“Why not? Because this is an official meeting?”
“Partially. But the main reason is because I’m tired. I need something to perk me up, not help me slide under the table. Sorry I had to push this meeting back three hours.”
Tate sighed and put the menu behind the condiments, glancing around the mostly empty Mexican restaurant. “I understand. But I’d like to point out between Val being pregnant and you officially being my boss, I’ve got no drinking buddies while I’m here.”
Grace withheld a laugh. “Leave it to you, Tate, to get right to the point. I promise I’ll knock back some shots of Cuervo with you before you head back to Denver, okay?”
“I’m holding you to that.”
The waitress brought two glasses of iced tea and took their order.
Tate slapped a sketchbook next to the silverware. “Okay. I’ve come up with a couple of variations on curriculums depending on the age groups. Remind me again how many classes I’ll be teaching?”
Grace squeezed lemon into her iced tea. “Five per week, which roughly translates to one class a day.”
“That’s not too bad.”
“The problem is the girls range in age from four to fourteen.”
Tate reached for a chip and dipped it in the salsa. “I’m guessing the teens are at the ‘this is so lame’ stage.”
“Yep. Don’t you remember that summer we met at camp when we were teenagers? Now that I think back on how much grief we gave the arts and crafts teacher…I literally cringe. Probably gave her a complex.”
Tate laughed and brushed salt from her fingers. “You and Val were the older bad girls, cutting out pictures of half-naked guys from Cosmo for the decoupage project. My stuff was innocent and sickeningly sweet.”
“We had to do something outrageous because we couldn’t compete with your artistic skills.”
Tate still blushed whenever someone singled her out for praise.
Grace smiled. “I think Val and I would’ve gotten kicked out if you hadn’t bullied the teacher with the ‘freedom of creative expression’ argument. I’m surprised you didn’t become a lawyer.”
Tate’s gaze turned thoughtful as she stared at the velvet painting above the table depicting haciendas painted in vivid tones of orange and pink. “I’d totally forgotten about that. I guess I have stood up to authority before, but I still run from confrontations most of the time.” She didn’t bring up the problems she’d suffered through with her job in Denver. Being in limbo about the status of her career made her crazypants if she dwelled on it. She was determined to put her limited time in Spearfish to good use.
“Since I’m the authority figure this time around, I hope we can talk about any problems you’re having before it turns into a confrontation.”
“I’ll defer to you. You’re the boss.”
“And on that note… Show me what you’ve got.”
“Here goes.” Tate flipped open the sketchbook. “For the younger girls I thought I’d start out creating abstract work with crayons. Mixing it up with colored paper and 3D objects. Multimedia-type things. Then we’d move on to painting simple subjects like apples and flowers so they get a feel for realism.”
“Sounds good. What’s up for the next age group?”
Tate nervously twirled a section of hair by her ear. “Ceramic painting using tiles and plates and mugs. Then if that goes well and if we have time, I might try to teach them how to make clay pots.” She glanced up uneasily when Grace didn’t immediately react. “Do you think they’d like that?”
“Anything that involves getting dirty and flinging paint is always a big hit.” Grace placed her hand over Tate’s restless fingers drumming on the table. “I’m not like your last boss. I’m not going to shoot any of your ideas down just because I can. Remember I’m your friend first. And I’m thrilled you agreed to do this at all.”
Relief sang through Tate’s system. “Good. I’m afraid pitching ideas isn’t my strong suit.”
“You’re doing fine. So whatcha got planned for the terrible teens?”
“No decoupage.” Tate grinned. “The main problem is everything is black and white to girls at this age. If they don’t think they’re good at art, they don’t want to try. Especially anything new. So instead of having them all work on the same project, I thought I’d divide them into groups. Those who want to work on improving their skills with charcoal or acrylics or watercolors. And those who’d rather create something that involves less…”
“Talent?”
Tate winced. “I hate even thinking along those lines, but yeah. Making papier-mâché masks. Maybe even painting on tiles like the middle-grade girls.”
