by Maisey Yates
She pressed her hand to the pocket of the black apron she was wearing, felt the bulk of the keys beneath the fabric. Oh yeah, she had that car. Wherever it might be parked. Farm boy was going to be back tomorrow to pick it up, but she would be at the bar before he would, most likely.
She chewed the inside of her cheek, pretending for a second that she was weighing her options. Like there was another option. She had keys to a car that no one needed tonight. And the difference between an hour-long walk and a two-minute drive was pretty much a no-brainer.
She smiled to herself as she took a clean rag out of the bleach water bin and started to wipe down the top of the bar. As things worked out, she’d managed to get help from a guy, after all. And she’d gotten to keep her top on.
CHAPTER TWO
AIDEN CRAWFORD HAD half a mind to let his father’s car rot in Ace’s parking lot. After all, his father would rot on a bar stool inside of Ace’s if left to his own devices, so it seemed a fitting fate for the car.
He wasn’t in the mood to go all the way to town just to deal with it, and he really hadn’t been in the mood to coordinate getting the car back to the family farm. He didn’t want to have to tell his mother that he had caught her husband drinking again, even though she had to know someplace deep down inside, behind the boxes of denial and passivity that she kept stacked up tall in front of reality in order to keep from having to deal with it.
Unfortunately, he did have to drive to the Farm and Garden to get new feed for the chickens since the damn barn cat had chewed a hole in the edge of the bag and let moisture get in, leaving mold covering all the grains like a little gray pelt. And he would have to drive by the bar to get to the store. If he couldn’t figure out whose help to enlist to get the car back, he could always tow it home. It was just a bigger pain in the ass than he cared to put up with right now. But then, what wasn’t?
As he drew nearer to the bar, he thought about the waitress from last night. Slim, petite. Some people might think delicate, but he didn’t. Her blue eyes were shot through with steel, and there was a slight quirk to one side of her mouth and to one eyebrow that spoke of hard-earned and well-worn cynicism. Funny, since she couldn’t be much over the legal drinking age herself.
It was a whole lot of observations to make about one waitress he’d spoken to for about two minutes. But it wasn’t all that surprising, considering her world-weariness wasn’t the only thing he’d noticed. She was beautiful. And she caught hold of his body’s interest in a way no one had for a very long time.
Just another thing he didn’t have time for. Not now.
Damn Caroline finding herself a functional relationship. He cared about her. Cared deeply about her happiness. God knew he couldn’t give her what she’d wanted, no matter how much he wished he could. She’d moved on, and with his blessing.
But after six months of celibacy he was smarting from being cut off from his only source of physical satisfaction. So yeah, he had given the waitress a little bit more attention than he might have on a typical night spent dragging his father out of a bar.
He rolled up to the parking lot of Ace’s and turned in, stopping when he found the parking lot mostly empty. Not a huge surprise, since it was only two in the afternoon—a bit late for the lunch crowd and too early for the drinking crowd. Really, the only notable thing about it was the fact that the car he had left here last night wasn’t there.
He swore, turning into a space and putting the truck in Park. It wasn’t like Ace to have it towed. He knew full well whose car that was. And, in fact, had Ace been manning the bar last night, Aiden had serious doubts his father would have been served a drink at all.
Not that it was a random waitress’s job to know that his father was more or less Copper Ridge’s worst drunk. Though he hadn’t expected her to take off with the car. In hindsight, that was a mistake. A pretty stupid one. He’d handed his father’s car keys over to a perfect stranger.
He would ask himself what he’d been thinking, but he knew all too well. He’d been antsy, feeling gnawing desperation to get out of the bar combined with a desire to linger and keep checking out the waitress. He should’ve had better control over himself.
He was only human. A human who had been denied physical contact with another human for a very long time.
Still, it didn’t give him an excuse to be a dumbass.
As he was sitting there castigating himself, he saw his father’s car turn into the driveway and pull up to one of the spaces by the front door. He killed the engine on his truck and opened the driver-side door, getting out and slamming it shut behind him as he walked over to the car. Very much not to his surprise, it was the pretty blonde from last night who climbed out of it, long legs first. Yes, he noticed, even though he was currently dealing with the world’s sloppiest case of grand theft auto.
“Decided to help yourself to my old man’s ride?”
She froze, her posture going board straight before she turned slowly to face him. Her expression was inscrutable, unreadable, but he could see something in those blue eyes he didn’t like. Fear. She covered it quickly, planting one hand on her hip and popping it out to the side. “Oh, I’m sorry, did I inconvenience you terribly by not having it sit here all night?”
“I felt a little inconvenienced when I pulled in a few minutes ago and thought it had been stolen.”
“Dear God. Minutes of inconvenience. We should start a GoFundMe to help you deal with your trauma.” She turned away from him, facing the bar, her blond hair shimmering over her shoulder as she tightened her hold in her purse. “If you’ll excuse me, I’m going to be late to work.”
“My keys?”
