Need You Tonight

by Marquita Valentine

  “Seriously, dude?” He punches my shoulder, and I let out an oof. “You should be happy for me.”

  “Yay,” I say with all the enthusiasm of a funeral goer. “So happy you’re getting married and shit.”

  West gives me a look. “I’m not dying, you asshole.”

  “Might as well be,” I grumble. “Is it weird for me to identify with Katherine Heigl in 27 Dresses?”

  “You do look pretty in pink.”

  I tip up my beer. “Dude, I look pretty in any color.” Signaling the bartender, I set my empty bottle down, but she blows right past us to wait on another customer. “What the hell?”

  West laughs. “That’s what you get for being a dick.”

  “I wasn’t being a dick.”

  He tilts his head to one side, mouth thin and eyebrow raised. “Try again.”

  “Maybe I was being a dick.”

  “Better.” He pats the barstool beside him. “Sit down.”

  Reluctantly, I do. I know what’s going to happen next. West will lecture my ass, and then find out why I’m being this way. “Is Crystal back in town?”

  Fat chance of that happening. My mother is content to live out west with the guy she wants me to start calling Daddy. Yeah, he’s my biological dad, but he’s also the cop who regularly busted mine and Cole’s asses growing up before that little secret came out.

  “What do you think?”

  “I think that there are only three people in this world, including myself, who can get you all worked up. Two of them aren’t here, so…”

  Exhaling, I drum my fingertips on the bar. “It’s uh, Miss Violet’s new renter—the widow.” I had given West the news that I’d be staying the summer in Forrestville because Rae’s grandmother’s house had been rented.

  “I like her,” he says.

  “You haven’t even met her.”

  “Don’t have to.” He grins. “She’s the reason why you’re staying the summer, instead of taking off earlier, like you’d thought about doing. Hell, I might be in love with the lady.”

  “She’s no lady.” I picture Brooklyn’s sexy little body, her pouty lips, and storm-colored eyes. Yep, the exact opposite of what I thought Mrs. Reeves would be.

  “She’s a dude?”

  “Nah.” I shouldn’t have let him get this much out of me. Already, I feel anxious, like I need to check on her. Or at least the house to make sure everything is okay.

  “Then explain.”

  “Brooklyn—”

  “Brooklyn, huh?” He takes a drink. “That’s not the name I was expecting.”

  Giving him a dark look, I say, “You weren’t the only one.”

  “Just spit it out, Parker.”

  “She’s young, like our age. Her husband died in the war. He was a Marine. I tried helping her move into the house today.” I leave out the part where I had been an ass to her, when all she’d been was friendly.

  “Damn,” he mutters and his eyes get all knowing. “You tried helping? As in attempted but was thwarted?”

  “You and your ten dollar words.”

  “Don’t change the subject.”

  I clench my jaw. “Let’s just say our meeting wasn’t very cordial.”

  “Which means you, for some reason only known to God, were an ass to her.” He shakes his head. “That makes no sense, man. You’re the friendly one of the Morgan boys.”

  “She rubbed me the wrong way.”

  “You’re still not telling me everything.”

  “I might have accused her of lying about being a widow,” I mumble into my drink. “And she might have made me read his obituary from her phone.”

  “Shit.” West’s gaze rakes over me, his mouth flattening. “What happened to the guy loved by all the ladies? The one who always knew what to say and how to flash those damn dimples? Do you know how jealous we all were of you growing up?”

  Would he be so damned jealous if he knew how many ladies had paid me for my time? Would his rich ass be so jealous if he knew what I had to do in order to help pay the fucking bills?

  Would any of them be jealous that my first real sexual encounter was with a guy, who was disguised as a woman? I didn’t have a clue until I tried to return the favor, per my job instructions for the evening, and nearly lost my mind when I discovered his junk.

  Would they be jealous to know that the asshole fucking made me do stuff to him? That he threatened my job if I didn’t, and I didn’t know of any other way to make that much money in that short period of time to help pay our bills, to pay our mother’s rehab bills…

  No choice. Never a choice. Do the right thing, Parker. You’re so sweet. Show me those dimples of yours.

