Need You Tonight (4 page)

As they unload the trailer, the tension that had helped keep me awake begins to ease away. It’s like they’re giving my life back to me, one room at a time. Once they leave, I finish decorating the rooms, hanging pictures and placing knickknacks on shelves. The shadowbox containing Braden’s portrait, along with the flag I was given at his funeral, goes on the mantle over the fireplace.

Dragging the recliner to the left side of the fireplace, I flop down in it and pull up the footrest to survey the house. It looks exactly like our home in Jacksonville. Braden would have loved it.

“I think I’m going to love it here,” I say to his picture. “All that’s left to do is start a garden. Maybe plant a few more flowers in front.” For whatever reason, talking to Braden’s picture makes me feel so not alone. It’s like he’s still in my life.

Okay, so I know it’s a coping mechanism, and I know it’s not the healthiest habit to still have after two years, but who’s going to hear me?

The walls? The floor? The rugs?

My cell rings. It’s a text from Soon Lin.

“The time for wallowing is over, Brooklyn.” The curtains are shoved open, and I pull the sheets up and over my head.

I stare up at her through dry eyes. “I’m not wallowing. I’m fine. And I don’t want to get up.” There’s nothing to get up for, no one to cook for, to look forward to coming home… nothing. “I’m fine,” I repeat.

“Fine doesn’t smelling like rotting fish.” She waves a hand in front of her face.

Crossing my arms, I say, “Go away.”

“Would Braden be happy to see you like this?” she asks.

My heart folds in on itself. Lowering my gaze, I whisper, “No.”

Inwardly groaning, I know I shouldn’t have any reason for avoiding him. I shouldn’t be thinking of him at all.

After paying, I push the buggy over to the community board by the exit. It’s sectioned off in three parts—events, housing, and employment. I scan over the employment first—no reason to look at events, since I don’t have the extra money to go.

“Bartender, dog groomer, cake decorator,” I mutter to myself. Ugh. I have no experience with any of those positions. “Assistant office manager.” I perk up. This is something I can do. I have an associate degree in office management. “Call Rowan at 910-,” I grab the advertisement and immediately call her.

“Callahan’s Auto Repair.”

“Hi, I’d like to speak to Rowan, please.”

“This is she.”

“I’m calling about the assistant office manager’s position.”
Name. Tell her your name
. Gah. I’m so bad at this. “I’m Brooklyn Reeves, by the way.”

A slight pause. “How much experience do you have, Brooklyn?”

“Three years, and I have a degree in office management as well.”

“Awesome. You’re hired.”

My jaw drops. “Just like that?”

“I could really use the help.”

“Don’t you want to run a background check, or call my references? Make me pee in a cup?”
Stop talking. The woman is giving you a job, you drunk possum.

Rowan snorts. “You can on one of your breaks, but I’m not touching it, and you have to bring your own cup.”

I let out a nervous laugh. “That’s okay. I was being a little uh…”

“Excited.”

“Yes, excited,” I answer, thankful she’s given me a way out of my embarrassment. “So excited to start on—?”

“Tomorrow. Callahan’s is open Monday through Saturday. We can discuss your schedule and job duties when you come in. See you at eight.”

“Sounds great,” I manage to say before she hangs up.

Taking the advertisement, I shove it and my cell into my purse, a big smile blooming on my face. I goofy dance my way to the parking lot, bumping the buggy with my hip to keep it rolling.

“Oh yeah… who got the job, even after making a fool of herself?” I sing on the way, pausing when I get to my SUV. Looking at the window, I point at myself and my reflection does the same. “This girl got the job. That’s who. Break it down.”

A truck rolls up beside me, and butterflies form in my stomach as my face heats up and I try to be all nonchalant about my Taylor Swift
Shake it Off
dance style. Braden always said my parking lot victory dances were going to get me in trouble one day. Then again, he’d been the one to encourage me to do them in the first place. He’d been the one dancing right along with me.

The door opens, and who gets out? The man I’ve been dreading running into, of course.
Crap.
Parker Morgan does shop here. Alone.

My smile falls, and I hurry to load my groceries so I don’t have to speak to him. Gosh, why did I have to buy so many things?

I toss the bags inside, one tipping over. Oranges bounce out, one by one, and I watch in horror as they roll right into a pair of boots.

Parker bends down, picking them up and holding them out. I can’t help but stare at him as if he’s offering me the apple that did Adam and Eve in.

“Here you go,” he says, carefully placing them back into the buggy. He puts his hands into the pockets of his dark jeans and stares right back at me. “How is everything?” he asks.

“Fine.” Standard answer to a standard question. I don’t know why I thought our next meeting would be something more.

With my next breath, my body unfreezes. I start loading groceries again, but just as I turn around to grab another bag… there he is, taking a huge bag of charcoal from the bottom and hefting it over his shoulder like it weighs nothing.

His forearms flex, big hand gripping both side as he adjusts the bag, and my body flushes hot. He walks toward me and I back up, bumping into my car. Leaning over, he places the bag in the back, his body so close that his T-shirt brushes my arm.

“Thank you,” I murmur.

