Morning Man

by Barbara Kellyn

  He turned to the sink, twisted the faucet on and squeezed out a stream of lemon-scented detergent over the lot of dishes. “It made me realize what a fool I’ve been. And then hearing you two laughing and kidding around on the air…it made me miss how good we once were together.”

  “Come on, CJ. That’s ancient history.” And besides, we were never all that funny. Nor were they all that good together. At anything.

  “It’s not just that. I miss you. I miss being with you.” A spatula and bowl splashed into the sudsy water. “I hate that you’re sleeping down here while I’m alone up there.”

  “Sex is completely out of the question.” She pushed her plate away. “We agreed to separate lives, separate beds and I’m not giving in. Nor am I ever going back.”

  “So, you’re telling me that you’re okay with just being celibate?”

  “Who says I’m celibate?”

  He submerged his hands and shook his head. “So you are sleeping with him.”

  “Who…Tack?” Her brain tripped over the suggestion. “No.”

  “You sure look right at home spread-eagled on top of him.”

  She faceplanted into her palm. “CJ, would you just knock it off already? The billboards are meant to be titillating so people notice.”

  “Well, I noticed,” he said, wiping his wet hands on the front of his jeans. “I noticed that you’re missing from my life, and that has to change. Starting right now.”

  “No.”

  “No?” His dark eyebrows fell. “What do you mean, no?”

  “I don’t know how much plainer I can spell it out for you. I never want us to get back together.”

  “You say that now, but someday soon you’ll realize I’m the love of your life.”

  “CJ, there’s no way you’re the love of my life. Hell, you’re not even my favorite mistake,” she said. “You’re nothing but a simple regret. A lesson learned. A footnote.”

  He rinsed the frying pan and then calmly put it in the dish rack to dry. “Let’s talk about this over a late dinner. There’s a little Italian place near my station with checkered tablecloths and candles in Chianti bottles. I hear the steak alla pizzaiola is amazing.”

  Ignoring his suggestion, she hopped down from the stool and went to her suitcase in the corner of the living room. She began digging through the clothes stuffed inside and shook out a paisley green handkerchief sundress, holding it up to examine its potential for the evening. “I won’t be here after your shift,” she told him, rummaging further for the cropped denim jacket to complete the outfit. “I’ve got a remote tonight.”

  “Fine, then I’ll wait up and we’ll talk when you get back. I can pick up a bottle of wine on the way home.”

  “Don’t try to woo me, CJ,” she warned him sternly. “I mean it.” He could chase her all the way to Buffalo and back for all she cared. No amount of pursuit would change her mind. There was no way she’d be stupid enough to fall for him again, nor for any other rambling, prima donna radio jock, for that matter. Ev-er.

  * * * *

  Alan Jackson sang praises about the muddy waters of the Chattahoochee when Tack pulled up to a house matching the address Dayna had given him. Brick two-story, check. Wraparound porch, check. Lovely lady waiting for her knight to charge up on 403 horses, double check.

  He got out and leaned against the gleaming white hood of the truck, feeling a stir as she sashayed down the front walk like a runway. Hot damn, in a dress yet, he thought, appreciating how the sun hit the thin material, backlighting her clearly-visible legs. “Hey there,” he said with a nod, tipping the brim of his sandstone Stetson.

  “Howdy, Tex.” She stood so close he could almost feel her. He certainly wanted to. “Man, that hat is a real trip.”

  “You like? It’s my Friday night special.”

  “I definitely like,” she said with enough heat to send his blood rushing south. They were going to have to cool it or else be forced to skip the remote for a one-way ticket to naked.

  “Well, I like these.” He nudged one of the gold hoops dangling from her ears, intentionally brushing her cheek just for a fleeting touch of smooth skin. “You never wear earrings at work.”

  “Guess why.”

  “Headphones?”

  She nodded, her gaze falling to his chest. Her cool fingers parted his open shirt and lifted the medallion hanging faithfully around his neck. “You like shiny things, don’t you, cowboy?”

  “I like pretty things,” he said, his heart quickening as he stared down at her.

  She closely inspected the silver pendant. “Is this Saint Francis?”

