Do Me Right

by Cindi Myers

  "You don't think it's just because she's the first woman--besides me, of course--who hasn't fallen for your dubious charms?"

  "No. Because sometimes when we do talk, we get along real well." He leaned toward her, eyes alight. "I think she might even like me. But then I'll say something dumb--or she'll make me think I said something dumb--and she's back to ignoring me. Or playing that damn cello."

  "Wait a minute. You're jealous of a cello?"

  "Have you seen her play that thing? I mean, it's downright sexual--it's between her legs and she's hugging it and leaning her head on it and..."

  "You are sick!" She slapped his shoulder. "Get a grip."

  His shoulders dropped. "I know. I feel sick." His eyes met hers. "Do you think that means I'm really in love?"

  She took a step back. "How would I know?"

  "Well, you're older and I just figured..."

  She shook her head. "You figured wrong." The whole idea was ridiculous.

  Some of the life came back into his face. "You're not telling me you've never been in love? Not ever?"

  "No. Of course not." She tucked a lock of hair behind one ear. "I mean, once when I was younger I thought..." She shook her head. Even now, that memory made her a little queasy. "But I was wrong. I was just a stupid kid."

  "What happened?"

  She took another step back. "Oh, no. I'm not spilling my guts to you. You leave my personal life out of this."

  "But what am I going to do about Cherry?"

  "Nothing. If she likes you, she likes you. But don't try to force the issue." She shook her finger at him. "If I hear one complaint from her about you harassing her, your ass will be out the door. Understand?"

  He slumped over the counter, chin in his hands. "I understand."

  She retreated to the back room and took a Red Bull from the refrigerator, then put it back and pulled out a Mountain Dew. A morning like this called for serious caffeine and sugar. Between waking to memories of last night with Kyle, doing battle with the protesters, then dealing with Scott's lovesick laments, she'd ridden an emotional roller coaster--and it wasn't even noon.

  She sat at the small table in the back room and sucked down the soda, fighting a wholly uncharacteristic weepiness. Maybe it was PMS, except she'd never had much problem in that area. She knocked firmly on the tabletop.

  It was probably all Scott's talk about love. That was enough to make anybody blue. Since foolishly allowing her heart to be stomped flat before she was even old enough to legally buy a drink, she'd assiduously avoided anything to do with the L word.

  She was mature enough now to concede that all men were not the loathsome, lying scum that the man who'd broken her heart had been. After all, her own brother was a class act. And she'd met a few decent-seeming guys here and there that she could concede might make good relationship material for some women. And Kyle...she'd nominate him as one of the good ones, too.

  But that didn't mean that she was trusting herself with any of them. There were too many ways for things to go wrong in the relationship game, and it hurt too much when you tried to put the pieces back together.

  Which was why this whole arrangement with Kyle was so ideal. She'd counted on great sex, but he'd given her laughter and romance and the whole nine yards.

  Last night--last night had been magic! She'd never forget lying there in the back of his truck, in that nest of blankets, staring up at the stars. A woman could get by a long time on that memory alone.

  "Hey, Theresa! Someone here to see you."

  She tossed her empty can into the recycling bin and went up front, surprised but pleased at the thought of a customer. Surprise turned to shock when she saw Kyle, his arms full of boxes.

  "What's all this?" she asked as she and Scott relieved him of his load.

  "I met the UPS man up on the corner. He was trying to fight his way through the crowd to make it here." He set the last box on the end of the counter and grinned at her. "When I saw the crowd, I thought maybe you could use some reinforcements."

  She grabbed the phone. "That does it. I'm calling the cops. That definitely has to be 'obstruction of trade' or whatever."

  "Sounds illegal to me." He leaned back against the counter, legs stretched out in those tight faded jeans. Every nerve in her body remembered how he felt next to her. Inside her.

  She sat down as an operator answered the phone. Only half her mind was on her conversation, though--the other half distracted by a certain sexy cowboy.

  "What did they say?" Kyle asked when she hung up.

  "They took down my information, but I doubt they'll do anything." She shook her head. "After all, the police are in cahoots with the mayor, who's 'Clean' Carter's big bud. It's a joke, really."

  "I did what I could for you," he said.

  "What do you mean?"

  "When I stopped for gas yesterday afternoon, I noticed the Quickie Mart was having a clearance on those temporary rub-on tattoos. Mostly cartoon characters--you know, SpongeBob and Powerpuff Girls. The guy sold me the whole box for five bucks. I was thinking I'd put them all over me and walk in here one day--as a joke, you know. But when I saw the crowd today, I went back to the truck and got them and handed them out to all the protesters' kids."

  "Sweet!" Scott crowed. "All the miniature moralcrats will be inked up good. I hope the press gets some good shots of that."

  Kyle looked up at the ceiling, feigning innocence. "I might just have pointed out a particularly photogenic tot to one of the news cameramen. As I recall, she had a Powerpuff Girl in the middle of her forehead and SpongeBob up and down both arms."

  Theresa stared at him. "I could kiss you."

