“Oh, God.”
“Yeah. So you think I should rent a portable toilet? Because that shit was so, so nasty.”
“Just throw away any sealed bucket that goes untouched for a day or more,” I advised her. “Don’t bother opening it. Or, better yet, just hire someone to clean up here for you. I can give you some names and numbers.”
“No, no,” she said. “I can do this. I want to do this. It’s going to be my home, you know? I want to make sure nothing stupid is happening to it. And it’s costing so much money already, building this thing. I never thought it was going to be so much.”
“Are you all doing all right financially?” I asked, concerned. “Because you know what I’m doing is pro bono.”
“Oh, no, Sloan,” she said, shaking her head. “No, no. Neither of us would ever ask that of you. We couldn’t. We know you do this for a living.”
“And I know that if I ever had anything wrong with my bike, Chuck would fix it for free,” I said. “And I couldn’t tell you what my bar tab is right now, because I’ve never paid it. So I’ll never charge any of you for any electrical work. That’s all I can contribute.”
“Aw, Sloan.” Haley gave me a hug. “You’re like the heart of the club. You contribute a lot more than just electrical work.”
“Thanks for saying that,” I said. “Don’t open anymore buckets around here.”
“Lesson learned,” she agreed. “I’m going to go collect nails now, because they leave them everywhere.”
“Good luck.”
“Thanks.”
Seeing Haley had been a good distraction, but the longer I worked, the more I thought about my impending meeting with Amy Ovalle. What did she want? What in the world would be any outcome of meeting her? The anxiety grew and grew until I was getting very little work done indeed.
It was a testament to just how stupid I was that I left Chuck and Haley’s house an hour early so I could swing by my house and shower before going to the diner. So stupid. It wasn’t a date. My hammering heart refused to be dissuaded, but it wasn’t a date. I even forced myself to forgo the cologne because of how much it wasn’t a date even though I spritzed it once in the air and walked through it, just to make sure I didn’t stink. I’d been sweating all day, after all. One spritz was okay. It wasn’t overkill.
God, I was stupid.
I arrived at the diner a full ten minutes early, like the idiot I was, and idled outside. How would I know it was her? We hadn’t exchanged any information about what we’d be wearing or how to recognize each other. I should’ve told her I’d be wearing a gray shirt, that I had black hair. I had literally no idea what she might look like. Voices were no indication of looks.
I finally pulled the door open to the diner and stepped inside, and it was immediately clear that I shouldn’t have worried in the first place. There was only one person seated in all the booths of the diner, and I knew it was Amy Ovalle. She could’ve told me that she was the most gorgeous woman in Rio Seco. That’s how I could’ve recognized her.
Ace and Jack hadn’t been pulling my leg. This woman, whoever she was, whatever she wanted, was beautiful. Dark hair, dark eyes, full lips, curves for days. The strange thing was, though, that she seemed more familiar the closer I got to her. I would’ve surely remembered being introduced to her, though, wouldn’t I, if it had happened before? Amy didn’t seem like a woman I would’ve forgotten, even if I was pretty sure she didn’t actually live here. If she did live here, at least one of the guys would know her. That was how small this town was. Among the five of us, we had about everyone in town covered.
As I approached Amy Ovalle, she looked up from her phone. That gaze stopped me in my tracks. I knew that look, that level one, the one that waited for me to make my next move. That gaze belonged to the woman in the crowd of protesters yesterday. She’d been there, and she’d seen everything.
“I’m Sloan Norris,” I blurted out as she set her phone down on the table in front of her. “You were at that protest. Why?”
“I was doing research,” she said. “That was an interesting event, don’t you think?”
“If by ‘interesting’ you mean ‘offensive,’ then yes.” I blinked at her as she took out a notebook and pen from her purse. “You are Amy Ovalle, aren’t you?”
“Oh, I’m so sorry.” She stuck out her hand as she paged through the notebook until she came to a blank sheet. “Nice to meet you, Sloan. Please have a seat.”
I sat down with a great deal of reluctance. “Look, if this about how I acted at the protest, no one got hurt. You heard what those people were shouting.”
“Do you usually fly off the handle like that?” she asked, her pen poised on the notebook. “Would you say you have a bad temper?”
“I don’t understand. Are you a lawyer?”
She looked at me for a second before unexpectedly laughing. “Oh my…do I look like a lawyer? Geez. I knew I shouldn’t have worn this blazer. I was just worried about making a good first impression.”
I snorted. “I even put on cologne. That’s how nervous I am.”
“I’m not a lawyer, for the record,” she said, smiling as the waitress set down a glass of water for me. “Why? Do you think you deserve to be sued?”
“Of course not,” I said, frowning. “Are you hungry? Did you order already? Didn’t we agree this was a dinner meeting whatever we’re meeting about?”
“I haven’t ordered yet,” Amy said. “I was waiting for you. What’s your recommendation?”
“Can’t go wrong with the cheeseburger. That’s what I’m getting.” The waitress nodded and made a notation on her pad.