Grace didn’t say anything. Normally she didn’t have a problem voicing her opinion, so Tate knew something was up. Finally Tate said, “What?”
“Okay. The mask thing sounds a little juvenile. The first thing that popped into my head were pipe cleaners, buttons and glued on feathers. I’m not sure group B would be into that. Especially if the other girls are commanding most of your attention for ‘real’ art.”
“I see your point.”
“I like the tile idea though. Any chance you can expand on that?”
“Probably. Let me think about it for a sec.”
Mariachi music blared from the speaker above them.
Grace sipped her tea and waited patiently.
Tate snapped her fingers. “I know. How about mosaics instead of tiles? There are some pretty cool things like beads and glass we could incorporate into the designs.” She frowned. “However I didn’t consider that type of project and don’t have a detailed lesson plan.”
“No problem. You have time to work something up. Come to the office in the next couple of days when you’ve figured it out.”
“Whew. Had me worried there for a second, boss.”
“You’re paranoid. I’m a pussycat.” Grace uncapped a pen and opened her notebook. “But since I’m also such a type-A personality I’ll need a weekly breakdown. Mostly so I don’t forget what’s on the agenda, but also I’ll need to order the supplies ahead of time.”
They’d just finished diagramming the schedule when their food arrived. Tate noticed Grace scowling at the tortilla strips and sliced tomatoes atop her iceberg lettuce and staring longingly at Tate’s fried chimichanga covered in guacamole and sour cream.
“You can have some if you’d like,” Tate offered.
“Thanks. Problem is I’ll get indigestion if I take even one bite. Then I’ll toss and turn all night.”
“Bet Luke loves that. What’s he doing tonight?”
Grace glanced at her watch. “Probably cursing my name. Neither of us has been home much this week.”
“Is everything okay?”
Grace’s smile was completely fake. “Fine.”
Tate gave her a dubious look.
Without missing a beat Grace unrolled her silverware from her napkin and poured dressing on her salad. “So. How did the meeting with Nathan LeBeau go?”
For the next twenty minutes Tate filled the void in the discussion. She couldn’t help but notice the little bit of salad Grace had managed to eat looked as if it might come up any second. Something was bothering Grace, but Grace wasn’t ready to share. Tate let it slide and feigned exhaustion so Grace didn’t have to keep up the pretense of enjoying her meal and the conversation.
They paused at the front door. Despite the fact Tate barely reached Grace’s chin, Tate wrapped Grace in a bear hug and said, “I know you don’t want to talk about it. But if you change your mind, call me. Day or night.”
“Thanks.”
Tate drove home in her little VW Bug. She left the radio off and rolled down the window in her car, hoping the sweet night air would soothe her. The streets were quiet. Seemed everyone was tucked in bed. No wonder. It was almost eleven o’clock.
Not a single light shone inside her house. She trudged up the sidewalk, inserted her key in the lock, quietly opened and closed the door. The place was qui
et as a grave. A shiver broke free.
Even if Grace and Luke were having marital difficulties, at least Grace didn’t have to face an empty house. Sometimes the loneliness of single life hit Tate like a sledgehammer.
She sighed, knowing sleep would be elusive. After popping a bag of microwave popcorn, she opened her sketchbook and got to work.
The following night, Nathan parked in the gravel lot and turned to look at his date.
Tate was squinting through the bug-splattered window of his truck, gaping at the neon lights flashing across the midway. “You brought me to a carnival?”
Nathan shifted in his seat. Was he idiotic to think city girl Tate would get a kick out of this slice of rural living? Did she prefer trendy art openings and smoky jazz clubs? “It was just an idea. If you don’t want to go—”
“Are you kidding?” She wheeled around and granted him a sexy grin. “This is great. I haven’t been to a fair since high school.” Something caught her attention. She gasped and tugged insistently on his sleeve. “Omigod! There’s a double Ferris wheel!”