“Right.” She turned back, fishing in her bag and taking them out, jingling them slightly. A very broad, very fake smile stretched across her face. “See? Not keeping it.” She tossed the keys toward him and he reacted quickly, catching them at the last moment. “Nice.”
His patience was wearing thin, and along with it, his control. “Why did you take the car?”
“Because I don’t have one,” she said, speaking slowly in a monotone voice, as though she were talking to someone very young or very stupid. “And since I didn’t get off until well past midnight and there was a car available, I thought that I would cut an hour or so off my commute in the dark, damp weather. Problem?”
He didn’t know how she’d managed it. All he knew was that a second ago he’d been angry because she’d taken off with his car, and now he was the one who felt like an ass.
“You could have asked,” he said.
“Yeah, well, you seemed like you were in a little bit of a hurry, so I thought maybe not. Actually, I thought you probably wouldn’t know, since I didn’t figure you would be back for it this early.” She shrugged. “Calculated risk. It failed. That happens. But no harm, no foul. You got your car back, and I didn’t get ax murdered on my way home from work. Everyone wins.”
“Wait,” he said as she started to turn away again.
She paused. “I have a bunch of extra tips to earn, seeing as you walked out with last night’s tips when you took your dad. And I’m on the early shift, which means less money anyway. So, I better go.”
“Don’t I need to pay my tab?” He didn’t know why in hell he was still talking to her. She was pushing against things best left un-pushed against, and he should get on with his day.
But he was still talking to her.
And anyway, he did have to pay.
“I suppose,” she said. “But I figure you can take that up with Ace.”
“I thought you were worried about your tips.”
“I am. Was. At this point, I figure I’m not going to get them.”
That was his cue to take off. But he didn’t. “If I’m anything, it’s a man of my word.” Even when it came to making good on promises given to carjacking waitre
sses. He wasn’t like his father. Not now, not ever. He didn’t promise one thing and deliver another just because it was convenient.
“Cute. You and George Washington.”
“What?” he asked, as he started to follow her into the bar. And, though he tried, he wasn’t successful in keeping himself from letting his eyes drift down so that he could admire the curve of her butt. It was a very nice curve.
“You cannot tell a lie. Neither could he.”
“Actually, that didn’t really happen,” he said.
“It totally did. They reenacted it on Sesame Street. Muppets don’t lie.”
She walked quickly through the mostly empty dining room, making her way to the bar, fishing around until she found a black apron beneath it and tying it on before she put her long blond hair up into a bun. He watched as he moved closer, completely drawn in by her movements.
He was seriously hard up, and in no position to do anything about it. He had to hope the damp weather wasn’t making his hay a bigger mess than the chicken feed he was dealing with today. Had to get through baling. Had to get all the accounts in order, and hoped his dad hadn’t alienated anyone else with his recent bout of drunkenness.
Yeah, he didn’t have any time to deal with women or relationships.
That was why the arrangement with Caroline had been so perfect for so long. They had acted as official itch scratchers for each other for years. Both of them in too deep with family issues to ever want a relationship. Then he’d gotten it into his head that maybe he did want one. That he could change things. Could have a life that was separate from his parents and save the farm all at the same time.
Until he’d found out his dad was in serious debt and had fucked some important business relationships six different ways. Then all the money he’d been saving, his hope for a future, had been poured back into the barn.
He’d tried to explain things to Caroline. To say that things would just go on as they always had. But she hadn’t wanted that anymore. So she’d gotten herself a real relationship, and now he was back to spending his romantic Friday nights with his right hand.
As soon as that thought filtered through his mind, she looked up, her blue eyes meeting his, her brow arched as though she had read his thoughts. He felt compelled to keep the conversation going. To keep the connection, because it had been a damn long time since he’d felt one with another person.
“Sometimes, Muppets lie,” he said, because he couldn’t think of anything else to say.
“Well, shit.” She slapped her hands down on the bar top. “Now I’m going to have to rethink every bit of advice I ever internalized as a kid. You know, I didn’t have the most attentive of parents, so I kinda depended on the wisdom dispensed by Fraggles. Did you want to give me a tip along with the existential crisis?”
“I said I would,” he said, reaching into his back pocket for his wallet.
“So,” she said, “Muppets are liars. What about anthropomorphic bears?”
“What?”
“The very foundation of my childhood depends on your answer.”
He looked at her, not quite able to figure out whether or not she was serious. “I’m pretty sure they’re trustworthy. Not real bears, though. Don’t trust a real bear.” He took a twenty-dollar bill out of his wallet and handed it to her. “This is the tip. I’ll pay the tab with my card.” Knowing his dad, he’d run up more in drink costs than the eighty in cash he was currently carrying.
“Good.” She took the money and her eyes widened slightly when she looked at it closely. “Generous,” she said.
“My dad has a tendency to be obnoxious.”
“Honestly? Not any more than any of the other guys who sit around on these stools. I’ve only been here for a couple of weeks, but I already have some favorites. And by favorites, I mean guys I want to punch with a broken bottle.”
He handed her his credit card and she took it, swiping it on the machine that was sitting on the lower counter. “How much damage did he do?”
