by S. R. Watson
“You’re not a serial killer or ax murderer, are you?” She speaks up. I want to laugh out loud, but I’m sure that won’t bode well with trying to get her in my truck. But c’mon, who would admit that if they were? Surely, she isn’t serious. She crosses her arms over her chest, and it takes everything in me not to let my eyes follow. She is actually waiting for an answer to that ridiculous question.
“I can promise you I’m not. My name is Beau Rivers, and I live in Hope Town.” I don’t have to ask if she’s from Hope Town. A beauty like her would be well known around such a small town. I haven’t had time to scroll through my list of prospects for sex because I’ve only been back in town for a few weeks, but I wouldn’t mind having a go at her. Hopefully, she’ll be around long enough for me to get that chance.
“Well, thank you for your generosity, mister. My name is Bleu. I guess a ride would be nice.” The way she says ride has my mind taking a trip straight to the gutter. I need to snap out of this lust.
“Well, hop on in,” I encourage.
“Can you give me the stuff you said first?” she asks timidly as she sticks her hand through the window of my truck. I don’t even know what possessed me to offer my personal shit to her. You don’t want a ride, then your loss. I couldn’t do it, though. I said the first thing that came to mind to ease her obvious fear. She has no idea how rare my generosity is.
“Sure,” I respond finally. I pull my phone from the cup holder, and my wallet with my pocket knife from the back pocket of my jeans to hand over. I’m not really worried about her making a run for it with my belongings. She can’t outrun me. She takes the items from me and then attempts to open the door with her free hand. The rust resists her pull. She has to yank a little harder to get it open, and fuck me, those tits of hers bounce freely against her tank. I have to look away as she finally gets in and slams the door.
I watch as she unzips her backpack and puts my things inside before putting on her seat belt. “Have any friends or family in Hope Town?” I ask. I’m trying yet another approach to get a clue on her story, but I don’t really expect her to answer.
“No. I’m just passing through. Are there any motels in town?”
She sneaks a glance in my direction. I’m surprised she has given me that much. I do catch that she said motel and not hotel. Something tells me she may not have much money. Who passes through town with just a backpack? Where in the hell is she headed? I dare not ask that since I know that would be pushing my luck.
“There are a few hotels. The town is small, but we’re not that small.” I chuckle. Her shoulders drop, and I know I had hit the nail on the head. Is she homeless?
“Have you eaten yet?” I change the subject to get the attention off her unknown destination. Her stomach growls, and I have my answer.
“Not yet. I’ll wait until I get to the hotel and order something. Just drop me off at one of the reasonable ones. I don’t need anything fancy with a million amenities. I just need a place to sleep for the night.” She chews on her bottom lip while fidgeting with the strap of her backpack placed between her knees. Newsflash, she’s not going to find the Four Seasons in Hope Town so, by her definition, they’re all reasonable.
“Look, my mother just opened the doors to a new little Italian restaurant. I was heading that way once I got back into town, so why don’t you join me? The meal would be on the house, and it’s a chance for you to enjoy some authentic cuisine.”
“I don’t know,” she replies.
“Come on. I promise you will love the food, and then I’ll take you anywhere you want to go. It’ll also give you time to decide which hotel you want to stay at while you wait for your food.” She still looks a little unsure. “You can hold my things until I drop you off.”
“Okay,” she says finally. “Italian is my favorite,” she adds. She smiles at me, and it’s the first one. She should smile more often because it looks good on her.
We ride in silence until we pull up to the restaurant, Rosalita’s. Originally a two-story brick home, my mother renovated it into her dream. Well, she isn’t really my mother in the biological sense, but she is in all the ways that count. She accepts me as her son, and that’s what matters. She was once my nanny. She raised me. Returning to Hope Town to see that her dream became a reality was my due diligence. This home had all the charm she was looking for. For now, I live upstairs while her business is in its infancy stage. I’m more accessible since she is still hiring people she feels she can trust. The first floor is all that is open to the public, but the transformation of this place is nothing short of miraculous. When you walk inside, it doesn’t look like you’re inside a home. You get a genuine Italian experience with every thought-out detail. The seating capacity is only about a hundred, but it’s quickly becoming the best place to eat. It’s only been open a week, but soon, seating will be by reservations only. I couldn’t be happier for her.
