Fender Bender Blues

by Niecey Roy

  Rach snickered. “What cheesy movie did you steal that line from?”

  Craig’s smile faltered and it was his turn to shower her with a get-lost glare.

  Rick burst out laughing and Craig turned his back on the table. That was fine with her, two could play at that game and she turned around to look for the waitress again. She was going to need a lot more liquor.

  She caught the waitress’s attention by waving her empty glass in the air and whistling through her fingers.

  “Classy.” Craig shook his head like he might at a misbehaving two-year-old. She didn’t understand what it was about him that brought out the brat in her. She almost crossed her eyes at him. You are being ridiculous. Get it together, Bennett.

  By the waitress’s tight expression, she also shared Craig’s sentiment. She might have gone the other direction, but after spotting the good-looking guy at the table, she slithered right up, oozing sex as she hadn’t been moments before.

  In a throaty attempt at sultry—Rach thought she sounded like a croaking frog—the waitress purred, “What can I get for you, Sugar?”

  Sugar? Had she been transported straight into an old soap opera? Before Craig could answer, Rach cut in and said, “Can you bring a bowl of popcorn, please? And another one of these.” She waved her empty glass in the air and handed the waitress a ten dollar bill.

  Since she’d quit smoking, Rach found that while in a bar she needed something else to do with her hands besides drink to compensate for the loss of a cigarette between her fingers. She was extremely proud of herself for kicking a habit she’d had for five years.

  The decision to quit had been loosely tied around the fact that if she was diagnosed with cancer without the benefit of medical insurance she’d be screwed in an expensive way. It’d been a great excuse to quit, though not without difficulty; fighting the urge to pull into the nearest gas station and buy a pack of cigarettes when the stress of flitting from job to job became too much.

  At the moment, though, she longed for a smoke. A nice deep, satisfying drag would’ve helped kill the edge she’d gotten from sitting at a table with a jerk in expensive shoes, two lovebirds slobbering all over each other and a waitress who could barely keep her panties on.

  Beside the table was a group of five girls, all of whom had a pack of cigarettes resting beside their cell phones on the table. She considered leaning over and trading one for a dollar bill. It was tempting…

  Rach straightened up in her chair, determined to master the evening. No way would she let him get under skin. She had a niggling feeling he’d made it his mission to annoy the hell out of her and she wasn’t about to give him the satisfaction.

  For the third time Craig used the word “honey.” The gagging noise escaped her mouth before she could bite it back. So much for not letting him under her skin. Rach sighed and gave a small shrug at the three sets of eyes at the table staring at her.

  “Most women find those kind of titles antiquated,” Rach said in way of explanation.

  “I think it’s charming,” the waitress sighed, leaning in to let her hair tickle Craig’s shoulder and he gave Rach a triumphant grin. She rolled her eyes and pretended great interest in her purse strap. It’d been months since she’d bought a new one. If she ever found a job in the near future that lasted longer than a day she’d treat herself to a new purse.

  The waitress strode away with a ridiculous sway to her hips with Craig and a few other men in the room as her audience. Rach studied the woman closer than she had the first time. Young and tall with well-sculpted legs, her only blemish being bleached blonde hair—and she had big boobs. Rach looked down at her own A cups in the Victoria’s Secret pushup bra, giving her a little cleavage in the gray, wide strapped tank top she wore. Unimpressive in comparison.

  She turned back to Craig in the middle of asking Rick about work, and interrupted, “I’m sure boobs for brains thinks every guy is charming.”

  “No, she just has good taste,” he threw back.

  “The ego is real attractive,” she replied with an eye roll.

  With a taunting grin, he replied, “She seems to like it.”

  That was it, she could either get up for the popcorn herself or she could break down and wrestle a cigarette from the girl behind her. With a huff, she stood up and made a straight-line for the popcorn machine at the end of the bar and scooped out a large, buttery helping into a bowl. She gave it a generous shower of salt and popped three pieces into her mouth and moaned with pleasure at the taste.