  He quirked his brow at her. "Nothing's stopping you, darlin'."

  So she did, aware of Scott, goggle-eyed behind the counter.

  "Um, maybe you two should get a room," Scott said after a minute.

  "Don't mind him," she said. "He's just in a sour mood because the woman of his dreams won't give him the time of day."

  Kyle gave Scott a sympathetic look. "In my experience, the ones who ignore you the most are sometimes the ones who want you in the worst way."

  Scott brightened. "Really?"

  "That's the thing about women." Kyle directed a look at Theresa. "They can be really contrary."

  Ignoring them both, she carried a box over to the workbench and began unpacking it. "I don't know why I ordered so much stuff," she said. "With that bunch out there hounding us, we'll be lucky to get enough customers to pay the rent."

  "It's not that bad, is it?" Kyle came to stand behind her.

  "We only have two appointments on the book today," Scott said. "But Cherry said she might talk a couple of friends from school into checking us out this afternoon."

  "Then you ought to have plenty of time to do me," Kyle said.

  She raised her eyebrows. "Do you?"

  "Not again!" Scott said. "I told you--get a room. Or at least wait till I go to lunch."

  Kyle sat in the tattoo chair and rolled up his sleeve. "I've decided I want a tattoo."

  She set aside the box. "I thought you said you didn't need any decoration."

  "You've given me a new appreciation for the art." He grinned. "Besides, I hear they're a big hit with Chippendales' clientele."

  "Do you know what you want?"

  "I want a stallion."

  "A stallion?" She arched one eyebrow. Was this supposed to be a reference to his sexual prowess? "Are you trying to advertise?"

  He flushed beneath his tan. "A wild mustang. And it has nothing to do with sex."

  She forced herself to look him in the eye, though her mind had definitely wandered farther south. "Okay, so why a wild mustang?"

  "They're just about the most independent cusses you'll ever meet."

  She laughed. "So you see yourself as having something in common?"

  "Let's just say I like to go my own way. Thought it might be good to send the message right here on my arm."

  She thought a moment, then too
k a pen and drew on his bicep. His arm was hard, brown and sexy as hell, though why this one should be any sexier than the hundreds of others she'd decorated she didn't want to think about too much. "How's that?" She handed him a mirror.

  He studied the design of a horse reared up on its hind legs, pawing at the air, and grinned. "You draw a heck of a lot better than I do." He returned the mirror. "I'll take it."

  "Are you sure? It's permanent, you know."

  "I know." He lay back in the chair. "Do your worst."

  She'd finished prepping him and was ready to start the needlework when they heard sirens. Scott went to the front window and looked out. "Uh-oh," he said.

  "What is it?"

  "Looks like the police chief. And he's headed this way."

  8

  "THE POLICE CHIEF? Are you sure?" Theresa set aside the tattoo machine and stripped off her latex gloves.

  "I've never met the dude, but I've seen his picture in the paper enough. I'm pretty sure that's him."She joined Scott at the front counter and stared out the window at the tall, broad-shouldered man who was making his way through the crowd toward the shop. "That's him all right." She felt as if she'd swallowed rocks. If Grant Truitt was showing up here, it couldn't be good.

  "I'm impressed." Kyle came to stand beside her. "Not only did the cops not ignore your call, they sent the head honcho."

  She shook her head. "I don't think that's good news. We've had some run-ins with the chief before."

  "Yeah," Scott agreed. "I guess you could say there's bad blood between us."

  Of course she hadn't seen him since the day he and Zach had apparently made their peace, but as far as she knew, he still had a poor opinion of Austin Body Art. After all, he'd been one of the chief instigators of the mayor's original Family-Friendly Austin campaign. It stood to reason he was "Clean" Carter's buddy, too.

  The door to the shop opened and Chief Truitt stepped inside, followed by a uniformed officer. "I understand someone from here called in a complaint?"

  "I did." She stepped forward, hands at her sides, not sure if she should offer to shake or keep her distance. Seeing the frown on his face, she opted for remaining aloof. "The crowd out there is blocking the entrance to my place of business. My customers can't get through." She nodded to the packages still stacked on the counter. "The UPS man couldn't even get past them to make his delivery."

  He nodded. "It's Theresa, isn't it?"

  "That's right. Theresa Jacobs."

  "I'm not likely to forget the last name, am I?" He looked around the shop, his eyes coming to rest on the framed oil painting over the cash register. "That's new, isn't it?"

  She followed his gaze to the painting. "Zach sent it last month."

  He nodded. "I thought I recognized his work." He glanced at her. "He still hasn't given me one for my collection. I've even offered to pay him, but he won't hear of it."

  She suppressed a smile. If she knew her brother, he was enjoying making his former enemy beg for a painting. "He's probably waiting for exactly the right work."

  "That's what he tells me." He put his hand on the doorknob. "Sorry about the trouble with the crowd. We'll take care of them."

  He nodded to the others, then left, the uniformed officer trailing in his wake. As soon as the door shut, Kyle turned to Theresa. "That didn't sound like bad blood to me. He talked like he and your brother know each other pretty well."