It’s after nine on a weekday, so the restaurant will close in little under an hour. I know my mother would always make an exception for me, but the staff is a different story. They will need to start cleaning soon so they can get off on time. I get out of the truck first and go around to let Bleu out, but she has already let herself out. When she leans over to pull her backpack out of the truck, her tank rises and exposes her stomach and ribs. Then I see it. She’s covered in bruises and not just a few. She looks like she was someone’s fucking punching bag. The different stages of the bruising hints that it is not an isolated incident.
Now some of the pieces start to fit. She’s running away from someone who abused her. She doesn’t have anything except what is in that damn backpack, I bet. I want to punch something myself. I’m seething mad for her, yet I can’t bring it up. If she doesn’t volunteer the information, I can’t pry. I bet it was a boyfriend. Only a shit bag coward would beat on a woman. I have to slow my breathing and pretend I’m not upset so I don’t scare her off. I slam the door after she gets her bag, and she jumps. Yeah, so far I’m off to a great start.
“You said Italian was your favorite. What’s your favorite dish?” I ask while working on being more calm. We walk side by side into the restaurant.
“That’s an easy one,” she beams. “I love any kind of pasta dish, but lasagna is hands down my favorite.”
“Well, let’s get you some lasagna. Wait until your taste buds feast on my mother’s recipe.” Her chartreuse eyes widen. It’s the first time I’ve gotten a good look at them in sufficient light. They’re absolutely hypnotizing. Everything about this girl is one big temptation. I have to make myself stop staring at her like a creeper. She is grinning from ear to ear, and I can tell I’m finally talking her language with regards to the lasagna. That is until we walk inside.
At almost closing time, the restaurant is only half full, but every eye seems to be on us. Some whisper to each other, and it’s no mistaking they are talking about Bleu. Some may be trying to figure out who she is and probably appalled by her attire. Our town is not exactly Amish or super conservative, but the way Bleu is dressed is leaps and bounds inappropriate for this restaurant. She takes a few steps backward but backs right into me. I’m not letting her leave. I grab her arm and guide her over to a table near the window. She hurries to sit so she is no longer the center of attention. I spot a couple of my dad’s old buddies at the next table. Axel and Beck give an acknowledging nod, so I wave back.
They served in the Marines with my father before starting their security and investigations business, Corps Security. At one point, my father thought he’d join them. When they moved their business from California, he and my mother followed them here. Only things never happened like they set out.
“I’m not exactly dressed for this place,” Bleu points out, bringing me back to the here and now. “You forgot to mention that part.”
“You’re fine because you’re with me. You’re a new face is all.” Her smirk tells me she isn’t buying it. The way she is dressed is definitely an attention-getter. “Just ignore
them, okay? I promise you’re fine. I’ll be right back. I just need to let my mother know I’m here. She had me pick up a few things for her in Atlanta. That’s where I was coming from when I spotted you.”
Part of what I just said is true. I was picking up some specialty spices and herbs from one of my mother’s favorite shops. She uses them as her secret ingredients. I hate to leave Bleu alone with all the attention, but I need to give my mother a heads up on what I think is going on. Bleu mouths, “Okay,” and looks out the window.
“You can search for some nearby hotels to see if you find any you are interested in. I’ll be right back,” I say again.
She doesn’t answer, so I go to the back to find my mother. I quickly tell her about how I picked Bleu up alongside the road on the way here. I give her the rundown and my suspicions. I think she is homeless on top of it all.
“I can use an extra pair of hands around here,” she points out. “And there is an extra room up there,” she adds, pointing upstairs.
