Jagged (8 page)

“We’ll get you there,” he promised.

“Thank you for being cool,” I replied and smiled. “That’s what I remembered of you. You bein’ hot and cool.”

His hand came up and reached out. I braced, hoped, but feared that it would drop away.

It didn’t.

Ham did what he used to do. He tucked my hair behind my ear, his fingertips running the full length of the shell to the lobe, then dropped to my neck. He ran them down the skin there and they fell away.

Depending where we were back in the day, his fingers didn’t stop at my neck.

But I’d take that. As desperate and wrong as it was, it felt good. It made my scalp tingle, my eyelids feel heavy, my skin heat, and I missed that from Ham, too.

And when I could lift my eyelids again and focus on Ham, the look on his face, his eyes aimed at the spot where his fingers last touched, made my breath catch because he looked like he missed it, too.

“Just makin’ you safe? Yeah, right,” Arlene broke the moment by grumbling as she hefted her ass up on the stool beside me. “Coors, now, player,” she ordered, her eyes sharp on Ham.

“Player?” he asked, his eyes on Arlene, and then they moved to me.

Arlene turned to me. “Isn’t that what they call a Lothario these days?”

“Ham’s not a player or a Lothario, Arlene,” I told her firmly.

Arlene ignored me and looked at a displeased-looking Ham.

She also ignored that Ham looked displeased.

“Know her, don’t know you ’cept what I knew of you years ago when you were right where you are now. Like her and have for years. Don’t know if I like you yet. Also want her to get on her feet, and she don’t need no man playin’ with her heart while she’s doin’ it. So, just sayin’, this thing you two got goin’”—she put her fist toward her face, extended her index and middle fingers, pointed to her eyes then to Ham then back again—“I’m watchin’ you.”

Terrific. Now Maybelle, Wanda, and Arlene were all going to be up in Ham’s face.

Instead of getting pissed, the Ham I’d always known came out and his lips twitched.

“You wanna watch me get you a beer?” he asked.

“Yeah. And incidentally, that’ll go a long way to making me like you,” Arlene answered.

“So it doesn’t take much,” Ham noted.

“I don’t have a beer,” Arlene prompted.

Ham smiled flat-out, turned it to me, then got Arlene a Coors, putting it in front of her, murmuring, “Girl time.”

“Damn straight,” Arlene replied.

Ham gave her another smile, shot it to me, reached out and touched my fingers that were curled around the beer, and wandered down the bar.

“Yeesh, didn’t know a bear matin’ with a human could create somethin’ that divine but there it is. Proof,” Arlene remarked and I looked at her to see her checking out Ham.

So I looked back at Ham, who was now down the bar, grabbing the empty glass from in front of a woman he was also grinning at.

She was giving him come-hither eyes.

I looked away.

“Yeah, he’s hot,” I agreed.

“Hot or not, you be careful,” Arlene warned.

My gaze went to her.

Arlene was ornery, nosy, and in your business, but still lovable mostly because she was only nosy and in your business because she cared. She also had short hair permed in tight curls dyed a weird peachy color. Last, she was petite and very round but had tiny, graceful hands and feet. I’d always found that strange, but at the same time beautiful.

“We’re just roommates,” I stated firmly.

“Mm-hmm,” she mumbled disbelievingly.

“Seriously,” I told her.

“Take twenty years and fifty pounds off me, I was under that man’s roof, I’d do my damnedest to be just his roommate for about five seconds.”

“Been there, done that. We’ve moved on,” I told her firmly.

Arlene speared me with her eyes. “Got some life tucked under my belt along with this belly, girl. Remember him. Remember you. Know you. Now he’s back and I got a good look at him, his behind,
and
his smile. A girl doesn’t move on from that.”

“Okay,” I gave in. “So let’s just say I have approximately five thousand seven hundred and twenty other things on my mind that
don’t
involve Ham’s behind or smile that are priorities.”

“Stay focused,” she ordered and I smiled.

“I will, Arlene.”

“I will, too, Zara.”

Right. Confirmation. Arlene was going to be in Ham’s face
and
mine.

I looked away, took a pull off my beer, swallowed, and muttered, “Do what you gotta do.”

“Always do,” she muttered back after her own pull.

