Claim: Volume One

by Ashley Suzanne

  “Come on in.” He puts the truck in park, jumps out with little effort, and like the true gentleman he is, Nolan walks around the truck and opens my door, helping me step down. The same sizzle I felt when he touched my back earlier runs through me when our hands touch.

  Nolan unlocks the bar and ushers me inside. I follow him back to the kitchen where he surveys the contents of the large refrigerator and freezer. Pulling out a bag of French fries and mini tacos, he officially has the keys to my heart. If there’s any kind of food a woman wants after a night of drinking and a little dancing, it’s something greasy.

  “Yes, please,” I say as he holds the bags up for my approval.

  Smiling, his dimples on full display, he turns on the fryers and waits for the grease to reach the right temperature before dropping the contents of the bags into the baskets.

  “So, is this what you do? Hang out in bars and cook snacks after closing?” I joke, hopping up on the counter.

  “As a matter of fact, it was my full-time job for a long time. Then I got a degree and turned into an adult overnight.”

  While we’re waiting on the food to finish cooking, Nolan’s phone begins ringing.

  “I have to take this. I’m sorry. Can you handle this?” he asks, pointing to the fryer.

  “Yeah, no problem. Go ahead.” I smile as he walks out the back door of the bar. And all of my walls start going back up. There are only a few people who would call anyone at this type of night. A girlfriend might be one of those people.

  Chapter Six

  Nolan

  “Hello,” I answer, checking through the crack in the door to make sure Loren didn’t follow me outside.

  “Is there a reason you’re at my bar eating up all my food?” I forgot my neurotic uncle installed cameras everywhere and watches them while he sits at home on his ass.

  “I’ll be out of here soon, and don’t you worry your greedy little heart, I’ll leave a ten in the till to cover my cost¸” I joke. I’m sure my uncle’s a little apprehensive about me being here after hours. When my brother Jeremy and I were younger, we’d sneak into the bar after we got high and eat all the munchies. We must have cost our uncle thousands of dollars over the years.

  “I’m just kidding, son. Have fun. Get back to the girl, though; she’s looking kinda pissed you left her inside all alone. She’s real pretty.”

  “She sure is. Thanks, Brad. Don’t forget to take your pills and I’ll see you tomorrow.” Ending the call, I shove my phone in my pocket and head back inside to find Loren staring off into space, looking pretty tired.

  “Sorry about that,” I say, interrupting her thoughts.

  “No problem,” she responds, but the tone of her voice leads me to believe she’s lying, yet I don’t push it.

  Both baskets are out of the grease and ready to dump on plates. Putting both plates on a tray, I carry them into the dining room and Loren follows close behind. Sitting at the bar, I pull out a beer for myself and Loren asks for a soda.

  “So, do you only sing country?” she asks, then pops a mini taco in her mouth.

  “No,” I laugh. Most people assume I don’t know anything other than country when they see me, but I’m an equal opportunity lover of all music. Doesn’t matter the genre, if the song is good, I like it. “I can do a little bit of everything, but country is my roots.”

  “I’m not really a country girl. What can you sing that I might know?”

  “Black Crowes?”

  “Oh my God, yes!” she squeals. “Can you do it?”

  “Right now?”

  “Yep. Please.” Loren puts on her best pouty look and hell it’s sexy. Singing in front of a crowd has never been a problem for me, but to an empty bar with only one set of eyes watching my every movement? Talk about being put on the spot.

  “And what do I get in return?”

  “I’ll sing next,” she jokes, winking.

  “You’re on.” Shoving a few fries in my mouth, I wipe my hands on a napkin, take a swig of my beer and head for the stage.

  “You’re serious? Wait, I was just kidding.”

  “Absolutely. No backing out now. You set the terms, I just agreed.” I pull a stool on the stage, grab my guitar and pull the leather strap over my head. Testing a few chords, I glance up to see Loren watching me intently, arms folded over her chest like she thinks I’m not about to do this.

  “Ready?” I ask, smiling my signature smile.