“You’re welcome,” he says, his voice equal parts soothing and arousing.

My breath hitches and my heart pounds.

Parker turns slightly, his golden-green gaze raking over me. His lips part and so do mine. I can see a smattering of freckles on his nose, just a few, but enough to make me want to melt, because it only adds to his looks.

He touches my arm. “I’m sorry about the way I spoke to you yesterday. I want to thank you for your,” He swallows, his strong throat working. Never in my life have I have been so mesmerized by the sight of a man swallowing. “
Sacrifice
. I can’t imagine what that must have been like to lose your husband.”

The mention of husband snaps right out of my lust-induced trance. “My what?” I say sharply.

Her round breasts rise and fall rapidly under the faded East Carolina shirt she’s wearing. Her shorts are a bit longer today, but there’s no hiding her long legs. Or how soft her skin really is.

I jerk my hand away. She frowns at me. Like I have one nerve for touching her.

“My what?” she snaps.

“Your husband,” I snap right back. “Remember, you made me read his obituary yesterday?”

“I remember you accusing me of lying,” she says, her chin tilting as we both stand.

Blowing out a breath, I shake my head. “Look, I don’t want to argue. I just want to apologize. So, I’m sorry.”

She considers my words for a minute. “You have a really strange way of apologizing. But, thank you.”

I nod at the rest of her groceries. “Need any more help?”

The barest hint of a smile curves her perfect lips. “I got it.”

“See you around.” I start to walk away, then remember what made me park by her SUV in the first place—that goofy dance of hers. “Hey.”

She stops mid-load and glances over her shoulder at me. “Yes?”

“What was that dance for?”

Her eyes sparkle, reminding me of stars in the night sky. “I got a job.”

“Nice.”

“The dance or that I got a job?” she asks tentatively.

It’s almost like she’s trying to flirt.
Or maybe she’s just being nice, dumbass, and making conversation because you spoke to her first.

Flashing her my best grin, I say, “Both.”

A startled look covers her face, but then she actually grins back. “Thanks.”

Before she turns away, I catch the blush stealing up her cheeks. For a moment, I’m mesmerized by the sight. For no reason at all, at least no reason I want to admit, I head back to her shopping cart and gather the rest of her bags.

“What are you doing?” she asks, clearly bewildered.

“What I should have done in the first place.” I finish loading up the trunk while Brooklyn puts the cart in “buggy jail” as my little sister likes to call it.

Closing the trunk, I turn to her. “Where’s the job?”

She licks her lips. “Callahan’s. Heard of it?”

“Yeah.” I don’t know if I like the thought of Brooklyn working there. Too many men with rap sheets longer than my brother’s frequent the place. Not that what she does is my business. It’s not my job to watch out for her.

Her nose wrinkles. “Is there something wrong?”

“Men work there.”
Awesome, Parker.
Way to stay out of her business.

“It’s a mechanic shop. Kinda goes with the territory.”

I try again. “Some of the guys have criminal history.”

“How would you know?”

“Because I’ve been in jail with some of them, that’s how.” And
that’s
how you make a decent person look at you with fear in their eyes.

“Oh.” She takes a step back. “Well, thanks. For everything. I have to go.”

“I was fifteen,” I blurt.

“What?”

“I was fifteen.” The need to explain why I was there rides me hard. I don’t want her to think the worst of me, though it would be the easiest way to keep her at a distance. “Got caught stealing a pair of Jordans from Peterson’s—it’s a store in downtown Forrestville. I did it on a dare.”

Her brows furrow, and then she smiles. “Braden got busted for stealing cigarettes when he was fourteen.”

“Your brother?”

“My husband.” Her eyes go all soft, and I feel as though I’m suddenly intruding upon a memory I have no right to be in. “He was a real troublemaker growing up, and it took the Marines to make a man out of him. Or at least, according to him, it did.” She laughs, a tinkling sound that makes my heart flip in my chest. “Even after that, he got in trouble with his commanding officer for pulling pranks.”

I rub the back of my neck, cocking my head to one side, trying not to stare at the way her entire body has lit up. “Let me guess—you were the grounded one. The one who always colored inside the lines while he drew a different picture.”

She shrugs. “Oh, I don’t know. Every now and then, I let Braden talk me into being nau—” Her face turns as red as the tomatoes I’d seen in her grocery bag. “Letting down my hair.”

Automatically, my mind wanders to all the ways I could show her naughty. All the ways, I could make her dirty and talk dirty…the women I’ve been with told me I had a gift for that.

Suddenly,
I
feel more than dirty…I feel nasty, like what’s leftover in the drain after all the water is sucked out.

Cold shame washes over me. All those women would say whatever they thought I wanted to hear in order for them to get a little bit more than what they paid for. Jesus. I need to leave this town. This state… sometimes, I think I need to leave this planet.

“Anyway, be careful,” I say, dismissing her and my thoughts. “You never know about people.”

I feel her eyes on me as I start walk away. “You sure don’t,” she says softly.

“You don’t want to know about me, sweetheart.” I turn slightly to face her. “And I sure as hell don’t want to share.”