Tate bounded out of the truck and practically dragged him to the ticket booth. When she dug in the pockets of her jean shorts for cash, Nathan gently but firmly moved her aside. He slid two twenties through the half-circle hole in the bottom of the plastic partition.
“I can pay my own way,” she said.
“I know.” He folded the ride tickets before tucking them into his shirt pocket. “But this was my idea, so it’s my treat.”
She seemed ready to debate the issue. When he held out his hand to forestall another argument, she grabbed it and brought his knuckles to her lips for a swift, surprising kiss. “Then thank you. Speaking of treats…what should we eat first?”
Her impulsive affection made his heart skip. How sad that he had precious little spontaneity in his life. “I thought you were hot to try the rides?”
“After we check out the vendor stands. I’m starved.”
Nathan frowned. “But won’t you get sick if you eat first?”
“Isn’t that the point? Ooh, look.” She yanked him toward a small camper. “Indian tacos.” She stopped and faced him with a horrified look. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t think. Did that offend you?”
“No.”
Relief crossed her face. “Good. Let’s split one, then we’ll have room for corn dogs.”
He found himself swept up in her enthusiasm and added a beer to their order. They sat side by side on a sticky picnic table facing the fairgrounds and soaked up the fair’s ambiance.
Scents and sounds carried through the warm night air: fried foods and candied apples mixed with the smells of livestock and exhaust fumes from the rides. Exhilarated shrieks blended with the booming voices of the carnival barkers. The whoosh of machinery competed with the rock music blaring from the loudspeakers. Through it all, babies cried from strollers, couples laughed—old and young alike—as the crowd shuffled through the discarded food wrappers and flyers on the way to the rodeo arena.
With a pang of self-awareness, Nathan realized it had been a long time since he’d actively pursued fun. As he relaxed, sipping the beer, he stole a glance at Tate. Her wide-eyed gaze darted everywhere.
Although her tousled short blonde hair and pink cheeks cried wholesome, Nathan had a sneaking suspicion a wild woman lurked beneath that innocent persona. He was equally afraid she had every intention of showing it to him up close and personal. Tonight. He squashed the rush of anticipation, strengthening his resolve to keep the evening lighthearted with physical contact at a minimum. He mustn’t forget his future hinged on nailing this project—not nailing her.
Tate finished her portion of the taco and rested her chin on her palm. “That was wonderful. So, what next?”
“Bumper cars?”
She took a drink of beer, licking the foam from her upper lip with a lingering sweep of her delicate pink tongue. “Nah. Let’s walk around. See what screams ‘ride me.’”
Nathan clamped his teeth together against the urge to shout, Pick me! Pick me! When he glanced over and witnessed the catlike curl to her mouth, he knew he was in big, big trouble.
And Tate enjoyed causing his libido trouble. She chose every ride that plastered them together: the Scrambler, Tilt-a-Whirl and the Octopus. He couldn’t fight the G-forces and it was foolish to attribute the dizzy sensation to the rides, not to the intimate manner in which Tate positioned her lithe body against his at every opportunity.
In his supreme state of distraction, he’d agreed to ride tandem down the enormous slide. With her tempting backside grinding firmly into his groin on the endless glide, he decided he’d suffered enough sweet torture.
“How about if we get that corn dog now?” he suggested. Maybe fast food would take his mind off the throbbing in his crotch.
“Sure. You having one?” She stretched. The motion lifted her snug yellow shirt, giving Nathan a brief glimpse of her tanned, flat belly.
“No. But I could use a cold drink.” Preferably something with ice he could hold between his thighs to cool his groin down a notch.
“Fine. You can watch me.”
The mere idea of seeing Tate’s full lips wrapped around the tip of a corn dog, licking and sucking, set heat flaming again. Ice wasn’t going to help him a bit. “On second thought, how about something sweet? Cotton candy?”
She looked at him as if he’d lost his mind. “I guess.”
After procuring their food, they wandered through the midway. Tate pointed to various rides they’d yet to attempt. When they reached the tents where carnival barkers challenged them to the assorted games of skill, her chattering stopped entirely.
