
“Jack forgot to order cherries again?” She rolls her eyes. I’m much better at keeping up with supply orders than Jack, but I need to choose my battles.
Do not throw Jack under the bus. “Could be that we’ve just gone overboard with the cherries this week. Who’s to say? In any case, we don’t have any, and I can’t make an Old-Fashioned without them. Not to mention my special Cherry Pie Whiskey Sour.”
“OMG, me and Nico also need to try that tonight under the fake palm tree.”
“You know your wish is my command.” When did I become so comfortable in my relationship with Mika? “I’ll be back in ten minutes.”
I race for the door, visions of cherry drinks in my head. Bodie surprises me by grabbing my bicep as I slip outside. “Where ya going?”
“Just to the convenience store. We ran out of cherries.”
“I’ll go for you. The door’s not busy.”
“No, you seem rather occupied right now.” I glance pointedly at the yoga instructors. “Don’t want to drag you away from your job responsibilities.”
I had no idea Bodie was capable of such embarrassment. Beneath his Stetson, the sides of his face grow as red as the cherries I’m heading out to purchase.
“I’m kidding,” I murmur. “I could actually use a breath of fresh air.”
“It’s raining, Ollie.”
“No worries. I’m waterproof.” I slip out the door, smiling at Bodie’s chagrin. He actually cares enough to blush when other people flirt with him.
I trot down the street, dodging from one business’s rooftop overhang to the next. Nonetheless, I’m soaking wet when I get to the Gillie Convenience Mart. I shake the rain from my hair, grab a basket, and dart to the aisle that’s usually fairly well stocked with jarred and canned goods. I fill the basket with all five jars of cherries on the shelf.
At the register I’m startled by an unwelcome sight. Stocky drunk guy buying cigarettes. And watching me.
“And so, we meet again,” he says in a cheerful tone. As if our last meeting was a pleasant one.
I don’t meet his stare. “I’m on my way back to work.”
He glances at the jars in my basket. “Pretty sure I’m too late to pop your cherry, baby, but I’ll get over it.” There’s no fitting response to his disgusting quip, so I don’t reply. “You’re way too uptight. You need to relax.” The man sounds like Jack. And I’m sincerely not in the mood for his BS. “Name’s Dale.” He reaches out to shake my hand.
I refuse to acknowledge the gesture and place the jars on the counter. “I’m in a hurry.”
His nostrils flar
e with fury as he pulls back his hand. “So you got no time for an old friend?”
I sigh. “No. I don’t.”
“You’re a little bitch.”
I’m pretty sure he told me this once before. I fight not to yawn in his face. “Take a hike, Dale.” I hold out my credit card to the cashier. “I’m gonna need a receipt.”
Dale snatches the card from my outstretched hand and reads it. “Oliver Tunstead.”
“Give it back.”
“Oh, don’t worry. I got no interest in your money, Oliver.” He passes the card to the wide-eyed cashier. “I want something else from you. See you around.”
“Asshole,” I mutter and quickly forget him. As I walk down the street with my bag of maraschino cherries, all I can think about is Bodie sipping one of my Cherry Pie Whiskey Sours at the bar.
The rain has let up, so I take it slower on my way back to work. As I pass the hardware store, a voice I recognize bellows, “Hey, asshole!”
I’m dragged unceremoniously out of my deep thought and into a narrow alleyway I’ve never before noticed. I drop the bag of cherries on the street as I start to struggle. In the midst of my panic, the smash of breaking glass confirms that my journey was in vain.
Yanking my wrists from the biting grasp, I simultaneously turn to run, but pain overwhelms me. First, a sharp burst on the side of my left eye, and second later another to the back of my head with something harder and sharper than a fist.
I sag to the ground in something of a daze, dizzy and terrified and too panicky for a quick reaction. In front of me a face…Blurry but very real and pissed-off to the max. “Dale…”
“You dissed me one too many times, Oliver.”
“I just…wanna go…back to work.” I’m not sure why I can’t catch my breath. I should probably chalk it up to the sure knowledge that the back of my head has been split wide open.
“Oh, yeah, right. Back to Surf’s Up, where your cowboy bodyguard won’t let me anywhere near you.” His fingernails slice into my arms.
“C-come on…Let g-go of me.” It’s tough to find my voice too.
“Not on your life.” His breath smells like whiskey and cigarette smoke. “We coulda had something good, me and you. And I asked you nice, but you made me do it this way.”
“What?” It’s hard to believe I’m actually hearing Dale suggest he wanted some kind of a relationship with me as he shoves me onto my back.
“Been waiting for you outside the bar for nights now—but you always leave Surf’s Up with your incredible fucking hulk bodyguard. Imagine my surprise when I saw you sneak out the door all by yourself at nine o’clock.”
“You’ve been stalking me?”
“Of course, I have. How else would I get you alone?” He looks at me as if I’m deluded before he draws back and swings, his fist landing deep in my gut. And then a few more to my ribs, but who’s counting? “Gotta make sure you can’t get up and leave before we have some fun.”
My belly feels at the same time hollow and bloated, and my ribs burn; I fight the urge to vomit. “Stop it!”
“Now kiss me like you mean it.” Our teeth collide as his mouth bears down brutally on mine.
All I can think of to do is toss my head from side to side. To still me, he grabs my hair with one hand, and with the other he pulls my wrists over my head, pinning them to the damp ground.
“This’ll go easier for you if you behave, pretty boy,” he teases before his lips again devour mine.
When I can finally manage to twist my head to the side, my belly heaves, but all I bring up is spit. Though sickened and worn, my struggle rekindles when his fingers find my crotch, and I understand just what he has in mind. He rips down the zipper of my shorts, and then yanks them and my boxers to my knees. With surprising composure, he smooths his hand over my belly and groin. “Your skin is silky, just like I knew it would be.”
