by Diane Kelly
As we headed down the highway toward Dallas, my overheated circuits beginning to cool, I glanced over at him. “I got the pipes and the bell.”
He signaled to change lanes, then glanced back at me, eyebrows raised. “And?”
“And if you’re trying to get in my pants, you’re well on your way. But it’ll take a fringed jacket and new mirrors to get you there. I’ve got the item numbers written down for you.”
He faked a jaw drop. “My charm won’t be enough?”
I met his gaze and smiled. “We’ll see.” All teasing aside now, I put a hand on his forearm and gave it a grateful squeeze. “It was very sweet and generous. Thanks, Trey.”
“You’re welcome. I figured a hero like you deserved a reward.”
“Hero?”
“Hell, yeah. You single-handedly nabbed that armed robber at the Grab-N-Go.”
“You mean the kid with the toy gun that you tackled in the parking lot?”
“Okay, if not for that, then for taking out that hit man who shot at you earlier in the week.”
How did Trey know about Fulton? The news reports, both on TV and in the papers, had given Sheriff Dooley and his department all the credit. “Where did you hear about that?”
“Same place I found the catalog with the pipes. There was an incident report on your desk. I read it while I was waiting for you to book that boy.”
“Nosey.”
He shrugged. “I prefer to call it curious.”
Trey’s explanation made sense. But I still didn’t consider myself a hero. I was just doing my job. And lately I was doing a crappy job. Something odd was going on with those deliveries to the Parker Place and for the life of me I had no idea how to handle it.
A commercial came on the radio, so I tuned to another classic rock station. Trey and I sang along with Boston’s Don’t Look Back, both of us loud and off key, neither of us caring. Chet had liked classic rock when we were dating, but a few years into our marriage he began listening to jazz and classical. The erratic jazz unnerved me and the classical songs always had me thinking Bugs Bunny and Elmer Fudd. Guess I wasn’t cut out for sophisticated things.
“My dad had a good day today,” Trey said. “He took a few steps without the walker.”
I gave him another smile, this one forced. “That’s great news.” It was terrible news! Although I was truly happy his father was recovering, every step his father took meant Trey was one step closer to going back to California. Then my fun would be over, the fling flung.
During the long drive to Dallas, we never ran out of things to talk about. Although being with Trey was exciting, it was also comfortable. We hadn’t known each other long, but he’d made me feel like I could totally be myself with him.
Despite having a reservation, we had to wait over an hour for our table. This was Dallas, after all, and what’s a night out in the Big D without a little pretension? We stepped into the bar area, a dimly lit room with dark wood walls and television sets suspended from the ceiling in each corner of the room. All four sets were tuned to ESPN.
People packed the room wall to wall, but we managed to find a place to stand along the back of the bar. The sounds of noisy chatter and a duo of blenders performing a margarita-piña colada medley met our ears. Trey squeezed through the crowd and returned with a frozen Bellini for me and a draft beer for himself. I had just taken a sip of my peachy ice-cold drink when my nose detected the unmistakable scent of Hugo Boss cologne, Chet’s signature scent. Fulton’s, too, but that creep was still in the county jail, awaiting extradition to Illinois.
My eyes scanned the faces in the noisy crowd around us. I spotted Chet five feet away, tucked between a man who looked like an Antonio Banderas knock-off and a fair, stick-thin woman with whom he was talking. I hadn’t seen Chet since we’d said good-bye on the courthouse steps a year ago. Guess I shouldn’t have been surprised to run into him here. Chet was the one who’d first discovered Marangelli’s and their scrumptious capellini Roma, and we’d eaten here at least once a month during our marriage.
I pulled my cell phone out of my purse, pulled up Chet’s name in my contacts list, and tapped the screen to dial his number. Chet looked down when his phone vibrated and pulled it out of the front pocket of his pants. After checking the caller ID, he put the phone to one ear, holding his index finger to his other to drown out the din. “Marnie?”
“Hey, Cheddar.” I’d come up with the cheesy nickname back in college. “Look to your left.”
Chet turned, his eyes brightening when he spotted me, his mouth turning up in a smile that was broad, friendly, and above all, sincere. He slid his phone back into his pocket, grabbed his date’s hand, and pulled her through the tight throng toward me. After he maneuvered his way over, he gave me a quick one-armed hug. “It’s good to see you.”
“You, too, Chet.”
Chet wore shiny black tassel loafers, gray slacks, and a crisply pressed black dress shirt. His brown hair had a slight sheen to it, no doubt courtesy of some expensive hair product. His date was long-limbed and willowy, her short, light brown hair pulled into a chic, side-swept style. Her fitted black mini-dress was figure-flattering yet classy. Everything about her appearance was carefully thought out. She was everything I wasn’t. And she was perfect for Chet.
The moment could have been awkward, but even though Chet and I weren’t destined to spend our lives together, we shared a mutual respect that transcended time and divorce.
