Give It All (11 page)

He eyed his roommate, and allowed himself the luxury of imagining all the inappropriate things he’d like to do with her. Things he might just let himself give in to, with a little chemical lubrication.

“Does Casey Grossier work for you now?” he asked.

“Not officially. Why?”

Duncan turned a thought around for a moment before giving it voice. “I think you ought to call him, and tell him he’s bartending again tonight.”

She held his stare. “Oh? Why’s that?”

“Because you and I need to get drunk.”

The flicker of a smile. “Do we, then?”

He nodded once, definitively. “We do. No pills, I promise. Just you and me, and a bottle of something, and your father’s old records and photo albums.”

“You and me and a bottle,” she echoed. “That sounds like an invitation for trouble.”

He smiled. “Oh, I’m already in trouble. This would merely be a spot of fun.”

She checked the clock on the DVD player and seemed to consider it, finally nodding. “Okay, sure. If Casey’s free, you’re on. It’s a date.”

A rather reckless, messy, fucked-up sort of date, Duncan thought. One they were weeks overdue to embark on together.

He smiled. “So call that motherfucker.”

“Motherfucker.” Casey glared at his phone when Raina ended the call.

Vince looked over from the couch, where he and Kim were gathered around the coffee table, playing cards with Vince and Casey’s addled mother.

“I’ve just been informed I’m working again,” Casey said. “Like, right now.”

“At the bar?” Kim asked.

“Yeah. Funny how I don’t remember filling out any W-2s.”

Vince smiled. “Few days ago you might’ve jumped at the chance.”

“Yeah, well, a few days ago that girl wasn’t pregnant, far as I knew.” And with a felon’s baby. A felon, Vince had told Casey, who didn’t yet know he was a father-to-be. And who’d been put away for smuggling firearms, and earned himself the kind of respect inside that only violence afforded. A charismatic, manipulative type, Vince had said, with a cold demeanor that hid a hot temper. Nasty combo. And this guy was likely to be getting paroled in the next six months. Now, that was
baggage.
That was a whole fucking carousel of the shit.

“Can’t play hearts with only three,” their mother said absently.

Casey pocketed his phone. “Apparently this is club business.” He said it mainly to Vince—their mom wasn’t really listening.

“Club shit? How so?”

“Raina’s looking after Welch or whatever.”

Vince smirked. “Sure she is.”

Casey zipped his hoodie and checked for his wallet. “If I’m
stuck slinging drinks because she’s upstairs getting laid, don’t put it past me to skim from the till.”

“You didn’t put up much of a fight,” Kim said savvily.

Casey couldn’t hide the blush warming his face if he tried; faintest touch of embarrassment—or arousal, for that matter—and his ears and neck and cheeks went red as beets. “It’s not all bad. Chicks love bartenders. Plus, if Raina owes me, maybe I can get a free tattoo for my troubles.”

And fine, Kim had him pegged about right. He missed flirting with Abilene. That last night, when Casey had put his foot in it, it’d been pretty awkward, sure. But the girl had mellowed some by the end of the night, everybody distracted by the news about Levins. She’d even smiled at him when she’d climbed into her car after they locked up, and she never looked prettier than when she smiled. Besides, what Casey felt for her . . . He hadn’t felt this way about a girl since he’d been a teenager. Goofy, simple crush. He’d wanted to fuck her, no doubt, but with that off the table for self-preservation reasons, the other stuff still felt good. Kinda sweet, in the midst of all the complicated shit going on in Fortuity. So yeah, flirt with the girl, go home, beat off. No harm in that.

No harm,
he thought, starting up his bike, provided he didn’t flirt
too
hard. Sweat broke out under his arms to imagine somebody telling her baby’s unwitting gunrunner father they’d been cozy while the guy was incarcerated, and that Casey had known about the kid before the dad had. Christ, maybe this wasn’t simple at all.

He headed downtown, deciding he’d better just take the concerned, brotherly route with Abilene. Seemed like an option less likely to get him shot in the knee.

The lot was half-full when he arrived, the night already shaping up to be a busy one. He glanced up at the lit windows of Raina’s apartment but spotted no incriminating silhouette of her and Duncan getting freaky. Still, what did she expect Casey to believe they were up to?

He parked out back and entered through the rear—she’d given keys to everybody in the club a few weeks ago. The bar was noisy when he strolled in, Abilene shouting out a party’s ready order before starting on the next.

“What needs pouring?” he asked from behind her.

She cast him a skeptical glance. “You again?”

“Raina didn’t say? She’s still playing nurse upstairs, apparently. So yeah, me again. You okay with that?”

