She laughed before disappearing from sight, reemerging a moment later through the door on his side. “Hey,” she said somewhat guardedly.
“Hey.” He unhooked a second pair of headphones from the boom stand and handed them over.
“So, I found out from Bonnie that I’m doing Suds ‘n’ Spuds on Friday night with you. It’s the day our billboards go up.”
He waved the script. “Yeah, just read the news.”
“She also said we’ll also be hosting the Hot Zone for the Rascal Flatts contest winners in August.”
“Cool.” He nodded with a smile.
Relief washed over her face. “Yeah? You’re okay with us doing appearances?”
“Why wouldn’t I be? You’re all right to hang with. I mean, for being a yucky ol’ girl and all.”
She stuck out her tongue and then took the Roadhouse script from his hand, examining it with a frown. “No, no, this won’t do at all. Got a pen?”
He passed her a stubby pencil sitting on the black metal stand in front of him and watched with interest as she bent over with the paper flat against her leg. She scratched out some words and scribbled in new ones. “It still has to fit for time,” he said.
She turned around and glared. “I have done this once or twice in the past eleven years, you know.” She went back to editing before she propped up the newly-revised script on the stand where he could read it. “Whaddya think? Better?”
Her changes actually had improved the copy. And it hadn’t escaped his notice that since she arrived, everything seemed a little sunnier, brighter. Better. “Yeah, it’s all good,” he said. “You want to sit down here?”
She parked her arm on his shoulder. “I don’t mind standing if you don’t mind me snuggling up a bit.”
“Sugar, you practically gave me a lap dance this weekend. I don’t mind you snuggling up.” He slipped his arm around her waist and pulled her closer to him. He breathed in her gentle fragrance, an intoxicating scent of cherry-vanilla shampoo, fresh flowers, sunshine and pure woman that got his pistons pumping. Maybe it was her warm breath on his neck, or the mind-blowing sensation of her breast squashed against his chest, but suddenly, having her in his personal space was making him dizzy.
“Mmm…much better,” she said, the words escaping her like a little sigh. He suddenly wanted nothing but to make her do it all over again.
Elliott leaned into his mike on the other side of the window. “Jeez, are we going to cut this spot or do you two want me to dim the lights and leave the room?”
Dayna toyed with the hair that curled out the back of his cap, looking down with a man-slaying grin. “I dunno, might be kinda hot if he stays to watch, don’t you think?”
Tack swallowed. She really was awfully good at being bad. “I think we need to voice this ad before the blood completely drains away from my head,” he said, only half kidding. If she kept this up, he was going to lose his grip on reality. Or his mind.
Chapter 5
By the way her heart wildly thumped, Dayna feared she might be in the midst of a massive coronary. In shock, she immediately pulled her car over to the curb lane and hit the brakes so she could stop, get out and take a better look.
The mammoth billboard lit up on the side of the road featured her laughing as she sat astride Tack, wearing a dirty-dog grin as if they’d been caught tussling at a private pajama party. The Hot Country 103 logo was splashed up there along with the headline:
Save a Horse, Ride a Cowboy to Work
Wake Up Weekdays with Tack and Dayna
Well, day-um, that would bring the station some attention. Thank God and Maybelline that she actually looked half decent on a larger-than-life medium. Of course, any girl lucky enough to be straddling a shirtless hunk with magnificent guns like those ought to be happy she was alive. Cheese and rice, we really do look hot together. Her eyes traced repeatedly over the image. With a little smile, she pulled out her phone and snapped a photo to send to her girlfriends back home.
* * * *
Tack passed two billboards on his way in to work. Dayna’s radiant smile, tousled hair and come-hither red lips reminded him of a sex-kitten screen goddess like Brigitte Bardot. Yet, as seductive as her charms appeared a hundred feet off the ground, it didn’t touch her magnetism when she shared the same space as him.
