Truck Stop Tango

by Daniels, Krissy

  Made him almost likable.

  “You have my word,” I promised.

  At that, Dane Reynolds rubbed a hand over his head, met me eye to eye and nodded his approval.

  “We done? Can I see my dad now?”

  He chuckled and put some space between us. “Don’t suppose you wanna help me get Walt to the other vehicle?”

  I tossed him the keys to the van I’d “borrowed.”

  “Keep this one. I have no use for it.” My Rover was parked halfway down the mountain.

  We shared a stare down. Could have been my imagination, but under his beard, his lips twitched, as if he were fighting a smile. I nodded. He nodded back.

  “We good?”

  “We’re good.”

  “Now, be a good girl and hold still,” I whispered against her neck.

  Slade shivered and raised her chin, granting me access to that soft porcelain skin.

  “Someone might see us,” she whimpered, curling her fingers around my shoulders.

  “No one is coming up here, baby. It’s two in the morning.”

  We had fallen asleep, her in my lap, on the lounge chair in the rooftop garden. I had woken a short time later to Slade wiggling her ass against my cock, pretending to stretch.

  Swear to my maker, waking up against her curves, breathing her vanilla scent, knowing she trusted me with her life, our boy, her body, it was the headiest damn feeling. A drug. An addiction. Obsession. I could take on the fucking universe.

  Nothing else in the world mattered. None of the bullshit in my head—Dad, his infidelities, our violent past. Mom and her greed, her betrayal, her cold, superficial personality. None of it fucking mattered.

  Slade Mason, my soft, my sweet, my cushion, my rock. She was my laughter, sunshine, mischief, and truth.

  My girl.

  And right then, on the rooftop garden, under the soft rays of the moon, she was naked, a priceless work of art, on display for my own private viewing. I kissed her neck, her shoulder, and down to her chest, pulling a tight bud between my teeth.

  Slade writhed beneath me, arching into my body. I slid a hand down her firm abdomen, mindful of her bruises, and brushed my fingers against the soft folds between her legs. She parted her knees, completely trusting, definitely wanting, and I groaned, overwhelmed by her beauty.

  I stroked her, sucked and licked her nipple, pressed my thumb against her clit, rubbing in slow circles. Fucking hell, the way she moved with me, whimpered, the way her hair fell over the sides of the chair. Slade was soft and pure and pink and mine. All fucking mine.

  Parting her pussy lips with my middle finger, I pushed inside, only far enough to feel that she was wet and warm and ready. Ready for my cock. For me.

  I climbed over her, parting her lips with my tongue, taking her mouth. Tasting her. Loving her.

  When I reached down and pulled her knees higher, she broke the kiss and cupped my face. When I pushed inside her … Fuck, fuck, fuck, when I slid inside the liquid silk, the tight warmth, it was death, it was life, it was heaven. And hell, she owned me. Owned me.

  Her hands still on my face, her eyes locked with mine, she shifted her hips, urging me to move. I pulled out and pushed back in, shivering with pleasure. I pumped again, slow, controlled, and dropped my head to claim her mouth again.

  Slade moved with me, curling her legs around my waist, raking her nails down my back. I rolled my hips, grinding her clit on the down-stroke, pushing deeper. Her pussy. Sweet Lord, it was perfect, gripping me tight, sucking me in.

  Knowing mine was the only cock to caress her sacred flesh, it did things to me, unnatural things, otherworldly things, and I couldn’t get deep enough, or close enough, and I wanted, needed, to push harder, hold tighter, make love to my sweet, soft angel until our bodies fused, until we were one, until my parts became her parts.

  Slade arched beneath me, and I knew she was close. Throwing her arms over her head, she gripped the back of the chair, bucked her hips. “Oh God, Tango. Oh, shit. I’m coming,” she breathed against my ear.

  Her words, her voice, pushed me over the edge, and I buried my face in her neck and came hard, loud, trembling. I thrust again and again, deeper, harder until the last tremor, until I hadn’t a solid bone in my body, until I collapsed at her side—breathless, sweaty, and with a dumb-ass smile on my face.

