Roustabout (The Traveling #3) (5 page)

Nervous and excited, I dressed casually in jeans and a t-shirt with a good pair of heels and subtle makeup that didn’t look like I was trying too hard.

To be honest, there was no game plan. Tucker didn’t seem interested in me beyond a mild flirtation; Aimee had already said he wouldn’t go near me because of Kes; I would be pissing off my dad just by talking to Tucker, not that he’d ever find out. I ran my hands through my long hair in frustration: what the hell was I doing?

Unable to answer that question, I made my way down to the bar and found a corner booth where I could see the entrance. The waitress brought me a glass of water and a menu, and I ordered myself a bottle of beer.

I shifted around in my seat, torn between irritation and disappointment as the dial on my watch showed 8:15PM. I reasoned that Tucker wasn’t the kind of guy who thought too much of the time or being a few minutes late. But when it reached 8:30PM and the servers were throwing sympathetic looks my way, I had to admit that I’d been stood up.

Tera

I’d just slunk out of the bar, ignoring the pitying looks of the servers, when I heard a motorcycle roaring down the high street. I glanced over my shoulder, feeling relief and irritation in equal parts as I confirmed that Tucker had finally arrived.

I was fuming that he was 30 minutes late—and pleased that he hadn’t stood me up. But what kind of guy was that late for a first date?
An asshole
, replied one half of my brain.

The more reasonable half reminded me that it wasn’t a date, and that I’d all but bullied him into having dinner with me.

I stood in the covered entrance, watching as he dismounted, surprised to see unguarded emotion on his face as yanked off his helmet. He stood for a moment, his hands on his narrow hips, staring down the road he’d just driven along, then he took a deep breath, squared his shoulders and strolled toward me carrying his helmet.

When he looked up and saw me, something flashed in his eyes, but it was gone too quickly for me to name, and immediately his confident grin was back.

“Well hey! A pretty girl is standing in a bar waiting for me. That’s almost too many good things in one place to be legal.”

I folded my arms and glared at him. “This ‘good thing’ is pissed that you’re late!”

He was still smiling as he strode up

“Don’t be mad, sugar. I was thinking about you the whole time—that’s gotta count.”

“Not even nearly.”

His grin widened. “How ‘bout I buy you the biggest piece of chocolate cake they have and call it nearly even?”

“Huh, it’s a start. Why are you so late?”

He rubbed a finger across his eyebrow.

“I would have called, but I don’t have your number. And I didn’t think it was a good idea to ask Kes for it.”

He raised his eyebrows, a half-smile hovering on his lips.

“I waited half an hour! You’ll have to try harder than that!”

He was within touching distance when he replied.

“You want me to be harder, TC? Because I think that can be arranged.”

I knew I wasn’t imagining the smolder in his eyes before he suddenly backed off.

“How about I buy you dinner
and
chocolate cake—with a cherry on top?” he said teasingly.

“Hmm, I don’t know. Those waitresses in there have been feeling sorry for me because they thought I’d been stood up. And that pisses me the hell off!”

A surprised laugh rattled out of him. “You’re somethin’ else, TC.”

“The ‘something else’ is hungry and fed up with waiting,” I pointed out as I turned to walk back into the bar.

Then I felt his strong hands on my shoulders, pulling me to a halt as he darted ahead so he could open the door.

“Why, thank you, kind sir,” I simpered, batting my eyelashes at him. “Because I’m too weak and feeble to open the door for myself.”

“There’s nothing weak and feeble about you,” he said as I pushed past him. “A gentleman should do right by you, Miss Hawkins.”

Aimee had told me manners could get rusty when it was just a bunch of guys, so something about Tucker’s behavior warmed my heart. Not that I was going to tell him that.

“Now you’re getting it,” I said coolly. “I’ll need at least an hour’s groveling before I’m satisfied.”

“I’d like to see you satisfied,” he whispered in my ear.

I felt a warm heat pulse through me at his suggestive tone.

But once again he didn’t follow through.