  Rage builds inside of me, but I push it back down and slam the lid on that part of me, just like I always do.

  I’m the good brother. The levelheaded one. The one who always had Cole’s back when he’d let his temper get the best of him. I’m the one that all the ladies, from eight to eighty, love.

  “Maybe I got tired of them loving me so much.”

  Chapter Five

  Brooklyn

  The moving truck drives up to my house at seven am, loaded with all of mine and Braden’s furniture. My one last free move courtesy of the military. Last night, I slept in a sleeping bag in the master bedroom. Okay, so I tried to sleep, but ended up tossing and turning until dawn, worrying about the rest of my things.

  I direct the men, showing them exactly where I want the furniture, like the kitchen table with its mismatched chairs Braden and I had found in Hickory, on an impromptu trip. We couldn’t afford the entire set, so we only bought the table and scoured secondhand stores for chairs.

  As they unload the trailer, the tension that had helped keep me awake begins to ease away. It’s like they’re giving my life back to me, one room at a time. Once they leave, I finish decorating the rooms, hanging pictures and placing knickknacks on shelves. The shadowbox containing Braden’s portrait, along with the flag I was given at his funeral, goes on the mantle over the fireplace.

  Dragging the recliner to the left side of the fireplace, I flop down in it and pull up the footrest to survey the house. It looks exactly like our home in Jacksonville. Braden would have loved it.

  “I think I’m going to love it here,” I say to his picture. “All that’s left to do is start a garden. Maybe plant a few more flowers in front.” For whatever reason, talking to Braden’s picture makes me feel so not alone. It’s like he’s still in my life.

  Okay, so I know it’s a coping mechanism, and I know it’s not the healthiest habit to still have after two years, but who’s going to hear me?

  The walls? The floor? The rugs?

  My cell rings. It’s a text from Soon Lin.

  Soon Lin: Go to the grocery store today.

  Smiling, I text her back.

  Me: Up next on my to-do list

  I wish I could have convinced her to move with me, but she felt like she had a duty to help girls like me—young women marrying into the military life.

  Soon Lin: Job search Monday

  I snicker. I swear, if I let that woman plan my year, she would. Well, for a while, she had to. For months after Braden’s funeral, I was numb. I didn’t want to do anything, but sleep. I barely ate. I stopped showering. I stopped going out. Stopped seeing people. Stopped doing everything, but breathing it seemed.

  “The time for wallowing is over, Brooklyn.” The curtains are shoved open, and I pull the sheets up and over my head.

  But Soon Lin won’t have any of that. She rips them off. “Get up.”

  I stare up at her through dry eyes. “I’m not wallowing. I’m fine. And I don’t want to get up.” There’s nothing to get up for, no one to cook for, to look forward to coming home… nothing. “I’m fine,” I repeat.

  “Fine doesn’t smelling like rotting fish.” She waves a hand in front of her face.

  Crossing my arms, I say, “Go away.”

  “Would Braden be happy to see you like this?” she a
sks.

  My heart folds in on itself. Lowering my gaze, I whisper, “No.”

  From that point forward, I started showering again, started taking care of myself, and… I made promises to Braden, to his memory, that I would never disappoint him again. That I would always keep him alive in my heart.

  What about Taco Tuesday? Get your Freak on Friday? I type.

  Soon Lin: Brat

  I can hear her say the word with such affection that tears prick at the backs of my eyes.

  Me: Miss you

  Soon Lin: Miss you back. Go shopping.

  *

  Half expecting to run into Parker, I fly through the Piggly Wiggly like they are having a fire sale. I know he lives close to me, and since this is the only grocery store on this side of Forrestville, it stands to reason he would come here.

  Unless he has a girlfriend or wife shopping and cooking for him. When we met, I didn’t bother to check his ring finger. Maybe I should have, then that could be reason number two for avoiding him.

