by Selena Kitt
They would run afoul of snipers because of him. Explosives would rip them limb from limb because of him. They would go to places he believed to be safe, and they would disappear there because he was wrong. All these things happened in the dreams. If he was having a bad night, they'd happen a few times.
Tonight was a good night. He awoke suddenly, sucking in a breath, from a dream of sand that defied his efforts to remove it. He pushed and pushed at it with a broad broom, only to have it slide in behind him. Before long, it buried the broom and sucked it away. Then it buried him up to the chest. It filled his mouth and crushed him like an empty can.
Now he was here. Birds sang beyond the heavy drapes. An air-conditioned breeze traversed the bed, where he was surrounded by pillows and soft sheets. Berries and pine hung in the air.
Gigi. He was at Gigi's.
She stirred beside him, still asleep. Her long body made a sensuous curve beneath the sheets, which rose and fell with her deep, sighing breaths. He was glad he hadn't awakened her, and not just because he got to watch her sleep. She'd slept through his nightmare, and so he didn't have to go into them with her. They'd started to get better lately, anyway. Maybe being near the water was agreeing with him.
Maybe it was the job. When Gigi had interviewed him so long ago, she'd been so worried that the job would be beneath him. With his experience, she'd asked, wouldn't he want something that used his skills? But he'd had a good look at the place, and what he saw made him smile. She needed a lot done in there. He reassured her that he'd be using his skills.
Not that the place was filthy. He'd been in his share of filthy bars, staffed by lots of lazy-ass people standing around drinking like they were customers. Gigi's handful of bartenders and wait staff stayed busy all shift long. Keeping up with business would be hard enough without slowing down to figure out why the lights on the patio upstairs didn't work.
He went home every night exhausted after hours of bending his back with kegs and ice and glasses and the occasional pain in the ass who needed an express route to the door. As a result, he had fewer dreams about sand, guilt, and good people dying. The boat, which would be just as hard without the structure of regular hours, would be even better for him.
He squinted at Gigi's clock, clear across the room from the bed, until the numbers came into focus. Outside, morning rush hour would be in full swing. If he left now, he could get back to the spartan garage apartment he called home. His landlady wanted the lawn mowed, and he hoped to get to it before it got too hot. Then maybe he could get some more sleep before he picked Gigi up for work.
He eased away from her, moving toward the edge of the bed. Quietly, he gathered his clothes and dressed. He caught a glimpse of her, still sleeping, and stopped to watch her. Her features, relaxed in slumber, entranced him. She looked so peaceful, this woman who drove him so hard in bed and out.
The thought made him smile. He did that. He gave her peace and pleasure and rest.
I did that.
He carried his boots out to the living room and set them by the front door before searching for a scrap of paper. He finally found one in the kitchen—one of those coupons the grocery store gave you at checkout—and dashed off a note with the felt tip pen from her dry erase board. He returned to the bedroom to leave the note under her alarm clock, where he knew she would see it.
Then he slipped out, still smiling.
* * *
The clock's shrieking jolted Gigi awake. Her first disorganized thoughts were of how far away the clock was, and how important it was to get to it quickly before it woke Noah up, too.
She sat up in an empty bed.
Wait.
She stared at the place where he had been and found the sheets in rumpled disarray. She hadn't seriously doubted that he'd been there. In fact, he was probably still here somewhere.
The alarm's volume slowly rose. She looked around, sleep-addled, half-expecting him to pop out of a hiding place or come down the hall to silence the clock.
Nothing.
Damn. Really?
She slid clumsily out of bed and struggled into her robe before wandering over to turn off the clock. How had this happened? How could she have been so wrong about him, after everything they'd talked about?
She wanted to do something stupid and immature, like throw that fucking clock at the wall to watch it shatter. But control was more important. She wouldn't let him—
A strip of paper peeked out from under the clock. Thick black letters filled it. She pulled it out and read the message.
Had to leave. Chores for landlady. Call me for ride to work.
Gigi's anger melted away. Of course he hadn't just run out on her. Her skin warmed with embarrassment… and something else.
He'd been thoughtful. He didn't have to tell her all this.
Really? A second ago, you were ready to kill him.
She had been. Damn. Two nights, and she was trying to put the man on lockdown.
She read the note again. Leave it to Noah to do more than he had to. Her earlier response shamed her all the more deeply.
What had made her do that? Was she so accustomed to lesser men that her reflex was to judge him by that standard? Or was she so attached to Noah that the slightest misstep, even the imaginary ones, would set her off?
She carried the note back to bed and sat down. Getting attached to Noah was not a good idea. She'd known that when she hired him, she'd known it when she rode him that night on the patio, and she thought she knew it now. She'd gone into this with her eyes open, and he'd been upfront about his intentions, too.
He was going to Florida. Soon. And as much as she hated to see him go, she was going to have to live with it.
She looked down at the note. Call me for ride to work.
Too bad she couldn't take him up on his offer. She needed to pick up some supplies, and she'd need her car for that, probably before he was done dealing with his landlady. Still, it was sweet of him to offer.
