by Kim Loraine
Always yours
“Ugh, really?” Lauren bit her lip and replaced the letter, heart swelling with desire for this kind of love story. “Is this guy for real?”
She stared at her computer, willing herself to write a character as compelling as this man. Thumbing through the letters, she counted nine more to go. She needed to make these last if she was going to get through the next few months. A loud banging had started from the room directly above her bed, making her grit her teeth and pop her earbuds in. This construction would never stop. She was sure of it.
As she was about to start her playlist and begin immersing herself in the world she was trying—and failing—to create, a video call came through. Dean’s handsome features filled her computer screen and she couldn’t help but smile. She’d loved him once, or thought so, anyway.
“Hey, beautiful,” he said, his wide smile making her feel guilty.
“Hi. What’s up?”
“I needed to see your face, but I’m at work right now or I’d have stopped by.”
She could see the familiar dark blue of his police uniform as he talked. “You’re at the station?”
Shaking his head, he grinned. “No, just outside of The Windsurfer. I was picking up some coffee before heading back on patrol.”
“How’ve you been?” Her chest gave a little squeeze. It hadn’t been easy, breaking their engagement, and she still didn’t know how to talk to him.
His eyes held a twinge of sadness. “Not great. I miss you. Are you sure this is the right thing? It seems so drastic for you to move out.”
“Dean—”
“I know. You need time. I get it. Can we at least date? Even if it’s just casual. I won’t push for anything else. Not until you’re ready.”
Letting out a heavy sigh, she nodded. She didn’t see any reason why she should deny him. He wasn’t a bad guy. He was great. Except, the spark she’d longed for, read about, seen in movies, just wasn’t there between them. “Sure.”
His face lit up with excitement. “Good. That’s . . . thank you, Lo. I’ll call you when I’m off work. We can plan a date.”
After hanging up, she sat at her desk, trying to tune out the thumps, bangs, and whining screech of what must have been an electric saw.
“Darn it!” She slammed her laptop closed and pulled a sweater over her tank-top clad chest as she stomped out the door and around to the front entrance of the house. Throwing open the main door, she shouted up the stairs, “Are you going to be doing that all freaking day? Some of us are trying to get some work done. I’m going to have to complain to the landlord.”
Her throat constricted and her breath caught when the man, the man, from the cafe appeared at the top of the stairs. His shirt was off, tossed over one shoulder like it belonged there, that beautiful face frowning—as usual.
“You,” he said. “Lori.”
Rage filled her chest, a hot stone ready to explode. “Lauren! What are you doing here?”
“Fixing my house.”
A choked laugh escaped her. “You’re moving in? No way. That’s hilarious.”
He tucked his hands in his pockets and leaned against the wall, staring her down. “You’re my tenant?”
“What do you mean, your tenant?”
“I mean, I own this house.”
She felt the heat of his gaze and realized she was standing in front of him looking like a homeless woman. Her hair was in a messy bun piled on top of her head, she was decked out in her favorite, old plaid pajamas, and her braless boobs were covered in little more than a camisole and thin sweater which read, Boys are better in books. It was turning out to be a banner day.
“Great. Awesome. Well, landlord, could you keep it down? I’m trying to work.”
He cocked an eyebrow, making a jolt of traitorous arousal rush through her. “I thought you were a waitress.”
“I’m also a writer, and it’s very hard to concentrate when it sounds like the house above me is being torn down.”
Shaking his head, he let out a light laugh. “Sorry. I’m moving in tomorrow and I need a working bathroom. Go to the library, you look like you’d fit right in. Might want to put on a bra, though.”
Her mouth fell open in shock. Had he really just said that? She replayed his words in her head. Yeah, he’d said it. Throwing her hands in the air, she huffed before storming back into her apartment.
He called, “You’re not so friendly now, are you?” as she slammed the door behind her.
Oh, crap on a cracker. Her neighbor-slash-landlord was a beautiful bastard.
~ ~ ~
“Motherfucker!” Alex shouted as pain shot up his leg, radiating from his stubbed toe all the way to his knee.
Even after three days, the unfamiliar layout of his furniture, in the house he’d bought for his wife, kept messing with his head. This was the third time he’d bumped into something that, according to his memories, shouldn’t be there. He’d purposely made everything as different as he could; bought a new couch, dining table, bed. After the funeral, he’d packed everything and tucked the boxes away. He hadn’t gotten rid of her stuff yet, but he was still too angry to bring any of Roxie’s belongings with him. Instead, they were boxed up, sitting in a storage unit—waiting.
Glancing at the clock on the stove, he ran a hand over his face and let out a soft curse. It was one-thirty in the morning. He should be sleeping, getting ready for the second half of his forty-eight hours off. Honestly, he hated time off. He wanted to be working, distracting himself from the crushing weight of his loss. Pulling a bottle of tequila out of the cabinet, he debated whether or not he wanted to get a shot glass. With a shrug, he unscrewed the cap and took a swig. The liquid burned and sent a shudder through him as the sharp, woodsy flavor hit the back of his tongue.
