“What are you up to after your shift?” Dug lounged at the pool table, one muscled thigh resting against the pocked wood.
“I’m going home.”
“Want to get breakfast?”
“Thanks, but I think I’ll go home and face-plant on the bed.”
A smile that would get him admitted to many a woman’s bedroom spread across his face. “I could help you with that.”
She turned her head, embarrassed. Why did this man scramble her? Why did he render her as intelligent as a wet sock?
Zeb materialized next to her.
“Okay?” he asked, his light-blue eyes scanning her, turning hostile when they trained on Dug.
Dug straightened off the table, chest out, and the two men stepped toward each other.
Holy crap.
Her hand curled around Zeb’s massive bicep. “Zeb, I’ve got this.”
Zeb scanned her and gave a sharp nod. “Here if needed.” Zeb headed back to guarding the entrance, thick arms planted across his chest.
“He’s with you?” Dug asked, a tic pulsing in his jaw.
“He’s a…friend.” Sophie shifted empties onto the tray, her forearm muscles straining.
“Good to know.” Warm eyes hit hers.
She studied him again for a beat. No matter how many times she talked to him, she couldn’t get a reading on the man. Couldn’t figure out his angle. He seemed interested, but there was a guarded edginess to him.
Unbalanced and with nerves fighting some kind of never-ending duel in her stomach, she headed to the next table. She smiled, tapped her pencil on her tray, took their order, and headed toward the bar.
“Don’t think I didn’t see what went down over there,” Annie said when Sophie dumped her tray down with a smack.
Annie’s Dior perfume mixed with the scent of denim, beer, and faded cigarettes of the bar, now as familiar to Sophie as her raspberry cocoa butter moisturizer.
“You had two men having a pissing match over you.” Annie swiveled her denim butt in her chair, crossing her impossibly long longs, her head swinging between Zeb and Dug, eyes narrow. “I know who I’d choose.”
Annie tapped a red lacquered nail on the bar, a frown marring her smooth forehead, her eyes on Zeb. “Why does that man not notice me?”
“His name’s Zeb.” Sophie stacked her tray with shot glasses brimming with Wild Turkey.
Pipe walked out of his office.
“Great,” Sophie said under her breath.
Annie squeezed her shoulder.
Pipe looked around the bar, his head jerking when his eyes landed on Zeb and stayed there, his gaze narrowing. “What’s Carmichael doing here?”
Sophie stepped forward, swallowing. “He’s my ride.” Surprise and something else moved in Pipe’s eyes. She turned and headed to the bar to give Cope her order. Last call had been issued, and the bar had started to empty out.
She dragged a hand across her eyes, wishing the hands on the clock would hit twelve and four. She looked up to find Pipe scanning her. She tucked her head and went to move away.
“Bring your car in early tomorrow and I’ll have a look at it.”
She opened her mouth but he cut her off.
“I want you here on time. Can’t do that if your car won’t start.”
Really.
Did Pipe think praying for a miracle from Jesus that her car would start was how she wanted to live?
Her hands landed on her hips. “For your information I’ve taken it to five different mechanics who’ve all promised they’d fixed it. Five. Right now I can’t afford to get it not-fixed for the sixth time, and I can’t afford another car.”
He stared at her, eyebrows raised. “Bring it in tomorrow morning.”
Was the man not listening?
“I can’t afford it.”
He glanced at her feet then back at her face. “Get some stilettos. Consider this your one and only warning, and bring the car in.”
Without another word, he turned and walked away.
“I think he’s warming to you.” Gemma winked.
“Yeah, it’s positively cozy in our neck of the woods.” She looked at her shoes then at Gemma, some kind of crazy hysteria, fatigue, and a little bit of fear fizzing her blood. “Did you know that tomorrow Pipe and I are going shopping for vacuum cleaners, then we’ll have tea and eat tiny sandwiches and cupcakes?”
Gemma threw back her head and laughed.
