Counting on Cayne (Hallow River Book 1) (4 page)

“So, anyway, about
tonight,” Cami abruptly switched gears and swiveled around on her stool. “We’ll
get drinks at McGinley’s and catch up. It’ll be great. I should be out of here
by nine. Our other full-time waitress quit last week with no warning, so I’m
running double shifts until we find a replacement. Pain in the ass, I tell
you.”

“I could work here.” The
words were out of my mouth before I had even considered the idea. But why not?
I couldn’t mooch off Aunt Lu forever.

Cami banged the counter
with the crack of a rifle report. A burly customer with an Old Testament beard
briefly peered at us from across the way and then returned to lazily chewing
his scrambled eggs.

“Are you serious?” she
shouted giddily.

I paused. Was I serious?
“Yes!” I said assertively, settling the question both for her and for myself in
the same breath.

“Cami!” The doughy
manager emerged from the swinging kitchen doors, his squat legs paddling
furiously and his bald head glistening with sweat. He threw his hands outward, fingers
raised to the sky in the universal gesture of exasperation.

Cami adroitly hopped to
the floor. I reached over and plucked down a section of her skirt that had
flipped revealingly up over her rear end.

“Mr. Pinkles!” she
chirped brightly. Then she made a ta-da motion in my direction. “Meet your
newest employee, Miss Brinley LeClare.”

Mr. Pinkles looked back
and forth between us in confusion. He wiped his shining dome with a napkin.

“She’s going to take the
open waitress position,” Cami clarified.

“Do you have
experience?” he asked with a worried glance at the packed booths.

“I have a lot of
experience,” I replied.

During my lean years
trying to succeed as a dancer in New York, I had done my fair share of
waitressing. In fact, that was how I’d met Granton. I was working a lowly
catering job at an art gallery opening. I circled the room in a black miniskirt
and form-fitting turtleneck, carrying a tray of hors d’oeuvres from one knot of
snooty patrons to the next. Most chose to ignore me, absently pinching a
toothpick between their smooth fingers and continuing their conversations. Granton
tracked my movements like a laser beam. He struck up a conversation, seeming witty
and debonair. Romantic movie plots cycled through my head.
Down-on-her-luck
dancer meets handsome and charming millionaire. They live happily ever after
.
I tamped down any doubts and plunged ahead, forgetting that appearances can be
very deceiving. Three weeks later, I was living in his sumptuous Fifth Avenue
penthouse. Two months later, he told me that I should lose weight if I ever
wanted to make it as a dancer. Three months after that, he hoisted me by my
neck and slammed my back against a solid oak door. My fairy tale was over.

“Pleeeeeeeease, Mr.
Pinkles,” Cami crooned. “Look at her. She’s perfect! She’ll even fit into
Shaila’s uniform.”

“Ok, fine,” he said and
distractedly shook my hand. His palm was lukewarm and mushy. “Be here tomorrow
at ten for training.” Two more plates clanked onto the open ledge from the
kitchen. Mr. Pinkles pointed at them and wagged his head at Cami. “Now go and
serve those!”

Cami shrugged sheepishly
and trotted away. Mr. Pinkles sighed, straightened his too-short tie, and took
to rearranging the desserts in the pie case. It was hard for anyone, even Mr.
Pinkles, to stay angry at Cami. I knew this from experience. As a child, she spent
most of each dance class cartwheeling around the studio, her tutu hanging
crooked and half-smooshed, and dissolving into fits of contagious laughter whenever
I tried to discipline her. Cami’s spirit was irrepressible.

“I’ll text you later!”
she shouted, again nearly toppling a steaming pile of biscuits and gravy into
the lap of an impatient customer.

I gave a two-fingered
salute and a nod as acknowledgement. Rather than burden her workload any
further, I decided to head home for lunch. I slid off of my stool and departed
the diner to the now familiar tinkle of overhead bells.

R u ready?