  The euphoria did not last because when she returned to the table Craig was still there. Of course he hadn’t left, he was hell bent on making her miserable.

  He sat back in his chair, relaxed, with his legs sprawled out under the table. He scoped the room and she wondered if he were looking for someone in particular. Perhaps the brunette from earlier. Many of the women had an eye on him and he returned their gaze with a confident smile.

  “Men are so predictable,” Rach mumbled.

  “How’s that?” he asked, taking a long pull of his beer. By his smile, he had no doubt what she was talking about.

  Rach swallowed the popcorn in her mouth then said, “Staring at women like they’re meat. It’s sick. Men never grow up.”

  He raised his brows, amused. “If you say so. All these women happen to like being looked at or they wouldn’t look first. Relax, Red.”

  Rach took a deep breath and told herself not to overreact and throw her drink in his face. He was trying to bait her and she needed to get a grip. She knocked back the martini the waitress had only just delivered, trying to ignore the part of her brain that wondered what it would be like to have those huge arms around her. She tore her eyes away and mused, They need bigger drinks in this joint.

  She stood and said, “I need fresh popcorn,” and went back to the machine in the corner. On the way back she stopped at a table of women she knew from an office she’d worked at a few months before. From the corner of her eye, the brunette reappeared, fondling Craig’s shoulders and laughing like a hyena. Rach rolled her eyes and turned her back on them both, hoping the woman would fondle him on over to the other side of the bar.

  When she returned to the table the brunette was gone and so was the waitress, but Craig was still there. She sat down with her popcorn and drink while Craig ogled a woman in tight jeans bending over the table next to them.

  No way could he be that much of a creep. The fact that he was leering just to piss her off was infuriating. The sudden idea to push him off his chair came to mind.

  Just one little nudge. She leaned in closer to go in for the kill. He deserved it. She almost giggled at the idea of dumping him on the floor. She sucked in her cheeks to keep from smiling and edged closer.

  Just before she could snake her hands out to seal the deal, Leah slapped the table, startling Craig. His eyes flitted back and forth between the women and her surprise attack went up in smoke. Rach popped the last-olive-standing into her mouth and chewed in consternation, glaring at Leah who pretended not to notice while she busied herself with running her fingers up and down the length of Rick’s arm. Rach had a pretty good idea of how the night was going to end—Leah on Rick’s lap, Craig on the floor wearing a five dollar martini on his head…

  Ah, sweet fantasies. She smirked and wiped up the small trickle of alcohol that she’d slopped onto the table.

  “So, how’s work going?” Leah asked, snagging Rach from her wishful thinking.

  If she hadn’t been so busy glaring at Craig who was busy pretending she didn’t exist she might have admonished Leah for being too busy to discuss Rach’s first—and last—day at Copy Masters. The alcohol was getting to her because she should’ve been ecstatic he wasn’t giving her the time of day. Instead, she was irritated as hell. Preoccupied, she answered, “I’m not working there anymore. I quit.”

  That got Craig’s attention, though she still wasn’t sure why the hell she wanted it. He gave a pompous huff, tossing popcorn into his mouth
. She snatched the bowl away from him and said, “Have your tart get you your own bowl. This one’s mine.”

  “My tart?” he laughed. “Who talks like that?”

  “Shut up,” she commanded, but his mocking grin only widened. “Thought I’d throw in something like the cheesy crap you and boobs for brains have been tossing back and forth.”

  “Jealous?” he asked, waggling his eyebrows and she growled, throwing a piece of popcorn at him. It landed on the table and he picked it up and put it in his mouth, giving her a boyish half-smile.

  I can still push him if I just...

  Leah slapped the table again and Rach jumped in her seat. The curious glint in Leah’s eyes said she knew Rach was up to something.

  “At least you know you weren’t made for copy machines,” Leah said in an effort to distract her.

  Craig snickered and Rach crossed her arms over her chest and narrowed her eyes at him. She asked, “Is there something amusing here?”

  “No, nothing at all,” he answered, but his tone mocked her.

  She guarded her popcorn bowl when he attempted to steal from it and she snapped, “I really don’t think I need to be criticized for my failures by a car salesman.”