“I’m going to feed you until you have to go find a quiet corner to sleep it all off,” he said with a wink.

I didn’t know whether he was attracted to me, or whether flirting was his default setting with all women. Either way, being Kestrel’s sister was clearly a mixed blessing when it came to Tucker. I was certain he didn’t back off when he was with other women.

God, all those other women. What the hell was I doing? Scratching an itch? Playing with fire?

All of the above?

I glanced at the hostess as I headed back to the table where I’d sat before, and she walked across, seeming to withhold a heavy sigh as she carried her notepad in front of her like a weapon.

“Are you and your friend ready to order?”

“He’s not a friend—just a bum I found on the street,” I smiled sweetly.

The surprised server glanced at Tucker.

“What she said,” he added with a grin. “I guess the lady isn’t all that fussy.”

The server shook her head, smiling slightly.

As Tucker scanned the menu, she scanned him, her eyes so gratified that I thought she’d paste a sticker on him saying ‘passed inspection—USDA Grade A’.

And he did look better than anything I’d seen on the menu. His washed-out t-shirt was tight across his shoulders and chest, damp from the warm evening and leather jacket he’d been wearing. His ripped jeans would be a disgrace at one of my mother’s cocktail parties, but hugged his butt and toned thighs. I know because I’d looked.

As he turned the pages of the menu, a small frown notched between his eyebrows, I could see long lashes, much darker than his dirty blond hair. The smooth skin of his forearms and muscled biceps caught and held my attention.

“What?” he asked, glancing at the exact spot where my eyes had been burning holes. “I got something on me?” Then he looked up and raised his eyebrows. “Or are you checking me out?”

“I thought I saw a spider,” I defended. “My mistake.”

He laughed softly. “A spider? I knew I felt something crawling all over me. I thought it was your eyes. My mistake.”

I slammed my menu shut with a huff. “I’ll have the vegetarian lasagna.”

“Steak,” said Tucker, looking straight at me. “Burn it. I like what I put in my mouth to be heated all the way through.”

The waitress fanned herself with her notepad before writing down the order.

Tucker grinned at me, then used his hands to rake a lock of misbehaving hair out of his eyes.

Even though his hair was shorter than I’d seen it before, it remained untamed. Almost military length at the back, the stubborn, longer section at the front refused to stay in place. I wouldn’t be surprised if one day he decided to shave it all off.

His whole body was sculpted to my idea of near perfection, but he wasn’t vain—his body was like an extension of the bikes he rode, a highly calibrated, powerful machine. He cared more what his Ducati looked like than how he was dressed. His clean but ripped jeans and ragged t-shirt were a testament to that.

He settled back in the booth, his arms spread wide, as if inviting me to carry on checking out his honed, toned body.

Since attack is the best form of defense, I forced myself to relax and speak pleasantly.

“Thank you for coming tonight. I wasn’t looking forward to having dinner alone.

He gave me a small smile.

“You’re a lot like Kes,” he said.

“How so?”

“He can turn on the charm when he wants to get his own way.”

I wasn’t sure I liked
that
comparison, and really, wasn’t that an example of double standards?

“And you don’t?” I asked, more harshly than I’d intended.

His amused gaze softened. “Naw, I’m just full of shit, shine and hot air.”

I suspected that Tucker was smarter than he let on. He was never lost for something to say, and he made me laugh with his witty replies. But for some reason, he preferred people to think he was a dumb hick. I didn’t get why he wanted to be underestimated.

I decided to change the subject.

“How did you and Kes meet?”

This time his eyes smiled along with his mouth. I realized I was in danger of becoming addicted to that expression.

“I was working as a roustabout . . .”

“I’ve heard the term, but I don’t really know what a roustabout does. I’m assuming it’s not like working on an oil field.”

He grinned and shook his head. “No, in the carnival a roustabout is a jack-of-all-trades, a laborer. Doing whatever needs doing.”

“Such as?”