That was a good
question. I was wearing one of the few sexy pieces of clothing that I’d hastily
shoved into my suitcase before tiptoeing out of Granton’s apartment with terror
pounding in my chest in the pre-dawn hours. I wasn’t even sure what I was grabbing
at that point, snatching fabric in the dark and trying to still the clattering
hangers with shaking hands.

I checked my reflection
in the floor-length mirror. The sleeveless black top draped appealingly low and
loose over my breasts, showing a shadow of cleavage and a slight glimpse at the
black lace edging of my bra when I tilted forward. The dark-washed jeans sat
below my waist, hugged the curve of my hips, and clung tightly to my legs.
Strappy heels lengthened my stance, and a bouncy ponytail lent a casual and
youthful vibe. I took a deep breath and typed out a response to Cami.

Ready when you are.

Cayne had yet to call
about my car, so I was relying on Cami for a ride to the bar. I tried not to be
disappointed at his silence. I was not a priority. I was a client just like any
other. My phone buzzed. I snatched it from the bedside table, assuming that it
would be Cami. The message was from Granton.

Done playing runaway
yet? Sleep lightly, princess. I’m watching.

My stomach swirled with
acid fear. I still believed that he was bluffing. If he knew where I was, he
would already be here with one hand smothering my mouth and another tearing at
my pants. The vision, half memory and half nightmare, shortened my breath into
ragged gasps. I sat on the bed, my clammy fingers gripping the quilt in moist
folds.
He is lying. He won’t find me
. I kept chanting these sentences in
my head like a soothing mantra until my prickly nerves cooled and my knees
stopped trembling.

A car horn beeped twice
out front. I peeped warily through the curtains and saw Cami waving from the
front of an open Jeep. I jammed my phone into my purse and took one last look
in the mirror. I placed a steadying hand over my stomach, closed my eyes, and
inhaled and exhaled slowly.
He is lying. He won’t find me.

“Good night, Aunt Lu,” I
called in the direction of the living room as I galloped down the stairs and
into the waiting night.

***

“Tell me about New
York!” Cami was beaming from the other side of a scarred and heavily varnished
wooden table as the raucous shouts, clinking billiard balls, and tinny jukebox
music of the bar surrounded us. A margarita, filled to its salt-rimmed brim,
sat in front of me. Cami stirred her rum and coke with a straw.

“There isn’t much to
tell, I guess.” I peered around the bar at the unfamiliar faces. Granton’s text
still had me a little shaken.

“Oh, come on,” Cami
rolled her eyes. “Why so secretive?”

I took a long sip of the
margarita to disguise my nerves and smiled limply. I was desperate for a new
topic of conversation.

“I saw Cayne’s girlfriend
at the shop today,” I said with an intentional lilt of inquiry in my voice.

Cami did a spit-take,
droplets of soda spraying over the table and onto my fingers. She apologized,
mopping up the mess with a napkin while she tittered with amusement.

“Cayne’s what?” She
raised her eyebrows in mock astonishment.

“She drove a red pickup.
Long blonde hair and, you know.” I made a cupping gesture in front of my chest
to indicate big boobs.

“Oh Lord,” Cami rolled
her eyes again and emitted a throaty guffaw. “Mindy Lowder. Rest easy. That
girl is tackier than a barrel of tree sap. And she is definitely
not
Cayne’s girlfriend. She’s been after him for a solid year. Maybe they’ve fooled
around. I don’t know. I don’t
want
to know. But Cayne could do way
better and he knows it. He’s just jerking her around. I think he has several other
little playthings on the side. It must be nice to be a man.”

I took another sip of my
margarita. Though a part of me was pleased at the news that Cayne was
unattached, several other facts were disquieting. From the intimacy of their
interaction at the auto shop, I was pretty certain that Cayne and Mindy were
sleeping together. And she apparently wasn’t his only “plaything.” Did I want
to mix myself up with a guy who treated women like toys?