  “Saint Christopher,” he corrected. “My aunt gave it to me when I made varsity. He’s the patron saint of safe travels.”

  “Oh.” She bit her bottom lip enticingly as she gently lay the medal flat again, her touch lingering. “Well, I guess we’d better get traveling ourselves, hmm? Don’t want to keep Liz Taylor waiting.”

  They approached the red light at the end of her street, silent except for the sound of the left turn signal blinking on and off. It took Tack a moment longer to realize she’d been staring at him since they left the curb. “What?”

  “Something about you intrigues me,” she said with a cute little smirk.

  He quirked an eyebrow. “Oh yeah?”

  “I haven’t figured you out yet, and that’s surprising because I usually peg guys like you inside the first ten minutes. You must be deeper than I gave you credit for.”

  “Being deep is one thing I’ve never been accused of,” he said. “But I enjoy the fact you find me such an enigma.”

  She rested her head on her hand and looked out the open window. “I’ve peeled onions with more layers than most radio guys I’ve been around.”

  “And what makes you think I’m any different?”

  Her head swiveled toward him. “Call it a hunch.”

  “I hate to break it to you, sugar, but what you see is what you get.”

  “I’ll bet that’s not true,” she said, sounding determined to prove her theory. “Where do you call home?”

  “I’ll let you know when I find it. But for now, I rent a place in Lincoln Green.”

  She wrinkled her nose in disgust. “Typical jock. Wherever you lay your hat.”

  “Nothing wrong with that. It’s worked for me.”

  “But where do you call home? Where do you go for Thanksgiving and get misty-eyed thinking about falling off your bike and winning football games and getting your heart broken by your first love?”

  “Ah. You’re talking about Hastings, Nebraska. But there’s nothing left back there for me now but memories.”

  “No family?”

  “Just my brother, Tim. Our folks died when we were kids, so we lived on our aunt and uncle’s farm. They’ve long since passed.”

  “Sorry,” she squeaked.

  “Tim and his family live outside of Houston. He’s on his third deployment to Kabul.”

  “Army?”

  “Marines,” he answered with a slow grin. “Anything else you’d like to know?”

  “How’d you get into radio?”

  “I didn’t have that many career options. I’m not smart enough to be a teacher, I’m not dedicated enough to be a farmer and I’m not fearless enough to enlist. After Nebraska State decided I wasn’t Cornhuskers’ material, I fell back on the only thing I had left,” he said. “Drinking.”

  “W-what?”

  “Kidding. Radio, of course. Luckily, I had a decent set of pipes.” He glanced across the cab at her. “How about you? How’d you get started?”

  “Oh, I got bit by the bug while I went to college and took a weekend gig doing news at a station in Albany. The rest is history.”

  “History that’s left a trail of broken men in its wake?”

  “I wouldn’t call it a trail. It’s more like a select few, but certainly enough for me to know better. And yet…” she said with a soft sigh. “I can’t seem to help myself.”

  Tac
k couldn’t fight the smile creeping up on his face.

  “Don’t let that go to your head, cowboy. I meant what I said about you and me. We’re never going to hook up.”

  “Never’s a real long time, sugar,” he said, turning onto West Broad Street. “Besides, don’t you think it’s just a bit unfair to lump all jocks in with the few losers you’ve had the misfortune of knowing? We’re not all pond scum.”

  “I have yet to meet a single one who can push aside their Stay Puft-sized ego and make room in their lives for anyone other than themselves.”

  He whistled. “Just a tad bitter, sister?”

  “You’d be bitter too if you saw yourself slipping slow-motion into the same lousy pattern. It’s like Groundhog Day. I fall hard, they leave. Rinse, repeat.”

  “Nah, I don’t buy you as the helpless type.” He stole a glimpse at her succulent thighs, partially bared from her flimsy dress edging up during the ride. God, she was really something. He was torn between wanting to jump her bones and needing a good smackdown to remind him why sex with his radio partner was a colossally bad idea. Number one, it would only prove her theory about guys like him. “Maybe your problem is that you attract men who are powerless against your considerable charms.”