He pushed that out of his mind as he drove up to the station. Every morning that week, he’d gone back to the Dumpster to look for the homeless man. Although Tack hadn’t seen him since their first meeting, he’d been leaving a bag containing a couple of breakfast sandwiches and a few bucks in the same spot for the past four days straight. Whether or not the same guy had been taking it, it had disappeared without a trace by the time his shift was over.
Before he reached the dimly-lit corner, he heard telltale mumbling in the alley. “Hey there,” he said holding up the food, before remembering he was talking to a person, not coaxing a timid animal out of hiding. “I brought you a little something.”
The man he’d been hoping to see was the same one smiling back at him. “Ah, my friend is here.”
Tack felt enormous relief as he offered the bag. “I’m really glad you’re here,” he said. “I’ve been looking for you.”
By the way he enthusiastically tore open the bag and dove his hand inside, it was obvious the man had been expecting that precise delivery. He quickly pocketed the few singles before peeling back the foil wrapper and devouring the first egg-and-cheese sandwich. Tack shoved his hands in his jeans and stood off to the side, wanting to make small talk but realizing that eating would take precedence over table conversation. He waited a few more minutes before speaking up. “My name’s Tack. What’s yours?”
The man looked at him incredulously. “Tack? Your mama named you Tack?”
He chuckled. “It’s a nickname I got when I played football as a kid.”
“Oh,” he said, nodding. “Well, I’m Abel.”
Okay, now we’re getting somewhere. “Nice to meet you, Abel. Hey, I wanted to apologize if I made you hurry off the other morning.”
Abel shrugged and Tack eyed his shopping cart next to the Dumpster.
“Look, I work in this building. Do you want to come inside and warm up or anything?”
“It ain’t so cold out.”
“I guess you’re right. Mornings aren’t so bad now that summer’s here.” He shuffled his feet. “So, do you normally come by at this time? I mean, is this your usual neighborhood?” Shit, that sounded bad. “What I’m trying to say is do you live around here?”
“Yeah, I live around here,” he said, pointing to the Dumpster. “Sometimes I live right there. Sometimes I live over there.” He pointed up the street. “Sometimes I stay at the St. James Mission.”
“Good.” Tack heard the sound of Dayna’s car pulling up. “I mean, it’s good that you have a place to go when the weather’s bad and all.”
Abel reached into the bag for the second egg sandwich. “Thank you for being so kind, my friend. It does my heart good.”
It was just a sandwich. Staring at the ground, he choked back the sizable lump in his throat making his eyes water. “I gotta go to work now. But I’ll see you sometime soon, okay Abel? You take care of yourself.”
He nodded as he bit into the sandwich.
Tack waved at him and then started back before bumping into Dayna at the corner.
“Hey, is he back here?” she whispered, pointing curiously toward the alley.
“Question is, what the hell are you doing back here?” he asked gruffly, grabbing her by the arm and spinning her around in an about-face. “This is not a place for you to be at this or any other time of day.”
“I heard your voice,” she explained. “Plus, the station door is locked, but your truck is here, so I figured you had to be in the alley.”
His hand was still shackled above her elbow when they arrived out front. “You never, ever go in that alley alone, you hear me?”
With a smirk on her face, Dayna
looked down at his meaty paw. “Okay, okay. You wanna let go of me now, Dad?”
He loosened his grip. “Sorry.”
She pulled away and straightened the rumpled sleeve of her blouse. “No, it’s okay. While your delivery method definitely needs some finesse, I do appreciate the protective sentiment behind it,” she said. “So? Did you find him?”
He fished the keys out his pocket. “Yeah, he was back there today.”
“That’s great.” She smiled. “What did you find out?”
He focused on unlocking the door with trembling hands, unsure why he was so shaken by that morning’s encounter in the alley. “His name is Abel.”
“Hmm. Okay, that’s a start.”
“And he’s definitely homeless. But he told me he stays at the St. James Mission sometimes.”
“That’s good. I mean, that he has a safe place to go if he needs it.”
“I just wish there was something more I could do, you know?” He pushed the door open and held it for her. She brushed against him when she slipped inside and it instantly centered all his senses again.