She shook her head and chuckled. Noah's sweet.
She grabbed her phone from the charger to call Heather. Maybe she could catch her before she left home.
Chapter Six
Gigi pulled into her parking lot with two brand new tires and an impressive hole in her bank balance. The mechanics had pulled six of those metal screws out of her tires. They rattled in the cup holder as she drove, strengthening her resolve to speak to the contractors the next time she saw them.
Just as her annoyance began to smolder anew, her mental review of the day's events put her back in Noah's truck, warm breeze in her hair as they rode through her neighborhood to her house. The memory of his body against hers, the taste of his skin, made her breathe easier. Maybe all was well that ended well.
She backed into an unfamiliar parking spot near the edge of the gravel lot. She'd need to deal with the screws somehow before Heather's party. She could block the space off with a cone or put the grill in that spot, if it wasn't too close to the dumpster. Unless Noah had already come up with a way to get rid of them.
She was out of the car before she noticed his truck was not in its usual space. Very odd. His shift started with hers, and when she arrived a few minutes early, she typically found him here, already working.
She pulled the screen door open, shaking her head. He'd spoiled her. He wouldn't actually be late for some time yet. He was likely still running errands for his landlady. She'd have to stop holding him to these crazy standards.
She went down the hallway to the bar, greeting her regulars in their usual booth as she went. The contractors from next door sat together at the center of the bar. Just the men she wanted to see.
She shouldered in between two of them. "You gentlemen lose something in the parking lot the other day?"
They nodded sheepishly. One of them apologized. "Heather said you lost two tires," he said.
"Yes, I did. I said a lot of unpleasant words when I found out."
"Well, the person who dropped the box has been punished,"
he said, pointing at one of his colleagues.
Gigi looked at him. "Were you punished?"
He flushed red. "Yeah. I had to get on my hands and knees next to your car this morning and pick them up."
That hardly sounded like sufficient punishment to her. She'd have made him use his teeth. But all the contractors erupted into peals of laughter.
"Good. I hope for your sake you got them all."
"If he didn't, you know where to find me." The contractor winked at her, and Gigi nodded her approval. In another time, she might have flirted more with the guy; the sun had left him with a deep tan that made his blue eyes all the more striking.
But tonight, she was looking for Noah.
She went behind the bar to join Heather, who was shaking a Long Island iced tea for a customer at the end of the bar. A quick look around confirmed that Noah wasn't there; the supply of clean glasses on the back bar was shorter than usual.
Heather beat Gigi to the question. "You know where Noah is?"
"I was going to ask you."
Heather strained the drink into a glass full of ice and topped it with Coke until it attained the proper color. She glanced at her watch before reaching for a straw.
"I guess it's not late yet." Heather chuckled and delivered the drink. "I must be getting spoiled."
Gigi brought Heather up to speed on the supply run, shifting carefully around her as she reached for bottles, glasses and ice. Then she took her glass of water back to the office. Heather's upcoming party had left her with plenty of phone calls to make.
Gigi settled into her office chair with her iPad and pulled up her to-do list for the party. Heather's family was coming, along with a handful of regulars who had been there as long as she had. Her uncle's motorcycle club, the Red Rovers, would stop there for the night on the way back from Florida. She made her last round of preparatory calls, making sure everyone knew to bring their own beverages and something to throw on the big grill they rented each year.
By the time she'd finished party planning and run the supplies in from her car, almost an hour had gone by. Now Noah was late. She headed back into the bar and found Heather hauling her own ice. She frowned at her day manager, who shrugged as best she could with her hands full.
How strange. He was probably in traffic or something. She couldn't imagine why he wouldn't call. It wasn't grounds for panic, but at the same time, she knew Heather was only still here to cover for him until the end of happy hour.
She went back to her office and pulled up the staff directory on her iPad. She'd dialed about half of his number when the screen door slammed.
Gigi looked up in time to see Noah charge into her office. To his credit, he didn't quite slam the door, but the firm way he shut it and the tinge of red that stained his cheekbones got her attention quick. She opened her mouth to ask what had gotten him tied up and say that she was glad to see him.
"You saw the note," he said.
She needed a second to make the connection. "Yeah. Tha—"
"And so you didn't call?" His voice was taut.
"Well, no." She knit her fingers together. "I got a ride with Heather."
He was silent for a moment. She watched the muscle in his jaw work, and he looked down at the floor beside her desk. She noticed her own fingers flexing against each other and forced herself to stop. She didn't know what had set him off, but she was sure she'd had nothing to do with it.
"So that's it?" he asked.
She frowned. "What's it?"
He came toward the desk in two long strides. Then he backed away, grabbing his hips. "Gigi, what am I to you?"
At least she wasn't confused about his tone.
She resorted to a de-escalation technique her father had taught her as a trainee bartender and repeated his question, slowly. "What are you to me?"
He nodded sharply. "Yeah. What am I? Employee? Barback with benefits?"
