I relaxed against him again and repeated a hopeful, “Okay.”
“Get off me, baby, gotta shower.”
I rolled off but he rolled right on top of me.
“I thought you had to shower,” I asked when I caught his eyes.
He held my gaze for a moment and I couldn’t read his face before his head dipped and I felt his nose tweak my ear.
“I’m sorry I was a dick,” he whispered there.
There it was. That was all he had to do and I knew at that moment there would be times when he’d be a jerk and that was all he’d ever have to do.
My arms slid around him. “Honey,” I whispered back.
He gave my shoulder a bristly kiss and then he was gone.
I rolled into the unmade bed so the covers were over me and listened to the shower.
Then Buster came up on the bed and gave me a look that communicated, “Where were you last night?”
I cooed to her, she moved to me and flopped gracefully into the crook of my bent hips. I petted and she purred.
Tate left me after getting dressed and leaning into the bed to give me a kiss and Buster a stroke. Then I took a shower, got ready and went to work, calling Betty after I got there to tell her that I wasn’t moving back to the hotel.
“Didn’t think so, hon.”
“I’m sorry,” I said and I heard a surprised burst of laughter.
“Why?” she asked.
“Well, I told you I was coming home and I miss you guys, I didn’t…”
“Laurie, honey, you and Tate are right up the way. You didn’t move to Fiji.”
“Yes, but…”
“You’re still home. You’re just sleepin’ in a different place.”
That shut my mouth.
“Tell Tatum Jackson to let you loose every once in awhile. I miss my coffee time with Laurie,” she finished.
“Okay,” I replied. “I should get back to work.”
“See you later, hon.”
“Bye, Betty.”
We hung up and I stared at my phone thinking dang, but I liked Betty.
I went back to work and did my job for hours jumpy as a cat.
“Laurie, I asked, you okay?” Jim-Billy repeated.
My eyes had glazed over so I focused on him.
“Tate’s bringing Jonas to the bar,” I told him.
“I know,” he told me.
“I’m not good with kids,” I shared and he blinked.
“You ain’t good with kids?”
I shook my head as Krystal wandered to our end of the bar.
“You ain’t good with kids?” she repeated Jim-Billy’s question.
“No, they freak me out,” I answered.
“They freak you out,” Jim-Billy said.
“Laurie,” Krystal called me. “Two nights ago two boys were drunk and lookin’ for a fight. A beer bottle was thrown which means broken furniture is about two seconds away. You waded into that and, with a smile and a flip of your hair, you talked them down and had them laughin’. You can handle drunk, angry bikers bent on blood with a flip of your hair, how can kids freak you out?”
“I didn’t flip my hair,” I told her.
“Darlin’,” Jim-Billy put in, “you did.”
I looked at him. “I did?”
“Who cares?” Krystal asked impatiently. “I asked, you can deal with that, wadin’ in without thought, how can kids freak you out?”
“Those are adults,” I explained.
“Yeah. So?”
“Adults aren’t kids,” I finished.
“No, darlin’, they aren’t,” Jim-Billy agreed and I looked at him again to see he was smiling at Krystal.
“This isn’t funny,” I whispered and then, desperate, I leaned toward Krystal. “Am I dressed okay?”
She gave me a once-over and I took two steps back to give her the full view. I had on a pale pink blouse with a mandarin collar, little ruffles on the edges of the little poofed sleeves and darts up my ribs, molding the top close to my midriff. I had some cle**age going, for tip purposes (upon research, I’d found this was an excellent motivator for higher tips). My hair was down and styled. I had maximum makeup (for me, when it wasn’t evening makeup of course). And I was wearing jeans, a dark brown belt with little, round silver rivets at the edges and a pair of hot pink, high-heeled, strappy sandals. I had on my flowery jewelry at ears and throat and a bunch of stretchy, beaded bracelets in hot pink, baby pink, clear and blue.
“Well,” Krystal drawled, “you wanna catapult him straight into puberty and discovering alternate use of socks, you picked a winner.”
“What?” I breathed as Jim-Billy guffawed.
Krystal grinned and I stared at her because she rarely did that as in, never.
“You’re fine,” she assured me but I felt far from assured.
“I should go home and change,” I declared and turned toward the door.
Jim-Billy got up off his barstool, a virtual miracle in itself, and headed me off.
“Darlin’, she was jokin’. You look sweet,” he told me.
“Krystal doesn’t joke,” I reminded him.
“I got a computer in my stockroom with a spreadsheet you made that makes stock takes a piece of cake. I got a full stable of waitresses and only one of ‘em gives me fits. Business is up so much I’m thinkin’ about lettin’ Dominic turn me into a redhead. So, even though Bubba is fishin’, I’m in the mood to joke,” Krystal stated and I forgot my nerves and walked back to the bar.
“Bubba’s fishing?” I asked as Jim-Billy settled back onto his stool.
“Didn’t come home last night, don’t ‘spect him home tonight, tomorrow or God knows when,” she answered.
I looked at Jim-Billy and Jim-Billy lifted his brows, his mouth a grimace as his ear tipped toward his shoulder.
I looked back at Krystal. “I’m sorry, Krys.”
Her face changed and I felt a knife in my gut because she let me see pain before she wiped it clean.
“No offense, honey, you know I like you but the worst thing a woman can hear is another woman, a woman who has a good man, sayin’ she’s sorry about your man.”
Then Krystal walked away and I grabbed onto the edge of the bar to hold myself up because my legs were trembling. This was with both sadness and anger, sadness for Krystal, but mostly anger at Bubba for making her feel that way.
I looked at Jim-Billy. “She was joking,” I whispered. “Then I messed it up.”