A hand on my bare
shoulder sent a ripple of panic through my body. Cami’s eyes brightened in
welcome.

“My two favorite girls,”
said a deep voice that I immediately recognized. Cayne swept his fingers
lightly over the back of my neck, flipped around the chair on my left, and sat
spread-eagled with his forearms resting on the table. “Looks like a serious
conversation you’re having. What is it about?”

He peered at me from the
corner of his eye. I picked up my margarita and downed a good portion of it.
The tequila was just beginning to go to my head. I spun a little internally as
I lifted the glass for another swallow.

“Not at all,” Cami
giggled and slapped her palms on the table. “Brinley thought Mindy Lowder was
your girlfriend!”

All of the blood in the
top half of my body seemed to rush to my temples. My ears burned with
embarrassment. I felt like a teenager who’d just had her secret crush revealed
to the entire high school cafeteria. Cayne swiveled the full force of his gaze
in my direction.

“Is that so?” he asked.
His lips curled up and sideways, his glossy teeth peeking out and his dimple
popping into place. “And why would you be interested in that, Brinley?”

I puffed out my lower
lip and shook my head, staring at my nails where I tapped them against the side
of my glass. “No reason. You two just looked very cozy at the shop. I don’t
care if you have a girlfriend. That’s none of my business.”

My insistence was only
making the lie more obvious. I was also sure that my hot cheeks were splotched
scarlet at this point. The grin plastered across Cayne’s face told me that he
was not buying my act. Cami chuckled and hid her face behind her drink.

“Well, that’s good to
hear.” He lowered his voice to a near whisper and angled toward me. “I guess we
should stay out of each other’s business then.”

Before I knew what was
happening, he reached over and touched the gold pendant where it lay against my
chest, briefly caressing my skin as he picked it up and let it rest on his
fingertips. I wondered if he could feel my quickened heartbeat. He leaned in
closer, his warm breath skating across the tops of my breasts.

“Love,” he read the
inscription. His flashing green eyes met mine. “What’s your story, Brinley?
Someone must have been in love with you to give you this necklace.”

I tilted backward and let
the pendant fall gently from his hand where it was poised in midair. “That
necklace has nothing to do with love.”

A shadow of concern
mixed with interest passed across his face. He nodded as if I had told him
something important.

“I have to go to the
ladies’ room,” I declared abruptly and rose from my chair. The tequila swished
in my brain and sent my balance off kilter. I jerked a hand out to steady
myself. Cayne was instantly on his feet, gripping my waist to prevent me from
falling.

“We have to stop meeting
like this,” he joked.

Unexpected emotions bubbled
to the surface. Tears swam at the boundaries of my vision. Cayne edged his
strong hands around my back and gripped me tighter, our hips pressing against
each other, only a thin layer of fabric separating my flesh from his fingers
where they ran gently down my spine. I looked up into his eyes.

“It’s alright,” he said
with a softened tone. “Whatever it is, it’s alright.” My tears were threatening
to break into a flood, so I pulled swiftly away from his grasp and clomped
toward the other end of the bar, holding onto chair backs and tables for
balance.

Once inside the ladies’
room, I clutched the edges of the sink and breathed deeply through my nose. Was
I having a breakdown or was I just drunk? Or maybe a little of both?

When I reluctantly
raised my eyes to the mirror, all I saw was fear. Perhaps I was foolish to
think that I could maintain the charade of a normal existence when there was a
devil hunting me. But what choice did I have? Granton had already taken so much
from me. He had taken my happiness, my career, and my sense of self. He had
taken my passion and my confidence, thrown them onto a bonfire fueled by his
own inadequacies, and laughed as the flames licked them into charred ruins. I
refused to let him take anything else.

“Brinley?” Cami’s voice
came through the door. “Brinley, are you ok?” The hinges creaked as she pressed
it open a crack. “Can I come in?”

