Morning Man

by Barbara Kellyn

  Without breaking their gaze, Tack told CJ, “Run along, son. She’s got herself a real man now.”

  “This is my house!” CJ protested. “And you’re not welcome here, Collins.”

  She didn’t buckle. “I live here too and I say Tack can stay.”

  “The hell he can.”

  Tack inflated his chest. “I really don’t want to spoil tonight by fighting, sugar. But I’ll lay him out flat on the lawn if you want me to.”

  As much as she would have loved to see CJ cut down to size, it probably wasn’t a good idea. Tack had a solid forty pounds and a good five inches on him, making it entirely possible that CJ would snap like a dry twig. “Maybe we should just call it a night,” she said softly, resting her palm against Tack’s silver medallion and picking up his heat radiating beneath it. He nodded.

  Dayna got up from the porch swing. “Come on, I’ll walk you to your truck,” she said, scowling at CJ as they passed by. “Asswipe.”

  The front door slammed shut and Tack slipped his arm around her. “You sure it’s okay for me to leave you alone with him? He’s not mentally unstable, is he?”

  “If anyone should be worried about living with a mentally unstable roommate right now, it’s CJ,” she said, leaning up against the driver’s side door. “I’m sorry our evening together had to end so soon.”

  “It doesn’t have to, you know. You could come with me.” He used his whole body to close the space between them. Leaning down, he softly suckled the curve of her neck, the wet heat of his mouth and the scratchy tickle of his beard driving her wild. He cupped both of her breasts and she shuddered, clinging to his shoulders as she ached and stretched for more. Breathless, she sought out his tongue to fill her mouth, reveling in the pleasurable swell of desire that rendered her senseless. His hands slid around her back and moved lower until they gripped her bottom, pulling her hips forward to meet the hard insistence of his body. “I need you,” he panted.

  “Oh God, I can tell.” She bit the corner of her lip, ready to explode as she rubbed against him. Mother of mercy. “I need you too.”

  “Then let’s do something about it,” he said, his seductive voice thick with want.

  In a haze of lust, she opened her eyes but couldn’t steady her focus. “As much as I want to, Tack, I really think we need to take this slow.”

  He dropped his head and groaned into the side of her neck.

  “I know, this is torture for me too. But I promise, delaying our gratification is going to make what’s hot so much hotter.”

  He exhaled deeply. “If you say so, sugar.”

  “Trust me on this. And if things get a little too intense, well, we’ll just have to think about Republicans or something.”

  “It’s gonna be impossible to think about anything but having you from now on.”

  “Glad to hear it.” She whispered against his lips as she caressed his sweet face. “Because that’s been my evil plan all along.”

  Chapter 8

  The control room door crashed open with startling force. “Both of you, in my office the instant you’re off the air.” Bonnie’s command was punctuated with an imposing glare before she disappeared again.

  Tack threw his hands up. “Now what?”

  “I thought we had a pretty good show.” Dayna leaned over the console. “Maybe she’s mad about the Hugh Hefner jokes. But even she has to admit, the dig about the half-dead stiff on the Viagra IV drip was hilarious,” she said with a giggle. “Dickamortis.”

  He twisted his cap around backward. “I still say there’s a perfectly good reason why no Playmate has ever listed sex with an octogenarian as one of her turn-ons.” He re-adjusted his headphones and concentrated on pushing the right buttons instead of dwelling too much on the suggestive talk. Since Friday night, he and Dayna had exchanged nothing more intimate than a few knowing smiles and a lingering glance or two. Fine by him. It was bad enough that his pants grew uncomfortably tight every time he’d mentally undressed her in the studio that morning.

  Dub tottered into master control a few minutes before ten, carrying a stack of CDs. Much to Tack’s surprise, he was smiling. “Morning,” he greeted.

  “Hey, Dubster. How goes it?”

  “All right.” Dub fussed around in the corner. “Good weekend?”

  He nodded. “A couple girls were asking about your whereabouts Friday night at the Roadhouse. You should really try to make it down there.”

  Dub turned around. “Yeah? Like who?”

  “Some cute little chiquita, can’t remember her name. Oh, and Stacie...flirty blonde, followed around by her bone-crushing, ex-con boyfriend?”