“But don’t get me evicted from my new pad by being nosy and in your face with Ham,” I demanded.

Her brows shot up. “Girl, I got finesse.”

“The finesse of a rhinoceros,” I returned.

She looked away, put her beer to her lips, but didn’t drink.

Instead, she said, “I’m gonna pretend I didn’t hear that.” Then she drank.

I put my beer to my lips but didn’t drink, either.

Instead, I smiled against it and replied, “Whatever works for you.” Then I drank, too.

“Suck that back. I’ll get us another one. Then another. And I’m payin’. I’m also not takin’ any lip about payin’. You can catch me on the flipside,” Arlene ordered.

“I drove here, Arlene,” I informed her.

“And I own a taxi company, Zara,” she shot back. “Bottom’s up. Girls’ night, on me. Live it up.”

That was an order, too.

Arlene, incidentally, was like Maybelline.

You just didn’t fight it.

So I bottomed up, caught Ham’s eyes, lifted my empty, and got another smile as he moved our way.

Yes, absolutely.

This was going to be a struggle.

Luckily, beer helped.

And so did knowing Arlene and Maybelline cared so much about me.

I just might make it through after all.

Three weeks later…

I felt rather than saw Ham round the corner into the kitchen as I was wiping the counters.

“I’ll be ready in a few. Just gotta get this done and get my boots on,” I told him.

I’d been back at The Dog for three weeks now.

I’d also been wrong. Waitressing at The Dog didn’t double or triple my pay.

It quadrupled it.

It had been a long time I’d been away. I guess I didn’t remember how good it could be.

And it was good.

In fact, it was all good. Living with Ham. Working with Ham. Having cash in my pocket. Not freaking because my gas tank was edging toward empty. Having beer in the fridge.

And Ham and I were back. Not, of course, the good stuff like my having his fingers, his tongue, and other parts of his anatomy but the
other
good stuff, like Ham making me laugh, Ham being mellow and tucking me snug in that mode, Ham being cool about everything.

I couldn’t say that occasionally things didn’t hit me and sting. Like when I saw him flirt with a customer. Or when I’d let my guard down while looking at his hands or his lips and remember those used to be mine for a time, I was free to touch them, put them on me, put mine on him.

But I found my way to beat that back and move on. These ways mostly had to do with my having cash in my pocket, a job I actually enjoyed, and Ham in my life on a daily basis, even if it wasn’t how I would want him.

“We gotta talk,” he told me.

“We can talk in the truck,” I replied as I tossed the sponge into the sink. “I’m on shift in twenty.”

Incidentally, there was another reason I had cash and didn’t freak that my gas gauge was heading to empty. Nearly every night, Ham drove me to work.

“I know you’re on in twenty, babe. I wrote the schedule. Remember? We gotta talk now.”

At his tone, my eyes went from my hands, which I was drying with a towel, to him.

His tone wasn’t angry but it was unyielding and, therefore, surprising.

I looked to him even as I folded the towel and said, “Okay.”

“You did my laundry,” he stated.

“Yeah,” I agreed.

“You did it last week and the week before, too.”

“So?”

“You cleaned my bathroom yesterday,” he shared something I knew since I was the one washing his whiskers down the sink.

I felt my eyebrows draw together. “And?”

“Darlin’, we’re roommates.”

I was no less confused at this short explanation. “I know.”

It was then he moved into me. Not only moved into me, he lifted one of his big, calloused hands, curled it around the side of my neck, and pulled me to him so I had to tip my head way back and he had to dip his chin deep so we could hold each other’s eyes.

Ham had to be six-four, maybe even six-five. I was five-six. Even in heels, he towered over me.

I’d always loved that.

I especially loved it in times precisely like that one, where we were close, he was in boots, I was in socks, and his big bearness seemed to engulf my frame, surrounding me, protecting me, dominating me.

I held my breath.

Ham spoke and he did it jagged and sweet.

“I get you’re grateful, baby. I get it because you told me. You don’t have to show me.”

I was too overwhelmed by his nearness, the roughness of his hand on the sensitive skin of my neck, to understand what on earth he was talking about.

So I asked, “What?”