  Inwardly groaning, I know I shouldn’t have any reason for avoiding him. I shouldn’t be thinking of him at all.

  After paying, I push the buggy over to the community board by the exit. It’s sectioned off in three parts—events, housing, and employment. I scan over the employment first—no reason to look at events, since I don’t have the extra money to go.

  “Bartender, dog groomer, cake decorator,” I mutter to myself. Ugh. I have no experience with any of those positions. “Assistant office manager.” I perk up. This is something I can do. I have an associate degree in office management. “Call Rowan at 910-,” I grab the advertisement and immediately call her.

  “Callahan’s Auto Repair.”

  “Hi, I’d like to speak to Rowan, please.”

  “This is she.”

  “I’m calling about the assistant office manager’s position.” Name. Tell her your name. Gah. I’m so bad at this. “I’m Brooklyn Reeves, by the way.”

  A slight pause. “How much experience do you have, Brooklyn?”

  “Three years, and I have a degree in office management as well.”

  “Awesome. You’re hired.”

  My jaw drops. “Just like that?”

  “I could really use the help.”

  “Don’t you want to run a background check, or call my references? Make me pee in a cup?” Stop talking. The woman is giving you a job, you drunk possum.

  Rowan snorts. “You can on one of your breaks, but I’m not touching it, and you have to bring your own cup.”

  I let out a nervous laugh. “That’s okay. I was being a little uh…”

  “Excited.”

  “Yes, excited,” I answer, thankful she’s given me a way out of my embarrassment. “So excited to start on—?”

  “Tomorrow. Callahan’s is open Monday through Saturday. We can discuss your schedule and job duties when you come in. See you at eight.”

  “Sounds great,” I manage to say before she hangs up.

  Taking the advertisement, I shove it and my cell into my purse, a big smile blooming on my face. I goofy dance my way to the parking lot, bumping the buggy with my hip to keep it rolling.

  “Oh yeah… who got the job, even after making a fool of herself?” I sing on the way, pausing when I get to my SUV. Looking at the window, I point at myself and my reflection does the same. “This girl got the job. That’s who. Break it down.”

  A truck rolls up beside me, and butterflies form in my stomach as my face heats up and I try to be all nonchalant about my Taylor Swift Shake it Off dance style. Braden always said my parking lot victory dances were going to get me in trouble one day. Then again, he’d been the one to encourage me to do them in the first place. He’d been the one dancing right along with me.

  The door opens, and who gets out? The man I’ve been dreading running into, of course. Crap. Parker Morgan does shop here. Alone.

  My smile falls, and I hurry to load my groceries so I don’t have to speak to him. Gosh, why did I have to buy so many things?

  I toss the bags inside, one tipping over. Oranges bounce out, one by one, and I watch in horror as they roll right into a pair of boots.

  Parker bends down, picking them up and holding them out. I can’t help but stare at him as if he’s offering me the apple that did Adam and Eve in.

  “Here you go,” he says, carefully placing them back into the buggy. He puts his hands into the pockets of his dark jeans and stares right back at me. “How is everything?” he asks.

  “Fine.” Standard answer to a standard question. I don’t know why I thought our next meeting would be something more.

  With my next breath, my body unfreezes. I start loading groceries again, but just as I turn around to grab another bag… there he is, taking a huge bag of charcoal from the bottom and hefting it over his shoulder like it weighs nothing.

  His forearms flex, big hand gripping both side as he adjusts the bag, and my body flushes hot. He walks toward me and I back up, bumping into my car. Leaning over, he places the bag in the back, his body so close that his T-shirt brushes my arm.

  “Thank you,” I murmur.

  “You’re welcome,” he says, his voice equal parts soothing and arousing.

  My breath hitches and my heart pounds.

  Parker turns slightly, his golden-green gaze raking over me. His lips part and so do mine. I can see a smattering of freckles on his nose, just a few, but enough to make me want to melt, because it only adds to his looks.

