Текст книги "Three Broken Promises"
Автор книги: Monica Murphy
Соавторы: Monica Murphy
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Текущая страница: 5 (всего у книги 17 страниц)
Chapter 7
Jen
“Don’t I know you?”
Glancing up, I find a man probably in his mid-forties standing before me on the other side of the hostess counter, staring at me.
Hard.
The restaurant is packed. The staff has been scrambling all evening. I should be on my break but instead I’m helping out at the front desk, handling payments, greeting customers in between checking up on my tables when the hostess is off seating others. I do this sort of thing whenever it gets a little crazy, and no one protests. Tonight, though, is extra busy, proof Colin needs to hire more people, and that makes me feel guilty for leaving.
Seeing this man is reminding me why I need to go. I don’t want to know him but I do. He’s a bad memory I don’t want to deal with, especially here.
I smile faintly through my sudden nerves, wishing I could tell him to screw off. I don’t like the way he’s looking at me. He hands over his credit card and his dinner bill, and I automatically take it. “Are you a regular customer at The District?” We have lots of them, though they’re usually younger than this guy. I know he’s not a regular. Not here.
“Not at this place. My wife convinced me to take her here tonight for our wedding anniversary.” He sounds irritated, and I wonder how in the world I got stuck taking his credit card and running it. Wasn’t he Fable’s customer?
“Congratulations,” I offer weakly, guilt assuaging me. Of course he’s married. Weren’t they all? “Did you enjoy your dinner?”
“A little overpriced,” he huffs out, sounding irritated.
I ignore him, tapping my fingers on the screen, waiting for the credit card approval. It doesn’t come fast enough and when the receipt finally prints out, I tear it off and hand it to him, practically shoving a pen into his hand.
“I know I’ve seen you before,” he says, signing his receipt and pushing it and the pen back across the counter toward me. I don’t dare look at him, and he seems to know I’m hiding from him.
“Thanks for coming. Hope you have a good evening,” I say as I give him his copy of the receipt. Chancing a glance at him, I see the way his gaze drops to my chest, raking over my body in an overtly intimate way.
A shiver runs down my spine. Yeah, this is definitely one of the guys who I . . .
“Did you ever work at Gold Diggers?” He’s lowered his voice, leaning toward me over the counter, and I step back, furiously shaking my head.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I start, but I clamp my lips shut when he smiles lecherously, pointing his finger at me.
“You did. I remember you.” The smile grows, and my heart sinks to my toes. “I think you might’ve helped me out after hours one night, too.” He pauses, his eyes lingering on my lips. “No man forgets a mouth like yours.”
Holy. Shit. I can’t believe he just said that. Panic races through my veins and I glance around, looking for an out.
“Ready to go?” A woman approaches, going right to the man’s side, curling her arm around his. Clearly she’s his wife, and I wonder what she might do if she knew I’d taken money from this man in exchange for a blow job.
Because that’s how he knows me and the shame that threatens is so overwhelming, I’m tempted to run. I blanked most of the men out, never paying too much attention to their faces or bodies. Not wanting to know any details, trying to make them seem inhuman. It’s easier that way to pretend they’re not real.
But this guy is real—and so is his wife.
“Yeah, honey.” He sends me a pointed stare, as if I’d blab where I knew him from or something crazy. He shouldn’t worry. I don’t want any trouble. “Thanks,” he says to me gruffly and I nod in answer, surprised by the way the woman glares at me over her shoulder before they leave the restaurant.
Exhaling loudly, I sag against the counter, rubbing my forehead with the tips of my fingers. If what just happened isn’t an indication I need to get out of here and quick, I don’t know what else is. This is the second time in as many weeks that an encounter like this has happened.
Why now? Why all of a sudden are the scumbags who frequented Gold Diggers finding me? I don’t get it. It’s like the universe is trying to tell me something.
“Are you all right?” A warm hand settles on my shoulder and I whirl around, a gasp escaping me at the too intimate touch.
But it’s just Colin. As his hand drops away from me, I see the concern and the caring in his gaze but I try to ignore it. “I’m fine,” I say, swallowing hard.
“You’re pale.” He steps toward me, touching my cheek, and I flinch. Again, his hand falls away and like an idiot, I miss his touch.