“I knew there was more to you than what you give out.”
Sophie stilled, unsure of what to say.
“Girlfriends, I’m rescheduling margarita and appendage night.” Annie twisted her long blond hair into a rope and threw it over her shoulder, her eyes locked on Sophie. “And you’re coming.”
Sophie opened her mouth to say no, but the questioning look on Annie’s face stilled her.
“Tomorrow night. ‘Tits-Out Terri’ is working. I don’t care if fifteen hundred bikes turn up tomorrow night, I’ve worked nine days straight, and I’m done.” Gemma slid her tray onto the bar. “I’ll bring the tequila, margarita mix, devils on horseback, and ‘Hello Handsome,’ who only needs four AAs to have me shouting to my savior.”
“So we’re settled, my place tomorrow night.” Annie’s narrowed gaze fell on Sophie. “No excuses.”
Sophie wondered if she could catch a fictitious but possibly near-fatal twenty-four-hour virus between now and tomorrow night.
“I mean it.”
Sophie pulled her ponytail tight. “Let me check my calendar and I’ll text you tomorrow, okay?” She tried to calm her voice as it came out of her mouth, but winced at her rushed words.
Annie stepped back, regarding her. “You only get so many shots at a sideshow alley game. You know what I’m saying?”
No.
But she got Annie’s body language. She could only blow them off a number of times before she’d be whistling in the wind. She wanted this, wanted the warmth of friendship, but opening up would leave her vulnerable, and that scared the crap out of her.
“I do get what you’re saying,” she said quietly.
“All righty, then bring your man troubles, your shoe troubles, male appendages, and we’ll get answers.”
Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Zeb approach.
Annie turned her head. “Bring him. He’s a long lick of Dairy Milk, and I love me some Cadbury.”
“Are you about ready?” Zeb stood in front of her, his crystal-blue eyes flashing in his mocha face.
“We close in twenty. I’ll be ready in forty-five.”
Annie patted the seat next to her. Zeb shook his head, regret in his eyes.
The electricity bill, think of the electricity bill, or imagine the face of Ona Evans from Erwin, Tennessee when she receives her $150.00 back.
An hour later Sophie unlocked her front door, her muscles wilting with fatigue.
Zeb walked in front of her, throwing on lights. He disappeared into her room, flicked on the light, and walked back into the living room.
“Thanks, Zeb. I’m sure there’s a flock of pissed women out there who’d wrestle me to the ground since I’ve deprived them of you.”
A smile warmed his eyes. “I like where I’m at, girl.”
She toed off her boots, curious. “Is there a Mrs. Holy Hotness waiting for you at home? Hordes of panting women you need to service? Are you listed on Groupon?”
A full smile hit his face. His light blue eyes sparkled, pearly whites that would make an orthodontist weep in admiration.
Sophie stared.
Wow. That is one beautiful, testosterone-fueled man.
“No woman waiting for me. No women in need of service. I don’t know what Groupon is, so no.”
She smiled at him. “Good to know.”
Pongo sprawled on the couch. She walked to where he lay. He lifted his head, his tail thumped twice, and three pops sounded. She moved in and hugged him, holding her breath.
“Jesus. Did your dog just—”
/> Zeb moved back as if he’d taken a javelin to the chest.
“Yep. That’s Pongo. He can reliably empty a room. It’s his gift to the world.”
“Good night, baby boy.” She buried her face in his neck and wrapped her arms around his sausage body. “Love you.”
She stood. Her head snapped when she hit a barrier of Chanel perfume.
Oh, no. Oh, hell no.
Harlan had dialed up Submissive Blondes R Us and brought her here?
Her head swung to the closed door of her spare bedroom. She gripped the back of the couch to keep upright. She closed her eyes, her nails biting into her palms.
She didn’t give a shit what he did at Casa Franco, but slapping her in her house after playing that he was interested when she knew he wasn’t?
No.
Hell no.