  A smile crossed Dub’s face as he stared off into space. “Ooh, yeah. Stacie. She’d be real fun.”

  “If you go for the grenade-juggling type,” he said, fading out Miranda Lambert’s last notes and bringing up a final Brad Paisley tune in her place. He took off the headphones and stood up. “That’s it for me, pal. She’s all yours.”

  “Thanks,” he said, as they switched spots and Dub plunked into the chair.

  While Dub’s mood was amiable, Tack thought it might be a good time to mend fences. “Hey, I’ve been thinking, you know, we should grab a beer sometime soon.”

  Dub slid in closer to the console. “Yeah, let’s do that.”

  Tack left the studio wearing a smile, hopeful that they would patch things up. But when he opened the door to the hallway, his stomach dropped. Dayna stood waiting, her eyes glassy and distant, her arms wrapped tight around her body like she was trying to hold herself together. “What’s wrong?”

  “Look at this.” She thrust a torn piece of newsprint at him. It was their morning show ad, with horns crudely drawn on Dayna, her teeth blackened and SLUT spelled out in large block letters. “It came in today’s mail.”

  He immediately crumpled it inside his fist. He opened his arms and she went to him, burying her face in his shoulder. She trembled and he kissed the top of her head, instinctively needing to protect her while wanting to gut whoever thought such a fucking stupid prank was funny. He held her until she finally pulled back. “Take a nice, deep breath for me,” he said calmly, and she did it, managing a faint smile. “There we go, that’s better. You okay?”

  “I think so.” She nodded.

  “Any idea who might have sent this?” He resisted his impulse to point the finger at CJ, although he’d love to sit that greasy little punk down for a fireside chat very soon.

  “No. There wasn’t a return address. Only a postmark, my name and the station.”

  “If it makes you feel any better, my mailbag’s seen plenty of postcards from cowards and crazies,” he said. “Unfortunately, it comes with the territory of being a local celebrity with a publicly-known zip code. That’s why I don’t even bother posting an e-mail address on the station website. If someone really wants to get hold of me, they can call the front desk.”

  She sniffed. “You’re right. Thanks.”

  He put his arm around her shoulders and gave her a reassuring squeeze as they pivoted and marched toward the boss’s office. “I wouldn’t worry too much about it. Plus, I think Bonnie’s got a bug up her ass that’s gonna take our minds off this for a while.”

  * * * *

  The boss barely acknowledged the pair’s presence when they appeared in her doorway. “Close the door and have a seat,” she said curtly. Dayna perched in an armchair opposite the desk and Tack wisely chose not to goof around with the couch, promptly sitting in the other chair. Bonnie turned to her printer and pulled a sheet off of it. “Take a look at last week’s preliminary ratings.”

  Dayna blinked twice to make sure her eyes weren’t deceiving her. The numbers were solid across the board, showing a gradual and steady incline that peaked with a sudden huge spike on Friday, the day of the billboards’ splashy debut.

  “Wake Up with Tack and Dayna is shaping up to be a huge hit for us,” Bonnie said, her gaze stern and her thin lips still flatlined. “Congratulations. I exp
ect to see much of the same kind of numbers for today’s show as well as the one tomorrow, the next day and the day after that.”

  Dayna looked over at her partner, who appeared as stumped as she was by the strange mixed signals they were getting. “Thanks, Bonnie. That’s good news, I think.”

  “It is good news.” She affirmed with a nod. “Keep it up. If we come out of this with a strong summer book, Hot Country One-oh-three is a shoe-in to land some major national advertising buys through next spring.”

  That all sounded pretty good to Dayna, although she couldn’t shake the sinking feeling the other shoe was about to drop.

  “You know why people tune in to your show? For the very reason I knew it was smart to team you up in the first place.” Bonnie sat back in her desk chair and swiveled from side to side as she glared at them. “In a word, electricity. When you’re on the air, the sparks are palpable. Couple effective theatre of the mind with a potent visual like your billboards, and Pop! Zing! Pow!” Her fingers flared out in front of her. “Fireworks!”