“Do these guys make you nervous?” Nathan watched several tattooed, multi-pierced young studs give the blonde teenage girls in front of them a lewd once-over.
“No. It’s just…”
“What?”
She stopped and sighed. “All right, here’s the truth: I’m terrible at games. I can’t tell you how many times I tried to win one of those stupid stuffed animals in high school only to go home empty-handed.”
“Didn’t any of your dates step up to the challenge and win something for you?”
Tate’s head lowered until her expression was hidden behind the blue fluff of cotton candy.
He stepped closer. “Tate?”
“All right, all right.” She tore off a chunk of cotton candy and chewed without making eye contact. “I’m sure it won’t surprise you to know I never had a date whisk me to the carnival.”
Somehow Nathan hid his shock. How had such a sweet thing as Tate missed such an important rite of passage? Oh right. Teenage boys were complete idiots. Still, Tate’s embarrassment lingered. He didn’t care if his sympathy would be unappreciated. He gently lifted her chin to meet his gaze. “Then I’m glad to be your first.”
Her breath caught.
“What do you say we win you one of those stupid stuffed animals?”
A smile lit up her face, captivating him even further. She pulled him down to her sticky mouth for an enthusiastic kiss. Her sweet tongue tangled with his until the desperate strokes gave way to slow, seducing nibbles, followed by a sassy nip.
Staggered by the very public, very hot kiss, Nathan scrambled to recover his wits. He licked his lips, savoring the sugary confection along with Tate’s underlying taste. He grinned. “I take that as a yes?”
Half an hour later, Tate refused to let Nathan carry the gigantic stuffed dog he’d won for her. Sure, he’d spent far more money than he would have had he just purchased the thing outright, but watching him swing that mallet… God, the man was something. She clutched his bulging biceps tightly to assure herself she wasn’t dreaming.
He not-so-subtly moved away.
Tate sighed. Yep, he was determined to keep physical contact at an absolute minimum. Why? The sexual current between them kept up a steady hum regardless if they weren’t touching.
She was having more fun at the carnival than she expected.
Yet she wondered why they were here, making out like a couple of moon-eyed teenagers without another choice. Why couldn’t they fulfill his requirements of getting to know each other better at her house? Or his? In bed? Between screaming bouts of sticky sex there was plenty of room for revealing pillow talk, right? She sighed again.
“What? You tired of holding that damn dog yet?”
She stuck her tongue out at him.
He laughed. “Your tongue is an interesting shade of blue.”
Tate batted her lashes. “Want to kiss me again and see if we can get yours the same color?”
His nostrils flared and his heated gaze lingered a beat too long on her lips. “Not right now.”
“Spoilsport. I’ll have to get my thrills some other way. Let’s ride the double Ferris wheel.” She spun and hustled toward the flashing lights without waiting for his response.
They waited in line without speaking. When their turn finally came, she released her prize into the attendant’s care, whispering to him for several seconds. They climbed into the steel car. Once latched in and circling through the air, Nathan surprised Tate by sliding his arm behind her and pulling her firmly against his shoulder.
“So, what were you and the ride operator discussing?”
“Nothing. I just told him to take good care of my prize.” She bumped her hip closer and curled her hand over his on the safety bar. “Thanks again for tonight. I’ve had fun.”
“Me too.”
Tate lifted her face to the sultry night air as they spun higher to the next loop. After a couple of spins, then double spins, their wheel turned lazily until their car was perched on the very top.
Where they stayed.
Nathan leaned over the edge and looked down. “What the hell is going on down there?”
Tate kept her expression bland as she too leaned over and pretended to contemplate the problem.
“Dammit, we’d better not be stuck up here.”
“You make it sound like being trapped up here with me is the worst thing that could happen.”
He scowled. “No, the worst thing would be if one of those lamebrains didn’t properly maintain their equipment. We could be stranded up here all night.”
Dirty Deeds: Standalone sexy romance Page 5