Chet turned to his date, putting a hand on her shoulder. “Sidney, this is Marnie, my former wife.” No BS, no beating around the bush. Chet’s forthrightness was a trait I’d always admired in him, the one trait that hadn’t changed during his metamorphosis from country boy to city slicker.
Sidney extended her hand and I shook it, hoping I wouldn’t accidentally break one of her bone-thin fingers.
Trey stepped up close behind me, his firm chest pressed possessively to my back. “I’m Trey Jones. Marnie’s current love slave.” Total bullshit, total spontaneity. Traits I was coming to appreciate in Trey. He didn’t take life too seriously. Nobody had ever been able to make me laugh like Trey, to bring me out of a funk with his quirky sense of humor. He was Prozac in human form.
Trey stuck out his right to shake hands with Chet. Seeing the two of them face to face was a study in contrasts. Chet’s fastidious, formal demeanor seemed stuffy and severe in comparison to Trey’s easy-going style. After introductions were exchanged, we made small talk for a few minutes, voices raised over the din, discussing our careers (going fine, thanks), the Dallas Cowboys (great season so far), whether construction would ever be completed on Central Expressway (‘course not). When Chet learned that Trey lived in Silicon Valley, the conversation shifted to the overpriced California real estate market.
“It’s absolutely nuts out there,” Trey said. “I paid four-hundred and eighty grand for a two-bedroom one-bath fixer upper, and that’s after the discount they gave me when I found a bullet hole under the back window.”
Chet took a sip of his white wine. “I hear a lot of homeowners out there are opting for interest-only loans. Seems a bit risky—”
“Whoa!” My hand reflexively shot up, pointing at the television set behind the men. “Check that out.” I hated to interrupt, but this was important. The station had been broadcasting brief news blurbs during a commercial break and now Kent Tindall’s face filled the screen, a professional photo pulled from his development company’s website. The photo was followed by an action shot in which two police officers led Tindall, wearing an Armani suit and both a Rolex and handcuffs on his wrists, into the main Dallas police station.
It was impossible to hear the anchorwoman over the racket in the bar, but the closed captioning filled us in. Tindall’s real estate company had gone belly up, investors claimed Tindall had embezzled millions from the corporation, and the district attorney had indicted Tindall for bribing a building inspector. Details at ten.
Between Kent Tindall’s arrest and
the speeding tickets Jacksburg PD had issued to Tiffany, the family’s lawyers would be busy over the next few months.
The screen changed as a beer commercial came on and Chet turned back to me, shell-shocked, his eyes wide, his face white. “If the loan I brokered for Tindall ends up in foreclosure, my job could be on the line.”
Chet had been so proud to land that pompous ass’s business. Now it could destroy his career. I reached out and squeezed his hand. “Maybe it will all work out.”
Chet tossed back the remaining wine in his glass. “I’ve got to do some damage control.” He gave me a quick peck on the cheek. “Bye, Marn.” He nodded to Trey. “Nice meeting you, Trey.” He grabbed Sidney’s hand and dragged her off through the crowd.
Trey watched them go, then turned to me. I’m not sure what I expected Trey to say, but it certainly wasn’t, “He’s uptight. He must’ve been a total bore in bed.”
I was mid-sip and ended up snorting frozen Bellini into my nose. After a few seconds, I managed to get my coughing and sneezing under control. “He got the job done.”
Trey’s mouth curved in a naughty grin. “If it felt like work, Marnie, he wasn’t doing it right.”
I couldn’t help but laugh. Trey was full of crap, but he was also full of life. Adventurous, unrestrained, unconventional. Everything Chet wasn’t and perfect for me. Funny how sometimes you don’t know what you need until you find it.
Yet, once again, Fate kicked me in the ass. I finally found a guy I liked, a lot, and he’d be leaving town in a matter of days. Better make the most of them.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
BUSTED
After enjoying a delicious dinner and sharing both witty conversation and a scrumptious tiramisu for dessert, we climbed into the car to head back home. By then it was ten o’clock and the night was dark, but the illuminated Dallas skyline shined bright above us, the sparkling globe atop the Reunion Arena tower looming over us like a disco ball on steroids, sending flashes of light across the restaurant parking lot.
We eased our way out of the lot and through downtown, heading down Elm to the freeway entrance ramp. Trey glanced over at me, eyeing me with the same expression of ravenous desire I’d seen on his face earlier when the waiter had plunked his steaming bowl of pasta down in front of him. “Let’s go someplace where we can be alone. I’m carbo-loaded and ready for action.”
So was I. The way Trey had licked the whipped cream off his dessert spoon had made me wish I was dressed in nothing but Reddi-Wip.