“Hey,” she stopped suddenly. “For what it’s worth, I’m real proud of you for making an effort with this guy. Most people would just look the other way. But not you.”
He stared down at the floor and shrugged.
She lowered her head to catch his eye and gave him a gentle smile. “You okay?”
“Yeah, I’m fine.” He sniffed away the last bit of emotion with manly-tough resolve and cleared his throat. She stood right in front of him, staring into his eyes as if seeing right through the facade. “What? I said I’m fine.”
She dropped her bags to the floor, closed the gap between them and threw her arms around his neck, pulling herself up an inch or two. “You are a real decent man, Tack Collins. A real decent man,” she whispered into his shoulder.
He wrapped his arms around her waist and hugged her back, warmed from the inside out by the ray of sunshine he held against him. “Now don’t you go tellin’ anyone, sugar. This stays between us.”
* * * *
The phone lines lit up like Christmas over the sexy billboard campaign, further propagated by the unmissable ad Bonnie placed in the Dispatch using the same provocative pajama-party pose.
“Is that the only thing you guys wear in the studio?” wondered one listener while another, bolder caller asked Dayna, “So, what does a guy have to do to get in your pants?” One love-struck gent even propositioned her on the air. “Good gravy, if I was twenty-five years younger and sixty pounds lighter, I’d propose to you right now,” he said. “I almost smacked into a bread truck on the interstate this morning.”
“Enough about the pretty girl already,” Tack snapped. “Isn’t anyone going to mention how good I look up on the new signs?”
The caller chuckled. “Sorry buddy, all I can tell you is that you’ve got a great face for radio.”
“But a body for sin. Am I right, ladies?” She laughed, instantly recalling how lickably good he looked stripped to the waist. “So c’mon down and admire Tack Collins in all his studly glory at the Roadhouse tonight. We’ll be there from seven to eleven for Suds ‘n’ Spuds Night.”
“Bring the gals after work or the guys after the game and join us for a little Friday night fun,” he said, starting up their new, unofficial theme song.
“I have a feeling I’m gonna need my dancing shoes for all the times we have to play Save a Horse, Ride a Cowboy tonight.”
“Now that every red-blooded male within a fifty-thousand watt radius can see that you look as good as you sound, you won’t have any trouble filling your dance card.”
She propped her head up on her hands. “Jealous?”
“Maybe a little,” he grumbled. “After all, I saw you first.”
“Then you should’ve called dibs,” she said, hitting the post as the lyrics kicked in.
He turned off the on-air sign and pushed the arm of his microphone to the side so that nothing obstructed her view of his face. “Dibs.”
Her eyes widened. “W-w-what?”
“You said I should call dibs on you, so I am. Dibs.”
She shook her head, laughing. “Shut up, you big goof. The bit’s over.”
“Does it look like I’m kidding?” He stayed straight-faced and as serious as a heart attack. “I mean it. You should go out with me.”
“Forget it. You’ve got a sexy voice and a great butt, but I will never, ever hook up with another radio guy. Not even one who happens to be as irresistible as you.”
A grin spread across his face. “You think I’ve got a great butt?”
“Among other quality attributes,” she said. “I like you Tack, and I’ll admit I’ve even thought about what it might be like if we knocked boots. But I’m telling you right now, it’s never going to happen.”
His smile got even wider and she immediately regretted owning up to that knocking boots part. Damn it. She waited for him to fire back some arrogant remark, but instead, he only shrugged. “Okay, so we’re never going out.”
She folded her arms. “That’s right.”
“Fine. I’m glad we got that cleared up,” he said with a heavy hint of sarcasm. “Now what time did you want me to pick you up tonight?”
Chapter 6
Mad twitching assailed Dayna’s eye as she predicted the frat house scene that awaited her at home. Still half a block away and already she could see greasy pans and plates of dried-on egg in the sink, empty bottles littering the counter, sweat socks on the stairs and used, damp towels clumped on the bathroom floor. Hopefully, Penthouse wouldn’t be left open on the coffee table this time. As infuriating as it was to have to wallow in CJ’s squalor, she wasn’t about to pick up after him because that’s exactly what the selfish pig wanted.