Part of her wanted to march into her spare room and demand that he and his sub get out, but another part didn’t want to see the woman’s head thrown back in ecstasy, her body slick, Harlan totally concentrated on her.
Why does it hurt? It shouldn’t hurt. This is me doing this to me.
She flinched, processed and folded the hurt over and over, then buried it deep in her soul.
“Sophie?” Zeb’s voice came from a distant galaxy.
She waved her hand. “Good night, Zeb.”
Zeb closed the front door with a click and wouldn’t leave until she’d locked it. She turned the deadbolts. Two minutes later, a throaty car roared to life.
She leaned against her front door, mashed her lips downward to try to stop the emotion building. Her head turned at the spare room door opening.
No way. No freaking way am I going to be confronted by him and his woman in my home.
She walked with purpose to her room and closed the door. She threw her clothes into a pile in the corner, pulled on her PJs, washed her face, brushed her teeth, slapped on Olay, and avoided her reflection in the mirror.
She grabbed her phone, wiped her eyes against the back of her palm, and sent out a text to Gemma and Annie.
Sophie: I’m in for the girl’s night. I’m shopping for appendages, Pringles, and French onion dip.
She quickly said her prayers hoping God would be cool with a shortened version tonight. She crawled into bed, left her phone on the bedside table, and stared out into the inky night.
Tomorrow I’m getting the recorder back and this is done.
Chapter Ten
Sophie downed coffee and forced a piece of toast into her protesting stomach. She’d planned on an hour’s sleep before she hit the park, but Karma wasn’t playing in her sandpit today. Her alarm had failed, or she’d slept through it. The usual sound of Pongo head butting her door then landing on her bed with all the finesse of a shipping container being dropped off a cliff hadn’t happened. Her body had betrayed her by slipping into a coma until sunlight hit her face, and she’d woken with a start.
Ten o’clock had rolled by, and her proposed early start to the day was in the gutter.
The door to Harlan’s room was closed.
Wait.
The door to her spare bedroom was closed.
She’d not wanted to hear the front door clicking, the sparkly laughter of a sated woman after Harlan had delivered on his Groupon promise.
She choked on her coffee.
Submissives R Us probably purchased a multipack and they’re getting through each voucher one position at a time.
Her stomach felt like she’d swallowed barbed wire.
God, why do I feel like this?
“Because there’s something wrong with me,” she said to the plate.
And it pisses me off, and I don’t know why I’m pissed off.
She grabbed her jacket and shrugged it on.
The door to her spare room opened.
“Hey.”
She swiped her phone and keys off the spotless counter and without a backward glance headed out the door.
Harlan’s string of curse words followed her.
She jumped into her car, which started after a couple of thumps. She shot down the driveway with a screech of tires, heading to the park. Her foot hit the accelerator when Harlan’s car came into her rearview mirror. She gripped the steering wheel. “Come on, baby girl, please don’t let me down.”
She threw in a sharp left, Never-Stressed Nancy calculating the fastest route. A black Jeep slotted three cars behind her.
I’ve used up my Karma quota today.
Twenty minutes later, Sophie roared into the lot, threw her car into park, turned off the ignition, and laid her head against the steering wheel. Her damp hands gripped the wheel, her knuckles white, her heart playing pinball against her ribs.
She’d driven like a teenager on a joyride. In a last ditch effort to lose Harlan and the Jeep she’d sent a prayer upward to anyone listening, made a tight turn, and headed the wrong way down a one-way street, her emergency lights blinking. She’d hogged a lane and by a miracle had emerged at the end of the street bombarded with not-very-nice hand gestures, but intact.
Sophie turned her head, and her mouth dropped open.
On the bandstand elderly couples dipped and swayed to 1940s music. The women wore vintage party dresses, all with matching white orthotic shoes. The men wore shiny suits, their black shoes gleamed, pressed white handkerchiefs in breast pockets. A jazz quartet played in the corner.