  Tack scratched his chin. “Well, that’s good then, ain’t it?”

  “You tell me.” Bonnie adjusted her flat-screen monitor so they could both see it. With a few keystrokes, she pulled up the website of local gossip blog, The Rumormill. Under the headline Two Steppin’ Out? was a picture of Tack and Dayna laughing on stage at Friday’s remote.

  Hot Country 103 morning team Tack Collins and Dayna Cook made their debut at the Roadhouse Friday night, marking the duo’s first public appearance since the unveiling of the now-infamous billboard that launched a thousand pocket rockets.

  “Nice.” He smirked, leaning forward as they kept reading.

  Galloping in on their theme “Save a Horse, Ride a Cowboy,” the twosome brought their innuendo-laced banter to the popular west-side watering hole, whipping up the countrified crowd into a beer-soaked barroom frenzy. Collins’ and Cook’s racy repartee and flirty PDA left fans in attendance wondering, “Are They or Aren’t They?”

  No reason to speculate any longer, Columbus–this radio double act is definitely hot to trot. And judging by this sizzling candid, it looks like a certain stud in this one-horse town got saved this weekend.

  Bonnie scrolled below the text, revealed a dark, grainy cellphone photo of Tack and Dayna playing tonsil hockey in the parking lot.

  Dayna’s jaw dropped, her stare frozen to the screen. “Oh, shit.”

  After a moment, he fell back into his chair again. “So what? It’s just some dumb schmuck’s blog. And besides, all publicity for the station is good publicity,” he reminded Bonnie. “Everything else is none of anyone’s damn business.”

  “We didn’t sleep together,” Dayna volunteered out of sheer embarrassment, the disclosure prompting Tack to turn his head and scowl.

  “It doesn’t matter whether we did or didn’t, or we will or won’t. What we do on the air and what we do in private are two completely separate matters.”

  Bonnie flipped the monitor around again. “I realize you’re both consenting adults, Tack,” she said all too calmly. “But I have invested a considerable amount of my station’s budget to ensure your show is a success and you’re not going to ruin everything because you can’t keep the one-eyed snake in its cage.”

  His nostrils flared. “What exactly are you getting at?”

  Bonnie leaned on her desk. She may have been small in size, but her heavyweight glower gave her the presence of a Mack truck. “You two sleep together, and it’s all over.”

  “What kind of bullshit is that?” he snapped.

  “You have a chemistry that can’t be forced or faked. It’s hot. It’s combustible. And it’s obvious that there’s a real attraction between you, God bless.”

  “Sorry,” Dayna said, shaking her head. “You’ve lost me.”

  “You think it’s a coincidence that the billboards are provocative? They were intended to capture your spark. People want to hear you toy and tease and tantalize each other. But you two hit the sheets and, bam, suddenly that spark is extinguished for good.”

  Dayna quietly fumed. “That’s totally ridiculous. As if we are completely incapable of being entertaining without sexual tension.”

  “Sam and Diane on Cheers,” Bonnie spouted. “Everyone was rooting for them to get together, and remember what happened when they did? Suddenly, not so funny anymore.”

  “Cheers is a far cry from Wake Up with Tack and Dayna,” she countered.

  “Moonlighting? Bruce Willis took a roll in the hay with the blonde dame and the show’s ratings plummeted like a stone. That was the end of everything.”

  Tack grabbed the back of his neck and squeezed hard, leaving a red handprint that took several seconds to fade. “You’ve got to be kidding.”

  “I’ve got a huge chunk of this station’s advertising budget riding on the fact that I’m not,” Bonnie said. “You must keep that edge.”

  Dayna gulped. “How long are we talking here?”

  “I’m not a fool, dear, and pictures speak a thousand words. Eventually, you two will do whatever comes naturally. I’m only asking you to hold off for eight weeks before getting it out of your systems. Just get me to the end of the summer book.”

  With a steep degree of uncertainty, Dayna looked over at Tack. Big, broad, beautiful Tack whose long, slow kisses made her go mindless with lust. Although she’d planned to teasingly keep him at bay a little longer, she had a week, maybe two of prolonged foreplay in mind. Eight was going to be sheer hell. “And just how do you think you’re going to control what we do on our own time outside the station?”

