by JC Szot
After emptying the bathroom and zipping her pack closed, Mick blew through the door, his breath heaving.
“Okay … I gotta get my stuff together,” he said, his words rushing. Cara leaned over and quickly braided her hair, letting it rest over her shoulder. She didn’t like to leave it loose while they were traveling.
“I think I got all your stuff. I piled it on the bed for you,” she said.
“Thanks.” A strained smile curved his lips. “Are you okay with this?” he asked, closing the space between them. His hand landed on her shoulder. Mick’s touch felt heavy, but strong. Cara felt his fingers slide down her arm, curling there.
“I think it’s fine. Will this guy have a job for me, too?” she asked. “My sutures are starting to fall out.”
“Barry said his brother, Ken, could use both of us,” Mick told her, glancing around the room.
“Good,” she said, slinging her pack over her shoulder. Cara tracked Mick’s gaze, ensuring they’d left nothing behind. “We better get going.”
Chapter Thirteen
The bus ride was under three hours, with stops in between. When they stepped out onto the sidewalk, it almost looked as if they were back in Pittsburgh. Darkness dripped down around the tall buildings and a college campus that was very active for the late hour.
New Brunswick appeared to be a busy city. Young adults littered the sidewalks. Blinking lights pulsed in her eyes, the streets lined with bars and other assorted clubs.
“Hungry?” Mick asked, taking her hand in his. His calloused fingers threaded through hers. Cara looked up into his eyes, the lights mirrored and blinking in them.
“Starved.” Cara licked her lips. She was more thirsty than hungry. They loitered on the sidewalk while Mick dug through his pocket. He pulled a wrinkled piece of paper from his pocket.
“I think this place is around the block,” Mick said, sidestepping her to read the street signs. Crowds of rowdy students passed, their laughter rising into the chilly, night air.
They meandered down the congested sidewalk. Mick’s hand tightened around hers. He’d been her shield, thinking he needed to keep her safe. Cara was thankful that he was so attentive. However, a part of her needed for him to know that she was capable of taking care of herself.
“This is it.” Mick tipped his head back, checking the lighted marquee above them. The Fireside Grill. He opened the door, steering them inside.
Mick and Cara made their way toward the bar. Waitresses in black skirts and white shirts scurried around, serving drinks and platters of steaming food. A large sound system was mounted behind the bar. Green Day amplified out into the dining area. Cara leaned into Mick’s ear.
“What’s this guy look like?”
“Barry told me his brother is bald.” Mick faced her.
His hazel eyes almost looked like jade stones in the dim lighting. Dark whiskers shadowed his cheeks. He looked at her, through her, his mouth curling into a smile. That grin of his was beginning to crowd her mind with questions.
Everything seemed to be changing. Cara couldn’t put her finger on it. They weren’t home anymore. Their journey was altering something between them, something that’d been the same for so long, stagnated by a gloomy routine and circumstances they’d felt powerless over. Cara felt the transition as if the floor was shifting beneath her feet.
Cara swallowed hard at the tugging she felt deep inside her. All the noise and mayhem seemed to recede and it was now only them. Mick’s hand gently squeezed hers. A torrent of warmth barreled through her.
“So…” Cara breathed. “If he’s bald, then I guess we’ll have no trouble picking him out,” she told him through nervous laughter. Her face felt so hot, battling a bashfulness that she tried to shirk off.
“I think that’s a fair assumption,” Mick winked. His head canted to the side. Questions flashed in his eyes. Cara tried to read them as she felt herself being pulled in, traveling a road lined with unfamiliar scenery. Where each of their thoughts were going during this particular moment, she wasn’t sure.
“Hey,” a voice called out, rising above the thumping bass.
Mick’s body brushed up against hers as he turned to face the voice.
“Looks like he found us,” Cara told him.
“Are you my traveling workers?” Ken asked, tossing a towel down on the bar. He rounded a group of patrons to intercept them. Mick extended his hand.
“Good eye,” Mick laughed, pumping Ken’s hand briefly. “Ken, I’m Mick and this is Cara.”
