WRECKER: A Bad Boy Cowboy Romance (A steamy billionaire romance story) (10 page)

I
drive
by Chastity’s restaurant on the way home from the center. I mean to stop, maybe get some lunch, see if she wants to chat. Part of me does, anyhow. Even if I don’t even know for sure if she’s working today. But when the time comes to hit the signal, and to make the turn, I just... don’t. I keep going. I head back to my place, the property I cleared mostly with my own two hands.

After Mama died, and the money started to roll in, I decided to move away from all the pain that had been seeping into my life since I was born. I didn’t sell her property, because then I wouldn’t retain the rights to the oil if I did. Instead I bought a large new piece of land out of the city, one with a nice lake on it. There are a couple reasons I didn’t tell Chastity that it was my lake I brought her to. For one, it just seems like such a douchey thing to say. “Hey, girl, do you like my lake?”

I sigh. How can someone own a lake, anyway? Why the land only belongs to some of us never has made much sense to me. I guess that’s one way that I get along with the old values. People oughta share the land. Nobody can really own it. But when that changed in this country, it was like a war was going on. And now I still fight that old war, both inside myself, and outwardly, albeit in my own small way. I buy up land, and I make sure that the people who need it, have it. Like the land under the center for those kids, and the new one that’s going to go up in the Pacific northwest. The other reason I didn’t tell her is because I don’t want her to think I’m just a pile of money, a windfall, in the same way that I was seen as just trailer trash as a kid.

That’s why the house I live in, while not exactly modest, is a bit strange for me to have. I made more a few concessions to luxury, sure. I need to have a location I can meet with investors from in and out of the country, so there is a beautiful guest house. The main house is pretty darn big for one man, and there’s an onsite meeting room with a pool. But when it’s just me, I prefer to strip down to the buff and take a dip in the clear lake water than jump in some pool that does its best to look like rocky lake and shoreline, but in reality is just a chlorinated, bleached pretense. I might not be your typical man with money, however. Most of them don’t sleep under the stars whenever they can.

Ah well. Such is my life. Making the inner man and the outer man meet is my continual struggle.

It’s lonely sometimes. I wonder if Chastity likes skinny dipping? The mental vision of her sweet body, her perfect breasts, her ass, and that unbelievable pussy makes me forget to hit the gas when the light turns green, until an impatient honk sounds behind me.

Before long, I find myself checking the rear view, pumping the brakes and turning the car around. Maybe Chastity is working today, and I am feeling a little peckish. I could use some lunch.

A man’s gotta eat, after all.

L
acey comes running toward me
. I’m doing my best to wedge on these high heels—the ones I bought under duress to see if I could make it through a few more days of waitressing.

“Oh my God, Chastity,” she says, grabbing my arm with two hands, “you’ll never guess whose truck just pulled into the parking lot!”

I look at her wearily. “You don’t think so? I’ll bet I’ve got a pretty good idea, since you’re this excited.”

That’s the last thing I need to see today, Wrecker’s old yellow truck. I hardly slept last night after Lacey came over to berate me about my failings with men. I was too busy crying. Now I’m trying to repair the damage to my puffy eyes with some black eyeliner, but I don’t think it’s working. I just look like a very tired raccoon jacked up in heels.

“Yeah, well, you just might be right. Now remember what I said, you don’t serve him!” She looks at me sternly. “I’ll serve him.”

“I’m too tired to argue, Lacey, whatever you think is fine.”

I’m not only tired, but I think I left all my hope at that lake Kanen took me to. The beautiful glowing lake that Lacey called a pond. For a moment there, for the briefest stretch of time when we were together, I’d thought that things were going to work out just fine between Kanen and me, and that we would be able to have something real. But after Lacey convinced me how men work, and showed me just how stupid all my decisions really were, it’s plain that it’s all just a pipe dream. Kanen’s no different than the others. What we have—no, had—(“I loved you,” said Jeffrey, not “I love you”) was just for that one moment.

“Okay.” She looks at me critically. “But listen to me now. This is a good sign, Chastity, he came back. Now don’t fuck it up again.”

I’m not really sure what she means by that, as I hadn’t known I was fucking it up the first time, but whatever. She seems to be some kind of expert, though I have no clue what to do anymore.

When I get out on the floor, the manager gives me the table right beside Kanen’s. Great. Now Lacey’s serving Kanen and I’m serving the guy beside him. So I can’t avoid him, but I’m not supposed to pay attention to him either. How’s that supposed to work out? I’m getting a headache just thinking about it.