  “I’ve already thought of that,” Bonnie said, shuffling papers around her ink blotter. “Originally, I hoped you’d offer to do this solely based on the honor system but then realized it might be asking too much. I still remember what it’s like to be young and itchy too. So, I’ve come up with a financial incentive that oughta do it.”

  He grumbled. “This better be fucking unbelievable.”

  “Fifteen hundred dollars a week split between you,” she said. “I’m setting aside twelve grand to be paid in full if you can stay out of bed between now and Labor Day.”

  As stunned as she was by the bucket of cold water they were being doused with, Dayna was shocked by that seriously rich offer. A sudden infusion of cash would mean she was only eight weeks away from moving out and getting as far away as possible from CJ. “That’s mighty generous, isn’t it Tack?”

  “How can you even consider agreeing to something so ludicrous?”

  “Come on, it’s only eight weeks. And besides, I think you know there’s a lot that each of us could do with that kind of money.”

  A smile came up on Bonnie’s round face. “I don’t care what you do with it. Make a bed of small bills and fornicate your brains out on it. But not until after you bring in my summer ratings.”

  * * * *

  “Can I see you a moment?” Tack grabbed Dayna’s arm in the hallway and hauled her into the music library. “Are you out of your mind?”

  She blinked. “What?”

  “Eight weeks?”

  “Yeah, I know. It does sound like a long time.”

  “It’s the whole damn summer. I don’t know if I can do that,” he said, feeling a dull throb poke at his temples. “What if Bonnie’s wrong? What if we just do it and no one knows?”

  “But what if she’s right, we do it and then everybody knows?” She leaned against the stacks and sighed. “It’s twelve thousand dollars, Tack. I don’t know what kind of shape your bank book is in, but I would be willing to lick the cheese between Dub’s toes to get my hands on a fraction of that,” she said. “I need to move into my own place. Six grand would do very nicely in getting me back on my feet again.”

  “If it’s just about the money, I told you that I’ll lend you whatever you need.”

  “And I already told you I can’t do that. I need to do this on my own.”

  He scowled. “At what cost?”

  “
Eight weeks is just…” She bit down on her bottom lip while she calculated. “Like, less than sixty days. Come on, you can handle that, can’t you?”

  “No, I can’t. And no amount of cash is going to make me suffer from blue balls for eight fucking weeks, either.”

  She met his eyes with a glare. “Look, Collins, you aren’t in that deep yet. Sure, we had fun Friday night and there’s obviously a connection between us worth exploring but if this is going to be too painful or difficult for you, then cut your losses now.”

  “Cut my losses?”

  “Bonnie only stipulated that you and I don’t sleep together. She didn’t say you had to become a priest. I don’t care if you screw a hundred women this summer. Hell, I’m sure you can name off a dozen groupies who’d love to give you a hand–”

  With a sudden rush of blood roaring through him, he seized her shoulders and crushed her against his chest, lustfully possessing her with his mouth. She resisted for a moment before softening with a sweet gasp, her lower lip sliding under his tongue as she opened up to him. He put everything he had into it and as their kiss deepened, she grabbed a fistful of his t-shirt and greedily tugged him closer, pressing her abdomen tight to him. The full-body contact sent a shock of electricity through his veins. When she finally pulled back, all hot-cheeked and heavy lidded, a smile crept up on her moist, kiss-plumped lips. He held her so close he could feel her heart pounding on top of his. “Don’t you dare kiss me like that and then say you don’t care if I’m with other women.”

  Her hips continued to grind against the front of his jeans. “So, okay, maybe I do care.” She heaved a sigh with a resigned gust. “But just so you know, I don’t expect you to totally abstain from sex for eight weeks. You’re not tied down to me.”

  “Shut up or I swear, I’ll kiss you again,” he said, pretending to sound fierce.

  She reached up and stroked his face. “Don’t think this is easy on me either.” Her body rubbed up on him while she pressed her supple lips against his rapidly-pulsing neck. “Since Friday night, all I can think about is how badly I want to feel you beside me, below me, on top of me,” she whispered. “Sliding inside me.”