Colorado 02 Sweet Dreams (47 page)

“You need your own space for awhile, get an apartment in town. But you aren’t movin’ back into that hotel.”

“But I –”

“Jesus, we’ve had this conversation before,” he muttered.

“So?” I asked.

Tate tried a different tactic. “You want, I’ll take you down, you go into a room and I’ll show you how easy it is to pop a lock or pick one.”

“The doors have chains,” I reminded him.

“Then once I pick the lock then pop it, you chain it and I’ll show you how easy it is to pop that.”

“Ned and Betty will be right next door.”

“You’re here, I’ll be right beside you. I’m bigger than Ned, I got more than one gun, I keep one close and I know how to use them. That compare?”

I hated it when he was right.

I didn’t tell him he was right. I changed the subject.

“You keep a gun close?”

He reached beyond me, opened a nightstand and came back with a gun, the butt of it resting against his palm, his ring and index finger curled around it, the other three fingers splayed wide. The natural, casual way he held it made my breath catch because, firstly, I wasn’t certain I’d ever seen a gun except my father’s hunting rifles and secondly, the natural, casual way he held a weapon freaked me out.

“Oh my God,” I breathed.

He reached beyond me again, I heard the thud of the gun hitting the nightstand and then he was back.

“No hotel,” he declared.

“I –”

“And stop bein’ pissed,” he went on.

“Tate, you were a
jerk
.”

His hand came to the side of my head and his face got close.

“Yeah, I was, baby, and I’m sorry. I gotta go get my kid, done nothin’ but talk to him on the phone for over two months and he’s meetin’ you. Got a lot on my mind and blinds were just one thing too many. You’re in my house and it ain’t in a gated community. It doesn’t have a pool and it doesn’t butt a golf course. You grew up on a farm but you became a woman that doesn’t belong here and right now, it fuckin’ kills me to admit it, I gotta focus on Jonas and I can’t afford to get you the goddamned blinds you want.” His words made me blink but he kept talking. “So, yeah, all that built up, I lost it and I was a dick.”

“I don’t belong here?” I whispered.

“No, babe, clue in,” he answered. “High-class.” His thumb slid across my cheekbone. “Look around you.
Not
high-class.”

“I grew up on a farm.”

“And ended up an executive.”

“I’m a waitress.”

“Yeah,
now
. You think I don’t lose sleep wonderin’ what you gave up and wonderin’ when you’ll want it back and knowin’ I can’t give it to you?”

“Tate –”

“I got those demons in my head already, Ace, don’t need you throwin’ them in my face.”

 “I –”

“In this town, people prioritize and the shit they gotta prioritize is not should they go to Paris for vacation or invest and buy themselves a condo in Vail. It’s a fuckuva lot different.”

“Tate…” He opened his mouth to speak and my hand clamped over it. “Let me
talk
.”

I could tell by his eyes he wasn’t a big fan of my hand over his mouth but I also could tell he was going to let me talk. How I could tell this, I had no clue. I just could. So I took my hand away and put it to the side of his face as he had his at mine.

“You haven’t had a lot,” I told him.

“Babe –”

“Please, honey,” I whispered, he shut his mouth and I went on. “Wanda, at the home store, when she was advising me, she told me to take care of my man. I was trying to take care of you
not
,” I said sharply when he looked like he was going to speak again, “to take care of you take care of you but to take care of you, like a woman should.” My hand left his face, slid down his chest and around his back. “Baby, you live in a crash pad. Maybe it was stupid and maybe too soon but I was trying to give you a home. I just wanted to give you something because…” I paused. “Because… I don’t know, but I’m guessing, not a lot of people have done that for you and I wanted you to be able to count on me to do it.”

“So you’re tellin’ me you’re takin’ advice on how to deal with me from some random, nosy chick at a home store?”

That didn’t sound good.

“Um…”

“Ace, your ex, not a man,” he informed me. “I know men who got jobs like him, dress like him who are men, but Brad?” He shook his head. “No man has to make anyone feel less than him to be a man. That makes
him
less of a man, less of a goddamned person. What you wanted to do was sweet, but, babe, no offense, you don’t know dick about dealin’ with a man.”

“Okay,” I whispered.

“It isn’t that it’s too soon, you’re on the back of my bike, it ain’t too soon. You can buy sheets. You
cannot
install blinds.”

“Um…” I mumbled. “Can you explain the difference?”

