Stranger (27 page)

“I’m busy,” Shelly snapped at his request to help him find the new box of cleaning fluid that was supposed to have been delivered. “Find it yourself.”

“Fine,” snapped Jared. “Excuse me for asking you for a
favor.
”

Ouch.

I’d seen Shelly cry and blush and even be annoyed, but I have to say that until that moment I’d never seen her angry. She whirled on him so fast I wouldn’t have been surprised if she’d displaced enough air with her motion to make a tornado. She didn’t quite bare her teeth.

Not quite.

“What did you say to me?”

A sane man would have backed away, but Jared, who towered over Shelly by almost a foot, leaned in even closer. “I said,” he told her through gritted jaws, “excuse me for asking you for a favor.”

“You are such a jerk!”

“And you’re a coldhearted bitch!”

Shelly hauled off and slapped him across the face hard enough to rock his entire body.

Fucking World War Three was breaking out in my funeral home, and all I could do was stare.

For a minute I thought Jared was going to hit her back, but all he did was grip her by the upper arms to keep her from hitting him again. He shook her just a little, then let her go and threw up his hands like he didn’t want to dirty his grip. Shelly let out a small, stunned cry as he stepped away from her.

Turning, he saw me, and following his gaze, she did, too.

“Pissflaps,” I said aloud. “What the hell do you two think you’re doing?”

Shelly started talking and Jared gave me a sullen, silent glare, but I held up my hand to stop her.

“This is my business,” I hissed. “Not a playground! What if there were clients here! What the hell are you two doing?”

I was repeating myself, my voice pitching higher and hoarser. I thought my head might explode from the pressure inside it, and I realized I was about to burst into tears again.

“BEHAVE YOURSELVES!” I screamed louder than I’ve ever yelled in my life. Louder even than I’ve ever hollered at my sister, even during one of our worst fights.

Both of them stared at me, their jaws dropping, and I stepped back into my office and slammed the door so hard I knocked a glass-framed photo off the wall. The picture hit the carpet facedown, and when I picked it up, the glass had cracked. I couldn’t decide whether I should laugh or cry, and so I did both.

Hysterics were new to me, but I’m not ashamed to admit I gave in to them behind the safety of my closed door. I used up an entire box of tissues in about fifteen minutes, but at the end of it I felt better. I needed a drink, and lukewarm coffee wasn’t going to do. I wiped my face and yanked open my door to come face-to-face with both Shelly and Jared.

“How long have you been standing there?” I demanded.

The guilty looks they gave each other were answer enough. I put my hands on my hips and glared. Jared cut his gaze from mine and shuffled his feet as red tinged his ears and cheeks, but Shelly didn’t look away.

“There’s mail for you. Why don’t you read it while I go get you a cup of coffee.” She handed me a pile of envelopes. “Go on. We’ve got it covered out here.”

Her concern and spot-on deduction about what I needed was nice, but I wasn’t ready to forget the scene the two of them had made. “Thanks.”

“I’ll start on Mrs. Parker,” Jared said. “And the laundry, too.”

“Fine. Good.”

I took the mail and stepped back into my office as Shelly and Jared gave each other a few more guilty glances and headed off to their respective tasks. None of this had been resolved, but I didn’t have the energy for it now. Taking the mail, I went back to my desk and put my feet up to sort through it while I waited for Shelly to bring my drink.

Bill. Bill. Solicitation for a charity I didn’t and had never supported. Another bill. My Funeral Directors Association magazine, which I put aside to read later. And finally, a business-size envelope, addressed to me by hand and bearing the postmark from Lebanon, two towns over from us.

I slit open the envelope and pulled out a trifolded sheet of white paper, blank on one side.

The other featured a line drawing of a man with a guitar, and typed text showing the date, time and location of a show.

SAM STEWART.

Tonight—9:00 p.m.

I stared at the flyer for a long time, closing it only when Shelly brought my drink and opening it again as soon as she left. The drawing had captured so much of him there was no question who it had been meant to represent. His long, long legs, the big hands, the swoop of his hair along the back of his neck. The face was turned so only the profile had been sketched, but there was enough there to remind me all too fiercely of the way his mouth curved.