“Tired.” I offer him a wan smile, wishing he’d leave me alone. Also wishing he’d whisk me out of here and rescue me for good. Maybe we could run away together. He doesn’t want to face his problems and I don’t want to face mine. We could avoid everything. Together. Alone. Naked . . .
Yeah. That sounds like my every dream come true.
“It’s been a busy night. You should go take a break,” he suggests, reaching out to touch me. Again. I let him this time, pressing my lips together when he tucks a wayward strand of hair behind my ear. He’s so gentle, so sweet. Does he know how torturous this is? How much I want him?
We deny each other what we both want. I’m starting to wonder if we’re both out of our minds.
“Everyone still needs help,” I tell him, the breath catching in my lungs when he steps closer. He’s invading my personal space, helping me forget what just happened with that horrible customer. “I’ll take my break in thirty minutes. It should slow down by then.”
“Take care of yourself. I don’t like to see you looking so rattled.” His gaze drops to my lips and I part them, wishing he would kiss me. Which is crazy considering we’re in the middle of a very public restaurant.
“I’m okay. Really.” I offer him a bigger smile and he returns it, the sight of that familiar, heartbreaking crooked smile making me want to throw my arms around him and never let him go.
“I miss talking to you,” he confesses, his voice low.
I’m stunned by his words. “I miss talking to you too,” I automatically say in return.
“Before you—leave, let’s try to do that, okay?” When I don’t say anything, he continues. “Let’s try and talk? Catch up with . . . everything? I feel like I don’t know you anymore, Jen.”
He doesn’t. There’s too much I don’t want him to know. That’s why we don’t talk.
“Sure. We can catch up. Sounds great.” I sound flippant and I see the hurt in his eyes, but I ignore it.
We’re always hurting each other rather than facing the truth. It’s just easier that way.
“So you’re going to Sacramento on your day off?” Fable asks the question innocently, but there’s a motive behind her words. She wants to know if I’m really going through with this.
And she’s ever so hopeful I’ll back out and say I’m staying. Too bad I’m going to disappoint her. After what happened earlier, I know my leaving is the right choice. I’d rather be anonymous than deal with those sorts of confrontations.
Offering her a firm nod, I steadily count out my cash tips. It’s our nightly ritual, where we all sit around a few tables and tally up our take for the night, then each of us puts in enough for the busboys and the hostesses. “That’s my plan.”
“How are you getting there?” Another innocent question, and this one I don’t have an easy answer to, since I don’t own a car.
Yeah. I really need one. It’s the first thing on my list of what I need to function when I’m on my own. “I was hoping I could borrow Colin’s car.”
Fable bursts out laughing, the wench. “Yeah, right. He doesn’t want you to leave and you really think he’s going to let you drive his fancy-schmancy car alone to Sacramento? You gotta be kidding.”
“I have my license. I know how to drive a freaking car,” I say grumpily, stacking up the one-dollar bills. Tonight was good, the tips were plentiful, and I’m thankful for every dollar I count.
I need all of them, since I’m going to be living on my own and paying all the bills that come with independent living.
“In the big city? Come on, small-town girl. You’ll probably freak with all the traffic. And isn’t that car of Colin’s his precious baby?”
For a person who tried her hardest to plan this move thoroughly, I’m looking like a complete idiot right about now. “Fine, you can drive me.”
“I work that day. I already checked the schedule.” Fable shrugs. “And I don’t own the truck, Drew does. We only have one vehicle and if I’m not using it to run Owen over to practice, Drew’s driving to his practice or dropping me off at work or going to school or . . . whatever.”
Crap. I’d love to do this by myself. I don’t want to be dependent on someone else. I wish I could rent a car but I don’t have a credit card and there’s all these rules about using your debit card and have to have a certain amount in the bank account. It’s too complicated and not like I always have extra money floating around in my account. I’m saving to get out of here, not blow it all on a rental car. “I wonder if anyone else would take me . . .”
“Seriously? I thought you had this all planned out.” Fable turns to look at me, her expression incredulous, and I immediately feel about two inches tall.
