Think Before You Speak

by D. A. Bale

  Did I also mention the uniform? Yeah, definitely not my style. I’m more the one to help some hunky Marine out of uniform instead of dressing in one.

  Which returned thoughts to what I wanted to do to Radioman. Which made me think of my conversation with Reggie. Which brought me back to Switch.

  Like Reggie, I was a bit nervous about contacting the aging head of a tough gang to question him about who might or might not be involved in some blackmail scheme. Hey, it wasn’t like calling up your best friend and asking for a lunch date. It wasn’t even close to calling an attorney to get you out of a jam. Or your accountant. Or an old sleeping companion to make sure he knew it was over between you.

  Which reminded me, I really needed to call Nick to make sure he knew it was time we moved on from – well, whatever we’d had.

  Okay, so I wasn’t necessarily a little nervous about setting up the meeting – I was a lot nervous. Like I really wanted a root canal more than I didn’t want to do this nervous. But Ambassador Juarez had gone through the trouble of sneaking past Jimmy-the-Super and completely blowing by my brand spanking new security system to provide the phone number. The least I could do was make one simple phone call.

  Which brought my tangled thoughts around to a certain Texas Ranger. Had the ambassador found out from Zeke about my late night jaunt into gang territory? I’d also mentioned Switch’s name to Jimmy and Bobby, but they didn’t have the connections that came with carrying a badge. I hadn’t told Grady, but then he talked to Zeke on a regular basis. Why would my antics be up for discussion when they had a drug war to covertly fight? And why would Juarez give a crap about helping me do something that would obviously tick off the Ranger?

  ‘Cause Juarez hadn’t told him. I smiled. That meant Zeke had no idea about Juarez’s visit to my apartment. Or the phone number. And with all of the appreciation Juarez had graced me with for discovering his daughter’s killer, the visit with Tomas Ricardo – AKA Switch, AKA a notorious drug dealer and gang leader – was probably sanctioned. Which meant I’d be safe.

  Probably.

  Sort of.

  Maybe?

  Maybe not.

  Chapter Nineteen

  On a typical Monday off from the bar, I usually spent my day cleaning house, running errands – you know, the typical routine most normal people did on the weekends. Since my schedule was anything but normal, Mondays were errand day for me. I zipped through stores with little to no lines and finished all my chores in under two hours. That left time for visiting with friends, watching a movie, or reading a good book.

  Hey, I read. Thrillers. Horror. Not the usual fare you’d find on someone like Janine’s bookshelf – at least when she had time to read more than textbooks. Just call my tastes eclectic.

  After calling and making an appointment to see Mr. Ricardo, as I was instructed to call him, and receiving no response to several texts to Janine, my day dragged toward the evening like the proverbial tortoise toward the finish line. Plus, since it had been less than twenty-four hours after the date with Radioman, I didn’t want to be the first to break the silence and come off needy.

  Dating 101 time, ladies. Let the man be the one to contact you after the first date. Makes ‘em feel more in control of the relational flow. The worst thing you could do is flood a man with texts, phone calls, and messages. Sends a clear cut signal of desperation and clinginess that will send a guy packing ASAP.

  And I’m not talking about what he’s packing. You’ll get to find that out for yourself later on, or in my usual case sooner, but only if you’re smart in how you play the game.

  However, Radioman’s response toward me last night – namely his flat-out refusal to hitch a ride on the Vickiwagon – made me wonder if I’d hear from him again at all. The conversation had flowed, along with ample alcohol which usually worked in my favor. The kissing had inflamed me faster than a firecracker fuse on the Fourth. Then a thought punched me right in the kisser.

  Sure I’d felt the fire, but had he? Kissing was an art form – you either had the gift or you didn’t. The response I’d earned from every guy I’d kissed since I was fourteen – and trust me, it wasn’t hard to discern – kissing and I went hand-in-hand. Or mouth-on-mouth. Or mouth-to…

  Vicki!

  I’d never considered the possibility that a guy might not like my kissing. Nah, that couldn’t be the problem, ‘cause Radioman had already asked for another date. The guy was still into me. He had to be. But the fact I hadn’t successfully lured him to my bed – er, mattress – sent my confidence tilting a little off-kilter.

