by Lilly Wilde
Ethan stopped touching me like he used to. His deep passionate kisses all but disappeared. And the desperation he’d always held for my body became a thing of the past. I knew what all the signs pointed to, but instead of addressing the obvious, I endeavored to spice up our sex life. Raunchy fishnet outfits, expensive sex toys, and extremely naughty sexts. Doing whatever he asked of me in bed and out. I was willing to give any and everything to keep my family intact. And to my heart’s content, my efforts pulled him back in. But a short while later, I found myself again vying for his attention. I refused to acknowledge he was cheating… until undisputable evidence fell into my lap.
I was devastated, embarrassed, heartbroken. But at the same time, I didn’t want to leave him. I wanted my family. He knew that was my weakness, and he played it to his advantage, saying he wanted the same, swearing he’d never cheat again, then wooing me like he’d done in the beginning. He promised to regain my trust and begged for my forgiveness. And stupidly enough, I gave it, only to have it all blow up in my face again. Two months later, I left. Sadly it wasn’t because of the cheating; it was for something far worse.
I won’t sit back and watch Hayley degrade herself as I did. I simply won’t.
Branch has become somewhat of a regular patron at the diner. He always comes alone, always around the same time, and always sits at the same table. A lot of sameness, but he’s different somehow. Yes, when he isn’t looking, I ogle. So I notice the differences. Probably more than I should, but it’s difficult not to. He’s hot as fuck. Totally dream worthy and always pulling an instant purr from kitty. But lately, he’s less playful, somewhat pensive. Truth be told, he’s less asshatish. So we only exchange one or two jabs instead of our typical nine or ten. Guess whatever crawled up his ass has finally crawled out.
So to my dismay, there isn’t anything to fill Hayley in on regarding Mr. Celebrity. He comes in, places his order, signs a few autographs, eats his food, then leaves. And either I’m finally getting this waitress thing down, or my luck is starting to change. I’ve made no mistakes with his orders. But that probably has more to do with the fact that he always orders the same flavorless meal than it does my waitressing skills. And his tips… well, they still sit on the short side in my opinion. His orders total a little over seven bucks. He always pays with a ten and says, “Keep the change.”
It’s Wednesday, the only day Jim Bob’s Diner closes early. And as I approach the end of my shift, Branch breezes in for the second time, looking for something he thinks he may have dropped during lunch. After a quick search, he heads back out, my eyes focused on his backside until the door closes behind him.
Jim Bob and I are the only two left in the diner. He’s in the back locking up and I’m up front going through my closing routine. There isn’t a lot to do considering how much Carrie took care of before she left. So thankfully, I finish earlier than I normally would. After flipping off the jukebox, I head to the locker for my purse. I sling the strap across my body and head back to the front, relieved to see my boss already waiting near the exit.
I head to my Jeep Liberty as Jim Bob locks the door and sets the alarm. Other than my car and Jim Bob’s, one other vehicle is in the parking lot—a red convertible. And someone is bent over the back seat, I’d guess looking for something. And since I had a good view a short while ago, I easily identify that taut ass. He’s probably still looking for whatever he lost.
“Have a good evening, Ragan,” Jim Bob says, interrupting my thoughts when he catches up to me.
“You, too. See you in the morning,” I reply and scramble into my car. “Another day, another corn on my foot.” I kick off my shoes and after buckling in, I insert the key into the ignition and turn it forward, but the car doesn’t crank. I try again. Same thing. I flip on the lights. They work. I try the horn. It works, too. Now what?
I glance in the rearview mirror and see Jim Bob pulling out of the lot, and then a couple of parking spaces to the right, up pops the head of the person who was leaning over the back seat of the convertible. And yup, it’s definitely Branch. His eyes catch mine. I quickly look away and try to start the car again, but get the same result.