This was dangerous ground. Wanting this. Him. I couldn’t forget how Sam had been a stranger to me, or how easily he could stop being one, if I let him.

I wanted to see him again, there was no question of that, but if I went to watch him play, he’d know I wanted to. Or he’d think he knew, and I suspected just thinking would be enough incentive for Sam. His interest and attention were flattering, I wasn’t going to deny that. And part of me believed that if he got what he wanted, he might not want it anymore, because that was sort of the way those things work. That same part refused to admit I didn’t want him to stop wanting me, even as I refused to admit it.

Yeah. I was conflicted. I was also weak of will, unable to go watch him play on my own and see what happened and unable to convince myself not to go.

I shoved away the sound of my bank account squealing like a pig as I picked up my phone and dialed a familiar number. A few hours of Jack’s company would cost me more than I could afford, but would save me from a much greater price in the end.

“You look pretty.” Jack walked around me to admire my outfit.

I still wore my suit from work. Blessing Mrs. Parker’s addiction to reality TV, I’d hurried through the arrangements just as she’d wanted and not even bothered to change before heading out. I’d run a comb through my hair and brushed my teeth, swiped my cheeks with powder and my lips with gloss, but hadn’t even put on new panty hose.

“Thanks. So do you.”

“You like it?” Jack buffed his nails on the front of his blue button-down shirt, which he wore open over a white T-shirt tucked into faded jeans. A thick black leather belt completed the outfit and matched his black motorcycle boots. He looked more appropriately dressed for a night in a club than I did.

“You look scrumptious,” I told him. “I’m glad you were free.”

He gave me that grin, and God, how could I have ever thought I was going to pay only for his conversation? “I had to juggle a few things, but that’s okay.”

I’d met him in the parking garage, as we planned to walk together to the club to see Sam play, and I grabbed Jack’s arm to steady me as we crossed an uneven block of pavement. “Did you?”

“Yep.” He held out his elbow for me to take a better grip, his hand stuck into his jeans pocket. I didn’t let go even once we’d passed the bumpy sidewalk. “Just for you.”

“Oh, Jack.” I laughed. “Stop it.”

He looked over at me. “I mean it, Grace.”

We stopped in front of the Sandwich Man. “You canceled other appointments to take mine?”

“Yep.” The smile.

There was no earthly way any woman could look at that face and not return the grin. “How flattering.”

He shrugged as we started walking again. “I like you.”

“I like you, too.” He walked slower so I wouldn’t stumble on another ragged section of pavement.

“Good.” He looked over at me again.

It’s a compliment when your hired fuck tells you he’d rather be with you than another client, but it’s also rather disconcerting if the reason you hire men for sex is because you’re trying to avoid relationships.

“Jack.” I stopped again, this time just inside a small alley. “Look—”

Jack leaned in close, surprising me with the brush of his mouth along my ear. “Don’t freak. It’s still business.”

Which of course made me happy and a little disappointed at the same time.

“Where are we going?” he asked in the next second, saving me from having to react.

“The Firehouse.”

“Mmm. Dinner?” Jack put his arm around me as we walked, a position that felt less formal than my hand on his elbow but no less comfortable.

“Depends. Are you hungry?”

“I could eat.” He patted his stomach. “I can always eat.”

“Bastard.” I patted his lean hip. “Must be nice.”

“It’s all the exercise.”

Jack’s leer sent me into laughter, and everything was all right. “Uh-huh. Well, I’m on a very tight budget, but I think I can spring for an appetizer.”

Jack glanced at me. “Don’t worry about it.”

I did worry about it, of course, because this wasn’t a date, it was an appointment. I wasn’t obligated to buy him dinner, but I liked Jack. “I’m hungry, too. It’s okay.”

“Grace, seriously.” Jack’s fingers tightened on my shoulder. “I could’ve had dinner tonight. That’s not why I’m out with you.”

I didn’t want to ask what he was out with me for, because the swift flutter of my inner muscles already knew. By that time we’d reached the three-story brick building that had actually once been a real fire station. I did have cash for the cover charge, but the guy at the door recognized Jack and they did the whole clapping on each other’s shoulders and posturing so typical of men, and it turned out he knew Jack from working together at the Slaughtered Lamb, and we ended up getting in for free.