  Loren shakes her head, probably freaking out that in a few minutes it’s going to be her up in this spot. A deal’s a deal, though. As I strum the opening chords, her mouth parts slightly. When it’s time for the first verse, I keep my voice low, not showing her exactly what kind of power I have. I’m not cocky by any means, I just happen to know I was blessed with a gift and I use it whenever I can. Singing’s more than a hobby for me, it’s a therapy.

  As the second verse kicks in, I get a little louder, and toward the end where they’re talking about pain making everything alright, it hits a little too close to home and I throw myself into the song. I barely register hearing her catcall from her seat. Finishing the song, I’m positive I did the Black Crowes justice and they wouldn’t be embarrassed that I covered their song.

  “Impressive. I’m still not sure why you’re not a professional singer. Like, why the hell don’t you do this for a living?” Loren praises, rising from her seat to give me a standing ovation.

  “I don’t want to make money off something that makes me happy. I don’t want to be judged and take anything away from what gives me the most joy. Plus, my current job gives me the satisfaction of knowing I just might be molding a young mind to make right choices and giving them some hope.” I’m pretty sure I put in my online profile that I’m a football coach, but I don’t think I mentioned that I’m also a teacher.

  “You’re kind of amazing, you know that?”

  “Yeah, I do,” I tease. “Oh, but don’t you forget it’s your turn. Pick a song. If I can’t play it, I’ll find it on the karaoke machine. You’re not getting out of this.”

  She pouts her perfectly shaped lips, pulls her phone out of her purse and scrolls through what I assume to be her music app. Her eyes light up and she shows me the song on the screen and it happens to be one of my favorites. Holding out my hand, I help her up on the stage and give her the stool. To ease any nerves she might have, I stand behind her so she won’t see me watching her.

  Again, my fingers work the strings on the guitar, playing the opening chords for 100 in a 55 by Pop Evil. A few bars in, the first verse starts, and unlike me, Loren doesn’t wait to kick it into gear. I’ve never been more shocked by anything in my life. This girl can sing. Not just sing, she can blow. It’s very possible that watching her sing is turning me on. The one passion other than teaching I have in this life, and she’s probably better than I am.

  I have to be careful to make sure I don’t stop playing to stare at her. Every note, every word, she sings effortlessly, like she’s been doing this her whole life. I would have never pegged her for a singer. Not ever. If I would have placed a bet on whether or not she had a musical bone in her body, I would have lost every damn penny.

  “Wow,” I whisper as she closes the song.

  “Yeah. I know,” she replies confidently, shrugging her shoulders. “It wasn’t a fair deal, really.”

  “I had no idea. You’re really amazing.”

  “Not many people do. I mean, Cleo knows, but I’ve known her forever. My mother was a backup singer for Madonna and my father was a drummer back in the day. I was raised on music and music alone. Imagine their surprise and disappointment when I went into advertising rather than become a singer.”

  “And you say I should do this professionally? What about you? Why advertising?”

  “I watched what music did to my family. My mom had an accident when I was a teenager and it ruined her vocal chords. She never sang again and the depression ate her alive. My father wasn’t much help. I don’t blame him, but he d
idn’t quit music and my mom resented him for it. Made my late teenage years pretty stressful. So, after two years of being a music major in college, I switched, and marketing and advertising seemed like it would be fun. So that’s my story.”

  “You’re really something else, Loren. Nothing like I imagined.”

  “Is that a good thing or a bad thing?”

  “It’s a really good thing.” And it really is. I’ve never met someone who could catch me off guard like she has, and it’s refreshing. All the girls who come to the bar, they’re all the same. The only difference between them is the size of their breasts and their hair color. I’m never able to see past one night with them, but with Loren, I can see a future. This has only happened one time before—with Wendy—but even this is different than how I felt for Wendy.

  “I probably should get home. I do have to work in the morning and I’m sure you do, too,” she says, hopping off the stage and walking back to the bar.