“I never thought about a car and that’s such a huge expense . . .” My voice drifts and I’m overcome with embarrassment. I’d been living in my car when Colin found me, but it took a total dump right after I moved in with him. He helped me sell it for parts and I made a whoppin’ two hundred bucks.
What the hell was I thinking, giving Colin my notice so soon? I mean, I know what I was thinking. He’d pissed me off so bad that I blurted out I wanted to quit, which I’d been planning to do all along but with at least a little more finesse . . .
God, I really screwed it up. To come to him now and say, “Hey, give me a few more months, I need a better plan” would be way too humiliating.
But how am I really going to make it on my own?
“Hell yeah, it’s a huge expense. You spent money on a tattoo yet you didn’t think of saving money for a car? I don’t get it.” Fable shakes her head, her disapproval ringing clear.
I reach for my neck, rubbing at my mostly healed tattoo. She’s making me feel like a complete failure at life. And all of her criticism is also making me quietly furious. Since when does Fable have the right to judge me? “We make our own choices, you know? Not all of us know how to take care of ourselves perfectly.” Like you supposedly do, I wanted to say.
But those last four words are certainly implied. By the shocked look on Fable’s face, she knows it, too.
“I never said I know how to do things perfectly,” she says defensively.
“You don’t have to.” I toss my money for the hostess and busboy that were on duty tonight into the center of the table and stand, ready to get the hell out of there.
“Jen, wait,” Fable calls, but I ignore her. She’s got her shit together, has her perfectly gorgeous boyfriend/fiancé, a decent job, and a brother who’s on the right track. Yeah, so her mom sucks and her dad is invisible. Yeah, so Drew has his problems, but come on. He’s a star football player probably on his way to the NFL, he’s loaded, and he’s madly in love with her.
I’m alone, living with a man who won’t admit there might be something between us. Or worse, he feels absolutely nothing for me and this thing I think is happening is totally one-sided. Oh, he lusts for me. I know that. But there’s nothing else.
Nothing. Else.
Now I’m stuck having to leave when I’m not close to being prepared. What if I don’t find a job? What the hell am I doing?
Whose fault is this anyway, you moron? That’s right—go look in a mirror and check out your reflection.
I exit the restaurant through the back door, ending up in the alley. No one’s out there and I plop down on an old chair, tilting my head back with a low sigh so I can check out the brilliant night sky.
Colin will be waiting for me either in his office or out front. Everyone else will leave through the main doors as well. I can find a few minutes of peace by myself.
Or mull over my absolute failures in life at the mere age of twenty-two. Could I be any stupider? It’s one thing to dance and strip on a stage for a living. Letting men stuff dollar bills down my G-string, trying to cop a feel—it was horrible, but I did it for the money. Lots of women do.
Then I got desperate. Moving in with a fellow dancer was my first mistake. She associated with unsavory people who stole all my money. Next thing I knew, I was meeting guys in the backseat of their cars and taking cash for making them come with my hand. Or my mouth.
I never took it any farther than that. I might have, though, if it had gone on longer. I don’t know. I was desperate. Scared. Colin came along at the right time and saved me.
I owe him everything. Yet I’m leaving him without an explanation. It’s bad enough that he watched me strip. Worse that he caught me in a car with a guy, though nothing had happened. That’s a moment we don’t talk about.
Letting my head fall back farther, I slump in the chair, thunking my skull against the wood once. Then I do it again. Maybe I can knock some sense into my stupid brain if I keep it up. Maybe I could work up the courage to actually talk to Colin again rather than avoid the real issues.
“Are you trying to hurt yourself?”
Great. I close my eyes. If I can’t see him, then maybe he’s not really there, right? “Go away.”
He ignores my demand. “I’ve been looking for you.” Of course he has. He’s always looking for me. Then he never does anything once he has me. I’m the brave one all of a sudden, which blows my mind.
His voice is the stuff of dreams. Deep and melodic, full of promise even when he says something completely benign, like “Have a nice day.” Girls fall all over themselves to hear him utter those words. Any words.
“Maybe I don’t want to be found.” As in, catch a clue as to why I’m back here when no one else is.
“Fable’s worried that you’re mad at her.”
I’m so tempted to open my eyes at that remark, but I squeeze them closed. “She has reason to worry because she’s right. I’m totally mad at her.”