But when she pulled up, something was strangely different. The lawn, previously holding the neighborhood record for the longest grass, had been neatly cut in perfectly symmetrical lines. Either she had to be at the wrong address or aliens had kidnapped CJ before dawn and replaced him with a gardener clone. Here’s hoping.
She vigorously rubbed away her eye spasm as she climbed the porch steps and opened the front door. Now I know I’ve stepped into the Twilight Zone. She looked about in disbelief. The house had been clean-swept so spotlessly that Disney-animated twinkles pinged on every surface.
“Good morning,” CJ called out from the kitchen. “Hope you’re hungry. I whipped up one of your favorites.”
Stunned, she dumped her bags and walked zombie-like to the kitchen. CJ, an apron fastened around his waist, was keeping watch over three golden potato pancakes frying on the stove. Forget the gardener clone. Her ex was long gone and a Stepford Wife had been left in his place. “Ceege? You feeling okay?”
“I’m fantastic, Day. How about you? How did the show go today?”
She nodded slowly. “Um, pretty good, I guess. What’s up? Why are you suddenly being all weird and, and…nice?”
He poured her a coffee. “Nothing weird is going on, baby doll,” he said, sliding the cup across the counter.
She sat on the middle bar stool and took a sobering, full-strength gulp. “I don’t have any money to lend out, you know.”
“I don’t need money and there’s no reason to be suspicious.” He flipped the crispy-edged pancake trio one by one onto a plate, heaped on a dollop of sour cream, and presented the plate. “Here,” he said, handing her a fork. “Enjoy them while they’re hot.”
She took the utensil with trepidation. “It’s going to be impossible to eat when I can’t quite swallow what’s going on right now.”
“Look. I’ve been thinking…”
“That would explain the beads of sweat,” she said with a snicker.
“Would you please be serious for a minute?”
She nodded, cutting through the thick layers of pancake and popping the first full bite into her mouth. Much to her dismay, it was delicious and satisfying.
“I don’t know why I
freaked out about you moving here. Because today, all these great memories of us came flooding back and it made me realize I’ve been wrong, completely wrong. I want us to get back together.”
“Mmph.” Her hand clamped over her mouth so that none of the masticated food escaped along with her muffled laugh.
“What’s so funny?”
“Forget it, CJ. No way that’s ever gonna happen.” She pushed in another forkful of savory, sour-cream covered goodness.
“I get that you’re mad about the way we broke it off and because it’s been like the War of the Roses around here. But I’ve cleaned up my act. Literally.” He surveyed the tidy kitchen. “I’ll even do up these dishes before I leave for work.”
“I appreciate you doing a little housework, CJ, really, I do. But I’m not getting back together no matter how much furniture polish you put on it.”
He leaned down against the counter, looking up at her with deep, soulful puppy-dog eyes. “Now, baby doll…”
“Please don’t,” she said, averting her stare. “You know I hate when you do that.”
“We belong together, Day. It’s never been as clear as it was this morning when I saw your billboard.”
She coughed. “Wait a minute. What?”
“I went out to get milk and a paper and then, whammo!” He clutched at his heart as he stared at the ceiling. “There you were, on the corner of North High and East Eleventh and I said, ‘My God, look at her up there, as ravishing as a thirty-foot Amazonian princess.’ I can’t believe I’ve been so blind.”
“I can’t believe you’re being so ridiculous,” she said, picking up her fork again. She stabbed a thick chunk of pancake and shoveled it in. “It’s only a picture.”
He beamed. “It’s a revelation.”
Dayna contemplated CJ’s unsettling re-infatuation of her and his zero-to-sixty transformation from prick to prince. Because of that stupid billboard? Billboard. Wait a minute. “Aha!” The light bulb above her head glowed bright. “This sudden change of heart is because you just don’t like seeing me with Tack, isn’t it?”
Morning Man Page 7