Taking his phone off the charger, he opened his voicemail with shaking hands and pressed Play. Her voice filled the house, musical and warm.
“Hi, honey. It’s me. I just wanted to tell you I got some good news today. I’ll see you tonight at dinner. Text me if you get a minute. Love you.”
Taking another drink from the bottle, he played the message again, gritting his teeth as the grief welled up. As if playing a broken record, her voice flooded his ears and ripped through the twelve months of work he’d spent trying to move on. He’d put away every picture, every piece of her clothing, everything that represented her . . . except for this. He couldn’t bring himself to wipe away the last bit of their life together by deleting that message—the last time things had been good.
Another shot of liquor burned through the sensitive nerve endings in his body as he sat in the dark, listening to Roxie, so full of life, so happy. Before long, the bottle was half-empty and rain had started pounding the roof. A crash of thunder shook the house as lightning lit up the dark sky.
Startled, he moved to place the bottle on the table, but missed and the glass shattered, spreading the pungent liquid over his freshly installed hardwood. “Shit!”
The thunder continued as he bent to clean up the broken bottle, along with the pieces of his hard won self-respect.
When he woke the next morning, beams of sunlight threatened to slice open his head. At least, that’s what it felt like. The sound of techno-pop music vibrated the floor under his face.
His face?
He was on the floor in his bedroom, cheek sticking to the hardwood, and the taste of tequila on his tongue. Standing, his head spun and the floor seemed to move under his feet. Hmm, still drunk, then.
The pounding in his skull matched the beat of the music and he groaned aloud. “Shut off that fucking noise!”
No answer from the librarian/waitress downstairs. Of course. He would have taken revenge by stomping around, making equally loud noises, but his head couldn’t take it. Instead, he show
ered, letting the nearly scalding hot water distract him from his hangover.
Toweling off, he strode through the house with nothing but the dark gray cotton wrapped around his waist. The aching had migrated from his entire head to right behind his eyes, sending waves of nausea rolling through him. With a sigh, he let himself fall to the bed, one arm draped over his face as he tried to let sleep claim him again.
The sound of Lauren’s muffled voice infiltrated his attempted date with unconsciousness. “Oh, yeah. Come on, baby. That’s right.”
Immediately, all thoughts of sleep left him. What was she doing down there? The music died down and he heard the distinct sound of creaking springs. Shit, was she doing what he thought she was doing?
“Oh, I don’t know if I can handle that. It’s so much.” What the fuck?
He couldn’t control his body’s reaction. Blood rushed from his brain to his crotch as she started groaning and the squeaking intensified and picked up the pace. The bass started pounding again, drowning her out, but the damage had been done. Hard and straining beneath his towel, he shook his head and strode to the bathroom, turning the shower on as cold as it would go.
Momentarily, he thought of taking care of himself right there. It would be so easy to let himself feel some semblance of pleasure, especially since he hadn’t been with a woman in over a year. An image of Lauren, her cheeks flushed with irritation, tits bouncing enticingly beneath her ridiculous sweater as she yelled at him, flashed before his eyes. A wave of crushing guilt took him down at the knees. How could he be thinking of another woman? With a harsh tug, he pulled the shower curtain aside and threw himself into the icy water.
“Fucking, fuck!” he shouted as the freezing stream of water hit him like a thousand needles.
It worked though. His erection was gone, but the shame still cloaked him like a lead blanket.
Chapter 3
“Lauren? Can you work a double tomorrow?” Kayleen, her manager, called as soon as she walked through the employee door at The Oak Tree.
“Uh, I think so. Can I check my schedule and get back to you?” She hated to turn down shifts, but she’d promised Dean they’d go out sometime this week.
Kayleen looked her up and down and cocked her head to one side. Lauren couldn’t help but notice that the woman’s teased and sprayed hair didn’t move an inch. How did she do that? “Sure, honey. I’ll check with Desiree, too. She needs the hours.” Leaning in to whisper in her ear conspiratorially, she announced, “Her husband got laid off.”
Shaking her head, Lauren moved through the front of the cafe, double checking that they were ready to open for the day. “That’s awful. Give her the shift if she wants it,” she said, but Kayleen was already gone.
Turning the lock on the front door, she flipped on the Open sign and was surprised when a customer pushed his way inside almost immediately. A frown turned down the corners of her mouth as she took him in. The neighbor-landlord-beautiful bastard.
“You,” she muttered.
He eyed her, a strange glint in his gaze. “Ah, the librarian.”
Anger bubbled in her chest. “Writer.”
“Are you also a closet porn star?”
“What? Where do you get off?” Outrage almost had her hand connecting with his cheek, but she controlled herself.
“The question is, where do you get off?” She could see barely restrained laughter on his face. An unusual expression for his normally sour countenance.
“You know what? This is inappropriate. I think you need to sit in someone else’s section today.”
Shaking his head, his frown returned. “I like the window.”
“There are plenty of windows.”
“I like the one I always sit at.”
Stomping across the dining room, she slammed a menu down at his regular table and huffed. “Fine. Sit wherever you want. I’ll change sections.”