  “You know what my problem is? I’m a sucker for a sweet talker.” She flashed him a tantalizing smile that made him swell with lust. “That’s why I knew you were going to be trouble from the moment I first laid eyes on you.”

  Suddenly, he was no longer torn. “Funny, I remember thinking that exact same thing about you.”

  Chapter 7

  Dayna’s fingers drummed against the tabletop watching Tack surrounded by a swarm of attractive, scantily-clad women. He strutted up on the stage like the cock of the walk, his chest puffed out as an endless parade of fawning females came up to give him their requests and God knew what else. “Is it like this every Friday night?”

  Liz nodded, putting a couple of cold ones on the table. “Oh yeah, all the girls love Tack. But there does seem to be more estrogen than usual in here tonight,” she said. “I think it might have to do with your new billboards.”

  Dayna grunted, keeping close watch as a redhead in an obscenely low-cut top put her arm around Tack’s neck and pulled him down to whisper in his ear. Whatever she said, it made his eyes get real big.

  Liz slid into the opposite side of the booth. “You like him, doncha?”

  She swallowed hard. “Come again?”

  “TC. You have a thing for him.” She winked with a sly grin.

  “What, me? No.” Her face immediately flushed. “I just think it’s very unprofessional of him to be so flirtatious when we’re supposed to be working.”

  Liz turned her head in time to catch Tack still chatting up the redhead. “Yup. He’s working it all right, honey.” She slid one of the bottles across the table. “Have another drink and relax. That’s just his thing.”

  “He does it well.” Dayna slugged back a couple of ice-cold gulps, hoping to wash down the sour lump in the back of her throat.

  “I’ve known him a few years now and I can tell you, Tack’s a real good guy. He’s still a hound dog, but all men are by nature. You really can’t fault him on that alone,” Liz said, wiping the edge of the table with her bar rag. “Besides, I wouldn’t worry about all the attention he’s getting tonight. I’ve seen the way he looks at you.”

  Her stare was still fixed on the growing gaggle of adoring beauties flocking over to the room’s star attraction. “And how’s that?”

  “Like the sun rises and sets with you,” Liz said, stealing back Dayna’s attention. “And don’t go thinking that’s a small thing. Men like him put on a wild front, but underneath it all, they only want a woman who’ll tame them.”

  She focused on the adulation taking place on the other side of the room. There was no way putting a leash and collar on the king of the jungle would suddenly turn him into a housecat. “I don’t see how any girl is supposed to be able to compete with that,” she said with a heavy sigh. “I mean, they’re practically throwing themselves at him.”

  Jared sauntered over at an ambling gait, a pair of lightweight headphones swinging around his neck and a cellphone glued to his ear. He made a cute junior producer. “Um, Dayna? Hi. Mr. Collins said to remind you we have another live cut-in coming up in about eight minutes.”

  She nodded. “Okay, thanks. I’ll keep an eye on my watch.”

  “Okee doke.” Jared poked away again as Liz got up from the table.

  “Dayna, I barely know you from Eve, but I like you and I just call things as I see ’em. If you want that man, then don’t just sit back here brooding about it.”

  But you don’t understand. I’ve seen this movie before and I know how it ends, she wanted to say. Instead, she searched Liz’s eyes to soak up more wisdom than the few scant words of sage advice she’d already provided. Help me, Obi Wan, you’re my only hope. “What if I’m not sure that it’s what I want?”

  Liz looked down and smiled. “Honey, if you aren’t sure of it the very second it grabs hold of you, then you don’t really want it.”

  Then maybe she really did want it, she told herself, inhaling deeply with her sights trained on Tack. She chugged down more beer and went back to work.

  * * * *

  Tack stood back and let Dayna finish the cut-in. It was getting loud in the bar, far too loud to hear her speak without the benefit of the broadcast headphones they were both wearing. He got a kick out of watching her lips move rapidly while the sound of her voice remained on a few seconds’ delay.

  “… we’ve still got loads of prize giveaways and I think Tack might even have a game up his sleeve before the night is through. So come on down and join us for Suds ‘n’ Spuds at the Roadhouse on West Broad Street. I’m Dayna Cook. Now back to more continuous country hits on Hot Country One-oh-three.”