“Why?” He sounds shocked. After all, we’ve been great friends pretty much from the moment we met. People think we’re cute together, how in looks we are total opposites. I’m tall. She’s short. She’s blond. My hair is dark brown. We look sorta funny together and everyone eats it up, which is silly. This isn’t a sitcom. This is our life.
And right now, my life and everyone in it is irritating the crap out of me.
“I don’t want to talk about it,” I mutter. I’m sure that’s the last thing Colin wants to hear, but too bad. I’m not in the mood to share all my secrets with him. He’s always so damn close-lipped, so right back at him, you know?
“Well, I’m about to lock up.” He lets it go, which I appreciate. And it also drives me crazy. He would push, try and get more out of me, if he really cared. Right? “Everyone’s left.” He pauses and I wonder if he feels as wound up, as unsure, as I do. “You ready to go?”
I want to say no, but that’s so stupid. He’s my ride home. We live together. How else am I going to get to the house? Walk in the middle of the night? His neighborhood is pretty far from downtown and it would take forever to get there. Besides, who knows what sort of creeps I could encounter? In the middle of the night, the downtown area is crawling with them.
Not bothering with an answer, I stand and walk past Colin, going through the still open back door. He follows behind me without a word, his silence making me edgy so I decide to offer him the same treatment. Usually I’m the one who feels the need to fill the quiet. I’d rather talk about nothing than endure even a minute of uncomfortable silence.
Tonight, I’m too weary for even that.
Colin
She climbs into my BMW, the car I indulged in as my reward after I opened The District. It’s a sweet ride, but I rarely use it beyond the drive-to-work, drive-home route. How fucking boring am I?
Her scent fills the interior, sweet and sultry and so uniquely Jen, my entire body reacts the moment she’s inside. Her shoulder brushes mine as she locks in the seat belt, her hair snagging on my shirt for the briefest moment before she settles into her seat.
It’s the same ritual every day. I breathe deep when we’re on our way to work. And I breathe deep when we’re on our way home. Trying to calm my nerves, tell myself I don’t really want her.
More than anything, I’m trying to inhale her. As if I could lock in her scent and never, ever let it—or her—go.
I’m going to miss this. Miss her. For once I was brave, asking her to open up to me. There was a motive behind my request. I saw her earlier. The customer telling her he knew her from Gold Diggers, the pure panic that washed over her pretty face. I wish she’d told me about that. I should have pushed harder for the real answer when I asked what was wrong.
“Can I ask you a question?” she says out of the blue, her tone extremely neutral. Too neutral.
“Uh, go for it,” I answer, wondering where she’s going with this.
“Would you ever . . . let me borrow your car?” She’s trying her best to sound like it’s no big deal. I’m not buying it.
“Why do you ask?” I glance at her out of the corner of my eye.
“I don’t know. Just wondering.” She shrugs, which means there is way more motive behind it than she’s letting on.
“I seem to remember you being a shitty driver.” She’d wrecked her brother’s car when he taught her how to drive. He’d raged over that for weeks, if not months.
“If you’re talking about Danny’s stupid Bronco, then fine, yes. I suck. I’m a terrible driver.” She pauses for only a moment. “I was freaking fifteen, what do you expect?”
I chuckle, surprised I can still do it. Laugh. It’s been tense around here lately and I hate it. “He never let you live it down.”
“He probably still wouldn’t.” She clamps her lips shut, as if she doesn’t want to say anything else, and I remain quiet, not willing to talk anymore about Danny either.
It’s too damn painful.
Everything had been left hanging between my best friend and me. We’d argued about my not joining the military. I told him he was stupid to do it without me. I’d been so angry that he’d lost the chance to come with me and start a business together, I hadn’t even bothered to see him off when he left. Only after he was gone did I have the balls to email him and tell him I was sorry. We’d chatted, we’d emailed, but it had never been the same. In one of our last conversations, he made me swear to watch over his sister if anything happened to him. I promised I would.
Soon after, he was gone.
“You haven’t answered me.” Pausing, she worries her lip with her teeth. I’d really love to worry that sexy, pouty lip with my teeth. Shit. “Would you let me borrow your car?”