  He touches my arm. “I’m sorry about the way I spoke to you yesterday. I want to thank you for your,” He swallows, his strong throat working. Never in my life have I have been so mesmerized by the sight of a man swallowing. “Sacrifice. I can’t imagine what that must have been like to lose your husband.”

  The mention of husband snaps right out of my lust-induced trance. “My what?” I say sharply.

  *

  Parker

  Big grey eyes blink up at me, the desire that I clearly saw before replaced by confusion. Hell, I feel confused.

  Maybe it was a bad idea to help her like this, or maybe the bad idea was practically getting on top of her in the back of the SUV.

  Her round breasts rise and fall rapidly under the faded East Carolina shirt she’s wearing. Her shorts are a bit longer today, but there’s no hiding her long legs. Or how soft her skin really is.

  I jerk my hand away. She frowns at me. Like I have one nerve for touching her.

  “My what?” she snaps.

  “Your husband,” I snap right back. “Remember, you made me read his obituary yesterday?”

  “I remember you accusing me of lying,” she says, her chin tilting as we both stand.

  Blowing out a breath, I shake my head. “Look, I don’t want to argue. I just want to apologize. So, I’m sorry.”

  She considers my words for a minute. “You have a really strange way of apologizing. But, thank you.”

  I nod at the rest of her groceries. “Need any more help?”

  The barest hint of a smile curves her perfect lips. “I got it.”

  “See you around.” I start to walk away, then remember what made me park by her SUV in the first place—that goofy dance of hers. “Hey.”

  She stops mid-load and glances over her shoulder at me. “Yes?”

  “What was that dance for?”

  Her eyes sparkle, reminding me of stars in the night sky. “I got a job.”

  “Nice.”

  “The dance or that I got a job?” she asks tentatively.

  It’s almost like she’s trying to flirt. Or maybe she’s just being nice, dumbass, and making conversation because you spoke to her first.

  Flashing her my best grin, I say, “Both.”

  A startled look covers her face, but then she actually grins back. “Thanks.”

  Before she turns away, I catch the blush stealing up her cheeks. For a moment, I’m mesmerized by the sight. For no reason at all, at least no reason I want to admit, I head back t
o her shopping cart and gather the rest of her bags.

  “What are you doing?” she asks, clearly bewildered.

  “What I should have done in the first place.” I finish loading up the trunk while Brooklyn puts the cart in “buggy jail” as my little sister likes to call it.

  Closing the trunk, I turn to her. “Where’s the job?”

  She licks her lips. “Callahan’s. Heard of it?”

  “Yeah.” I don’t know if I like the thought of Brooklyn working there. Too many men with rap sheets longer than my brother’s frequent the place. Not that what she does is my business. It’s not my job to watch out for her.

  Her nose wrinkles. “Is there something wrong?”

  “Men work there.” Awesome, Parker. Way to stay out of her business.

  “It’s a mechanic shop. Kinda goes with the territory.”

  I try again. “Some of the guys have criminal history.”

  “How would you know?”

  “Because I’ve been in jail with some of them, that’s how.” And that’s how you make a decent person look at you with fear in their eyes.

  “Oh.” She takes a step back. “Well, thanks. For everything. I have to go.”

  “I was fifteen,” I blurt.

  “What?”

  “I was fifteen.” The need to explain why I was there rides me hard. I don’t want her to think the worst of me, though it would be the easiest way to keep her at a distance. “Got caught stealing a pair of Jordans from Peterson’s—it’s a store in downtown Forrestville. I did it on a dare.”

  Her brows furrow, and then she smiles. “Braden got busted for stealing cigarettes when he was fourteen.”

  “Your brother?”

  “My husband.” Her eyes go all soft, and I feel as though I’m suddenly intruding upon a memory I have no right to be in. “He was a real troublemaker growing up, and it took the Marines to make a man out of him. Or at least, according to him, it did.” She laughs, a tinkling sound that makes my heart flip in my chest. “Even after that, he got in trouble with his commanding officer for pulling pranks.”