  I’d much rather stay and get to know her better, find out all her little quirks, the things that make her who she is, but I understand and don’t push the issue. There will be plenty of time for us.

  “Let me turn off the fryers and lock up. You got your keys?” She pulls a set out of her purse and dangles them on her index finger. “Sounds good. Meet you outside. Don’t leave without me. I’ll follow you home to make sure you get there alright.” She smiles and walks away and I can’t keep myself from watching the way her ass looks in her jeans. She might not like country music, but the girl is built like every country boy’s dream—long, dark hair, curves for days and an ass that doesn’t quit. I bite the inside of my cheek to keep myself from saying something crude to turn her off and make her not want to see me again. It’s hard, but I manage.

  After I finish everything inside, I walk outside and walk to the driver’s side of her car to find her singing along with one of the songs I sang earlier tonight. “Thought you didn’t like country?” I tease.

  “I said I’m not a huge fan. Chase Rice is amazing. Plus, he likes Fireball. If he’s not the epitome of a winner, I’m not sure who is.”

  “You keep surprising me, girl. I like it.” Winking, I knock on the roof of her car and start walking to my truck.

  “Your ass is kinda nice, too,” she hollers. I turn quickly and stare at her confused. There’s no way I said anything about her butt. I bite my cheek. I’m a gentleman. “Girls have a sixth sense for that, you know? We always know when a guy is watching us walk away. As well as I can sing, I know my ass is ten times better. I don’t do all those squats for nothing.”

  Laughing, I spin around and continue to my truck. She pulls out of the parking lot first, me not too far behind. When she reaches her driveway, she stops short and I idle up next to her. “Everything okay?” I ask.

  “Yep. Just wanted to say goodnight and I really enjoyed spending some time with you.”

  “Yeah. Me, too. See you this weekend still?”

  “I’ll be there.”

  “How about I just pick you up?” I ask, wondering if that’s moving a little too fast. Maybe she’s not ready to go on one of those dates with me yet.

  “Even better,” she responds.

  “Night, Loren.”

  “You, too, Cowboy.” She pulls into the driveway and I wait in the street until her car’s locked up and she’s safely inside. When I’m down the block, I pull out my phone and send her a quick text.

  Me – Every cowboy needs an angel

  Loren – Let me dust off my halo

  Chapter Seven

  Loren

  Waking up, just like every morning, the first thing I do is check the notifications on my phone. Surprised, I find a new message from the dating site. Having had my profile up for a few days with no other messages other than Nolan and Mr. Nine Inches, I haven’t paid any attention to my emails. Opening the notification, it would appear that I’ve had quite a bit of interest in my profile. A few comments here and there, but it’s the icon showing a new message that has me intrigued.

  One thing my parents taught me as a young girl, that I even take into my adult, professional life, is to never put all my eggs in one basket. That’s how you end up disappointed—when you didn’t think to make up a backup plan. Some sort of contingency plan to move you on to something else when your first plan fails. It was the same when I applied for colleges; I chose six. When I started looking for a job, the same thing—I sent resumes to at least a dozen companies. What’s to say that I can’t, or shouldn’t, do the same thing with my romantic life?

  Opening the icon, the thumbnail shows an image of an attractive man wearing a white button-up shirt with no tie and the top button undone with a suit jacket over top. He looks very much like the guys I work with when we go out for drinks after work.

  The message itself is nice as well.

  Hello,

  I just wanted to stop by and tell you how much I enjoyed reading your bio. It also doesn’t hurt that you’re a stunning woman. I’d like to chat more, maybe get together for coffee one day, just to see where things lead.

  Looking forward to hearing from you,

  Joel

  Pondering if I should respond, I slam down a cup of coffee and take a quick shower to make sure I don’t smell like the bar I was in the night before. After I’m dried and dressed for work, I sit at my laptop and type out a response.

  Hi Joel,

  If you want to meet for coffee this afternoon, I can meet you at the little café on the corner of Main and Seventh.