“Sheets are chick territory,” he said without delay. “You gotta use tools, that’s dick territory.”

“Oh,” I whispered.

“Don’t tread on dick territory,” he advised.

“So, um… is a paintbrush a tool?” I asked cautiously.

“If you’re paintin’ the side of the house, yeah. If you’re painting mud colored paint in a room, no.”

“It’s terracotta,” I said softly.

“Whatever,” he muttered, his mouth twitching.

“Or, the paint chip called it Mexican horizon. The blue is dawn sky.”

“Definitely chick territory,” Tate replied, losing the fight with his grin.

“What about… pictures for the walls?” I asked.

“Chick,” he answered instantly.

“Um… could I ask that, instead of you getting angry and being a jerk, maybe you give me a head’s up when I’m doing something stupid?”

“Yeah, you can ask that and I’ll promise to do what I can do. But, Ace, since I was a kid, I had a temper. Tellin’ you that don’t mean I can’t compromise, just means I am who I am, I know who I am and you gotta take me as I am and learn to get over it.”

“Okay, then, can I ask, while I’m learning to be a biker babe, you try to be a bit more patient?”

The grin hit smile level and he let out a low chuckle before asking, “A biker babe?”

“I’m kind of in training, as you can tell.”

He burst out laughing so hard his body collapsed on mine but he rolled almost immediately so I was on top.

My face ended up in his neck, my hair in his face and he moved it away, sweeping it over my shoulders as my head came up.

Then, his eyes scanning my face, he murmured, “Martinis and manicures.”

“Dominic at Carnal Spa does manicures,” I told him. “He does really good hair. If his manicures are half as good, I’m covered.”

“Babe –”

“And I think Ned and Betty’ll let me use their pool whenever I want. They like me.”

“Laurie –”

“And martinis are bad for me. I get drunk on one and a half and I mean
drunk
.”

He smiled at me. “Then we’re hittin’ the home store sale.”

“We are?”

“Martini glasses.  Fuckin’ you normal is hot. Make up sex is un-fuckin’-believable. Drunk sex might just kill me.”

“Tate –”

“Though, won’t mind dyin’ that way.”

“Tate!”

His face went soft and his hand slid into my hair.

“As cute as you are, tryin’ to be a biker babe and all, honey, I gotta pick up my boy,” he murmured.

I relaxed against him. “Okay.”

“I get him to Carnal, I’ll bring him by the bar so you can meet him.”

“Oh no,” I stated quickly. “You two be together. I’ll see you when I get home. Or, do you want more time? Maybe I should –”

“I’ll bring him by the bar to meet you. We’ll pick you up after shift and go out to dinner.”

“Really, I can –”

“Babe.”

“What?”

He didn’t speak and neither did I. It was a standoff.

Finally, I gave in, “Okay.”

“He’s gonna like you.”

“Okay.”

“Lauren, honey, swear to God, he’s gonna love you.”

I bit my lip and nodded.

He watched my teeth bite my lip then his eyes came to mine.

“You wanna know why I know?” he asked.

I nodded again.

“Because you want him to like you and you’re worried he won’t and you care about me. Jonas spends a lot of time with people who don’t give a shit about anything but themselves. He’ll respond to someone who isn’t like that.”

I relaxed against him again and repeated a hopeful, “Okay.”

“Get off me, baby, gotta shower.”

I rolled off but he rolled right on top of me.

“I thought you had to shower,” I asked when I caught his eyes.

He held my gaze for a moment and I couldn’t read his face before his head dipped and I felt his nose tweak my ear.

“I’m sorry I was a dick,” he whispered there.

There it was. That was all he had to do and I knew at that moment there would be times when he’d be a jerk and that was all he’d ever have to do.

My arms slid around him. “Honey,” I whispered back.

He gave my shoulder a bristly kiss and then he was gone.

I rolled into the unmade bed so the covers were over me and listened to the shower.

Then Buster came up on the bed and gave me a look that communicated, “Where were you last night?”

I cooed to her, she moved to me and flopped gracefully into the crook of my bent hips. I petted and she purred.

Tate left me after getting dressed and leaning into the bed to give me a kiss and Buster a stroke. Then I took a shower, got ready and went to work, calling Betty after I got there to tell her that I wasn’t moving back to the hotel.

“Didn’t think so, hon.”

“I’m sorry,” I said and I heard a surprised burst of laughter.

“Why?” she asked.