  Craig’s blue eyes twinkled and he made another try for the popcorn bowl but she swatted his hand away.

  Leah started to say, “He’s not—’’ and Craig cut her off with, “A very bad car salesman, thank you.”

  Rach scooted the popcorn bowl to the other side of the table out of his reach unless he sprawled across the table. She knew she was being childish—the bowl was huge and she’d never be able to finish it all on her own—but Craig turned her into a brat.

  With a toss of her hair, she retorted, “Really? Isn’t selling cars like…” She searched for something on the fly that would sound unsuccessful but ended up settling with, “Delivering newspapers? I bet the commission’s really unimpressive.”

  Leah opened her mouth to speak again, but Craig interrupted with a shrug of big shoulders. “It’s not that bad. Nothing to brag about, not like failing at the copy machine business though, I suppose.”

  The lovebirds at the table snickered and Rach tuned them out to give Craig’s hand a good smack at his next attempt for the popcorn. She’d underestimated the length of his reach.

  He set a half empty beer bottle down and as if on cue, the blonde with the dark roots and the dangerous hip swing sidled over with a big smile and a little more cleavage than she’d had the last time she’d delivered his beer.

  “What can I get you?” She sounded like a college kid in an X-rated movie. Craig beamed a killer smile and the idiot waitress ate it up.

  “Would you mind getting me a bowl of popcorn? This lady here won’t share. And while you’re at it, why don’t you get her another drink, she needs to loosen up a bit—she’s got a stick up her ass tonight.”

  Rach gasped and turned to tell the woman she could shove the drink up Craig’s you-know-what, but she was gone. Rach turned back to her popcorn bowl and shoveled some in her mouth to keep from telling him to drop dead. God, she needed a cigarette. She popped two more buttery pieces in her mouth and chewed with great concentration.

  With a sudden smile and tilt to her head, she asked, “So, what’s the word on that pretty blue Camaro?”

  His smirk disappeared and Rach thought, Bingo, jackass.

  “Fine,” he replied with at tight smile. “How’s your…red thing.”

  Okay, so that backfired. She glared at Leah giggling from Rick’s side. She couldn’t think of anything witty to say so answered, “My car is just fine, thanks.”

  But she hadn’t heard from Dick’s Repair yet on the estimate. She was a little worried.

  Thinking Craig deserved all the pain she could dish—his car was the reason she was in this mess in the first place—she dug inside her purse until she found the emblem. She slapped it down on the tabletop beside his beer with a triumphant smile.

  “Thought you might want this back,” she said and savored the pained expression on his face. Rick broke out into full-blown laughter and slapped the table.

  Craig grabbed up the bow tie and stuffed it into his pants pocket. “Great, thanks for returning it. It’s the least you could do.”

  “The very least.” Her tone dripped honey, but she sucked in a breath when, instead of snapping back at her, he gave her a breathtaking smile that made her heartbeat accelerate. Speechless, she dropped her gaze from his amazing lips and concentrated on the bowl of popcorn. She needed to get out of there—fast.

  When the waitress scooted in between Rach and Craig’s chair she chose that moment to get up and go to the bathroom, hoping cold water on her face would sober her up so she could go home.

  Chapter Nine

  Outside, the warm breeze ruffled Craig’s hair and he inhaled deep the fresh scent of rain to come. He loved spring, a relief after a long winter of snow and cold—Midwest winters were harsh and uncompromising.

  After Rach had left the table his brother and new girlfriend hadn’t much to say, not with their lips attached. Which was just as well, the bar wasn’t his scene; he wasn’t even sure why he’d accepted the invitation. He stuffed his hand into his pocket and palmed the chrome emblem and the image of red curls danced through his mind.

  Brat.

  He blinked as that very woman tottered down the sidewalk, a little more off-kilter than when she’d gone to the bathroom ten minutes before. Her curse drifted down the quiet street as she searched through a humongous purse beside a powder blue Toronado. It would be a miracle if she found what she was looking for—he had never understood a woman’s need for an oversized purse. After she found her keys, she fumbled with the car door lock, swearing again.