“A bit. You might actually be trading me that car.” She looked up, smiling for a second, so quickly he thought he might have imagined it, before handing him back the card and the receipt. “Sorry. Addicts, right?”
He gritted his teeth, uncomfortable with her referring to his dad that way. Even if it was true. “You speaking from experience?” He signed the total slowly, trying not to do the mental math on how many drinks it broke down to.
“Um, hi. I work in a bar. I pretty much invariably work in bars. There’s at least one of your dad in every town I’ve ever been through. Not too many of you, though.”
“What do you mean?”
“Well,” she said, looking down at his receipt and reading the name printed on the bottom, “Aiden, most people just leave them to drown in it.”
He didn’t like taking the compliment, even such as it was. He didn’t feel like he was doing anything especially good. He was just doing what had to be done. Life wasn’t about comfort or happiness. It was about control. Doing the right thing, not the easy thing.
Following your heart was bullshit. His dad’s heart said drink up and screw the waitress. No. Deciding on the right path and sticking to it was all there was.
“I have a farm to run,” he said. “And my dad’s name is on the title. So I can’t very well let him drown in a whiskey bath.”
“Sure. That’s as good a reason as any. But at least you have a reason. Whatever, I’m trying to say nice things, and my lips aren’t used to making friendly sounds, so clearly I’m not doing a very good job.”
“No, you did a good job. Thank you.” Now he felt extra-guilty for earlier. For scaring her, when she’d been driving the car because she didn’t have another way to get back to wherever it was she lived. After midnight. In the rain. This was his problem in a nutshell. He didn’t leave his dad to drown in his drink, and he felt bad for this woman who had essentially stolen his car. “Hey, what time do you get off?”
She puckered her lips together, raising both brows. “Well, about eight. But, I have to say, I don’t think you’re that nice.”
“I’m not hitting on you. When you get off, why don’t you follow me back to my parents’ place with the car, and then I’ll drive you over to wherever it is you’re staying. You don’t have to walk, and I don’t have to tow the thing. How does that work?”
She squinted. “Why?”
“It helps everybody.”
“I guess it does.” She frowned. “In a surprisingly no-strings-attached way.”
“It helps you, it helps me. It’s hardly charity.” He didn’t want to stand here and make conversation with her. He wanted to get away, get his head on straight.
She laughed. “Just waiting for the part where you tell me I can offer you further help by sucking your dick.”
Her words hit him with all the force of a slap. Heat barreled through his veins like a bullet speeding out of a gun. He was angry. Angry, and turned on. Turned on, because what guy wouldn’t be when the topic of blow jobs was introduced? Angry because it affected him so much.
Angry because she had felt like it needed to be said. Clearly people had taken advantage of her in the past, otherwise there would be no reason for her to bring it up.
Yeah, he was angry for a host of reasons.
“I’m not going to ask you to do that,” he said, the words coming out harder than he’d intended. “And if that’s your first assumption about what a guy is after, then I think maybe you’ve been associating with the wrong kind of guy.”
She lifted a shoulder. “Well, that depends.”
“Depends on what?”
“Depends on what you want from the guy. I was warned a lot about guys who only want one thing, but here’s the deal. Guys who only want one thing are pretty easy to handle. They’re honest, at least. It’s t
he Dudley Do-Rights that concern me. You,” she said, jabbing her index finger in his direction, “you concern me.”
“I just said I want to help you out, no conditions.”
She crossed her arms and treated him to a skeptical expression. “Everybody has conditions, hayseed. Even you.”
He gritted teeth. He was still angry, but now he was pretty much just angry at her. “Do you want to use the car later or not? I can hitch it up to my truck and tow it home now. I’d rather not, because it’s a pain in my ass. But so are you. Which means I’m kind of doing compare and contrast right now.”
“Yes. The Good Deed Venn diagram. I’m familiar. FYI, in my life, the good deeds I’ve attempted never really balance out right. So I usually just forget them. I prefer to look out for me.”
“Do you,” he said again, slower, his tone more intense as he fought to keep his control, “want to use the car or not?”
She blinked a couple of times, clearly surprised that he hadn’t withdrawn the offer. That he hadn’t backed down. “Yeah. I can drive it home for you.”
“Good. I’ll be back here at eight. If you keep me waiting, I’m going to hitch it to my truck and tow it back. I will leave you standing out in the drizzle on your own, and I won’t lose any sleep over it.” Except he had a feeling he would lose sleep over her either way, for all the wrong reasons.
“You know, they say it’s more blessed to give than receive. You don’t seem very blessed.”
“I don’t feel it, either. Eight o’clock.”
He turned away from her then, heading out of the bar and back into the damp outdoors. He stopped and looked at the rolling gray sea off in the distance, hoping the horizon line would help steady some of the recklessness currently rioting through him.
It didn’t.
CHAPTER THREE
THE SHIFT PASSED quickly and by eight o’clock her feet ached, even though it seemed like she hadn’t been on them for all that long. As these jobs went, Ace’s wasn’t the worst.