“Just great,” I mumble and grab my phone. I dial Hayley, but it goes to voicemail. I next try Aunt Sophie, and when she doesn’t answer, I remember she’s at Bible class, so I hang up. With Dad and Uncle Stan on the road, who else can I call? No way will I call Jim Bob back. And Carrie is at bingo with her mama. There’s Patty. I suppose I could call her. But after considering my living situation, I decide I don’t want to explain yet another broken-home story, so I try Hayley again. By the second ring, there’s a tap on my door. I end the call, turn the ignition enough to give power to the control panel, and lower the window.
“Need some help?” Branch asks.
“Nope.”
“You sure? I can take a look. It could be an easy fix.”
I almost ask what he can possibly know about repairing cars until I remember he worked in a garage throughout high school. “Okay, sure. Have at it.”
He walks around to the front of the car, lifts the hood, and after a quick inspection, he tells me to give it a try. I turn the switch and hear a clicking noise. And then nothing. He tinkers with something for a minute or two and then asks me to try it again. I twist the key in the ignition, and just when it sounds as if the car is going to crank, it goes silent. After Branch does his tinkering thing again, I cross my fingers and pray that whatever he did works this time. But when I rotate the switch, there’s no sound at all. Not even the click.
Branch steps to the side of the car and says, “I think your starter’s gone.”
“Crap. I was afraid of that.”
“So you were aware of the problem and did nothing about it?” he asks, his tone reproving.
“A friend of my ex kinda worked on it, but it was a temporary fix.”
Branch lowers the hood. “So that means you’re gonna need a ride.”
I lift my phone, waving it at him. “Yep, I’ll call a friend.”
“The same friend you’ve already called and who’s not picking up?”
I lower the phone as I consider trying Hayley again. But if she’s on her date, the likelihood of her answering is slight.
“It’ll be dark pretty soon and you shouldn’t be out here alone. I can give you a ride. It’s no problem. Come on.”
He opens my door, and reluctantly, I step out of the car and follow him. My heart rate spikes a beat faster with each step. And my eyes are stuck to his backside. He truly is something to look at. Tall, broad shouldered, muscular, and with a face that puts even the top male models to shame. In high school, we called him a pretty boy. Over the years, he’s gotten even prettier. And the way he moves—visibly arrogant, with an athletic grace—oh fuck me. He’s beyond irresistible. Yes, I can say it to myself, but I won’t tell him even though I’m positive he already knows it.
I give Branch my address and he plugs it into his phone’s GPS. And then the ride to my place is ten kinds of awkward. He asks how long I’ve been working at Jim Bob’s. And then he asks if I’ll be working tomorrow. I tell him I have the morning shift. Then he offers to pick me up and without thinking, I accept. And that’s it. The remainder of the ride is a shroud of silence. But internally, Miss Kitty is purring, prowling, and clawing at my lady bits. When I finally manage to suppress my urges, I consider this scenario. I’m riding in a car with Branch Fucking McGuire. I don’t want it to seem like a big deal, but it kinda sorta is.
When he pulls into my drive, we sit for a moment, neither of us saying a thing, until I blurt out, “Hey, I can get a ride in the morning, so no need to pop up.” I grab the door handle and add, “Thanks for getting me home.”
Branch’s phone rings right as I open the door and reach for my shoes. Before I get one foot out of the car, he leans over and grasps my wrist asking me to wait. After telling the caller they’re all set for tomorrow, he explains that he’s catching up with a friend and then ends
the call.
Friend? I’m not his friend.
He sits back, coolly draping his arm over the seat. “Why the rush?”
For several long seconds, I stare at him like a deer in headlights. I part my lips and remind myself to speak, but the words catch in my throat. I meet his eyes and search his face. He knows. He’s perfectly aware of his power to leave women speechless. Say something. “Um… you gave me a ride home. And we’re here, so this is the part where I say thanks and get out.”
His brow arches. “Oh, is that how it works?”
I give him a nervous smile. Oh geez. Why am I nervous? Because I don’t have the diner and its patrons as a buffer, that’s why. “Yes, pretty much. Unless you’re waiting for me to give you gas money. Judging by your tips, you’re obviously a little short on cash these days.”