  For the first time in my dating life, I understood the desperate pull other women experienced. My fingers ached to dance over the phone keypad. Multiple times I dredged up Radioman’s phone number and fought off the urge to click call. How could I solve this conundrum without falling prey to contacting Radioman first? I did what any typical, red-blooded, American girl would do.

  I grabbed a coke and a package of Oreos and cuddled up with the cat to watch a blood and gore slasher movie. Okay, okay, so I’m not so typical. Most girls would watch some romance crap, but hey, I was trying to get my mind off of romance.

  Or at least the sex part. Work with me, folks.

  By six o’clock, I was ready to bounce off the walls like a caffeinated critter. For the life of me I couldn’t focus, and the horror movie got me thinking of what I might be going through in a few short hours with Switch – excuse me, Mr. Ricardo. I needed some calming conversation and lulling libations.

  So I made a beeline for the bar.

  The night at Grady’s had barely begun, but the regular after work crowd had arrived and waved as I entered. Rochelle plopped a cold one down on the bar top before I even sat down.

  “Now that’s whatcha call service,” I said before taking a long and satisfying gulp. “Nothing calms the nerves better.”

  Rochelle offered a motherly head tilt. “What could possibly have your nerves in a bunch on a day off?”

  “Um…traffic?”

  “Try again.”

  “The heat?”

  “Close.”

  “Men?”

  “Bingo,” Rochelle said with a smile. “I’ve been dying to hear how your date went with…what do you call him…Radioman?”

  “That’s it,” I said, raising the mug in salute to the made-up moniker. “It was great…mostly.”

  Until he ran off and left my girlie bits in a bind. Wait a minute, it couldn’t have been all that sweat, could it? I mean, I’d put on plenty of deodorant and body spray beforehand. Too much perhaps?

  “Stilted conversation?”

  “Not exactly. Smooth conversation, but what else would you expect from a guy who gets paid to talk all day?”

  “True,” Rochelle acknowledged. “So it was the awkward goodnight kiss then.”

  “Great kisser. Everything was going perfect until…”

  “Awkward good morning?”

  I shook my head and buried myself in my beer in shame. No, I don’t cry in my beer, folks. That’d mess up the taste.

  Rochelle stopped wiping the counter in mid swipe. “Don’t tell me he was bad in bed.”

  “Never even got there,” I admitted.

  Now I had the barkeep’s full and undivided attention. She lowered her voice to where she could barely be heard over the piped-in music. “Did he ask to do something kinky?”

  “Did you hear me?” I asked raising my voice. “We never got to the bedroom.”

  Snickers from the table behind indicated my tone had overshot my intentions. I’d always possessed a voice that carried – everyone told me so. When I was young, the sperm donor had even claimed he could hear me all the way down in Houston and Mexico during business trips. In the ensuing adult years, alcohol tended to amplify my vocal inflections.

  Oh, hell. Maybe that’s what chased Radioman off too early.

  Rochelle leaned forward like she’d bought a ticket and taken a front row seat to the stage performance of my mental
musings. She patted my hand and handed over another frosty one. “Tell Momma ‘Chelle what happened then.”

  I sighed. “It’s what didn’t happen. He said he wanted to be a gentleman, whatever the hell that means.”

  “Mm-hmm.”

  “He wouldn’t even cross the threshold into my apartment.”

  “Seriously?”

  “As a heart attack.”

  “What a letdown.”

  “Among other things,” I murmured. “Be honest with me, Rochelle. Are my thighs too fat? Butt too big? Boobs not big enough?”

  “You’re asking me?” Rochelle quipped as she gawked and squawked. “I’m a thirty-something divorcée with two kids. If that’s not enough to send a man running home in terror, I’ve got stretch marks to rival a roadmap, a butt that screams mom-jeans no matter what brand I wear, and boobs already well into a permanent southerly migration. At this rate, you might as well put me out to pasture or send me off to the glue factory.” She knocked back a shot of Jack to rival my expertise. “Trust me. I’d kill to have just your thighs.”

