The Designated Drivers' Club (14 page)

She executed the last signature on the forms with ample time to shower and change for work. A quick rush to the bank to drop off the forms and she was on her way to her first call of the day. Triumphant that she had at least made the effort, Jenny spent the remainder of the day and night shuttling one person after another home from various celebrations. She looked at her notepad of lists and checked off ‘apply for loan’. She wondered briefly if she should add “see psychiatrist” to the list, and then shook her head.

• • •

Wednesday morning brought more banging on the door, followed by a bark and some loud clattering noises. Fortunately, Jenny had risen earlier than normal and was sitting in the kitchen watching news on her tiny television. She inspected the landing outside the door through the peephole to see an unfortunately familiar frame carrying a box.

“This is getting to be a problem.” She stood behind the door in her pajamas, a little embarrassed that they were the same ones he’d now seen each of the three mornings. “Go away.”

“Why? You don’t like to wake up early?” Grant grinned toward the door. She looked into the peephole and saw Bugsy’s tail swish a pot from Mrs. Ruth’s door. The pot clattered to the landing, spilling dirt and foliage. The dog didn’t even seem to care or notice. Grant grimaced at the peephole. “Quick, let me in Jen,” he said.

She opened the door partially and peeked out. “Why are you here
now
, Grant? Go bother someone else. Haven’t you figured out that I’m
not
a morning person? I don’t get home until really late, or on a normal person’s clock, it would constitute as early. So, I try to sleep in.”

The chain on Mrs. Ruth’s door jangled just as Grant shoved the dog inside and slammed the door. Jenny arched a brow.

• • •

He shrugged and scowled at Bugsy. “Bad Dog,” he reprimanded. The last thing he wanted was the woman across the hall to call the police on him. She’d threatened to do so the last time he showed up. It had taken four attempts to get Jenny to the door. In all honesty, he should have called first. Showing up was inconsiderate, he knew. Still, the fear that she’d run off to avoid him overruled good manners when it came to Jenny. Judging by the matted hair, he was pretty sure she’d had a rough night the time before.

This morning she was a little perkier. Her hair appeared combed and her face washed. Cute, in a healthy but brisk way. Is that possible? The pajamas were god-awful ugly. Not exactly the kind of thing a man likes to see a woman sleep in. Still, when she raised her arms to stretch, totally unaware that her stomach was bared, he felt a twinge of the want he felt when she kissed him at the party. The pants were loose and low across her hips, displaying the curve of her waist down to the slight protrusion of two inviting hipbones. Her belly button teased him to slide his hand across it then slip it down below the drawstrings.
Stop staring.

Grant yanked on Bugsy’s leash and commanded, “Sit. Stay.” The dog begrudgingly complied as he darted his eyes and ears around Jenny’s apartment searching for toys and attention. “We were just out taking a trip to the park and I thought I’d drop this off.” He dropped the leash on the floor and deposited the box on Jenny’s kitchen counter.

“You brought me a coffeemaker?” She passed a hand over the outside of the Keurig box as he opened the bag under his arm and pulled out the boxes of coffee.

“Yeah. Sorry it’s not a coffeepot, but this seemed more appropriate. It makes single cups in, well, just about any flavor you want.”

“Yeah, I’ve seen them. My friend Katy has one. Why did you bring it?”

“You didn’t want a car,” he answered. He filled the chamber with water then plugged in the device. He organized the flavors in front of her and gestured. “So, what’ll it be today? Vanilla, Columbian Roast, Breakfast Blend, or Cinnamon?” He tapped each of the boxes and turned to her.

“Who said I didn’t want the car?” she teased.

“I tried that once. It didn’t work out so well. Besides, you said you wanted a coffeepot and I thought that seemed a lot less complicated, since we’re not really involved. Plus it’d be more fun to stop here for coffee than Starbucks.”

“So, am I to understand that you bought
me
a coffeemaker so
you
could drink it? Wouldn’t it be easier to just keep it and make it yourself?”

He opened the Columbian Roast box. It took three attempts to find where she put the coffee cups. On the third attempt, he had to reach across her shoulder to get to the last cupboard. She pressed backward, her hands clutching into the countertop. The warmth of her face brushed briefly against his forearm. He retrieved a cup, set it under the machine and pressed the button to start it brewing. “What do you want in it?”