“Finally.”
Spinning around, she faced him. “Finally, what?” she spat.
“Some real fire from you. I saw a bit of it earlier in the week, but this is much better. I knew you weren’t such a happy-go-lucky Mary Sue. Good for you.”
His condescending attitude made rage explode in her chest. “You want to see some fire? I’ll show you fire, you . . . you butthole.” A wide smile spread his lips and her breath caught in her throat as her words replayed in her head. She’d actually called him a butthole.
“Oh, my God. You’re adorable. Like an angry little pixie.”
Letting out a frustrated growl, she turned away and stormed to the back. “Kayleen, I’m taking a break. I’ll be back in fifteen minutes. There’s a customer in my section who needs some help. Can you have Rosie take table ten for me?”
Kayleen gaped at her, but didn’t argue. “Okay, honey. Whatever you say.”
Pacing out back, Lauren worked to control the angry tears springing to her eyes. What was wrong with him? She hadn’t done anything besides try to be nice to him when he’d been looking so sad. A closet porn star? What did he think he was doing? Maybe he was trying to drive her away. Or, more likely, he was just a giant turd who liked pissing people off. That was probably it. He was miserable, so he wanted the world to be miserable with him.
As she worked to calm herself down, Dean’s police cruiser pulled into the parking lot. Her heart lightened a bit at the sight. She hadn’t seen him in a while, and though they had their problems, he was always welcome. Walking around to the front of the cafe, she smiled as he stepped out of his vehicle. He looked handsome in his uniform, the fit accenting his strong, but trim build. He was the classic picture of the all American boy next door. Closely cropped blond hair, clean shaven, piercing blue eyes, and a chiseled jawline.
“Hi, beautiful. I was trying to surprise you,” he said, a slight pout pushing out his full bottom lip.
“I was taking a break.”
He glanced at his watch and chuckled. “Uh, the place hasn’t been open ten minutes.”
Shrugging, she sidled up and leaned into him. “Tough customer. I needed a minute.”
She felt him tense against her, knowing she was sending mixed signals. “Already? It’s going to be one of those days?”
“Nope.” She put on a bright smile. “I won’t let it.”
Giving her a squeeze, he took her hand, but she pulled it away gently. “I’ve got some time before I have to be back. I was hoping to get some breakfast to-go.”
With a nod, she led the way inside. That awful man wasn’t going to ruin her day. All she had to do was look at all the beautiful things around her and block out the ugly. Even if he wasn’t ugly at all.
~ ~ ~
“Can I get you anything else?” the waitress who wasn’t Lauren asked him.
Alex frowned. As much as he’d wanted to tell himself he didn’t like his perky little neighbor, he couldn’t help but feel disappointment grip his chest when she made good on her promise to change sections. He’d really pissed her off.
“No. Just the check, please.”
With a wink and a twitch of her hips, the woman headed away and he was left with his thoughts. He couldn’t deny his reaction to Lauren this morning. The sounds she’d made and the things she’d said had played over in his head for the last three hours. When he’d seen her here, all he could think about were the groans he’d heard and he couldn’t keep from saying something. Angry with himself for letting her get to him, he’d lashed out and chosen to be an ass, or a butthole as she’d called him.
A black rectangle-shaped folder slid into his frame of vision as the waitress came back with his check. Nodding his thanks, he pulled a twenty out of his wallet and tucked it inside. The least he could do was leave a good tip.
As he pulled his jacket on, he caught sight of Lauren; her long, chocolate-brown hair swaying
as she was embraced by a police officer. A flash of recognition hit him as he realized the man was Dean Harter. They’d gone to school together. Dean was a few years younger than him.
A curious feeling of discomfort settled in his chest as he watched the two of them. Dean smiled down at her like she was his whole world and when he dropped a light kiss on her temple, Alex felt a little sick. No doubt, his hangover was rearing its ugly head.
Trying to keep his focus away from the couple, he walked toward the door.
“Alex. Hey, Alex, is that you?” Dean’s face was bright, filled with happiness. Alex wanted to punch him in the throat for no reason other than the fact that no one should be that happy in the morning.
“Hey, Dean. Nice to see you.” He shook the man’s offered hand while Lauren stared at them. Her eyes darted from him to Dean and back.
“You two know each other?” she muttered.
“Oh, yeah. Alex and I go way back. I played football with his brother Michael.” Dean put a hand on Alex’s shoulder and a sympathetic look crossed his face. Shit. Here it came. “I was so sorry to hear about your wife. I don’t think I’ve got a memory from high school without you two in it.”
Lauren’s face paled. “Your wife?”
Shaking his head, Alex shrugged away from Dean’s well-meaning offer of condolence. “Thanks. I’ve got to go. Good to see you, Dean.”
As panic started to take hold in his chest, he headed toward his truck, hoping he could find a suitable way to distract himself from the tidal wave of emotions Dean had just unwittingly dredged up. Grabbing his gym bag from the back, he rifled through the contents and let out a sigh of relief when he saw he’d had the foresight to pack with swimming laps in mind.