“Same for me,” Amy agreed. “Are you still nervous, Sloan?”
“I have to say, yes, I am.”
“Why? Are you generally a nervous person?”
“No. I’m nervous because I have no idea why you’re here, and you keep asking really probing, borderline-leading questions.”
She cocked her head at me. “You think the questions are leading?”
“Kind of. And I’m feeling a little attacked, here.”
She wrinkled her nose. “I’m coming on too strong, aren’t I?”
“Strong and mysterious.”
“Mysterious?”
“I have no idea why you’re here. Why you want to talk to me. What you want to talk to me about. You have to understand that you wanting to speak to me in person instead of on the phone kind of raised one or two red flags for me.”
“I’m so sorry that I made you feel threatened like this,” she said, hanging her head a little. “Just goes to show that I have a long way to go.”
“Your business card wasn’t very specific about your line of work,” I said, picking at the roll of silverware. “What is it that you do?”
She smiled. “Well, that’s because my line of work isn’t very specific. I’m a writer.”
A writer? What in the world did a writer want with me? “That’s specific enough. Why not include that on there?”
“Well, it’s because I haven’t published anything…yet.” She had a determined gleam in her eyes even as her smile still shone. “I’ll have new cards made up the moment it happens.”
“I wish you the best in that,” I said, taking a sip on my water and spluttering as I instantly choked on it. “Excuse s-sorry.”
“You okay?” She reached across the table to pound my back and I coughed and laughed simultaneously how much more awkward could this whole thing get?
“I’m fine, thanks. And sorry.”
“Nothing to be sorry about. That water will get you every time. That’s why I recommended meeting at the bar. They have alcohol there at least.”
“I just wasn’t sure what to expect would happen in our meeting,” I said. “Can you blame me for feeling a little cautious? I don’t even know you. I don’t understand what your objective here is.”
She folded her hands on the table. “Okay. I know what’s really going on here.”
“You do?” I blinked at her. “Could you let me know so I won’t be in the dark anymore?”
“You didn’t want to meet me at the bar because that’s where all your friends are,” she said.
“That’s…” That was exactly true. “That’s not true.”
“You’re embarrassed of me.” Her lips were twitching.
“Ms. Ovalle”
“Please. It’s Amy.”
“Amy.”
“Yes?”
I huffed, off balanced. “How does that…that doesn’t even make sense. I didn’t even know you beforehand.”
Her eyes twinkled. “I’m just messing with you. You can probably wait to introduce me to your friends until the third or fourth date.”
I gaped at her until she laughed again. “I really had you going there, didn’t I?”
“You…did.” What else was I supposed to say? “I guess you did get me.”
“All I’m saying is that all of this would be a little easier to do with a little alcohol to…stimulate the conversation.” She smiled. “Put us both out of our misery, a little.”
I shook my head. “I don’t even understand what kind of conversation we’re supposed to be having,” I admitted. “You haven’t enlightened me yet.”
“I’m sorry.” That was funny; she didn’t seem like she was very sorry at all. “I guess I haven’t.”
“So, here’s the sum total of everything I know about you. Your name: Amy Ovalle. Your occupation: writer.”
“Not a writer yet,” she reminded me, drumming her fingers against the table. “Hoping you can help me change that.”
“I have no idea how I can help you become a writer,” I said. “I’m just an electrician.”
“You’re a lot more than that.”
I squinted at her. “You’re going to need to be a little clearer.”
“I’ve spoken with a source who told me about your career with the Navy SEALs.”
I inhaled sharply. Out of everything she could’ve asked me or told me, I definitely wasn’t expecting that bombshell.
“Who told you about that?” I asked.
“It’s confidential.”
“Exactly. A lot of the missions I went on remain classified.”
“No. I mean that the source is confidential. As a writer, I’m obligated to protect their anonymity.”
The waitress came back to the booth with our cheeseburgers, but as good as the plates looked, I’d more or less lost any appetite I might’ve had.
“What is it, exactly, that you’re looking to write?” I asked her. “A book?”
“A newspaper article,” she said, looking momentarily uncomfortable. “About the experiences of members of the military while they’re active duty. And what happens to them after they come back home.”
“That’s pretty broad.”
“That’s why I’m kind of counting on you to help me narrow it down.” She pushed her plate aside to pull her notebook in front of her again. “You served in Iraq, correct?”
God help me, but I took a huge bite of my cheeseburger, as much as I didn’t want to even touch it, just to save me from having to answer her right away. What was it, exactly, that she wanted to know about me? I didn’t have a good feeling about any of this.
“Sorry,” I said, still chewing. “I would really like some more information about the angle of your article before I commit to answering any questions.”
“That’s kind of the thing,” she said. “I’m not sure from what angle I’m going to approach this. My source has told me some things about specifically your team’s work in Iraq, and I would like for you to confirm them.”
“What publication is this going to be for?”
“It kind of depends on the story,” she admitted. “It was pitched to me by the editor of one paper, but if the story turns out to be good enough, it could go to other publications, too.”