Sophie exited her car and made her way to the bandstand. A small sign announced that the Happenin’ Hits of the Heyday was in full swing and anyone could join in.
The sun beat down on her neck, the thick cotton of her polo plastered to her body.
She stopped at the steps to the bandstand. An ancient man sat guarding a neat stack of dollar notes.
“Do you want to join in?” The man smiled at Sophie showing veneers so white she was momentarily blinded.
“Thank you.” She pulled her wallet from her back pocket and handed him a twenty-dollar bill.
The man’s eyes widened. “That’s too much, my dear.”
A memory surged into her head. She’d been young. She and her father had stopped at a small town in the Midwest. Farm folk without much to give paying for her father’s prayers to bring rain and good fortune. She remembered the grandfathers and their families flocking to the man who could save them and their farms.
People like the man in front of her.
“No it’s not.” She pushed the words past the lump in her throat and squinted at the wooden post where she’d hidden her equipment. Nothing looked out of place, but it was too hard to tell from where she stood.
“You may have to wait for a lickety-split minute until one of our younger gents comes free.” At Sophie’s bewildered look he continued. “You need a partner. I’d offer, but my hip’s been acting up, and I’m saving myself for the limbo. Got my eye on Gladys.” He winked and Sophie returned the smile.
“That’s okay, I don’t mind—”
“She’s taken.”
Sophie stiffened at Harlan’s words.
No, she is not.
Her blood pulsed through her veins, and her heart kicked it up an extra two notches.
Harlan grabbed a fifty from his wallet and passed it to the man, who looked like he might cry with appreciation. His hand moved to the small of her back, gently propelling her up the stairs.
She dug in her heels.
Even through the thick cotton of her polo and the denim of her jeans, his heat, his touch, seared her.
When was her body going to get the memo that she didn’t like this man?
“You nearly got yourself killed,” he said, anger vibrating in his voice. He grabbed her hand.
“So did you.” She tried to pull her hand away. She wouldn’t tell him how many times she’d wanted to bust into her spare room and murder him.
“What are you doing here, and why did you ditch me?”
“I’ve come for the dancing and I ditched you because I wanted to.”
He dug his hand through hi
s hair, making it all messy and sexy in an I’ve had sex all night long kind of way, which pissed her off even more.
“Let me go,” she said, anger and something she didn’t want to define bubbling in her chest.
“Jesus, Sophie won’t you ever listen to me or do what I say?”
“Well, let’s see.” She cocked her head to one side and pretended to consider his question. “No.”
“I’m doing this to protect you.”
“You are not,” she shot back. “You’re doing this for that stupid bet and your Everest-sized ego, thinking you can have me for one night which you cannot.”
She flashed a manufactured smile at an elderly woman who’d stopped dancing to greet them.
“Next up is the Virginia reel. Join in, dears.”
She ignored Harlan and tried to concentrate on counting the number of posts opposite her, which was nearly impossible due to the moving bodies.
She moved away, but Harlan’s fingers pressed into her hip.
Her overactive memory planted a vision of Harlan and a petite blonde at the front of her mind.
She broke free from him and joined a line of dancers facing their partners.
“I don’t know what you’re doing here, but I’m doing the Virginia reel,” she said over her shoulder. She followed the line of women and walked four steps toward her invisible partner. “After that there’s the ‘Come near my house again and you’ll be missing your balls’.” She stepped backward four steps. “I have to say that last one is my favorite, it’s a real jaunty tune.”
Her jaw started to clench when he moved to stand opposite her, but she somehow managed a full-wattage smile in his direction.
She hated that she felt jealous that he’d brought a woman home to her house. Her house.
She concentrated on the dance moves of the line of women. Moving toward Harlan and slipping away at the last minute. He stood impersonating a lamppost.
“I don’t know what’s pissed you off.”
“Where were you last night?” she said.
“Working.”
She nodded.
Working off the Groupon voucher with Chanel No. 5.
Bound to the Bounty Hunter Page 11