  He sighed, wondered when his life had become so complicated, and went to confront the brat.

  He approached from behind and caught a whiff of floral scented shampoo when her hair lifted toward him in the breeze. It threw him off balance in a way he didn’t understand. Not caring to analyze his reaction, he brushed a hand over hers and seized the keys, though not expecting the elbow to the gut or the pointed toe of her shoe kicking painfully at his shin.

  “Red! It’s me!” He grabbed at his shin and backed up so she couldn’t do any further damage. Damn, the woman was dangerous!

  Recognition dawned on her face just as she aimed a fist at his nose. Her mouth dropped open into an “O” of surprise. She unclenched her hand and grasped him by the arm so he wouldn’t fall while he hobbled on one leg. He looked around, hoping no one had witnessed her almost lay him out in the street.

  “I’m sorry! I thought you were a thug,” she apologized and followed it up with, “Quit calling me Red.”

  Jesus, he pitied any thug with the misfortune of crossing her path. Rubbing at his sore shin, he shook his head in wonder. Her bloodshot eyes peered into his. “You’re tanked.”

  “Yes, I know this.” She sighed and leaned against the car. “I hadn’t meant to drink so much tonight.”

  By her tone, he got the feeling she considered her over-indulgence to be his fault somehow.

  Just his luck. No matter how much he’d like to get in his car with his bruised shin and go home, there was no way he could let her drive in her condition. Craig was many things but he wasn’t a prick.

  “Hey, don’t worry about the shin. I’m sure the bruise will fade eventually.” He straightened and grinned around her at the car. “Where’d you get the rental?”

  She crossed her arms and the look of guilt for kicking him disappeared. “Not everyone can afford a high dollar rental. My insurance sucks.”

  “I didn’t ask you to hit my car, Red,” he said, not sure why he felt he needed to defend himself. “And the insurance company assured me you had full coverage.”

  She gave an impatient groan and stepped past him, picking up the keys she’d dropped in the tussle. “Not my policy, just my rental car agreement. As in I didn’t choose that option to save money on my premium. I do
n’t know why it matters to you what I think of my crappy insurance anyway, it’s none of your business,” she huffed, stumbling in her heels. She gripped the hood, her keys clenched in her right hand. “But if you must know, this is my dad’s car. You got something against big-ass blue boats?”

  He laughed. He couldn’t help it. The frown on her face told him she didn’t find the subject matter as amusing as he did.

  “I don’t have anything against Toronados, they’re kind of a classic.”

  “Wow, my dad would love you,” she mused, giving him her first genuine smile since he’d met her. She finally got the door unlocked and pulled it open. Sliding inside, she flipped her hair back over her shoulder and looked up at him as he held the car door open. “I can’t drive with you hanging on like that.”

  “I know that. And you aren’t driving anywhere. Scoot over,” he ordered.

  He didn’t wait for her to argue. Instead, he hunched over to get in and gave her a firm shove to push her across the seat even as she dug her heels in to stop him. She didn’t succeed and in seconds he was behind the wheel, enjoying the irritation that flitted across her face. The whites of her eyes might have been red but the centers were a shocking green in the dome light of the car that was immaculate except for the Buster Burger sack on the floor at her feet.

  “Give me the keys,” Craig demanded, hand out. Her expression obstinate, she shook her head. He repeated, “Give me the keys.”

  He assumed she was being stubborn to piss him off. Strange, but this time he remained calm instead of firing back.

  He kept his hand out, looked straight into her eyes and said what he’d been dying to tell her since he’d first laid eyes on her in the bar: “Don’t be an idiot.” She sputtered, and he added, “You’ve already been in one accident this week, doubt you can afford another.”

  Knowledge dawned behind her green orbs before she thrust the keys into his open palm. He was used to winning. It was his job to win. The winner made sales and had the best lot in town. The winner made money and got what he wanted, even if only keys from a drunk brat. He sat back in satisfaction and started the car.