He then flips me over like I’m a child’s doll, and my fighting spirit returns in full force. “Don’t do this…” My kicking doesn’t help.
“I’m gonna do what I want now that I got you alone. You might even like it.”
He spits a few times and drives several fingers between my ass cheeks. I hear myself beg. “Please, Dale, don’t do this!”
And then his bruising weight is just…gone. The probing fingers disappear. He no longer breathes into my ear. In fact, it’s obscenely quiet, and I’m incredibly aware of my nakedness. My need for modesty compels me, so before I think to pray or call for help, I yank up my shorts. Only then do I release the air bursting from my lungs—the breath I’ve held on to since I was dragged into the alley.
“You’re fuckin’ dead.” Not Dale’s voice. But one I know well.
“Get the hell outta here, cowboy!”
I close my eyes in an effort to block out the world. Too bad life doesn’t work that way.
“Shut. The. Fuck. Up.” And then the sound of fists meeting flesh. Pounding and pounding. And soon a coppery smell. Blood.
“B-bodie?” My voice erupts as a mere rasp.
The sounds of a brutal beating stop. “I’m sorry,” he says.
Strong arms lift me from the ground and carry me. I don’t ask where we’re going. I don’t much care. I just want to be out of this alley. Across the planet from Dale, if possible. Far from the excruciating pain and the smell of blood and the debilitating fear.
“I’m sorry—I should’ve taken care of you first.”
“It’s all right.” Damp and terrified, my shivering is out of control.
“This ain’t all right.” His breathing is more labored than mine.
“Set me on my feet, Bodie. I can stand.”
He hesitates while considering my request, but ultimately complies. “Can you hang on to me on the back of the bike? Do you have the strength?”
“I-I think so.”
He leads me to the parking lot behind Surf’s Up where his Harley is parked. “Let me help you get on.”
“Bodie, you can’t leave the bar. G-go back inside and tell Mika I’m sick. I’ll take an Uber home.”
“Fuck that.” He helps me to climb onto the bike and then carefully mounts in front of me. “Put your arms around me, Ollie.”
Still trembling, I do as he says but continue my argument, however weak. “Y-you can’t leave. They can’t close the p-place with both of us g-gone.”
Bodie pulls his phone from the back pocket of his jeans and, from what I can gather, places a brief text. “There, it’s done.”
“What’s done?” I’m starting to feel dizzy again. With shaky hands, I clutch him tighter, so I don’t fall over. “What did you do?”
“I texted Jack. Told him to get off his ass and come into Surf’s Up ’cause we gotta go.”
That’s almost funny enough to draw a chuckle from my tender belly. “He’s not gonna be happy.”
“Ask me if I give a fuck.” Bodie starts his bike. The rumble sends a fresh jolt of pain through my body. “I’m taking you home.”
I soak in the tub for at least twenty minutes. It warms me, eases my aching body, and allows me a chance to collect myself. Bodie knocks once on the door to alert me of his presence and enters the bathroom with a towel and a pair of soft cotton pajama pants he found in my bureau drawer.
He doesn’t look directly at me, for which I’m thankful. “I’ll just leave these on the hamper and go. Unless you need a hand gettin’ out of the tub.”
“No, thanks. I can do it myself.”
“I’ll wait for you in the hall.”
Once he closes the door behind him, I pull the drain and drag myself from the bathtub. It hurts like hell, but I manage to dry off and pull on the pajama pants.
I need to prepare myself to face Bodie, so I glance in the mirror over the sink and examine my face. I want to know what he’ll see when he looks at me. My left eye is swollen shut. When we first got home, Bodie insisted that I sit on the couch and ice my eye and ribs until I was shaking like a leaf in autumn from the shock and co
ld. And he still has no idea about the damage to the back of my head, as it’s hidden beneath my hair.
The worst part of all this is that Bodie saw what Dale was trying to do to me at the end. When my shorts were hanging around my knees, and Dale was doing his best to jam his fingers into me. And I was completely helpless.
I don’t think I can look at Bodie. I need time to find myself—I’ve only ever been able to accomplish this alone.
“Bodie, go to bed. I’m fine—I just need some sleep,” I call through the door.
Silence. I hope this means he got sick of waiting for me and already went to his bedroom.
I crack the bathroom door and peek into the hallway. It’s dark. Only a slim stream of light shines in from a wall sconce in the living room. Bodie’s likely in bed and I’m safe to creep to my bedroom and lick my wounds in private.
I tiptoe down the hall. My head is throbbing as are my sides, so I have trouble keeping my balance and stop to brace myself against the wall.
“You’re not okay.”
Bodie’s voice makes me jump. I was hoping so hard he’d gone to bed that I let myself believe it. “I’ve been better.”
“I’ll help you into bed.”
A flash of relief overwhelms me, and I hate myself for it. I’m not one to depend on anybody but Oliver Tunstead.
“Where’s Hugo?” I ask. Talk about changing the subject—I’m still the king.
“He’s sleeping in my bedroom. I let him outside for a few minutes while you were in the bathtub.”
“Thanks.”
Bodie slides his arm beneath my shoulder to support me. “Come on.”
We stagger together down the hall and into my room. My covers have already been pulled back and my bed is ready for me to slip inside. Bodie holds on to my waist as I climb in, like I’m made of glass. But when he puffs my pillow, he discovers my sizable head wound.
“What the flying fuck is this?” His fingers rifle though my damp hair, examining the swollen lump.
“It’s just a bruise. And I cleaned it in the tub.”
“This ain’t no bruise,” Bodie growls. He gently pushes my head to the side and sweeps up my hair so he can examine it. “Shit, Ollie. This could probably use a couple stitches. It’s still bleeding.”