He shrugged. “Pitching the tents for the sideshows, hanging the lights and electric cables, working with the ride owners to put up the Ferris wheel or the rollercoaster, set up the dodgems or the carousel. Feed the animals if you have them or clean out their cages. Sometimes I’d set up a temporary corral for the rodeo acts. One time, I had to take care of a two-ton elephant called Phoebe. Man, that was some shit-shoveling.”

“I don’t know if you’re being serious or not.”

Tucker grinned. “I’m never serious. Except when it comes to three square meals a day.”

“Hmm. So how did you end up in the Daredevils?”

He scratched his eyebrow with his forefinger, as if contemplating the question.

“Well, one of the ride owners had a wall of death show: one of those stunts that takes place in a silo-shaped cage and you ride your motorcycle around it—you’re held in place by centrifugal force. I didn’t have a regular slot—I just kind of helped out sometimes. Kes saw me doing that and said he was going to start up his own stunt show. He offered me a job—I was ready for a change so I said yes.” He smiled again. “And here I am.”

“How old are you?”

He held his hand to his chest. “That’s a mighty personal question, Miss Hawkins.”

I shook my head in exasperation. “I’m 27. The same age as Kes. But you already know that.”

“I’ll be 30 on my next birthday,” he admitted with a grin.

“Wow, so old!” I laughed.

He closed his eyes, letting out a sigh. “And she aimed straight at my heart.”

I threw my napkin at him.

“Seriously,” I laughed. “The big three-oh. Any plans on how you’re going to celebrate that?”

“Me and Daisy will take a trip some place,” he said, an impish smile on his face.

I’m sure my expression said it all. “Daisy? Is she your girlfriend?”

“Is that a bit of green-eyed jealousy there?”

I cocked my head to one side. “Maybe. But I don’t hit on guys who have girlfriends.”

His smile deepened. “Is that what you’re doing? Hitting on me?”

I leaned back in my chair. I don’t know why I was so disappointed: Aimee had warned me that Tucker was the biggest manwhore out there. I’d seen the way he operated with my own eyes. I could just add ‘cheat’ to the long list of reasons why Tucker McCoy was a dog.

I took a sip of water and made my voice casual.

“I
was
hitting on you, Tucker. But it won’t happen again. I don’t like cheats.”

His eyes widened. “Hey! I’m not a cheat. I never promise a woman anything except . . .”

The words trailed off and a dull red crept across his unshaven cheeks.

“Except a night of unforgettable bliss?” I teased.

He smiled, but it was off—not the usual full wattage.

“I don’t cheat,” he repeated.

I stared at him. “That sounded almost serious. I thought you didn’t do serious.”

“I don’t,” he said simply. “I’m not serious about women—I don’t do relationships, so I never cheat either.”

“Just a series of one night stands.”

“Sometimes two,” he said with a wink.

“And what does Daisy think of your philosophy?”

He grinned. “She always plays along.”

Disgusted, I stood up, laying some bills on the table.

“Where are you going?” he asked, surprise clear on his face.

“I seem to have lost my appetite,” I said calmly.

Tucker was on his feet in a flash.

“Don’t go, TC. I was just messing with you. I don’t have a girl; I don’t have anyone. Daisy is my motorcycle. It’s a Ducati, or a Duke. So I call it . . .”

I laughed with relief at his explanation. “Daisy Duke—I get it!”

“Will you stay and have dinner with me?” he asked, his smile so sweet I could have gotten diabetes on the spot. “Please?”

“Fine, I’ll stay. But only because you begged me,” I snorted, taking my seat again.

Tucker laughed out loud. “Girl, you are a hard ass.”

I leaned closer, and Tucker automatically mirrored my stance.

“Woman,” I said softly.

He licked his lips, the same small frown tugging his eyebrows together.

The moment was broken when the server brought our food.

Tucker’s salad had surrendered before his enormous steak arrived and he dove into it with relish, attacking the slab of meat with a knife and fork until it had disappeared and the accompanying baked potato was a distant memory.