Look Before You Jump (6 page)

“I have other obligations, you know,” Bud
said.

“Couldn’t get it up?” Rochelle asked.

That earned her a sideways glare while Bud
scooped ice into a glass. “My other
job
. Cattle ain’t gonna
herd themselves.”

“You sure you ain’t talkin’ a
blow
job?” I slurred and filled up a line of glasses from the tap.

“Hey, I’m doing you a favor even being here
tonight, what with Wanker out of town. Don’t know why Grady didn’t
get Baby in here with you instead.”

“Cause she’d be up on stage working the crowd
instead of working the bar,” Rochelle explained, balancing the tray
of freshly dispensed beer and heading back into the wild horde.

After gulping down my second Long Island iced
tea amid all the other assorted sips and slurps, hell
I
was
hardly working the bar. By the time the contest whittled down to
the final five contestants, I’d finished lining the front of the
counter with watered-down beer pitchers. I tied my barely-there
t-shirt in a knot just below my boobs, shoved my cell phone
underneath the counter then climbed atop my perch. My high-pitched
whistle rattled through my pickled brain, and the patron fight over
pitchers was on.

Buy me a drink – or two or three – and I can
come up with some fun ways to create a diversion. The distracting
dousing took all of ten seconds away from the main attraction
before the pitchers were all emptied on little ol’ me. I’m pretty
sure a few got guzzled instead of thrown my direction – some people
will drink anything as long as it comes from the bar. At Grady’s
call, someone swept me off the bar top, and I hefted the trophy to
the stage to present to the champion in all my perky glory.

Fake Boobs ended up the winner. I was
satisfied knowing mine were God-given instead of
physician-provided. The whistles and appreciative stares redirected
my way said Fake Boobs may have taken home the trophy, but I was
the real winner in the crowd’s eyes – all hundred and something
lusty, testosterone-fueled eyes.

If I wanted, I could have my pick tonight –
really any night. But even through my alcohol-induced haze, I
remembered my pledge to lay off the getting laid. This was gonna be
harder – er, more difficult than I’d thought. Thank God Nick hadn’t
shown up tonight.

Cleaning up after wet t-shirt night was never
as much fun as the event itself. By the time I finished counting
the till, my shirt had mostly dried but my daisy dukes were still a
bit gooey and hiked so far up my butt I’d need surgery to remove
them. My Tony Lamas would never again be the same.

The inebriated state had cleared during
clean-up faster than Bud had disappeared. Last to arrive. First to
leave. Figured. I waved to Rochelle and watched out the backdoor
until she safely drove off into the muggy night, then lugged the
important things to the backroom.

“Bud skipped out on clean-up again,” I
grumbled to Grady as I entered the office and plunked the cash box
on his desk.

The array of security camera feeds flashed
across the screens and revealed the inside of the bar from every
angle, as well as the parking lot of not only Grady’s but the
surrounding clubs too. My boss took security about as seriously as
the guys did at Fort Knox. I always assumed it was carryover from
his military stint.

After he closed his laptop, I handed over the
inventory tally sheets and a scrap of paper with my nightly tab.
Grady barely glanced at the scrap before wadding up it and tossing
it in the trash.

He shook his head as he locked up the safe
and grabbed his hat along with a black plastic bag. “I told ya a
long time ago, ya don’t have to keep a tab anymore.”

I shrugged. “I know. But I figure this way it
keeps me honest.”

“Since I hired ya, business has nearly
doubled.” Grady locked the metal office door behind us and keyed in
the alarm code. “What your antics bring in more than make up for
what ya cost me in drinks.”

“Okay, fine. But what are you going to do
about Bud?” I asked as we exited the building and walked across the
lot to my car.

“He stayed for a good portion of clean-up
this time,” Grady said.

“Barely,” I returned. “And two hours late
again. Why have you kept his lazy carcass around so long? It isn’t
like I can’t handle the bar by myself.”

Grady shrugged. “Favor to an old Army buddy,
I suppose.”

“What’d this Army buddy do? Save your life or
something like that?” I asked as I dug my car keys out of my gooey
pocket. “Cause if not, then you’re getting the short end of the
bargain.”