I can feel his eyes on me as I wobble around in these heels. Of course, I sneak looks at him too, and have to admire the way his shoulders look in the T-shirt stretched over their powerful breadth. The tattoos that are just showing at the edges of the fabric remind me of the way he looked as he hovered over me, his body glistening with sweat in the evening sun, and how it felt when he was thrusting into me. God help me, I blush, and from under his cowboy hat, Kanen smiles like he can read my mind. I can feel a big grin growing on my face, but I try to straighten it into a more serious, respectable, less-available expression, thinking of how Lacey would react. I turn my head away and break the flow of energy, and try to focus on the job at hand.

“Welcome to Frizbees,” I say to the man at the table beside Kanen. “I’m Chastity, may I take your order?”

“Sure, I’ve been waiting for about twenty minutes. I’d like it if somebody did,” the man snaps angrily.

“I sure am sorry about that,” I say, taken aback. I try to sound the most Texan and the least Canadian as I can manage. “What would you like, sir?”

“Well, could you bring me a flipping menu?” he demands. “You expect me just to have the thing memorized?”

“Sorry, sir,” I falter. “Right away.” Shit.

I look sheepishly at Kanen as I turn to go to the hostess stand. Crap. She should have given him a menu. It’s not my fault that he was left alone. I don’t think.

“Take mine,” Kanen offers the man, holding out the laminated, brightly-colored menu. “I’ve pretty much got it memorized.”

“I don’t need your shitty menu,” snaps the man. Then he says something I don’t catch under his breath.

“It’s okay, Kanen, I’ll get him a new one,” I quickly say, a little worried. I don’t want anything bad to happen that I can prevent. Kanen’s eyes are as dark and dangerous as his tattoos.

Lacey comes up quick. “Here’s your beer, sir,” she says to Kanen. She winks at him as she sets it down. It’s not flirtatious; she’d never betray me. I think she’s just trying to lighten the moment.

“Why I can’t have
that
waitress, I don’t know,” my customer says loudly. “Just came in, and already has a beer and even a menu! It’s like...some kind of goddamn miracle!” He sticks his hands out like he’s talking to the whole restaurant, or an imaginary person interviewing him, and people are starting to look. This is getting more embarrassing by the minute.

I quickly put a menu down in front of him. “And did you want something to drink as well?” I ask. Shit, my first real customer after training day and he’s a doozy.

“Well what do you think? Damn right I do. I’ll take a draft,” he says. “A good
American
brand,” he says, shooting a look at Kanen, who glowers back menacingly. That seems like a weird comment, but I don’t want to ask what it means.

I hurry over as fast as I can go on these heels, which is to say, not fast at all. It’s only been ten minutes that I’ve had them on and already my feet are screaming for mercy. The bartender looks at me as she pours the drink. “Be careful with that guy, Chas,” she says.

“Who, the Wrecker?” I ask, almost out of habit. Do I really need someone else to warn me off of Kanen?

“No, you dummy,” she retorts, not unkindly. “That customer. Your table. He’s a douchebag, but he spends a lot of money here and he’s friends with the owners. If he doesn’t like you, it doesn’t bode well for your job.”

“Then why didn’t anyone bring him a menu?” I despair, taking the frosty beverage from her hand.

“I dunno, I was with customers, and I don’t have time to watch everything besides my bar. But whatever happens, you’re his server, so just be on your game.” Her pale eyes behind the layers of makeup are no-nonsense. “I’m telling you this for your own good.”

“I’ll do my best,” I say, but not very convincingly, I’m sure.

I start to totter back to the table, a death grip on the beer. My only hope is not to spill this damn thing like I did yesterday. “Steady, steady,” I tell myself. When I get to the table, I go to set it down when I feel something kick me from under the table. It’s the man’s cowboy booted toe, and I can’t tell if it’s on purpose. My hand flies out to steady myself and the beer goes down all over the table. “Shit!” I say.

The customer jumps up, looks down at his pants which now look as if he’s peed himself. “You fucking moron!” He yells, his face red. “What the fuck are you doing? Where’s Jim?” he demands.

Jim is the owner, who I haven’t met yet. The one that the bartender was telling me about. I’m mortified. I don’t want Kanen to see me like this, and I don’t want to be treated like this, but I feel somehow I deserve it. It’s true. The second beer down in two days. I am a terrible waitress.