He throws his head back with a deep throaty laugh. “You seem to have a comeback for just about everything.”
“Do I? I haven’t noticed.”
“So how would it work if I were to ask you out? Would you have a comeback for that?”
Is he fucking with me again?
“Ah, so no smartass remark for that one, huh? Let me help you out. I’m asking. And you respond by saying yes.”
I should respond by getting out of this car, yet I remain in place. I don’t want to say no to him, but I’m not so stupid as to say yes either. My insides are a mess of knots. “Er… I don’t think so.”
“Wait.” He grabs my wrist again when I turn to get out. “Why would you say no?”
I’m not crazy and I’m very much aware of the way my sex clenches at the mere thought of Branch McGuire. And I’ve already imagined lying skin to skin underneath him as he does unimaginable things to kitty, but that’s just it—I know it’s all in my head. He’s trying to stroke his ego. To satisfy the part of himself that’s never had a woman deny him, especially a woman like me. I know it’s a game. And today is no different than it was in high school. I’m not pretty enough, I’m not thin enough, and I’m not good enough for someone like him to do anything more than what he’s doing right now—toying with me. “Why would I say yes?”
His eyebrows scrunch. “Is that a serious question?”
“I asked, didn’t I?”
“Because I’m Branch McGuire. Women don’t tell me no.”
“Apparently they do,” I say and hop out of the car.
He calls after me, but I don’t break my stride and I don’t look back. I walk up the drive and before I get to the front door, it swings open and an excited Cecelia runs out to me. Picking up my baby girl, I spin her around, instantly lost in her giggles. A few moments later, I hear Branch pulling away.
I place Branch’s check on the table. “Why do you bother coming here for lunch? This street is lined with restaurants that suit your kind a lot better than this place.”
“Does your boss know you’re suggesting his customers dine elsewhere?” he asks and shoves the remainder of the bunless turkey burger into his mouth.
“It’s not like you’re getting a five-star meal,” I say, ignoring his question. “Isn’t that more of what you’re accustomed to?”
He gives me a wink. “Maybe I like the scenery here.”
My cheeks warm and I think back to the question he asked last night. “Even if you’re serious, you’re wasting your time.” He gives me a strange look, and I almost think he recognizes me, so I ask, “You don’t remember me, do you?”
“From?”
“Figures.”
“No. Tell me,” he says. “Then I can kick myself for forgetting.”
“It’s no biggie. You probably forget most of the people you meet.”
“Are you saying I’d forget you? Because I don’t think so.”
You already have. “If you don’t want anything else, I need to get to my other tables. I’ve not been on the receiving end of the boss’s tongue lashings lately and I want to keep it that way,” I say, looking over my shoulder for Jim Bob.
Branch ignores my plea and proceeds with his own agenda. “Let’s say I came back to ask you out… again. Are you telling me you’d say no?”
“If you want your ego bruised, ask me and find out.”
“So, you’d actually say no? To me?” Disbelief colors his tone.
“Well, at least I know who your biggest fan is. And it’s obvious you think you can breeze in here, flex your muscles, bat those girly eyelashes, and I’ll fawn all over you. But if I were you, I wouldn’t hold my breath.”
“So you’ve noticed these guns?” he asks, flexing and admiring his biceps.
I roll my eyes and shake my head. “How could I not? You walk into the diner wearing a skintight compression shirt. And you know very well the impact that will have on any woman with a pulse. I mean, I know you guys wear those when you play ball or work out, but just to walk around in? Real douchebag move.”
“So now I’m a douchebag?” he asks, his eyes locked onto mine. There’s humor in his baby blues, but I fail to see the joke.
“I didn’t say you were a douchebag. I said guys who wear those tight workout shirts are.”
“Same difference.”
“Whatever. Would you like anything else?” I ask, passing him the dessert menu, knowing he never orders dessert.
“So, you honestly expect me to believe you’re not interested in me?”