“Favors among brothers-in-arms never come
cheap,” he said, opening my driver’s side door after the beep.
“Bud’s his younger brother.”

“Oh,” was all I could muster.

“Ya smell like stale beer,” Grady
observed.

“Thanks to you I’m wearing make-up down to my
ankles too.”

“Cain’t tell me ya didn’t enjoy the
attention.”

I smiled. “It was kinda fun participating
this year.”

“Technically ya cain’t win though.”

“I know.”

“Here’s some plastic to put on your car
seat,” Grady offered as he pressed a kiss to my forehead. “Sure
you’re okay to drive?”

“More than okay,” I said breathlessly.

“Yes. Yes, you are.”

Grady’s chocolate depths made my knees go all
noodley again. The back of his hand brushed against a perky
protrusion when he brought the plastic bag between us. I shivered
from the cool night air, though Dallas nights rarely dropped below
eighty-five degrees in summer. Tonight must be one of the rarelys –
or at least that was my story.

“See ya tomorrow night,” Grady’s husky voice
called as he sauntered away to his sleek black Dodge Ram.

After I tore my eyes away from the boss, the
plastic trash bag slid right over the driver’s seat of my Vette
almost as if tailor made. Grady always took special care of me. No,
not in that way, no matter how much the image of the plastic sheath
sliding over my seat reminded me of a condom. I was determined to
keep business separate from pleasure.

“Where were you last Saturday night?”

The question was tinged with an Aussie
accent. My entire body jerked so hard my head smacked against the
doorframe of my car and shattered the naughty images of me and the
boss floating around my mind. Nick’s perfectly mussed hair topped
off his perfectly chiseled face set upon a perfectly pumped-up
body. The perfectly hung silk shirt opened a little too perfectly
for my present sanity.

“What the hell, Nick?” I asked as I stood up.
“You tryin’ to scare me half to death or just crack my skull
open?”

The fragrance saturating his chest wafted my
way on the breeze and touched me all the way down there. Cologne he
likely got from one of his modeling gigs. Earthy. Expensive.
Erotic.

“I missed you Saturday,” Nick said as he
brushed hair from my face and pressed in closer.

I could feel how much he’d missed me. That
and the accent curled my toes so tight I thought my boots would
come flying off. He massaged the base of my skull where a knot
formed. I swallowed the one forming in my throat and reminded
myself of my vow. Didn’t the Bible say something about resisting
the devil and he’d flee? How many guys did a girl have to chase
away in one night before temptation fled?

“Yeah?” My voice trembled. “I-uh took the
night off. Where were you earlier this week?”

“Busy.”

Velvety little kisses trailed across my
forehead where Grady’s lips had rested moments before.

“You taste like old beer,” Nick said, his
tongue flicking in and out all the way down to my jaw.

“Things got a little out of hand during wet
t-shirt night.”

“Mmm. Did you win?”

“I technically wasn’t a participant.”

Smooth and tanned pectorals beckoned. Can you
say reach out and touch someone? I can. And did.

“Why didn’t you call me?” Nick asked, sucking
in a sharp breath as my fingertips feathered his six pack.

I thought girls were supposed to be the needy
ones? Questions dissipated as Nick dipped to my ear and nuzzled the
lobe between his teeth. Gooseflesh raced across the surface of my
skin. My spine turned to pudding.

“Um, Nick?”

“Hmm?”

“Maybe you should slow down there. This is a
public parking lot.”

A button popped and skittered somewhere along
the pavement as my wandering hands edged deeper into his shirt.
Warm lips suckled my neck where my pulse throbbed until plunging to
graze between my twin peaks. A moan escaped from one of us as he
pressed against me so hard I slid up and onto the hood of the Vette
until I was practically lying on top of it. So much for resisting
temptation.

Headlights and blinding spotlights atop the
roll bar cut through the dimmed parking lot and brought Nick’s face
up to mine. I pushed him away and shimmied down when Grady pulled
his truck alongside, rolled down the window, and leaned out. The
crooked tilt of his mustache told me he’d enjoyed our little
show.

“You alright there, Vic?”

I straightened and adjusted myself, tucking a
sticky strand of hair behind my ear. Any chance of getting my
shorts out of my butt without surgery was a lost cause now. “I’m
fine. All’s good. You can go home now.”