“Nice to meet you both.” Ken reached for her hand, his eyes a soft blue. Overhead lighting coated his scalp with a glaring sheen. “You guys must be beat. Riding the bus, huh? That sucks. The least I can do is feed you,” he said, waving them to a booth.
Ken was generous, telling them to order whatever they wanted from the menu. As they gorged themselves on juicy burgers, wings, and fries, Ken gave them the rundown. After learning that Mick was a short-order cook, Ken decided to put Mick in the back on kitchen detail.
Cara was glad that he needed her to wait tables. He agreed to pay them off the books for the first two weeks of the pledging period.
“Pledging can go on for weeks, and things can get crazy,” Ken explained, shaking his head. “We’ll give it a two-week run and see what happens.”
Ken was very friendly and didn’t pull any punches. He told them that they’d be busy and to expect complete chaos.
“The tips are good, though, I can assure you. Oh, and did my brother tell you that I have a room upstairs? So you’re all set with accommodations, but I have to warn you…” He raised a hand. “It’s not the Hilton and it can be a bit noisy,” Ken said, gesturing at their surroundings.
“We’re not picky,” Mick told him.
Cara could see the relief move over Mick’s face. That had been a concern. She didn’t want to blow all their earnings paying for places to stay. Noting that the price of a burger on the menu was almost nine dollars, Cara could see them running into the red fast.
“Well.” Ken slid out of the booth. “I better get back to the bar. When you’re ready to head up, let me know and I’ll show you to your room.”
“Thank you.” Mick said. He extended his hand again in appreciation.
****
“I’ll sack out on the floor,” Mick told her.
“No way,” Cara said, her tone clipped. “It’s a queen-size bed … we’ll manage.”
Ken probably thought they were a couple. That was fine with him, but Mick wasn’t sure he would get any sleep next to Cara, let alone be able to contain his hard-on.
“You’re the boss,” he told her jokingly.
“Oh, come on!” Cara threw a pillow at him.
Mick pulled the shades down. It was a modest room with everything they needed, and it was free. The music below had quieted. Ken did tell them that despite the walls being heavily insulated, some nights were louder than others.
There was a small bathroom with a sink and shower stall. One large dresser lined the wall with a mirror above, the walls papered in a pinstriped blue and tan.
Mick let Cara use the bathroom first. They started work tomorrow at noon. Ken thought it’d be better if they started during the lunch hour. The pledging would begin the day after tomorrow. Ken had already given Cara her uniform. The black skirt and white tee shirt lay across the top of the dresser. The vision of Cara in that black skirt had Mick once again at war with his libido.
He undressed while Cara got washed up. Cara emerged from the bathroom with her blue sleep pants on, a pink tank top pulled across her petite, but firm-looking breasts. Mick looked away, moving around her to go brush his teeth.
****
Eventually the racket that rose from the tavern below quieted. As Cara’s breathing settled into an even and steady rhythm, Mick rolled into her, needing to sniff the sweet fragrance of her hair. His fingers curled into a fist, his dick hard yet again.
Her unique scent of shampoo and soap blended, smel
ling like a garden. Mick reached out and lightly touched the top of her hand, her skin smooth and warm.
I want her so much.
Mick closed his eyes, trying to think it all through. He’d been weighing the books in his mind since they left Stroudsburg. He’d have to read between the lines, those lines being Cara and the books, what she chose to read and what she really wanted.
Chapter Fourteen
Cara hadn’t spent this much time on her feet in over a week. Her body had quickly forgotten what that entailed. Everything ached. The muscles in her legs burned, the trays heavy and laden with food and drink. The arm that’d been sutured wasn’t the one that warranted dominant use, though she could feel a slight, dull ache on the inside of her forearm.
The Fireside Grill was indeed a busy place, an establishment without lulls. Varied groups came in droves, businessmen and women first, and later the students from the surrounding campuses that catered to the various courses of study at Rutgers University.