“I didn’t say I wanted a roommate. I do need my privacy. Maybe we could find another way to help her.” Having her stay across the hall from me would be too tempting. I’m a whore by nature. My generosity and gentlemanly ways can only last so long. She doesn’t need me anywhere near her.
“It was hard just to convince her to get in my truck, so I know it will be equally as hard to get her to accept our help. How do we offer her help without letting on that we know about her situation? Well, at least, what we suspect is her situation?”
“Beau, now is not the time to think about your privacy, so don’t skip over that statement,” my mother warns. “If she is in trouble like you think, you did the right thing by picking her up and bringing her here. A meal is great, but this girl was put in your path for a reason. You can’t ignore that. If she continues the journey she is on looking like that, yes, I saw her come in, she is putting herself in danger.” My mother crosses her arms and leans against the counter. I know this is not up for debate, but I try anyway.
“But why can’t we help her from somewhere else. I mean, you have that house to yourself now that —” I don’t get to finish my sentence.
“No buts. My house is not within walking distance, and it would be hard for her to commute to work if she takes the job I offer her. You’re not paying rent, figlio. You don’t get a say in who I give a room to.” She tsks. She has broken out the Italian, so I know I need to just shut up. I have a great respect for my mother, and this is one discussion I will not win. It doesn’t matter that she won’t let me pay rent.
“Yes, ma’am,” I agree begrudgingly. “Now to get Bleu to agree to it.”
“Non preoccuparti di quel figlio,” she replies, telling me not to worry about that in Italian. She can be very convincing when she wants to be, so I’ll see if she can convince Bleu to stay. This has trouble written all over it.
I head back to the table and let Bleu know that I put our order in personally while I was in the kitchen. I decided to go with my mother’s famous lasagna too. She reaches into her backpack and hands me my things.
“Thank you for trusting me with your stuff,” she says softly.
“Not a problem at all. I told you that you could hold on to it until I dropped you off, though.” I know my mother is currently working on a plan to derail that idea.
“It’s okay. After I eat, I’ll just walk from here. You’ve been kind enough so thank you.” She takes a sip of water that must have been brought to the table while I was in the kitchen talking to my mother.
“The nearest hotel is at least a few miles from here, and it’s one of the fancy ones that you said you weren’t looking for. Did you search for one on your phone?”
“No, I lost my phone somewhere.” She looks away, staring out the window again.
I can feel her shutting down. I don’t know what to say. I just know I can’t let her leave. It’s late, and she doesn’t even have a phone to call for help, for fuck’s sake. I’m thankful when Antonio brings the food. Her face lights up at the huge portion. It’s more than the normal serving size, so I know my mother had a hand in that.
“Thank you, Antonio. Can you bring us out a 2010 bottle of Vino Nobile di Montepulciano.” He nods and smiles at us both.
“What is that?” Bleu speaks up, her curiosity piqued.
“It’s an Italian red wine that pairs great with lasagna. The 2010 is my favorite. I want you to have the full experience of this delicious meal.”
“I’m not twenty-one yet. One week from today I will be, though, so I guess that counts.” She grins.
“Yes, it does,” I agree. I’m captivated by her smile. If my mother gets her way, I’m going to have to work extra hard not to get in her pants. A Beau first. She deserves better. “We won’t tell anyone you’re below the drinking age,” I joke.
“I want to dig into this piping hot visual goodness, but I’ll wait for the wine,” she jokes back. We don’t have to wait long. Antonio returns with the wine and two wine glasses. She is in for a treat. I can’t wait for her to take the first bite.