“Don’t call her that,” Kanen says menacingly from the next table. He slowly gets up, unfolding his long legs, and stands at his full height. He looks even bigger and stronger than normal in front of this pot-bellied, red-faced blond. “I let you say what you want to me, but you don’t talk to her that way.”

“I’ll say whatever I damn well please,” drawls the man slowly. I can see his fists curling up at his sides. “We’ve got free speech here in America. It’s our God-given right. But I’m sure you don’t know anything about that, do you, dirt-worshipper?”

“Please sir, I’m so sorry,” I say, trying to intervene. “I’ll get you some napkins, and... and... your lunch is on me.”

“Well the beer is already on me,” he hisses, turning to me. Spit is flying. A little hits me on the chin, and I do my best to wipe it away without embarrassing either of us more.

“I’m so sorry, again,” I say, my cheeks burning red. “Spilling the beer was an accident. Please,” I rush to get a stack of napkins, and when I turn back, Kanen has the guy by the shirt collar.

“You apologize to her,” he growls.

“What’s it to you, buffalo jockey?” says the man.

“What did you call me?” Kanen asks. His voice has a tone I haven’t heard before. “I’ve had just about enough of your shit.”

“Kanen is a bull rider, not a buffalo jockey,” I try to say quickly, just as the man says, “What do you care about this floozy anyway?”

Kanen rears back and clocks the man with one punch.

“What are you doing?” I yell, but the whole restaurant goes silent. Lacey grabs me by the arm.

“Just let it go,” she says. “It’s over.”

“What’s over, and why did he call Kanen a buffalo jockey?” I hiss.

“Do you know what that means?” she whispers back.

“Um, no?” I’m completely puzzled.

“It’s racist,” she says.

I’m lost at first. Then I realize. The raven tattoo. The unusual name. He’s got native blood, and this guy is disrespecting him.

The bartender intervenes. “Look,” she says to both of them, her hand on her jean-clad hip. She looks tough as nails, turning her head to Kanen standing there with gritted teeth, and then to the man on the ground rubbing his jaw. “You fine gentlemen can fight if you want, but you’re both going to have to leave here to do it. We can’t have brawls in the restaurant.” Her voice is the steely kind that you can’t ignore, one that’s built on years of practice.

“Yes ma’am,” Kanen says, regaining his composure quickly, but it’s a front. Underneath the cool facade he’s burning up. He tips his hat to the rest of us, looking at me square in the eye. “Charge my account,” he says curtly. “For any damage, and for both our lunches. Sorry for the unpleasantness.”

He walks out of the restaurant, head held high, and everyone turns to watch him go. One person starts clapping, but after a minute, stops. The crowd turns to look at the other man, who’s struggling to get up off the floor, the soft soles of his cowboy boots slipping on the tiles.

“He’s gonna pay for this,” the man slurs, his jaw swollen. “And so, little missy, are you.”

I pull off my shoes. If I’m going to get fired, at least I can stop the foot torture. “So sorry, sir!” I say. “I didn’t mean for any of this to happen! I’m sorry, Lacey! I don’t deserve this job!” I run in bare feet back to the stock room.

She runs after me and sees me burst into tears.

“Look, are you okay, Chastity?” she says quickly, rubbing my arm.

“Why couldn’t you have let me serve Kanen in the first place? Then none of this would have happened,” I blubber. “Now everything is a worse mess than it was before!”

“We’ll see.” She rubs harder. “I don’t know if it’s so bad.”

“I’m going to get fired!” I cry.

“Yeah, probably,” Lacey admits. “I think that’s a given. I hope
I
don’t get fired since I recommended you.”

We look at each other and both start laughing. “You were probably right that waitressing is not your thing,” Lacey struggles to say, through ever-growing peals of laughter.

I wipe my eyes. “Ah well, I was likely going to quit anyway.”

“That’s true.” Lacey grins. “If you want I’ll take the new shoes off your hands. They’ll come in handy whether I get to keep my job, or if I have to start street walking to make rent.”

“They’re all yours!” I laugh, handing them over. “With pleasure!” I wonder where Kanen is now, and if I can still catch up with him.

We hear a knock at the door, and Lacey walks over to open it.

“Lacey, my dear, what is the meaning of all this?” says a large man with a big stomach and a white hat.

“Jim, this is Chastity, our new waitress. Chastity, this is Jim, the owner.” She gestures from one of us to the other. I square my shoulders, there in bare feet, and open my mouth.

“Hello sir,” I say quickly. “Nice to meet you. I quit.”