“I don’t know how many ways I can tell you. You’re seriously barking up the wrong tree.”
His brows rise, an expression of understanding crossing his handsome face. “Oh, so you’re into chicks?”
My mouth falls open.
“No big deal if you have a girlfriend. She can come along.” He leans toward me, grabbing the hem of my skirt, his eyes hot on mine. “Sugar, I assure you that each of those cunts will get a proper fucking.”
My eyes widen and I swallow dry air. Then I try to respond, but my voice has suddenly taken leave.
He tips his head, gesturing toward kitty. “Unless that little thing is greedy and you don’t want to share. Is that it? Do you want me all to yourself?”
“Oh. My. God.” I can’t believe the balls on this guy but holy shit am I ever turned on… actually more than turned on. But how could I not be? It’s Branch Freaking McGuire! And this… him… the way he’s looking at me, the indecent little words slipping from his sinfully perfect lips, it’s like waving an insanely large bag of catnip in front of a real kitty. And if he only knew how greedy my little thing could be, how tightly it would squeeze every inch of his cock, he’d take me right here. And I’d let him. Oh, how I’d let him. Fuck. What am I doing? This is Branch fucking with me… again. I jerk my skirt from his grasp and take a few paces back. “I’m so done here.”
“Hold up. Wait.” He grins. “Forget I said that. I’m just fuckin’ around. I’d like to get a coffee to go.”
After a long beat and a brief recovery, I ask, “How would you like it?”
“Black.”
“Finally.” I snatch the menu out of his hand and he laughs as I step to my next table. After jotting down the orders of the other customers in my station, I walk the slips back to the kitchen and pin them to the cook’s carrousel.
When I step back out to the main dining area, I find Branch has moved to the counter.
“A family came in and needed a larger table, so I gave them mine,” he explains and continues flipping through what I quickly recognize as my sketch pad.
“I didn’t know you could draw.”
I snatch the pad and place it under the counter. “And I didn’t know you were clueless as to the concept of personal property.”
He shrugs at my reproof. “I was just appreciating your work. You’re good. Really good.”
“Thanks.” I place the coffee in front of him.
“What else do you draw?” he asks, his piercing blue eyes intent on mine.
My cheeks heat. I never discuss my art. With anyone. Each drawing is a deeply personal representation of me. “Random stuff. Emotio
ns. Abstract things.”
“Nothing figurative?”
“Not really.”
“Why?” he asks.
“I just don’t.”
“I think you should.” He grabs his coffee and slides from the stool with a smirk. “And if you change your mind about that threesome, let me know.”
TAKING A BREAK FROM THE 1950s, I step outside the diner for a breath of fresh air. Not even a foot from the door, I notice a truck in the place where my car should be. What the hell?
My steps quicken as I make my way to the parking lot, but I come to an abrupt halt when I discover what’s happening. A red tow truck with Jimmy’s Garage imprinted on the side is in my spot. And behind it, is my car, hooked to a pulley as Branch guides it toward the flatbed.
“What do you think you’re doing?” I ask when I reach him.
He glances over his shoulder at me and turns back to the controls on the tow. “I figured you’d need your car, so getting it fixed is probably in your best interest.”
“So you’re my self-appointed fairy godfather now? Thanks, but no thanks. I don’t need your help. I manage just fine on my own.”
Branch continues with the lift as if I didn’t offer the slightest of objections. I walk around to face him, momentarily thrown off by the change in his appearance. He’s dressed differently today—wearing a Redhorns cap flipped to the back, a snug-fitting black T-shirt, and ripped jeans. And he looks a little dirty. As if he’s been working on cars all morning, giving him the look of a greasy mechanic. But not the sleazy kind who’ll overcharge you and then promise a discount if you let him feel you up. Branch is the hot, sexy kind. The kind you hope bends you over the hood of a car and gives your pussy the tune-up you didn’t know it needed.
“Did you hear what I said? I don’t need your help.”
He lifts his gaze to mine. “Who says I’m doing it for you?”