  THE SUN TOOK EXTENDED BREAKS on the day of Maurice’s funeral, hiding behind billowy gray clouds, sneaking a peek every so often as if checking to make sure we were all okay.

  I met my new family—cousins, aunts, uncles. I made small talk, smiled, cried. Tango held my hand, held me upright. Even made me laugh when I seemed to get lost in my grief. Christopher had introduced me as the diner girl and everyone seemed to know exactly who he was talking about. Someday, maybe, I would feel confident enough to come out as Maurice’s bastard granddaughter. When the time was right. Not today. Not in the near future, but someday.

  Tucker came. As did Charlie and Margie. No Kim. Not yet. But I had high hopes for her. I wished I was seeing my ex-employees under different circumstances. Nonetheless, it made my heart happy to hug them.

  When the service was over, when the last of the mourners ducked into their cars and drove away, Tango asked me to walk with him.

  “Where we going?” I asked, grateful to be alone with him.

  “You’ll see,” he said, smiling and squeezing my hand.

  We cut through the manicured grass of Whisper Springs Cemetery, past rows of headstones and flowers, until Tango found what he was looking for—the gravestone that read, Marta Rossi. Beloved Wife and Mother.

  Simple, yet elegant.

  Tango sat in the grass next to his mother’s final resting place and pulled me down beside him. “I haven’t been here yet.” He turned to look at me. “I couldn’t do it. Not until you were with me.”

  My heart, already soft and mushy, liquefied.

  “I’m sorry you lost her the way you did.”

  “Me too,” he mumbled. “I was angry, you know. Not at her as much as myself. I only talked to her once a month when I was away. How pathetic is that? All I had to do was dial the phone, say hi. Let her know I cared, let her know she still had a son who loved her. I’d give anything to hear her voice one more time.”

  “She was proud of you. Loved you hard. That was obvious.”

  “We had our issues, but I loved her, too. Mom was cold, and strict, and hard. That’s how I knew women to be. Until you jumped off my dock, anyway. I pulled you out of my lake, and you were warm, soft, and nothing but laughter, smiles, and positive energy. I couldn’t get enough. Soaked you up like a damned sponge.”

  He shot me a sideways glance, then rested his arms over his knees with clenched fists. “I hate what she put you and Addy through. Hate that she turned away my baby. I wish I knew why she did it. I wish I could understand, or tell her how angry I am, how much she hurt me. I wish I could ask her why.”

  “We’ll never know why, and we can’t waste our precious time or energy trying to figure it out, but Tango, you need to forgive her. You need to make your peace and let it go. You are not your mother, but you are who you are because of her. And who you are is everything to me. And the man you are means everything to the little boy who’s waiting for you to go throw a football with him. And some of Rocky comes from her. That’s why you need to forgive. Let go of the hate, so your heart doesn’t harden like your mother’s.”

  I watched his face crumple, his Adam’s apple rise and fall, his head nod in agreement.

  What he needed to do, he needed to do alone. I pushed to my feet and kissed the top of his head. “Take your time, I’ll meet you at the car.”

  He swiped a tear off his cheek.

  Hard as it was, I walked away.

  Twenty-five minutes later, Tango found me leaning against his Rover. When his blotchy red eyes met mine, I wrapped my arms around his waist, pressed my cheek to his chest, and hugged all the love and support I could offer into him.

  His
arms coiled around me, one high, one lower on my back. He rocked me, with his cheek pressed against the top of my head, and I melted against his hard planes.

  “This is my favorite place in the world,” I mumbled against the silk of his dress shirt.

  “The cemetery?” he asked with a chuckle. “That’s creepy.”

  “No. This space, right here, between you and the rest of the universe.”

  The rocking stopped. He didn’t lift his head from mine, nor did he loosen his hold on me.

  After clearing his throat, he whispered, “I used to think I was the one taking care of you. That was never the case. It was always you, making me laugh when I wanted to drown in my own self-pity, standing ready with your pin to pop my inflated ego when my head got too big. You never let me get caught up in the bullshit of my privileged life. And if I tripped and fell, you always picked me up with that magical smile and a bucket full of cold hard truth.”

  Tango pulled away from me. I cringed when I saw the makeup stains on his shirt. He wasn’t paying attention to the shirt. He was melting me with the heat of his gaze. His lips parted and his tongue darted out to wet them.