“Makes no difference to me.” She handed a pitcher to a customer and started another, not meeting his eyes. “I need four shots of Jack.”

He poured them, made change, and turned to the next expectant face.

There’d been a bit of a logjam, but after ten minutes things calmed down. Already hot, Casey unzipped his jacket and stuffed it into a cubby under the register. Abilene tossed him a towel, then set her own on the bar. “I’ll be right back.”

“Where you going?”

“I’m six months pregnant. Where do you think I’m going, every ten minutes?”

“I have no clue.”

She rolled her eyes. “I’m going to snort coke off a hooker’s tits,” she said, heading for the back.

Casey just stared for a moment. She’d never talked like that before. She looked about sixteen, so the effect was sort of hilarious. “Hormones much?”

“Fuck off, Casey.”

“Definitely hormones. Oh—wait. Peeing!” he called after her retreating back. “You’re peeing, right? See, I know some stuff about pregnant women.”

“Tell the whole bar,” she shot over her shoulder before disappearing.

Casey filled a couple more orders and she returned, little wisps of her long dark hair plastered to her temples.

“You look hot,” he said. “Like, sweaty, I mean.”

“Wow. Thanks.”

“I mean, you look overheated. Yet still attractive. You need a break?”

“I’m fine,” she said, not sounding fine at all.

“You’re not going into labor, are you?”

She paused, sighing her exhaustion. “Not for a couple months. I’m just sweaty. And tired. And my body’s going insane, because there’s a tiny human moving my organs around.”

“Raina should keep you on afternoons.”

She glared at him. “I’m
fine
. And I make a hundred bucks more on nights, so don’t go telling her to take them away from me.”

“You can have my tips,” he offered. “I’m not even supposed to be here. I don’t even work here, officially.”
Officially
, Casey didn’t work anywhere.

“Just . . . just leave me alone, Casey. Just fill orders, and I’ll quit being such a bitch, and we’ll get through tonight, and everything will be fine.”

He frowned. “You’re, like, legit pissed at me, aren’t you?”

She turned away to gather empties, and he tailed her.

“Why? I’m not saying you shouldn’t be—I fuck shit up
all
the time. I just don’t always realize it. But if you tell me what I fucked up, I’ll try to fix it.”

She laughed, a sad, small noise. “There’s nothing to fix. And you didn’t fuck anything up. You said it yourself—it’s just hormones.”

He tried to let it go. Tried to just handle orders and make change, get lost in the familiar, jerky rhythm of this place. Didn’t do much good, though.

Casey hated simmering conflicts. It was the reason he always moved on, whenever he messed shit up. He sucked at cleanup. Still, it bugged him how this acquaintance had gone from fun to painful so goddamn quickly. Maybe he’d been naive, thinking their flirtation had been the one simple thing left to enjoy in this complicated town. That
she’d
been simple—an open book. Come to think of it . . . he really didn’t know jack about her, did he?

“What’s your last name?” he asked during a lull.

She shot him a distrustful look. “Why?”

“Just seems weird I don’t know it, that’s all. Mine’s Grossier.”

“Everyone knows what your last name is.”

“Because my brother’s, like, the king of the local dicks, you mean.”

She smirked. “Kind of.”

“So, what’s yours?”

“Price.”

“Okay. And when’s your birthday?”

She chewed her lip.

“Mine’s April fifth,” he said. “I’m thirty-three. How old are you?”

“Twenty-four.”

“And your birthday?”

She looked real wary at that, making Casey doubt the age she’d told him.

“Whatever, never mind. It’s cool.” A customer caught his eye, a clean-cut Hispanic guy with glasses. “What’ll it be?”

“I don’t suppose Raina Harper’s working tonight?” The man’s voice reeked of law enforcement.

Casey shook his head, crossed his arms. “She’s off. You want a drink?”

He scanned the bottles lined up on the highest shelf. “Amstel.”

“Watching your figure?”

“How much?”

“Four bucks.”

They swapped a beer for bills and the guy disappeared into the crush. Casey turned his attention back to Abilene, who was loading the washer. “Just figured I ought to know some shit about you. Since we’re basically coworkers and everything.”

“You know stuff about me,” she said, glancing at her middle.

“I mean, just boring stuff. Favorite color. Favorite band. Favorite food.”

Her lips twitched, and before heading out into the greater barroom to collect empties, she said, “Barbecued brisket.”

Casey smiled, watching her go. He restocked the coolers and the ice, and when she returned he thought he could chance teasing her, sensing she’d thawed some. But he was way wrong. The second he said, “I knew I’d defrost you, sooner or later,” the claws popped back out.

She turned quickly, ponytail whipping around, blue eyes bright and angry. “Defrost me?”