He liked her apartment. It was smaller than his but more comfortable. He’d only seen the living, dining, and kitchen area but it felt homey. It always smelled of some exotic candle that she must burn religiously. It sat on the table, the wax low and caved into a puddle surrounding the black wick.

When the scent of the brewed coffee filtered to Bugsy’s nose, the mutt whined. “Okay, come here.” He motioned and the dog rushed to his side. Drool threatened to fling on Jenny’s bare leg but he reached down and swiped it with his fingers. Oozing, foamy slime covered his fingers and trailed down his wrist as he held his hand up and sped to the sink for a quick wash.

Jenny laughed. “He’s such a great dog. He’s a messy, huge clown. How many animals can love you with not only their eyes, but with nice, wet, lathery drool? You don’t really give him coffee, do you?”

“No, but he has a great nose and recognizes that as time to go out. With the weather as nice as it has been, Bugsy wants to go out 24/7.”

Bugsy reciprocated the affection by jumping up and placing both paws on Jenny’s shoulders. He panted into her face, huffing boisterous dog breath that Grant could smell from two feet away. He panicked. Not exactly the impression he’d intended. “Down.” He commanded. Grant grabbed the dog’s paws from her shoulders and lifted back on them. Unfortunately, the dog’s weight and clumsy moves caused him to overbalance and Grant fell into her, palms and paws placed ungracefully against her breasts.
Damn.
Not cool. Okay, felt good, but not cool. He cast the dog away and stood up to her.

“Sorry about that. He just doesn’t realize how big he is. He loves to hug on people.”

The machine finished the first cup and beeped a beckon. Grant slid the cup to the side and started a second. He handed the cup to Jenny and leaned against the counter while she added creamer and sweetener.

Grant thought he’d need to give Bugsy extra biscuits when they got to the car. The stupid mutt had helped him cop a feel. Not exactly the coolest of moves, he had to admit.

But hey, he was beginning to enjoy this accidental touch and kiss thing with Jenny. The only problem seemed that he didn’t want it to be accidental anymore. Admittedly, he could think of little else on most days. It pissed him off. He would meet with clients and remember when they pulled Daniel over the railing. Or when the crowd pushed him into her, then she wrapped her hands in his hair and held on. He visualized her mouth constantly.

Bugsy pushed his wet nose into Grant’s crotch and sneezed. Great. His khaki pants were now wet. Okay, the accidental thing had some drawbacks. Jenny’s eyes crinkled but she contained the smile. It tugged at her mouth, only partially controlled.

The coffee machine signaled his coffee was ready. He pulled the cup and tasted it.

“Mmmm. Better than I thought it would be. What do you think?”

“Nice. You’re not planning on coming here every morning for coffee, are you? ’Cause that’s really not going to work for me. Most days I’m still in bed right now, especially if I’ve driven until 2 or 3 in the morning.”

“It might do you some good to get a wake-up guest every morning but, no, I have no plans to use your apartment as a coffee shop.” He looked around the kitchen. “You don’t get the paper?”

“No. I watch the news.”

“See. It wouldn’t work anyway. I like to read the paper in the morning, with coffee and toast. Sometimes an English muffin. You probably don’t have those either?”

“There’s some bread in that cabinet.” She raised a finger. He followed the line to the cabinet and opened it.

“You mind?” He pointed. She shook her head.

He pulled the package out and opened the fridge. He was pleased to see that she didn’t have any diet butter in there. Only the real thing. He also noticed beer, cheese, and sandwich meat. It wasn’t full of vegetables. He turned from the fridge, butter in hand and, without speaking, she pointed to another cabinet. He opened it and found the toaster.

Excellent.

When the smell of bread heating filled the room, he began to feel normal. Admittedly, he wasn’t much of a morning person either. He forced himself to be, simply because the work required it. Bugsy put his head in her lap and gave her his best sad eyes. It usually bowled women over and she seemed to be no exception. She stroked his head and sipped coffee.

“So, how did your meeting with the bank go?” Grant asked.

The toast popped up and he buttered two pieces, slipped it on a plate, and then placed the plate in front of her. He added two more to the toaster for himself.