“Well, is it an emergency?”
“Um . . . sort of?” Now she sounds way too unsure for me to believe her.
“A planned emergency? Because there’s no such thing.” I slow and turn right onto the street that leads into my neighborhood, my gaze drifting across the rows of beautiful houses, the perfectly manicured lawns, the expensive cars sitting in the driveway or parked out front along the curb. I love this damn neighborhood. It’s one of the better ones in town and nothing like the place where I grew up.
This is the sort of neighborhood you see in commercials, on TV, in the movies. I used to live on a dirt road when I was a kid, my mom’s little house nothing more than a shack. The roof was full of leaks and the floor was all uneven, with creaky floorboards and torn linoleum, and the one bathroom was no bigger than a closet and had a shower, no tub. No real yard, freaking chickens wandering around among the dirt and the weeds, crapping wherever they wanted. The very definition of rustic. I’d hated it.
Got the hell away from it, too. Never went back, much to my mom’s irritation. Last time I talked to her, she accused me of behaving exactly like my father.
I could only silently agree. Then I immediately felt guilty and mailed her a check the next day. Put her in a new house too a few years ago, one she complains about frequently. She missed the old house, the one she grew up in, so it must have had sentimental value.
Personally, I wanted to mow it down with a giant tractor, but she wouldn’t let me. So it sits empty. Probably overrun with mice, squirrels, and raccoons by now.
“Fine.” She huffs out a sigh, full of irritation. “I need a ride to Sacramento. Not that I can ask you for one because that would be beyond tacky. So I was hoping I could borrow your car for the day.”
She’s insane. Like I’d let her drive my car in an unfamiliar area. And her asking to borrow my car is tacky. I know where she’s coming from, but I want to hear her explain it. “Why can’t you ask me to drive you there?”
“Um, because I’m essentially ditching the home and the job you’ve so generously offered me for the great, wild unknown?” She laughs, sounding almost . . . manic.
Clearly, she’s stressed the fuck out. I’m ready to join her club.
“I’m still your friend, Jen. You’ve done so much for me. It’s the least I could do for you,” I say quietly as I turn onto my street.
More laughter comes from her, though there’s not much humor in the sound. “I’ve done so much for you? Who are you kidding? You sacrifice everything for me. Always. You’re my knight in shining armor, running to my rescue. What do I ever do for you?”
You’re just . . . there. Holding me in my bed when I wake up shaking and crying from my shitty nightmares. Never judging me, never asking too many questions. I wish I could tell you this. I wish I were brave enough to tell you how I really feel. More than anything, I wish I could tell you all my secrets.
I shake the words from my head. I can’t say them now. I can’t say them . . . ever.
“I’ll take you to Sacramento.” I hit the garage door opener as I pull into my driveway, easing into the garage and shutting off the engine like I do every other night.
But tonight, it’s different. Tonight, Jen’s looking at me as though I’ve lost my damn mind, those pretty dark eyes of hers eating me up. Probably wondering what the hell’s wrong with me.
I wonder what the hell’s wrong with me too.
“You shouldn’t.”
I turn to face her straight on, my gaze clashing with hers. “Why? What’s the big deal?”
She licks her lips, making them shiny and drawing my attention to them. Fuck it all, I want to kiss her. Forget the past, forget the present, forget the scary-as-hell future—I just want to lean over the center console and press my lips to hers. Steal her breath, steal her thoughts, steal her heart.
Like she’s done to me.
I don’t do any of that. I sit there calmly, my car keys in the palm of my hand, my body tense and ready for flight. She says the wrong thing and I’m outta there. She says the right thing and I’m jumping her in my car, in the garage, like a teenager trying to score before curfew’s up.
“The big deal is that the only reason I’m moving to Sacramento is because I want to escape you,” she admits softly. “This place, everything that’s happened here . . . the memories aren’t good, Colin. I can’t stay. It hurts too much.”
Her words slice my heart in two, not that they’re unexpected. After seeing the way she looked when the man asked her if she’d worked at Gold Diggers, I think I know why she wants out of here. Away from this town, away from me.
So I do what I predicted. I get the hell outta there, leaving her alone in the car, in the garage.
While I barricade myself in my room.