He crumpled the empty ice bag, staring into a pair of glaciers. “Um, yeah. I was just teasing. Did I just—”

Her hands shook as she went to rub her eyes. “God, why’s everything all . . .
fucked-up
?”

“Fucked-up? You mean because I fucked them up, or . . . ?”

She shook her head, smoothed her hair. “The baby’s fucking everything up.” She clutched her middle, looking chastised. “It’s not her fault. But she is.”

“She? It’s a girl?”

“Shut up, Casey, please. I’m trying to have a breakdown.”

“You and Welch. Maybe if you head upstairs, Raina will fuck you into better mental health.”

Finally
, a smile. Casey broke out in one of his own. “Hey, now, look at that! You don’t hate me after all.”

She pursed her lips. “I never said I did.”

“You’ve been way different, since last night.”

“Of course I have. Everything
is
different. The baby’s making everything—every last part of my life—totally fucked and weird and stressful and . . .” She trailed off, breaths coming quick and frantic.

“Hey, sit down. Chill. Of course the baby’s fucking everything up. That’s what babies do. Haven’t you ever watched
Maury
?”

She wiped at her welling eyes, and Casey angled his body to keep most of the patrons’ views blocked, to give her a little privacy.

“It’s not even here yet,” she sniffed, “and already I can’t cope with anything. How awful is it going to be after it’s born?”

“You got family in town?”

“No.”

“Where’s your parents?”

“My mama’s back home in Texas. But we don’t talk. I hardly talk with any of my family.”

“Texas, huh? You from Abilene, Abilene?”

“No,” she said simply.

“Well, I was living in Lubbock the past couple years.”

“Doing what?”

“Oh, things. Anyhow,” he said, nodding to her belly, “a kid’s a pretty powerful trump card against moms. You might be surprised how quick bridges get mended when grandparenthood’s at stake. Old people fucking love that shit.”

She cracked another little smile at that.

From behind them, somebody shouted, “Pitcher.”

Casey ignored him. “You’ll get through this. You know how many dumb-asses give birth without ever even realizing they’re pregnant? You’re
smart
. And hardworking. You’ll be fine—”

“Pitcher!”

Casey turned to glare at the guy. “Would you hold your fucking horses?”

“Would you do your fucking job?”

Casey cocked his head. “You feel like comforting the poor girl? She’s fucking pregnant. She’s got hormones and shit,
making her crazy.” He circled a finger beside his ear. “Two fucking minutes, okay?”

The guy glared but wandered back into the crowd.

Casey turned to Abilene, finding a hand plastered over her eyes in mortification.

“Oh, come on,” he said. “Everyone’s gonna find out soon enough. Rip the bandage off.”

“Someone’ll tell Raina her bartender was crying. I’ll probably get fired, and there’s only, like, two jobs I’m even qualified for in this whole stupid town.”

“She won’t fire you. You have no idea the shit that woman pulls when she’s on the clock herself.”

She smiled weakly, and after a pause, she gave him a little shove on the shoulder. “You really thought I was a virgin?”

“I dunno. Seemed likely, the way you were avoiding saying yes to me and everything.”

“You think your charms are that irresistible, huh?”

“No, I think my charms are about as smooth and subtle as a cinder block. I couldn’t figure out how you kept managing to ignore them.”

“Go fill some orders,” she said. “I’ll use the bathroom and be out in a minute.”

“I’m giving you all my tips,” he said firmly. “You need ’em more than I do.” Casey actually had a pretty healthy chunk of change to his name at the moment. He got a funny rush, imagining doing what his brother sometimes did—helping out people who needed it. Helping Abilene, if she’d let him. God knew he didn’t need the money himself, especially now that he wasn’t paying rent.

Abilene shook her head. “I don’t want your tips.”

“You’re getting them anyhow. Like a special bonus, for putting up with me.”

She smiled. “We’ll fight about this later.”

She headed for the back, and Casey’s heart felt all warm at those words. Fight about it later. As a couple would do—bicker over doing each other favors.

He caught himself, and quickly conjured the imaginary mug shot he’d assigned her ex. He had no clue what James Ware really looked like, but his brain had composited a hulking brute with ink on his shaved, scarred head, and fists like cantaloupes.

Yeah, knock that shit off, thinking like she’s anything more than your coworker.
And giving her money? Yeah, right. Only thing a violent con must hate worse than not being told about his unborn kid was hearing that some shiftless scam artist had been paying for the girl’s upkeep.

Casey focused on the orders, focused on his job. Not on responsibilities and urges that were a million percent not his business
.
Focused on keeping his nose out of other people’s drama, and keeping all his bones unbroken.