“Pretty good, I guess. I have no money, no loan history, and no collateral, but other than that, I’m peachy. Cross your fingers that they’ll see the potential in my business and lend me the money. If we don’t expand our fleet and add drivers, we won’t be able to keep up with the calls. We’re barely making them all right now with the three of us.”

“Very few people would have the guts to do what you’re doing. Go into business on their own. That should count for something. Most banks like to support small businesses, especially minority-owned ones.” He took a bite of his freshly buttered toast and almost groaned. This woman bought sourdough bread. He loved sourdough.

“Well, I’m supposed to hear within the next two days so we’ll see.” She raised her crossed fingers and smiled briefly. “Change of subject. What’s the story with Hodge and Lauren?”

“They’re divorced. There isn’t a story anymore. They were married for eight years. They had totally different ways of dealing with the loss of a child and couldn’t seem to understand each other. Josh favors him more than her in looks, but his personality is more Lauren. He’s a loner and a perfectionist. Doesn’t accept mistakes. In himself or others.”

“Do you think he gets that from living with a woman who has a drinking problem?”

“That’s just a coping mechanism. She never did that when they were married. Shilo’s death triggered different things in all three of them. Shilo was the spitting image of her dad in every way. She bubbled his enthusiasm for life through his friendly brown eyes. I never would have imagined those eyes on a girl until she was born.”

“You’ve known them that long? I thought you only worked for him a short while.”

“He’s my uncle, my mother’s brother.”

“No kidding? But you’re — white.”

“You noticed that, did ya? Yeah, and my mother’s black.” Her face clouded over. He held up a hand. “My birth mom ran out on me when I was born. Dad remarried when I was a kid.”

How do you explain a family that’s nothing less than eclectic and a whole lot more than just what’s seen on the surface? Grant had no idea. He stood out in the family and he knew it. Why? Well, to be blunt, he was white. Yeah. That’s it. His mother was black. Or at least the woman he claimed as a mother. His Uncle — black. His uncle’s wife, Lauren — black too. And they had been the tightest family he knew. The only family he knew.

Why? Hell, who cares? It worked. And maybe that was why it meant so much to him to save the business. It stood for something. Something that meant a lot more than just a financial statement or representing a bunch of egotistical rock star wannabes. It stood for
them
and that mattered.

Grant’s dad and his
birth mom
got pregnant when she was eighteen — one of those hot and heavy, end of high school romances. His dad had never said it but he sensed that she never wanted Grant,
ever.
In fact, to date, he had not laid eyes on her but his dad said she was a pretty brunette that turned heads and hearts with icy reserve. He wouldn’t know her if she walked past him on the street.

His dad, however, had been a surprise to everyone. Who would have expected a young high school guy with only sex on the brain to step up and take responsibility for an infant son, let alone two children? Apparently none of them did. In fact, Grant’s own grandfather had tried to change his mind. It still marveled Grant that his dad had been the rock all along.

No wonder he fell for Geneva the minute he met her. They were two of a kind. She had been raised in a somewhat religious family. Her Friday nights were spent practicing for the church choir on Sunday. Unless, of course, there was a high school event which took precedence. She was tough and determined, but kept full reign on any possible wild streak that she may have felt. She intended to go to college and make her family proud.

That was the case until her brother’s voice, a phenomenon across three counties, caught the attention of a fairly well known blues singer.

When Hodge was offered a contract to go on tour with the singer’s band, his mother laid down the law. There would be no devil influence on her son that corrupted him from the good man he was intended to be. She dared not squelch his dreams but she certainly put a collar on his wild streak by strapping Geneva to his coattail. If Hodge went, Geneva went. Geneva was the bulldog that kept everyone in line and she especially kept an eye on big brother. If anyone wanted to corrupt Hodge, they’d have to deal with her first. She became a legend in the music industry as a result, and so did Hodge.

Grant’s dad met Geneva while they were on tour. Out with a group of friends to see the opening performance, he had no idea the sultry woman sitting at the bar was attached to the musicians. She never let on until the final song. By that time, he’d already made up his mind that wherever she went he intended to follow. She laughed him off and sent him home, telling him to “get his big league pants on if he intended to see her again.” William Tucker had never backed away from a challenge in his life, and that had certainly been the best one he’d been offered. Second, of course, to raising his son. His theory was that a good challenge makes a great man.