I cleared my throat and
willed my voice not to tremble. “Yeah, I’m fine. No big deal.” I dotted my wet
mascara with a paper towel. “I’ll be out in a minute.”

When I emerged, Cami was
already back at the table. Cayne turned in his chair and watched me. I gave him
a weak closed-lip smile from across the bar.

Another person had
joined the group in my absence. He looked to be in his early 20s, had black
hair slicked back from his forehead, and wore a leather jacket studded with
rivets. Cami chattered excitedly in his ear and whirled the straw around and
around her nearly empty glass. He observed her with an amused expression.

Cayne stood when I
reached the table. I resumed my seat. He raised his eyebrows in an unspoken
question. I nodded to indicate that I was better.

“Brinley, I would like
you to meet Jasper Slade, a dear friend and total jackass.” He pointed to the
leather clad young man.

“Thanks, bro. That’s
quite an introduction.” Jasper held out his hand to shake. The edges of a
tattoo curled around the side of his neck. His steel gray eyes shifted fleetingly
over to Cayne as we both settled back into our seats. I got the impression that
Jasper already knew something about me.

A riot of giggles
sounded from a nearby table. A group of five girls, none of whom appeared to be
over the age of twenty and all of whom were clothed in sparkly tube tops in
varying shades of pink, red, and purple, was taking a selfie. They leaned
provocatively forward, all smooth arms and cleavage, and made pouty duckfaces
into the camera.

Jasper poked Cayne with
his elbow and jutted his chin toward them. “That looks right up our alley, man.
How about it?” He winked and leered suggestively at a pair of long bare legs in
white five-inch platform heels.

I glanced over at Cami.
Her posture had visibly deflated. She gulped the last remaining bit of her
drink and slammed the glass petulantly onto the table.

“Nah, man.” Cayne
laughed and held his palms up in a gesture of surrender. “Too easy. There isn’t
enough brain power there to find its way out of a paper bag.”

“Who cares about brain
power? I don’t want to discuss current events with them.”

The girl with the legs
noticed Jasper staring. She flirtatiously flipped her light brown hair over her
slim tan shoulder.

Cami sighed and tossed a
rolled up section of napkin in Jasper’s direction. His attention was completely
absorbed by the girl in the tube top. She bent forward and played with the
strap on her sandal, giving him a full flash of her pert young breasts as she pulled
down the seam of her top and adjusted it so it rested barely above her nipples.
Jasper bit his lower lip and grunted.

“I have an idea.” Cayne
slapped Jasper’s arm with the back of his hand. “Why don’t you and I get these
two lovely ladies home? I’ll take Brinley and you take Cami.”

“Huh? Seriously?” Jasper’s
jaw hung slack and his eyes were glazed.

“Yes. Seriously.”
Cayne’s voice deepened with the command. He stared at Jasper through lowered
brows.

“Yeah, sure. Alright.”
The spell was broken. Jasper jabbed Cami good-naturedly in her shoulder. “You
ready to go, champ?”

Cami’s posture perked
up. She nodded, her corkscrew curls bouncing. We stood, and she jogged around
the table to wrap me in a tight hug.

“Good night, Brinley! 
I’ll see you at work tomorrow!”

Cayne lightly touched my
elbow and held onto it as we walked toward the exit.

“Work?” he asked once we
were outside.

The humidity that had felt
soupy and thick under the midday sun now felt chill and refreshing, the
moisture prickling along my bare arms. The moon hung chalky bright. The country
heavens were sprinkled with full constellations of stars that I had not seen in
a decade. Cayne placed a hand on my lower back and guided me toward a black
pickup truck.

“I start waitressing at
the diner tomorrow,” I explained.

Cayne laughed and opened
the passenger door. I climbed into the seat. The tequila was wearing off, along
with the queasiness and carnival of internal spinning.

“That’s great news.” He settled
into the driver’s seat and started the engine. “So that means you’re staying
for a while?” I thought I detected a twinge of hope in the question.