  My heart palpitated.

  He lowered his gaze to my chest and lifted his hands to my shoulders, pausing briefly before sliding them up to cup my face. “This is my favorite place in the world.” He tapped my temples with his thumbs. “This space under that gorgeous head of hair, hiding inside that thick skull. The things you have going on in there. Shit. Blows my fucking mind every day.”

  Speechless. Only Tango Rossi could talk about someone’s brain and make it sound sexy.

  He wrapped his arms around me one more time. “I’m keeping you inside your favorite place so I can protect my favorite place.”

  Swoon. Yes, I swooned. Then I pushed up on my toes and kissed his recently moistened lips. “We are so weird.”

  “Why are you acting so weird?” Slade asked, following me out of the elevator of Tucker’s condominium.

  I’d invited her and Rocky to come and stay at my father’s house with me. She’d refused. I couldn’t blame her. Too many bad vibes. Didn’t matter. Maurice’s house would be ready soon. Then, we’d start our new lives together.

  “Tango.” She snapped her fingers in front of my nose. “What’s wrong with you?”

  Christ. The last thing I wanted to do was introduce my future wife to my ex-fuck buddy who I was obligated to protect because I had needed to rescue my father from a deranged biker.

  Halfway to the car, I stopped and turned to her. “I couldn’t talk in front of Tucker or Rocky. I have something important I need to tell you. Something you’re not going to like, but it is what it is and there is nothing I can do to change it.”

  Her eyebrows quirked. “Ohhh … kay.”

  I turned and continued toward the SUV. Her flip-flops smacked behind me. It was my third favorite sound, Slade’s laughter being my favorite, Rocky’s raspy giggle being second.

  “Are we going to the movies, or not?”

  “No.” I pushed the key fob, and we both climbed into the Rover.

  “You’re starting to scare me. What’s going on?”

  I started the engine and rolled out of the parking garage. “We’re going to Pop’s house.”

  “You just left your dad’s house.”

  “I know.”

  Slade twisted in her seat, hoisting one knee up so she could face me. “Tango Rossi, you better start talking right now.”

  Christ, why was this so hard? “I did things in New York that I’m not proud of. I’ve told you that already.”

  Slade nodded, chewing on her bottom lip.

  “Luciano sent me home when Mom died, free and clear of any debt, any allegiance. Then I needed his help to find Dad and to make sure the Slayers stayed clear of Whisper Springs.”

  “Okay,” she said, confusion drawing her browns together.

  “When you ask a favor of Luciano, he owns you.”

  Slade shook her head. “Nobody can own you.”

  “Trust me. Luciano grants you a favor, he owns you.”

  She straightened in her seat, then dropped her leg back to the floor, to face forward again. “Now I’m scared.”

  “Anyway, like I said, I didn’t like who I was in New York. I … um…” Shit. No nice way to put this. “I fucked around. Mostly with one girl. Aida. Luciano’s daughter. He pushed her my way. I think he hoped we’d work out. Needless to say, we didn’t. Anyway. We had fun. Used each other to get off. It wasn’t love. I guess we were friends, kind of. I bailed her out of trouble more times than I care to count. She does that a lot, get in trouble, I mean. Luciano appreciated that I had her back, when it wasn’t my job, and I suppose that was another reason he tried so hard to get us together.”

  Slade threw her head back against the seat on a drawn out ugh. “You’re rambling. Whatever it is, just say it.”

  “Sorry,” I sighed.

  Aida. I was stuck with her. If babysitting her brought Slade any grief, gave her any reason to doubt my faithfulness, it would kill me. If I didn’t take care of Princess Voltolini, her father would kill me. We had this one last hurdle. One last mountain to conquer, and I would make Slade Mason mine, legal and binding.

  “Luciano sent his daughter to Whisper Springs. To me. To protect.”

  I tightened my fingers around the steering wheel, bracing for impact.

  Slade sat stone-still and crickets-chirping-quiet.

  I kept my eyes on the road. When the silence became unbearable, I snuck a quick glance at my girl.

  Her shoulders shook. Then she dropped her face into her hands.