He watches me intently as I consume my first bite. A moan slips past my lips, and once again, I’m at the center of attention. I can feel all eyes on me without looking around. Beau sits up a little straighter and takes a gulp of his wine. I got a small inkling of how good looking he was in the dimly lit truck, but the moonlight definitely didn’t do him justice. He is everything Ethan is not. Ethan is soft not muscled. He has average good looks, but his money makes up where he falls short. I take a moment to indulge in Beau’s perfection—my comparison to Ethan is really no comparison at all. From hair that is cut short on the sides but more than long enough on top for a good pull to his chiseled square jaw and facial features, he is the very definition of handsome. His eyes are the bluest I’ve ever seen, so it’s easy to get lost in them. The heather colored muscle shirt he’s wearing makes it hard not notice how his pecks fill it out. Hard indeed. The tattoo sleeve on his right arm gives him the edge of a bad ass. Sexy. Kind. Mysterious. I read the words ‘Found Myself In You’ embedded in his tattoo. If I was open to the possibility of being with another man, he could’ve definitely found himself in me. I have to bite my lip at that naughty thought. Masculinity has never looked so good. In hindsight, it’s probably why I didn’t give him the same fake name I gave Matt. He knows my first name, and oddly, I’m okay with that.
“Good, right?” he asks, replacing his gulp with smaller sips. I have to remember what the hell we were talking about. Oh, the lasagna. He’s referring to the moan I couldn’t suppress. If only he knew that the food was just part of it. Don’t get me wrong, this lasagna is beyond fantastic, but finally seeing him in the light stirs up more than a few butterflies.
“Good is an understatement. This is like heaven in your mouth,” I reply, diverting my attention back to the lasagna after I finish what’s in my mouth. “I’ve had plenty of lasagna before, but nothing even comes close to this.”
“I’ll have to be sure to let my mother know.” He winks, now taking a bite of his own food. I may have just wet my panties. Men are not on the menu for me at the moment, but it sure as hell doesn’t hurt to look. Especially when they look like him.
We eat in silence for what seems like an eternity. I can already feel the wine starting to relax me. A smile spreads on Beau’s face, but before I can inquire why, a gentle hand touches my shoulder.
“How was everything, dear?” I turn in my seat to see an older woman wearing a black shirt that says Rosalita’s. The flour splattered on it hints that she may be one of the cooks.
“Amazing, ma’am. I can’t express enough how much I loved it.” Beau is still working on his, but I demolished mine. I didn’t even care if I looked like a piggy. That was so good, and I was starving after two days of traveling with little food.
“Beau, why didn’t you give her some of my breadsticks to try? You’ll have to excuse my son.” She apologizes for him.
Son? That means she’s Rosalita, th
e owner. Thank goodness, I didn’t open my mouth about her being the cook although, obviously, she is. Of course, she’s Italian too. I didn’t connect the dots earlier, but Beau bears no resemblance, and I’m pretty sure he’s not Italian. Maybe he’s adopted.
“I’m Rosalita, and you must be Bleu,” she confirms.
“Yes ma’am. I’m Bleu Loren. Nice to meet you. As I said before, I really enjoyed the meal.” It takes me a second to realize I just shared my full name. I kind of suck at this covert stuff. Oh well, it’s out there now.
“I’m glad to hear that. Just wish my son would have given you some of my famous breadsticks. It goes really well with the lasagna.”
“I totally forgot. My apologies,” Beau says sheepishly.
“Can I get some to go perhaps?” I don’t want to come off as greedy, but I’d hate to disappoint. Okay, really, I’m dying to try them if they are anywhere close to being as good as the lasagna was. I wanted to save some for later, but that was an epic fail.
“Of course, dear. Beau, why don’t you be a gem and take your dishes to the kitchen. Make Bleu a to-go box of lasagna and don’t forget the breadsticks this time.”
He gives an exaggerated eye roll, and Rosalita slaps his shoulder. He clears the table but leaves the wine. Once he is out of sight, she takes the seat across from me where he was sitting.
“So my son tells me he picked you up alongside the road.” It’s more of a statement than a question. Apparently, he went to discuss more than spices and herbs when he left me at the table earlier. “Where are you headed, dear?”