  And Janine wondered why I wasn’t interested in having kids. I almost wished she’d had a seat beside me for Rochelle’s diatribe against the physical damage of motherhood – not to mention the mental. Then again, she’d probably come back at me with something like that’s what keeps plastic surgeons at the top of the medical field food chain.

  A tilt back finished off my second beer. “Then what’s wrong with me?”

  “Nothing, hon.”

  “You’ve said it before. Grady’s been treating me differently.” Yeah, that was because of other things, but the train was out of the yard and heading down the Vicki’s Feeling Sorry for Herself tracks. “I was at Zeke’s place for more than a month, and he never so much as tried to touch me. The only person who has given me the eyeball since the start of summer is a middle-aged detective with a glandular condition. And now Baby is entertaining the troops better than me.”

  “Maybe Radioman should’ve asked her out?”

  I offered up my best narrow-eyed glare. Then belched. Rochelle laughed, grabbed a shot glass then poured in three fingers before sliding it toward me.

  “Listen,” she stated, “have you ever tried not rushing a relationship into the physical realm?”

  “I don’t follow,” I admitted.

  “You know, taking things slow. Avoiding the bedroom until the relationship passes the viability stage.”

  I shrugged before tossing back the shot. “Guess I’m just a one trick pony.”

  “Isn’t that streetwalker slang for a john?”

  “I thought that was another word for a toilet?”

  “Trick?”

  “No, john.”

  Rochelle swiped the empty glass off the bar without replacing it. “Look, this could be a really good thing. It says Radioman’s interested in more than just your body. It means he’s interested in you.”

  “Hey, whether it’s first, second, or third down, the defensive end is still gonna rush the quarterback,” I returned.

  Rochelle just shook her head like a good mother. “Take it from a girl who’s been around the block more than once, Vicki. Enjoy your time with this one. Pace yourself. He just might be a keeper.”

  “Then what do we do in the meantime?” I asked.

  My mind drifted to last night. Lips on mine. Tongues doing the tonsil tango. Desire to drag him to my mattress and see what else he could do with that tongue. Hmm.

  “Enjoy the conversation and the kissing.”

  Okay, so Rochelle didn’t have a front row seat to my mental musings. Apparently she’d scalped her tickets and gone elsewhere for the night’s entertainment ventures.

  “So what’s a guy got to do to get in on this convo about kissing?”

  Speak of the devil – almost. I spun the stool around to catch Radioman’s lawyer friend sliding onto the seat next door in a tailored black suit minus the requisite tie. Great. Just what I needed.

  “What’ll you have?” Rochelle asked.

  I interceded. “He’ll take a scotch on the rocks.”

  Seth sent a thumb my way. “What she said.”

  While Rochelle poured his drink, Seth gave me the full-blown, head-to-toe, once over. With some people, such action got my catnip all riled up like Slinky when the litterbox needed refreshed. However, with the conversation Rochelle and I just had, it was the stroke my ego needed. Dignity was restored – sort of.

  “This is a nice view,” he said with a smile. “Never seen you on this side of the bar.”

  “My night off,” I returned.

  “And yet here you are.”

  I offered up a toast with the vodka Rochelle had set before me – then realized with my first sip it was water. She tossed a smirk over her shoulder before scurrying off to wait on another patron.

  “It’s my home away from home.”

  “Kinda like me and my office some days,” Seth said with a sigh and glanced around the room.

  Nerves fluttered in my stomach. “Are the guys meeting you here tonight?”

  “Doug was supposed to, but it looks like he got tied up late at the office too.”

  Good. No awkward moment with Radioman on the horizon. In my present, less-than-confident state, I really didn’t want to run into him until I had a chance to buck up. ‘Course that got me thinking about bucking broncos, which then had me thinking about stallions, which sent my brain into a flurry about a certain lonely set of sheets.