  Oh, fuck. I made her cry. “Baby. I’m sorry. I’m so goddamned sorry. I promise, she doesn’t mean anything to me and you have nothing to worry—”

  Slade wrapped her arms around her stomach, threw her head back again, and laughed. Hard, tears pouring down her face, laughter.

  Not sure why, but I laughed, too. Hard enough that I had to pull over. When Slade cooled it enough to look at me, she threw her hands in the air and yelled, “Suck it, life.”

  “What?” I managed to ask, now doubled over in my own fit of unchecked hysteria.

  “Fuck it! Bring her on. I can take it.” She leaned forward, roaring into her knees.

  We laughed for a good five minutes. I had no fucking clue what had triggered Slade’s fit.

  Hell, maybe we both needed to release the pressure valve.

  When we’d cooled our shit, she unhooked her seatbelt and crawled halfway over the console. Her lips touched mine softly. Then she whispered, “I broke into a biker clubhouse to save my pregnant friend. I fought off a psychopath. Big, bad, scary dude. I can handle an ex-girlfriend.”

  The worry I’d stockpiled left me on one extreme exhale. “I could tell you an alien baby was growing inside me and you’d perform a C-section, build a spaceship, and fly that fucker back to Mars.”

  She smiled the smile reserved for me. “Yeah. I would do that, too.”

  “You are so fucking amazing. I hope you know that.”

  “You were so worried. I thought you were gonna have a stroke. Did you honestly think I’d freak, hearing about this woman?”

  “If I had a stroke, you’d slice my head open and save my life. Probably with a bobby pin.”

  “Kiss me.”

  I did. I kissed her. Felt her up, too. Damn, my girl had perfect tits. Neither one of us wanted to stop. We climbed into the back seat and christened my Rover under a shady maple on Rockford Avenue like a couple of horny teenagers.

  We pulled into Casa de la Rossi thirty minutes later. Aida floated down the stairs to meet Slade. My girl, my warrior, pulled Aida into a bear hug and welcomed her to the family.

  And when I thought my heart couldn’t grow any bigger, Dad came around the corner holding a bag of peas to his blue and purple eye. It may have been the pain meds, but when he looked at Slade, his cocky, I’m the king of the world facade cracked and tears fell like diamonds down his chee
ks. He fell to his knees at her feet, and he thanked her for saving his grandson.

  Then he asked her forgiveness.

  Without hesitation, Slade hugged my dad and told him she had forgiven him a long time ago.

  She was lying.

  I didn’t care.

  I knew my girl would forgive him in time, because he was my pops, and that was the way she loved me.

  Dad had yet to talk about what had transpired at the cabin. He covered his bruises and made a valiant effort to hide his aches and pains. He wasn’t one to show weakness. I understood. I didn’t push. I had my Pops. I had my girl. I had Rocky. We were going to be just fine.

  That night, when I tucked my son into his uncle’s bed and watched him drift to dreamland, God and I had our long overdue heart to heart.

  Hearts. Everywhere. Littering the bed, a trail on the floor leading out the door, large heart shapes floating against the ceiling. Big hearts, tiny hearts, glittery, shiny, polka-dotted. Every shape, size, and color. Hearts.

  I scratched my head and heart-shaped confetti fell out of my hair.

  A black garment bag hung on the closet door with a note taped to it that read, “Wear me.”

  I unzipped the bag. The dress inside took my breath away. Ice blue, fitted, sleeveless bodice with a plunging V-line adorned with sparkling rhinestones, and a floor-length billowy skirt with layers of delicate tulle and silk. A gown fit for a princess.

  “Oh good, you’re awake.”

  I jerked around, startled by the sound of Aida’s voice at the door.

  “Chop, chop. There isn’t much time.” She pushed in, rushed me to the bathroom, and not so gracefully shoved me into the shower.

  “Aida. I…” I tried to protest, but the dark-haired beauty, who I’d only known for a month, and already considered a friend, shushed me.

  “No talking. Just scrubbing.”

  I did as told.

  When I emerged from Tucker’s bedroom forty-five minutes later, after Aida had worked magic on my hair and unleashed her bag of designer cosmetics all over my face, I was a princess.