“I can do my own laundry. I can clean my bathroom. I come to the kitchen meanin’ to turn on the dishwasher, I find it’s been turned on and the dishes put away. I get up in the mornin’ ready to make coffee, you not only got the coffee made, babe, you’ve pulled down a mug and put sugar in it for me. Again, Zara, you’re my roommate not my maid.”

“I’m just tryin’ to keep things tidy,” I told him. “You like things tidy.”

“You’re attemptin’ payback,” he contradicted. “You live here. You pay rent. It’s your place, too. You aren’t an indentured servant. This is your pad. Just live and stop knockin’ yourself out to show gratitude to me. I don’t need that. I’m good knowin’ you’re safe and gettin’ on your feet.”

All right, it must be said, I was knocking myself out to keep things ordered and do bits here and there to make it easier on Ham because he was being so cool with me.

I just didn’t think he’d notice.

I should have known better.

“How about, until I’m in a place to go halfsies, I do a little bit extra,” I tried.

“How about you don’t worry about halfsies and just keep your shit sorted. I’ll worry about mine and the common space we take care of as it gets taken care of. Not you runnin’ yourself ragged to take care of it before I got a shot to take care of it in an effort at payback I don’t want. Deal?”

My eyes fell to his throat as my chest warmed but my throat tingled. “That’s not very fair.”

“Babe.”

That was all he said but it made me look back up into his eyes.

When I caught his gaze, his face got closer and I was back to holding my breath.

“Said it before, more than once, you matter. You beddin’ down in a bedroom I don’t use is no skin off my nose. Stop worryin’ about shit you don’t need to worry about and just breathe easy for a while.”

For me, it was him.

It had always been him.

And this was one of the myriad reasons why.

To be certain I didn’t let on to that fact, I said, “Okay, you’re all fired up to unload the dishwasher, have at it. I’ll go back to my slob ways. Just don’t bitch when I do.”

He grinned and unfortunately moved back.

But he didn’t move his hand from my neck. He gave it a squeeze before his calloused thumb glided out and stroked across my throat.

Then he let me go and moved away, ordering, “Get your boots. You’re gonna be late and the boss doesn’t like that shit.”

I smiled at the folded towel in my hand before I tucked it into the handle of the oven and started out of the kitchen to get my boots.

I stopped dead when I heard Ham call, “We’re enjoyin’ this weather but it’ll get cold later so dress for the bike.”

It was nearing on September, unpredictable in the Colorado Mountains. It could mean we’d be up to our knees in snow tomorrow and stay that way until April. It could mean we could go out in swimsuits tomorrow and get sunburned.

But every man who had a bike who lived in unpredictable weather took it out as often as he could before that unpredictable weather hit.

We’d been in the truck since I started at The Dog.

I hadn’t been on the back of Ham’s bike in years.

I loved being on the back of Ham’s bike, wrapped around Ham.

This was one of those times that stung.

I sucked it up, ignored the sting, and went to get my boots.

* * *

It was a Thursday night and The Dog was crowded but it wasn’t packed.

This was good, seeing as Bonnie, one of the other waitresses, had called off sick. This meant I’d be busy, get a slew of tips, and the night would go fast. I’d be exhausted when it was over but it would be worth it.

I turned the corner from the back where the pool tables were and my eyes automatically went to Ham behind the bar.

His eyes were already on me but he jerked his chin in front of him, silent indication I knew meant a customer had come in I hadn’t seen.

I nodded, looked to the mess of high tables with their tall stools that were scattered all over the bar, and stopped dead.

I did have a new customer.

A lone man, wavy dark hair, slightly sloped shoulders, jeans jacket. His legs were spread wide with his feet on the rung of the stool. His thighs were thick, a leftover from playing football in high school.

Greg. My ex-husband.

Greg never came to The Dog. He wasn’t a Gnaw Bone native. He worked at an environmental engineering firm based in Chantelle, moved from Kansas to take the job. He was quiet, liked to play board games, watch movies, concoct meals in the kitchen out of ingredients that it was always a shock tasted good together, and would have a beer with me on occasion at home but he wasn’t a nightlife kind of person.

There was only one reason he’d be at The Dog.

He knew I was there.

I hadn’t seen him in months. This wasn’t a surprise, seeing as he moved to Chantelle after we split up to be closer to work and was a homebody.