“Good enough?” I blinked slowly at her, the one bite of burger turning in my stomach. “I can’t honestly say that my time in Iraq was very good.”
“Tell me about it, then. Correct me. Just give me something here, Sloan.”
Something inside me didn’t want to disappoint such a beautiful woman, but I overwhelmingly didn’t want to talk about this, especially when Amy was being so vague.
“I’m sorry,” I said again, even if I didn’t understand why I was the one apologizing. “I don’t even really know you, and I’m not sure that I’m comfortable giving a stranger the details of everything that I did and that happened to me in Iraq.”
She stared right back at me, letting that soak in. “I understand that. That’s reasonable. But would you give me a chance? Get to know me a little bit before brushing me off?”
“I really don’t”
“Please.” God, she had such puppy-dog eyes. I was sure she knew exactly what she was doing, turning those things on. I wondered if anyone ever had the chance to resist that look. “You can trust me. I know it’s not like we’ve known each other for very long, but I would do a good job with telling your story.”
“Amy, I don’t even talk to my close friends about the things that happened in Iraq.”
“I’m not asking to be your close friend.” She frowned a little. “Okay, that came out wrong. I wouldn’t mind being your friend. Not at all. But what I’m trying to tell you is that sometimes it’s easier to talk about tough things with someone you don’t know as well. There’s comforta kind of intimacy, even in the relative anonymity between us. I’m saying there could be, if you’d give me a chance.”
“You’re not understanding me,” I said, shaking my head. “Or maybe I haven’t been clear enough. I don’t want to talk about Iraq. I really don’t.”
“Sloan …”
“And by don’t want to, I mean I won’t.” I slid out from the booth and stood up, dropping a couple of bills on the table.
“We obviously got off to the wrong foot,” Amy observed, her dark eyes full of liquid regret. “Could I meet up with you some other time?”
“You can feel free to meet up with me at any time,” I said. “I’m just not going to talk about Iraq.”
Amy seemed to consider this for a few moments before nodding. “I’ll just have to take that, then.”
I left the diner not sure if I’d come out of that one on top or not or if there was even anything to win.
Chapter 3
I thought that would be the last I’d see of Amy Ovalle. She had a story to write and needed my input to do so, but I’d flat-out refused her. I expected her to slink back to wherever she’d come from, preferably after telling whatever editor or source who had told her to talk to me that I wasn’t about to play ball.
I was wrong.
For whatever reason, Amy stuck around. She stuck around, and I kept running into her, like she was a wad of gum stuck on the bottom of my boot, sticking with every step.
The first encounter after our disastrous meeting at the diner happened at the gas station, but by the time I realized it was her, filling up her car, she’d already seen me, and it was too late to wheel my bike around and beg for a bit of fuel from Chuck before running to the next town over to fill up.
“Nice bike,” she said conversationally, pushing buttons on the pump as I flipped down the kickstand.
I stood and wiped an imaginary speck of dust from the leather seat. “Thanks. You know much about bikes, or just a fan?”
“I know enough to not say ‘nice motorcycle,’” she said, smiling. She had a really nice smile. I had to give her that. And the fact that she was kind of my public enemy number one right now didn’t change the fact that she was gorgeous. And friendly, if potentially manipulative.
“Never owned one, then, I guess?”
“Oh, no. I mean, I like to think of myself as kind of a badass, but that might be too much of a stretch for even me.”
“You’d be surprised,” I said. “I’ve seen little old ladies on the back of hogs. They looked good there.”
“Of course not. I’m just saying not to sell yourself short. Everyone looks good on a bike.”
“You don’t look so bad yourself.”
Jesus. I was not blushing. I absolutely was not doing that. “Thanks.”
“You know, I’ve noticed a lot of people ride motorcycles around here,” Amy said. “Well, not a lot. But a lot when you take it proportional to the population of this place. Most of the time, they’re all parked outside of the bar.”
“Yeah, those are my buddies,” I said.
“Rough crowd?” Her eyes twinkled in the way that I now knew meant she was teasing me.
“The absolute worst,” I confirmed, playing along. “They’re in a gang and everything.”
That took Amy by surprise. “Really?”
“No, not really. Well, someone who might not know any better could think so. But it’s just a motorcycle club. I’m in it, too.”
“That’s why it’s called Horizon MC Bar,” she said, seeming to make some kind of connection. “So, is that the front?”
“The front of what?”
“The bar’s how you launder all of your ill-gained money, right?”
“Um, Amy? We’re a legitimate service organization. All the members are either former police or former military. We hold fundraisers for different causes throughout the year. The public park by your motel looks so nice because of us.”
“Sloan?”
“Yes?”
“You have to recognize when I’m just trying to get a rise out of you,” she said, patting me on my arm. “That was just pathetic.”
I sighed. “You’re right. It was pathetic. But I’m having a hard time knowing when to take you seriously and when to call bullshit. Aren’t you supposed to foster trust with your sources, as a writer?”
Amy winced. “You’re right. I have to work on that. I tease and joke around a lot to ease tension, but I shouldn’t rely on that.”
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