  Hope to see you later,

  Loren

  Closing my laptop, I head out the door for my first day of work with my new promotion. As soon as I step through the door, just as I have every day since I started, it feels different. For the first time, I know my skills are going to be put to good use and I’m going to be able to show my talents. Next step: Corner office.

  “Hey, Raquelle,” I say, greeting the receptionist as I pass.

  “Good morning, Ms. Tena. Mr. Fletcher asked me to send you to his office as soon as you got in.” Her phone rings and I head down the hallway, stopping briefly at my office to drop my bag and jacket, then proceed to Mr. Fletcher’s office.

  “Morning, sir.” Walking through the door, I take a seat in one of the chairs in front of his desk.

  “Loren. Hello. I need to talk to you about something which isn’t work related, but wanted to gauge your feelings.” Shifting in my chair, I cross one leg over the other, anticipating what’s coming. I really hope he isn’t about to bring up what I think he’s about to bring up.

  “Sure. Whatever you need, Mr. Fletcher.”

  “It’s Jordan. He called me last night. He’s coming back home.”

  “With all due respect, sir, I’m not sure what that has to do with me.” Although, I know exactly how I’m going to be affected by Jordan’s decision to return. Oh, how I wish he’d stay gone forever.

  “He’s my son, Loren. If he asks for his job back, I’ll give it to him. You’ll still say on as project manager, but he’ll work closely with you. If that’s going to be a problem, I need to know now. I can’t risk not having everyone on their game.”

  Can I possibly work with Jordan? Will I be able to conduct myself in a professional manner without wanting to cut his dick off and shove it down his throat? I know, you’re probably thinking ‘wow, this girl just got hostile’ but it’s all with good reason. Remember that whole not dating people I work with thing I preached about earlier? Yeah, Jordan’s the reason behind that one.

  “There won’t be any problems, Mr. Fletcher. Jordan and I will be able to act professionally. I value my career and wouldn’t jeopardize that. I appreciate you bringing all of this to my attention. It would have been weird if I was surprised out of nowhere.” My job will come first, and if Jordan does show back up, it’s only a matter of time before he walks away again. After all, walking away is something he excels at—if it were a profession, he could be the CEO.

  “That’s g
reat to know. Okay, get back to work. I expect a detailed plan of your attack by end of day.”

  Nodding, I walk out of his office and wait until I’m back in mine before I allow myself to feel anything. Long story short: once upon a time, I loved Jordan and thought he loved me back. He left. Left his parents, his job, and me without a second thought. It took me a long time to get over it. Everything suffered—my career and my health. The depression hit me hard, but I’ve finally dragged myself out of the pits of misery and have started to live again. I’ll be dammed if he steals that away from me … again.

  I spend the rest of the morning analyzing the data sent over by the company seeking a marketing campaign to launch a new product. Studying the information available online about their competitors, I nearly miss the clock striking twelve. Gathering my belongings, I head out into the afternoon sun for my coffee date with Joel. It’s a very welcomed distraction.

  Not only am I feeling all kinds of things revolving around Jordan, but it’s making me question my connection with Nolan. Jordan was a really amazing guy; I wouldn’t have fallen in love with him if he wasn’t. Then out of the blue one day, he decided he was moving on with his life and leaving me behind. I can’t let myself get attached to someone like that again until I know, without a shadow of a doubt, he’s in it just as much as I am, and I can’t gauge Nolan’s motives just yet. I think I know, but I thought I knew with Jordan, too.

  Walking into the café, I spot an empty table in the back. Placing an order for a large coffee and a muffin, I take a seat and wait for Joel to arrive, if he comes at all. I probably should have set more definite plans, but I didn’t want to seem overzealous. Oh well, what’s done is done.

  Halfway through my muffin, a larger man walks through the door and looks around the room. I don’t pay much attention and go back to my snack. Putting another small bite in my mouth, I pull out my phone and begin scrolling through Facebook so I don’t look so odd sitting alone. As a shadow casts over my table, I glance up and notice the larger man standing before me.