“Nice work,” I told him as we wove our way through the front dining room toward the stairs to the second level. “Thanks.”

Jack laughed. “I think Kent has the hots for me, that’s all.”

At the top of the stairs I paused to scan the room. While I could see a small stage set with a chair along the back wall, it was empty. Tables and chairs filled the rest of the space, most already taken, but at Jack’s words I paused in scanning the room to stare.

“You think so?”

He shrugged and gave me a smug smile. “He offered to give me a blow job once or twice.”

I blinked. “And did you let him?”

Jack laughed again and put his arm around my shoulder to pull me close so he could murmur into my ear, “That depends.”

“On what?” I turned my head to murmur into his ear, the gesture automatic.

“If saying yes would get you hot.”

The flicker of his tongue sent a shiver racing down my spine and peaked my nipples beneath my plain silk blouse. We were blocking the stairs, but since nobody was trying to go up or down, I didn’t care. I tried to answer but could only lick my mouth.

Jack nuzzled my neck briefly, his breath hot, but he didn’t answer my question with a yes or no, and I wasn’t sure what I wanted him to say.

He led me to one of the last empty tables, the one farthest from the stage and tucked into a corner by the swinging doors to the kitchen. The group next to us had taken two of the chairs for their own table, turning a four into a six, and while Jack and I only needed two, the way they’d seated themselves meant one of us had to be wedged along the back wall with little room to move. The other chair had been pushed into the path of the servers, and Jack insisted I take the seat that didn’t end up getting bashed by a door every other minute.

The perky waitress who came to take our drink orders informed us the kitchen was closed for dinner, but the bar was serving food, and that was good enough for me. I ordered an appetizer plate that was still expensive enough to dent my wallet but wasn’t going to break me, and we both ordered beers.

“I like that you drink beer.” Jack shifted his chair a little closer to mine, so our thighs touched. “That’s cool.”

“Is it?” From my seat I had a good, unobstructed view of the stage, but if I had to get up for any reason, I was in trouble. A single spotlight illuminated the still-empty stage, and I began to wonder if I’d read the flyer wrong. I looked at Jack, who nodded.

“Yes. Girls who drink beer rock.” He played an air guitar, and I laughed.

“It’s cheaper than something fancy, but I like the taste, so that’s okay.”

He nodded. “And you look fucking sexy as hell sucking on the bottle.”

I blinked again. “My, my, my, Jack my dear. Haven’t you been practicing the lines?”

“You told me to be myself,” he said, and pointed at his chest. “This is me.”

If that was him, I wasn’t surprised he’d been getting a lot of business. “I’m glad I could help.”

“You did.” He nodded and took a long pull on his own beer. “A lot. I don’t have to work at the bar anymore, and I’m going to start full-time school in the fall. Graphic arts.”

“That’s great!” I said sincerely. “Good for you.”

He shrugged, but looked pleased. “Thanks.”

Our conversation was significant only in how simple it was, and how easy. It seemed obvious to me that Jack felt far more comfortable in his role than he had before. Confidence is sexy on anyone, and on Jack it only accentuated his natural hottitude.

As the waitress brought our platter of food, Sam took the stage. I paused with an onion ring halfway to my lips as he made a shadow across the chair, then took a seat with his guitar cradled on his lap. The light winked on his earring and in the brilliance of his smile as he looked out into the audience.

He waited for the brief spattering of applause to fade before he spoke. “Hey. I’m Sam.”

More applause and a few good-natured hoots and comments made him laugh. “Thanks.

Yeah. If you’re here to hear Green Eggs, you’re out of luck.”

His mention of another local music favorite earned him more applause and commentary, and he shaded his eyes to look out at the crowd as he replied. My heart skipped when his gaze swept over the room, but it was silly to think he could’ve seen me, tucked away in the darkness.

Nevertheless I imagined his eyes met mine, and that his smile was for me.

Hearing him play before hadn’t prepared me at all for hearing him perform. Sam had a low, easy voice reminiscent of Simon and Garfunkel. His fingers moved easily on the guitar’s strings and urged forth songs that sounded simple only if you weren’t paying attention. He covered classic hits and sang a few I had to assume were original because I didn’t recognize them.