  A part of me heard what Rochelle had said. But then the other part felt like a ravenous bear who’d recently awakened from hibernation ready to binge. Five weeks of sexually frustrated female on Zeke’s couch, followed by a week of sexually insatiable female with Nick, had my pledge to lay off the getting laid going the way of football in March. A part of me missed it, but the pull toward August’s preseason opener was almost too much to resist.

  Especially when even thinking about Radioman’s deep and sultry voice had me purring like a kitten. I was such a predictable and lost cause at this point anyway – but no need to spill the beans to his lawyer friend. I steered the conversation to a safer topic.

  “So speaking of Doug,” I ventured. “I asked Radiom…I mean Bruce, about him last night on our date.”

  Seth offered up a funny quirk of his mouth. “That’s a strange conversation for you two to have on a first date.”

  I shrugged. “I was curious about how the three of you met.”

  “Did he tell you about our fraternity rivalry?”

  “Yeah. If I remember correctly, it had something to do with alcohol consumption then too.”

  Seth coughed away the sip he’d taken and laughed. “From frat rivals to friends. Pretty interesting, huh?”

  “Interesting,” I mused as Grady popped out of his office and eyed me from across the bar.

  Instead of the typical mustache tilt this time he offered up a hard set of his jaw and a firm line of lips, as if he knew the conversational track I’d taken. The topic of Banker Boy. The one he’d told me to leave alone. With all of the cameras canvassing the area, I wouldn’t put it past him to have planted a few microphone bugs like a scene from a spy movie. The realization sent a zing along my spine – and this time it wasn’t in the direction of my nether regions.

  If there really were hidden microphones, that meant Grady had listened in on all of my interactions. All of my conversations at the bar. Even the ones Rochelle and I had concerning his fine – oh, hell no.

  Rochelle chose that moment to return and address Seth. “So Vicki here tells me you’re a lawyer.”

  “Is that a positive or a negative in your book?” he asked with a wink.

  “Aw, sugar,” Rochelle said with a smile and a placating pat to his cheek. “I don’t do the cougar thing, but thanks for the consideration.”

  A wicked little smile oozed across Seth’s lips. “Too bad.”

  I continued stewing about the extent of Grady’s clandestine activities as he made rounds
across the way. The possibility he’d listened in on conversations all these years threatened to stir up a hornets nest in my brain. I wished Rochelle really had filled the glass with vodka instead of water. Might burn the boss’s eyes a little when I threw it in his face – if he had the courage to head this way.

  “Besides, I’m raising two kids on a bartender’s salary,” Rochelle continued.

  Her favorite defense mechanism – throw two kids into the conversation and most guys ran toward the hills faster than a sprinter in the hundred-yard dash.

  But Seth stayed put – and put on his lawyer face. “Divorced?”

  Rochelle’s eyes widened. “Well, yeah.”

  “Was child support ordered as part of your decree?”

  Rochelle rolled her eyes and snorted like a prized bull. “Just because a paper says he’s supposed to pay doesn’t make it magically appear in my bank account.”

  “Aren’t they garnishing his wages?”

  “That’d be easier if I knew where he’d disappeared to.”

  Seth tossed back the remainder of scotch and dropped forty bucks on the bar as he stood. Then he handed a card to Rochelle. “I might be able to help with that. Call my office tomorrow.”

  She stared at the card. “Thanks, but I can’t afford an attorney right now.”

  “Pro bono.”

  “For child support?”

  Seth shrugged. “Sure. I can choose up to a certain number of pro bono cases I take on each year.”

  “I…I…,” Rochelle stuttered.

  I leaned into Seth’s shoulder and got a whiff of the same musky cologne Radioman had worn on our date. The thoughts of what should’ve happened last night, if I’d had my way, flooded my naughty mind – until Grady popped into my peripheral vision and brought with it thoughts of lying, cheating men.

  “She’ll call you in the morning,” I told Seth.

  He nodded and checked his phone. “Well, since you lovely ladies shot me down, I guess I’ll have to mosey on elsewhere to find some entertainment for the evening.”

  Elsewhere called to me too when I checked the time on my phone a little later. A meeting with a dangerous gang leader promised to be less than entertaining though. Try more like panty piddling.