  Jared held up his hand for a moment, then swiftly chopped through the air to signal the all clear. Tack removed his headphones at the same time as Dayna. “You hungry?” he asked. “I could really go for some buffalo wings.”

  “Yeah, sure,” she said.

  He leaned over the sound board. “Hey, kid, can you go scare us up a basket of wings in the kitchen? Medium heat, heavy on the blue cheese.”

  Jared nodded and scurried away from the booth, leaving Tack time to mosey over to Dayna. “I gotta get out of here for a bit.”

  “Need to see a man about a horse?” she said with a grin.

  He laughed. “No, I just need a ten-minute breather. Come with me.”

  “There’s a cold beer with your name on it in the back corner booth,” she said. “Will that do?”

  He followed her down the steps as she pushed on through the thickening crowd. Not yet six feet from the booth, he felt a sharp tug on his arm. He turned and ran smack up against one of the Friday regulars, a petite blonde with bedroom eyes and a three-hundred-and-fifty-pound biker boyfriend who needed no extra provocation to squash a guy like a beer can. “Oh, hey, Stacie.”

  “Where you rushing off to, Tack, baby?” she asked. “You promised you were going to play some Gretchen Wilson for me.”

  “Just taking a quick break. We’ll be back in a few minutes and I’ll make sure your request gets on later this hour.”

  “Why don’t you come over to the pool table and have a beer? I’m buying.”

  “That’s real sweet of you, darlin’, but I’ve already got one waiting for me.”

  “Let me guess. With her, right?” Stacie pointed her chin in Dayna’s direction.

  “Yeah, with her. We work together.”

  “Where’s my Lil’ Rub-a-Dub Dub?” It was the second time that night that someone had asked about Dub’s whereabouts. If he only knew he’d been missed, maybe he wouldn’t still be so pissed off.

  “Don’t know where he’s at tonight. Dub isn’t doing the show with me anymore.”

  Stacie slid in closer, walked her fingers up his chest and brazenly tucked a scrap
of paper under the flap of his shirt pocket. “In case your new partner’s all work and no play, you know how to find me.”

  Tack’s eyes darted as he prayed the overprotective thug that usually shadowed her was in the can. Next time, just shove a lit stick of dynamite down my fucking pants. He continued making his way through the shoulder-to-shoulder crowd until he finally reached Dayna sitting at the back table. “You get lost?” she asked.

  “More like sideswiped,” he said, eyeing the beer as he sat across from her. “That one mine?” She nodded and he tipped it back, gulping it down until his thirst was finally quenched. “Ohhh yeah, that’s better.”

  “So, we’re doing a game in the bar next?”

  He nodded. “We have one more cut-in scheduled after that, unload a few t-shirts and then we can get out of here.”

  She tilted her head to the side. “You mean you don’t want to stay until closing time? Oh dear, the Tack Collins Fan Club will be so disappointed.”

  If the edge in her voice was any indication, something had awakened the green-eyed monster within. He liked it.

  Jared jogged over with a wax paper-lined basket of hot chicken wings and celery sticks. “Good man.” Tack praised the lad as he slid over to make room on the bench. “Have a seat.”

  The kid gawked like he’d just caught Mean Joe Greene’s locker room towel. “Really?”

  “You want a beer?” Tack waved Liz over. “Hey, darlin’, could we get another cold one over here for my buddy?”

  She shook her head. “Sorry, TC, I can’t serve him. He’s not twenty-one yet.”

  He gave her a wise-guy grin. “Well, whaddya know? It just so happens that it’s the kid’s birthday tonight.”

  “Then here,” she said, plunking down a mason jar filled with cola. “If you like, I can light a floating candle for him to blow out.”

  “It’s okay, Mr. Collins,” Jared said sheepishly. “This is fine, ma’am, thank you.”

  Liz turned on her heel, patting Jared’s shoulder empathetically as she walked past. Tack went to work on the wings right away while the kid started chatting up Dayna. “So, did you hear our first game of the season has been scheduled already?”