Grady offered a two-fingered salute before
rolling up his window. The creeping crawl of his truck said he
wasn’t leaving until I was safe in my car. The reprieve from
temptation and self-condemning acts was handed to me on a silver
platter from above – or from a black Dodge driven by my boss. I
patted Nick’s arm, leaned in and kissed him on the cheek.

“Maybe next time, mate.”

All I got in return was a husky sigh.

I hopped in my car, revved the engine of my
little black Corvette then laid down a few skid marks, leaving Nick
behind in my dust. Reprieve indeed. It’d take a lot more to
untangle the numerous men from my life. Why’d everything have to be
so complicated?

When I rounded the corner from my apartment
building to a chorus of police sirens and a blaze of blue and red
strobe lights, I realized my life wasn’t so complicated after
all.

If you would’ve told me on Sunday I’d be
attending church twice in one week, I’d have laughed and patted
your cheek like Grandma used to do when I said something to amuse
her. The only reason I’d gone Sunday was to see what had become of
Bobby in his decade-long absence since, as a pastor, it was
doubtful he’d ever set foot in my present circle. Therefore I’d had
to step up to his.

But a funeral is no laughing matter.

Janine’s a crier and goes through more
tissues during a romance movie than we stuffed in our training bras
throughout fourth grade. Me? My blouse became her secondary snot
rag while I sat in stunned silence as Pastor Dennis’ eulogy droned
on like a steadily ticking metronome, swiping sweat and tears in
tandem. Not sure how he rattled through it all – considering.

I’d looked forward to reacquainting myself
with Bobby and establishing a friendship with Amy. She’d seemed so
open to becoming friends and had accepted me right where I was,
unlike the rest of the holier-than-thou crowd. But for someone who
for all intents and purposes appeared so content with life, why’d
she commit suicide? And why do it by throwing herself off a
building? Next burning question – what was she doing on
my
rooftop?

How could I have been so wrong about her? The
death of a spouse was bad enough, but snuffing out the life of
their unborn son angered me. Not just one life lost, but two. Amy’s
actions were the epitome of selfishness.

I’m not sure how Bobby got through the
emotional and high-strung service. If it’d been me in his shoes,
you’d have had to load me up on Valium and a good dose of liquor to
even get me to venture beyond the house.

Yes, I know drugs and alcohol don’t mix. I’m
simply trying to make a point here. Work with me, folks.

When the church service ended with a final
choked amen, like a trail of worker ants we all dutifully followed
one another out of the sanctuary and behind the hearse to the
gravesite. The line of cars had gawkers entertained for miles and
impatient drivers cursing the interruption to their Saturday
shopping excursions. As torn up as my best friend was, I’d have
never thought Janine had it in her to buck the family and ride with
me. I couldn’t even make out half of what she wailed between sobs
and snorts, but I nodded and offered an occasional mmm-hmm until we
parked.

Now don’t get me wrong – I’m not a
cold-hearted bitch. Long ago I’d learned that public displays of
emotion rarely served any other purpose than to give your enemy a
peek at your weaknesses. Provide ammunition for their next attack.
It’s a lesson I’d learned the hard way. But once I was alone again
at the apartment, all bets were off.

Since Pastor Dennis was tight with my dad –
or at least with his checkbook – our family was afforded graveside
seating with the Vernets. Mom sat in the middle, keeping me
separated from the other half of my chromosomal donor. It was here
I got more than a glimpse of Bobby’s red-rimmed eyes and the
shell-shocked slack of his jaw. Dark circles spoke volumes of how
little sleep – if any – he’d had over the last couple of days. A
dull ache clenched my heart in its fist as we stared at not just
one coffin but two, the small honorary blue one for the tiny life
snuffed out too soon.

That seemed almost cruel. Whose decision was
it to have this second coffin? Whoever it was, they may as well
have just burrowed the knife deeper into Bobby’s heart right there
in front of everyone.

A furtive glance at the familiar faces around
us struck me with curiosity. What about Amy’s family? It was her
funeral after all. Where were those who claimed DNA with the
deceased? The woman who had carried Amy for nine months? The man
who’d offered up a stray chromosome? Grandparents? Siblings?