So much for de-escalation. "What the fuck are you talking about? The note said to call if I needed a ride. I didn't. I came in with Heather." Her face prickled. "You weren't waiting around for that, were you?"
"You were supposed to call me. I went home to mow the lawn, which turned into God knows how many other things, but when I finally went back to bed, I knew you would call later and wake me up."
"Oh, shit, I'm sorry." She sighed. "I went and called Heather instead. But look, it's no big deal. It's not like you blew off the whole shift."
His back stiffened. "No, see, it is a big deal. You were supposed to call me."
Gigi tightened her grip on her own fingers, partly to keep from getting up. She took a deep breath.
"I want to be sure I'm hearing you correctly. You're not mad because I didn't wake you up. You're mad because I called someone other than you. Is that really what you're saying?"
He folded his arms across his chest. "That's exactly what I'm saying."
She stared at him for a moment. "Because of last night? You can't be serious." She waved off his reply. "Last night doesn't entitle you to anything."
"So what am I to you, Gigi? What does last night make me?"
She looked him in the eye, trying to make this just another conversation with just another employee. "The very first time anything happened between us, you said last night was last night. It doesn't change anything. Didn't you say that?"
"So I'm just your employee who happens to be a good lay?"
She did stand up then. She put her hands on the desk, her palms flat on the surface, feeling like she could shove it through the floor and straight to hell.
"You are exactly what you said you were the very first time I met you. You are a man passing through on the way to another job." She let the silence hang between them for long seconds, and their proximity generated a different kind of electricity, a different kind of tension. "Now, if you're going to let this get in the way, if you need time to get straight with this, you let me know. I can sure arrange that for you. We can manage without you until you get yourself right."
His eyes stayed locked to hers. "Don't worry, boss. I'm good."
"Good." She sat back down. "They're waiting for you out there."
He turned around, looked over his shoulder for a second, and then walked out.
Her office felt cooler immediately, either because of the air coming through the hall, or because he'd taken all that rage outside.
Did he really think last night made them a thing?
She scoffed at the iPad. Its screen still showed his contact info. She swiped it away, angry at the thought of him.
This isn't really on him, though. Is it?
The trouble had started the first time she'd acted on her attraction to him. She'd surrendered to the magnetic forces that existed between them, and she'd known it would end badly, and of course, it had. She hadn't predicted this particular ending for their story, but here it was anyway. It hadn't even taken very long.
Shit. What if he walked out? People had walked out for less than this.
That wasn't like Noah. He wasn't a quitter. That wasn't really what worried her.
She already missed the sizzle that used to light the air between them. She hated to lose the man who met her needs so well in bed. He even ignited desires she hadn't known about.
She wouldn't lose a barback, but she'd already lost a lover. Someone who might have been more.
She put her hands over her face. She hadn't lost that. He hadn't ever been hers.
Now she had to come to grips with the same reality she'd tried to push on Heather.
Noah wasn't here to stay. Becoming attached to him would be a mistake.
Chapter Seven
Noah had briefly considered not going to Heather's party. His professional services wouldn't be required. Everyone was bringing their own beer, and Heather made sure there was an immense supply of red Solo cups. But after Heather had invited him personally and then followed up to ask if he was coming, refusal was out of the question. The last thing he wanted was to cause more awkward
ness with the tight-knit group he'd joined.
Still, he resolved to stay just long enough to be polite and take care of one last task. Then he could be on his way.
He couldn't remember the last time he'd been at a bona fide party, something that wasn't a handful of guys standing around drinking. Tonight he'd gone so far as to change his clothes, tossing his T-shirt and practically indestructible cargo pants for a white button-down and dark blue jeans. While he'd stood in the mirror and fidgeted with his shirttail, he'd hardly recognized the man looking back at him.
Not a great sign. Maybe the party was a good idea after all.
He'd made up his mind to show up well after the party had started, but by the time he'd changed and made a stop for beer, the party was in full swing. The big, barrel-shaped grill was stationed in the back parking lot, along with a line of partygoers and a bunch of motorcycles, so he parallel parked on Low Tide Drive and walked back to the bar.
After weeks of parking behind the bar and coming in the back screen door, Noah found the view from the front of the building foreign. He pulled open the door to find an impressive crowd, laughing and talking over Led Zeppelin music. He recognized a few of the regulars at the bar and some others in their favorite booth. A few of his coworkers congregated near the large front windows. Everyone else was new to him.
His skin tingled with unease. Being surrounded by strangers set him on edge, and he needed to breathe through the pressure squeezing his chest. These might be unfamiliar people, but he was in a familiar place. He was with his people, and the people of his people.
"Noah!"
The sound of his name squealed from across the room startled him. He turned to find Heather dragging a tall, bearded man toward him. He'd seen her on his initial sweep of the room, but she'd been unrecognizable with her hair down and a party dress on.
"I didn't think you were gonna come," she cried. She tried to punch his arm, but her fist was too loose to have much effect.
"Didn't want to come empty-handed," he explained, lifting the twelve-pack of beer.