Pledge week was well underway. The first two nights, they both barely had the stamina to brush their teeth before collapsing into bed. Exhaustion had cured any awkwardness that may have settled between them regarding sharing the same bed.
Ken’s honesty had paid off where their tips were concerned. There was a distinct difference in the socio-economic class here. The adult population as well as the students apparently had money, and lots of it. Ken’s customers were well-dressed and drove expensive cars, and eating out didn’t seem to put much of a damper on their wallets. Between them both Mick and Cara were totaling over two hundred dollars a night.
Mick was worried about the money lying around. It got to the point that he was wearing it on his person, wads of cash inside an envelope taped around his thigh.
Friday night was especially busy, to the point where Cara could barely maneuver herself through the crowds with her tray. Mick always had his eyes on her. Whenever she turned around, she’d see him through the swinging doors of the kitchen, plating his orders and calling out to his servers.
When a rowdy group of college boys crossed the line with their playful flirting, Cara felt pushed into a corner. Flirtatious banter was one thing, but when one of the boys touched her ass several times and asked if she tasted as good as she looked, uneasiness began to burrow through her like a night crawler.
Cara wasn’t used to these types. It was a population that was refined, educated, and affluent. There also appeared to be a sense of entitlement that had Cara gritting her teeth. The ringleader of the table had reached for her, touching her one too many times. The sweat that had pooled between her shoulder blades froze to ice when Mick’s harsh voice tunneled into her ears from behind.
“Knock it the fuck off, asshole.”
Cara spun on her heel. Her arm lowered, letting the empty tray fall, resting at her side. Mick stood beside her, his breaths heaving and agitated. His apron was soiled with grease, his forehead beaded with sweat from the wafting heat of the kitchen.
“Touch her one more time and I’ll grind you into a pile of chopped meat.” His tone was dark, matching a glare that gleamed through narrow, piercing eyes.
“Is that right?” The rowdy patron laughed, tipping his beer back. He glared at Mick over the neck of the bottle. “What’re you, her guard dog? You need to learn some manners or crawl back into your hole.” He set his bottle down, smiling. His pristine teeth caught his lower lip, amused with his own words.
“Manners,” Mick huffed. “You’re the one who needs some coaching … touching a lady like that.”
“She loves it … who’re you kidding? Or maybe you wouldn’t know what a lady likes.” He lifted his nose into the air.
“That’ll about do it, asshole.”
The room spun as Mick grabbed her shoulders, moving her out of the way. Mick lunged into the booth, yanking the patron to his feet by his shirt. Cara stepped back. Her jaw dropped, stunned. She’d seen Mick angry, but never physically aggressive.
Mick dragged him out of the booth. His friends sat back, equally surprised. Cheers and whistles rose over the music. His opponent’s fist rose into the air, but Mick was faster, displaying all the street-smarts The Hollow had taught him. Mick’s arm recoiled, punching the foul-mouthed customer square in the jaw. His head flung back, his teeth hitting. Blood dribbled from both of his nostrils in two rivers of red.
Ken’s voice sounded from behind.
“Whoa … hey, Mick, take it easy.” Ken grabbed Mick from behind, pulling him back. “Reel it in, buddy.”
****
Ken dismissed them for the day, saying they’d talk later. He suggested that Mick cool off. In their room, it was quiet as they took turns using the shower.
Cara dried off inside the small bathroom. Steam whirled around her face, rising up into the humming fan above. She combed her hair. Her thoughts scurried in a hundred different directions. The way Mick had defended her, the look of pure hatred on his face... Was it just him being protective, or was it jealousy? Maybe it was both.
What is he thinking?
Her body tensed, feeling a thread of anger stitch through her.
Does he think I’m incapable of taking care of myself?
Back home she’d had no problem mouthing off to whoever got into her space. Here everything was different. They were wandering through foreign territory. Cara had to force herself to admit that she’d been unsure of how to address what’d happened.
I should’ve gone straight to Ken.