Trey’s parents would be at his house and Dad would be at mine, so we wouldn’t be able to get any privacy at either place. I felt like I was back in high school, trying to find a secluded spot to make out. How pathetic. Where did teenagers go to fool around these days? Apparently some used the tool shed at the old Parker Place, but even a small-town biker chick like me was too classy for that. Yet a roadside motel was out of the question, too. It would be too cheap, too awkward, too presumptuous. Better to let things happen more naturally, see where the night would take us.
Then it dawned on me. “Head back to Jacksburg. I know just the place.”
Since I knew where all of the speed traps were between Dallas and Jacksburg, we made it back to town in record time. Following my instructions, Trey pulled onto the dead brown grass behind the vacant little league baseball fields. Dust and bugs swirled in the beams of the headlights as the car bounced over the uneven ground, past the sagging wooden bleachers, until we reached a small stand of scrubby mesquite trees that formed an irregular semi-circle, providing cover so the car shouldn’t be visible from the road. A startled raccoon stared into the bright headlights for a moment, then scurried off into the brush.
Trey cut the lights, then the engine, enveloping us in darkness and silence. He turned in his seat to face me, heat in his gaze. “Something tells me you’ve come here before.”
Sure, I’d come here before. In fact, thanks to a little extra foreplay and a ribbed-for-her-pleasure condom, I’d come here twice one night in the bed of Chet’s pickup. But that was back in college, a whole lifetime ago. Still, if Trey was interested in breaking any endurance records, heck, I was game.
Trey pushed the button to roll the windows down, then climbed out, leaving the key in the ignition. He walked around to my side of the car, opened my door, and helped me out. In the dark, we climbed onto the trunk of the car, reclining side-by-side against the back window, looking up at the stars. Only our shoulders and thighs touched, exchanging body heat, the sensation more pronounced in contrast to the chilly air. The sky was clear and, with no lights to interfere, the stars shined incredibly bright, as if showing off just for us.
Trey reached over and took my hand, entwining my fingers in his, pulling them to his lips. He slid the first joint of my pinky into his mouth and sensuously sucked on the tip, sending me reeling. He ran a kiss across my knuckles, then clutched my hand to his chest. “This would be the perfect spot to watch the Leonids next month.”
“Hmmm.”
He apparently misinterpreted my murmur as a question rather than realizing his minor foreplay had rendered me incapable of coherent speech. “The Leonid meteor shower. Comes every November. I bet it’s spectacular out here. We could bring a blanket—”
He cut himself off, apparently realizing he’d be back in California next month. We couldn’t make plans beyond the next few days, maybe two weeks, tops. Our time was quickly ticking away. Tick. Tick. Tick.
Trey took my hand and pulled it up to his face, rubbing it gently against his cheek. The rough feel of his dark whiskers on my skin made me crave more sensations that only his body could provide. Yet, as much as I wanted him, I didn’t want to rush this moment. I wanted it to last.
We were both quiet for a few moments, the only sound the slow rhythmic chirp of the crickets in the woods around us.
Finally, Trey glanced over at me. “Seen the Ninja lately?”
The question caught me off guard. Being with Trey made me forget all about my Ninja dream man and my surprised look let Trey know it. An amused smile danced around his lips.
Better bring him down a peg or two before he got too cocky. Besides, to be honest, I felt a sudden and unexpected flare of anger, not so much at him, but at our hopeless situation. Here I was, getting all hot and bothered over Trey, and our relationship was doomed to end. “I saw the Ninja earlier this week, as a matter of fact. But he disappeared before I could catch up with him.”
Trey’s eyes narrowed. “You went after him?”
“Yup.”
He arched a brow. “What would you have done if you’d caught him?”
Who was he to question my intentions with another man when he couldn’t offer me any sort of commitment? Really, it was none of his business. And, truth be told, a small part of me wanted to make him jealous, make him think about what he’d be missing once he left. Gah! This simple fling was becoming complicated, my feelings bouncing all over the place like an emotional pinball.
I switched my voice to sultry mode. “I may not have caught him today but I will. And when I do, I’ll pull him over, pat him down, perform a thorough strip search—”
“Body cavities, too?”
“Yuck, no!” I cringed and shuddered.
Trey chuckled, but as he and I stared at each other, the humor on his face slowly morphed into an expression of pure desire that made me forget everyone else, everything else, even the fact that I was upset about him leaving. A hot, dark look infused his eyes, offering something I had no will to refuse. Trey put his mouth to my mouth, his chest to my chest. His body felt warm, firm, and right against me. He wrapped his arms around me and I melted against him.
My body buzzed with an ever-increasing sexual energy, desire surging through me, threatening to delete all critical data in my brain. Our clothing disappeared, tossed onto the grass next to the car. The muscles of his chest were hard and lean. I bit into his shoulder, tasting his warm skin, for the first time noticing the tattoo on his left bicep, a co
mputer with the words “Hard Drive” in block print on the monitor’s screen. His laptop was booted up and ready for input. I hoped he’d have plenty of RAM and his system wouldn’t crash until my drive could take no more.