“Well, I told you I was coming home and I miss you guys, I didn’t…”

“Laurie, honey, you and Tate are right up the way. You didn’t move to Fiji.”

“Yes, but…”

“You’re still home. You’re just sleepin’ in a different place.”

 That shut my mouth.

“Tell Tatum Jackson to let you loose every once in awhile. I miss my coffee time with Laurie,” she finished.

“Okay,” I replied. “I should get back to work.”

“See you later, hon.”

“Bye, Betty.”

We hung up and I stared at my phone thinking dang, but I liked Betty.

I went back to work and did my job for hours jumpy as a cat.

“Laurie, I asked, you okay?” Jim-Billy repeated.

My eyes had glazed over so I focused on him.

“Tate’s bringing Jonas to the bar,” I told him.

“I know,” he told me.

“I’m not good with kids,” I shared and he blinked.

“You ain’t good with kids?”

I shook my head as Krystal wandered to our end of the bar.

“You ain’t good with kids?” she repeated Jim-Billy’s question.

“No, they freak me out,” I answered.

“They freak you out,” Jim-Billy said.

“Laurie,” Krystal called me. “Two nights ago two boys were drunk and lookin’ for a fight. A beer bottle was thrown which means broken furniture is about two seconds away. You waded into that and, with a smile and a flip of your hair, you talked them down and had them laughin’. You can handle drunk, angry bikers bent on blood with a flip of your hair, how can kids freak you out?”

“I didn’t flip my hair,” I told her.

“Darlin’,” Jim-Billy put in, “you did.”

I looked at him. “I did?”

“Who cares?” Krystal asked impatiently. “I asked, you can deal with that, wadin’ in without thought, how can kids freak you out?”

“Those are adults,” I explained.

“Yeah. So?”

“Adults aren’t kids,” I finished.

“No, darlin’, they aren’t,” Jim-Billy agreed and I looked at him again to see he was smiling at Krystal.

“This isn’t funny,” I whispered and then, desperate, I leaned toward Krystal. “Am I dressed okay?”

She gave me a once-over and I took two steps back to give her the full view. I had on a pale pink blouse with a mandarin collar, little ruffles on the edges of the little poofed sleeves and darts up my ribs, molding the top close to my midriff. I had some cleavage going, for tip purposes (upon research, I’d found this was an excellent motivator for higher tips). My hair was down and styled. I had maximum makeup (for me, when it wasn’t evening makeup of course). And I was wearing jeans, a dark brown belt with little, round silver rivets at the edges and a pair of hot pink, high-heeled, strappy sandals. I had on my flowery jewelry at ears and throat and a bunch of stretchy, beaded bracelets in hot pink, baby pink, clear and blue.

“Well,” Krystal drawled, “you wanna catapult him straight into puberty and discovering alternate use of socks, you picked a winner.”

“What?” I breathed as Jim-Billy guffawed.

Krystal grinned and I stared at her because she rarely did that as in, never.

“You’re fine,” she assured me but I felt far from assured.

“I should go home and change,” I declared and turned toward the door.

Jim-Billy got up off his barstool, a virtual miracle in itself, and headed me off.

“Darlin’, she was jokin’. You look sweet,” he told me.

“Krystal doesn’t joke,” I reminded him.

“I got a computer in my stockroom with a spreadsheet you made that makes stock takes a piece of cake. I got a full stable of waitresses and only one of ‘em gives me fits. Business is up so much I’m thinkin’ about lettin’ Dominic turn me into a redhead. So, even though Bubba is fishin’, I’m in the mood to joke,” Krystal stated and I forgot my nerves and walked back to the bar.

“Bubba’s fishing?” I asked as Jim-Billy settled back onto his stool.

“Didn’t come home last night, don’t ‘spect him home tonight, tomorrow or God knows when,” she answered.

I looked at Jim-Billy and Jim-Billy lifted his brows, his mouth a grimace as his ear tipped toward his shoulder.

I looked back at Krystal. “I’m sorry, Krys.”

Her face changed and I felt a knife in my gut because she let me see pain before she wiped it clean.

“No offense, honey, you know I like you but the worst thing a woman can hear is another woman, a woman who has a good man, sayin’ she’s sorry about your man.”

Then Krystal walked away and I grabbed onto the edge of the bar to hold myself up because my legs were trembling. This was with both sadness and anger, sadness for Krystal, but mostly anger at Bubba for making her feel that way.