Cara frowned at her reflection as she brushed her hair. She removed the small hairdryer that was mounted on the wall and plugged it in. She ran her fingers through the wet strands as the hot air dried her tresses. She really wanted to relax and read, but now that they were both cooped up inside, it didn’t look like she would be able to escape between the pages tonight.
Before she could organize her thoughts, Cara opened the bathroom door.
Mick leaned against the wall, gazing out the window. Whitewashed jeans rested low on his hips. The pristine flesh of his back twitched as he shifted his weight. The toned definition of his raised muscles winked at her. He didn’t face her.
A cloud of silence hung over them, filling the space with an awkwardness Cara hadn’t felt too deeply until now. She needed to say certain things again, reminding him that she could carry her weight.
If that was true, I would’ve gone to Ken, her inner monologue argued. Cara shook her head, annoyed at herself.
“I’m sorry, I think,” she said softly, baffled over how to resolve the incident.
Mick turned to her, his face expressionless. His bare chest was a distraction, one Cara wasn’t accustomed to. She’d seen him without a shirt a few times over the years, working in his parents’ mud-sodden backyard and following an occasional run he’d take to try and stay in shape.
“I fucked up,” he said, his tone gruff.
“I told you I could take care of myself,” Cara said. Her voice rose over his. She hadn’t meant for it to escalate. She was torn. Allowing that conduct on behalf of the customer had been wrong. When she’d thought of running to Ken, Cara was afraid he’d think that she was immature and unable to handle things. Procrastinating and excessive reasoning had led to Mick losing his cool.
“You should’ve come to me, given me a signal when you were picking up an order or something,” Mick told her. His jaw tensed around his words. Dark, wiry whiskers dusted his face. He rubbed his chin, looking around the room, his gaze avoiding her.
“I thought they would stop, or … once I gave them their appetizers they’d back off.” Cara sighed, looking away. Movement flickered in her peripheral vision.
Mick’s bare feet brushed across the floor. The roughened skin of his palm landed on her shoulder, sliding down her arm. His touch sank deep, as if tattooing lines into her flesh.
“You didn’t like me stepping in?” he asked, his brows pulled together.
“I don’t need a babysitter. I told you before…”
�
�What do you need, Cara?” Mick’s question was a rough whisper. His face closed in on hers. Minty breaths wafted in her face. The smell of his shower clung to the insides of her nose, scenting every breath she drew in.
What does he mean?
“Well?” His other hand settled on her opposite shoulder. Mick’s touch was a weight Cara had often wondered about, the welcoming of a man’s body against and maybe over hers. Her hidden need awakened, spreading a fluttering weightlessness throughout her body.
What’s happening? This is Mick! We’ve been friends since we were like five!
His hooded eyes reflected an image Cara had never seen. A facet of him was glowing, shining like a rare gemstone that was suddenly being unveiled. The old cloak Cara always saw on Mick was now gone. He was draped with something else, something frightening, yet thrilling. She trembled, feeling a fault-line of excitement rip through her, tearing her in two. Her mind ran in opposite directions. His gaze moved across her neck and over her chest, her skin flaming in the path of his gaze.
Mick lifted one hand. His finger drew a slow line over her jaw, down her neck, where it skimmed across her collarbone. He lightly caressed the skin there, then looked up, a light now illuminated within.
Cara’s lips parted. Words tangled in her mouth. Unsure of their order, she remained silent.
Mick spoke again, his voice deep and thickening. “I’d like to know what it is that you do need and might want. We should both let each other in on that … don’t you think?”
Cara gasped. Her head felt dizzy, almost inebriated with him, as if injected with white lightning. What was he exactly saying? Her heart raced, pulsing in her throat. Was this the innuendo that she’d read about so many times? Did he want that, and with her?
Chapter Fifteen
He had her. He’d gotten her thinking. Cara stood in front of him, her mouth open and speechless. Her chest rose, lifting the slight curves of her breasts. Mick tried not to stare. He’d noticed her budding nipples beneath her tank top when she’d emerged from the bathroom, how her body responded to the cooler air of the room.