  She nodded. "I guess they do, since Zach is seeing his daughter."

  "Whoa." Kyle looked toward the chief, who was moving away from them through the crowd, then turned back to Theresa. "Your brother's girlfriend is the police chief's daughter?"

  She nodded. "Jen Truitt is a dancer with a hip-hop revue in Chicago."

  He grinned. "I get it. So that's why Zach is going to art school in Chicago instead of here. And the chief is apparently an admirer of his art."

  "He's a big art collector. He's got a room full of paintings and stuff at his house."

  "You've been there?"

  She shrugged. "Once." It still felt awkward thinking of herself as being on friendly terms with the most powerful law-enforcement officer in the city. She'd spent too many years avoiding anything to do with the cops.

  "Hey, the crowd's moving away from the doors." Scott stood and walked to the window. "There's a whole bunch of cops telling them to get out of the way."

  She watched in amazement as the walkway in front of the shop cleared. The crowd gradually retreated all the way to the corner.

  She stepped out onto the sidewalk, followed by Kyle and Scott. Chief Truitt was standing across the street, talking with a scowling man in a white shirt and bright red tie. "Who's that he's talking to?" Kyle asked.

  "That's Darryl 'Clean' Carter."

  "He doesn't look too happy at the moment."

  "No. He looks pretty pissed." In fact, he was gesturing wildly, all red-faced and squinty-eyed. But the chief looked unfazed. He merely shook his head and pointed down the street. After a tense few minutes, Carter stalked away and Truitt headed back toward his car.

  Theresa rushed out the door and across the street and intercepted him. "Chief, wait," she called.

  He turned and waited for her to catch up. "Is there something else?"

  "I just wanted to thank you for getting rid of the crowd."

  "I merely pointed out that the right to assemble does not include the right to obstruct the sidewalk or interfere with access to a business. City ordinances require people to remain a reasonable distance from all rights-of-way."

  "Mr. Carter didn't look too happy about it."

  "I learned early on that if I was doing my job right, there would always be someone unhappy with me."

  She couldn't help but smile at that. "But I thought you were on his side."

  "I'm on the side of the law. And the law says you have a right to conduct business without being harassed."

  "Still, I thought you didn't approve of my business." She straightened. "I seem to recall you making an effort to shut it down not that long ago."

  He frowned. "I guess I've changed my mind about a few things since then."

  "What? You decided tattoos are a good thing?" She grinned. "Whenever you're ready, I'll do you a tat--on the house."

  His frown deepened. "I have no desire to get a tattoo. But I've accepted that it's the fashion these days. And I certainly know there are far worse things people could be doing--and are doing. Now I'd better get back to work."

  "Thanks, anyway. No matter what you say, I know you didn't have to personally come here to take care of this. I appreciate it."

  "Make sure your brother knows that. Tell him I'm still waiting for my painting."

  "I'll do that." She watched as he got into his car and drove away, then she walked back across the street to Kyle.

  "Everything okay?" he asked.

  She nodded. "It's better. Come on inside and we'll finish that tattoo."

  "All right. Then can we go have lunch somewhere? All this politicking is giving me an appetite."

  "When I get through with you, you may have lost your appetite."

  The faint lines around his eyes deepened. "What are you talking about? People get tattoos all the time."

  "Yes, but it's only fair to warn you--the biggest, toughest guys often end up being the ones who whimper the most."

  "You'd like that, wouldn't you--making me whimper?"

  She looked him up and down, making sure he registered the heat in her gaze. "Oh, yeah. I'd love to hear you beg me to put you out of your misery."

  "Is that a promise?" He leaned close, his hot breath against her ear sending a shiver up her spine. "Because I'd love to see you try."

  She chuckled and slicked her tongue across her lips. Maybe they could have more than food for lunch. After all, her apartment wasn't that far away....

  "Cut it out, you two," Scott said from his perch behind the counter. "You keep looking at each other like that and I'm going to have to go home and take a cold shower."
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  She hooked her finger in Kyle's belt loop and tugged him toward the chair. "Come on, hot stuff. Let's get that tattoo. See what you're made of."

  Later maybe they'd discuss the whole begging scenario. After all, they had more than a month left to keep each other entertained. There were plenty of things they hadn't tried...yet.

  LESS THAN AN HOUR LATER, with a slightly sore arm and a thick bandage around his bicep, Kyle escorted Theresa back out onto the now quiet sidewalk. "Clean" Carter and his marching band had disappeared, along with the press corps and most of the demonstrators. "Take away the cameras and everybody goes home, I guess," he said.

  "I wish they'd all go home and stay there." She glanced at the few stragglers still waving their signs on the corner. "This is getting really old. They stop every customer who tries to come into the place, and I'm sure they've turned some away. And now that the election is almost here, I've started getting calls from reporters. It's driving me crazy.""You're tough. You can take it," he said.

  "I'm tough all right." But she didn't sound too happy about it. In fact, she hadn't sounded happy about much of anything all morning, but then he guessed he couldn't blame her. Having to deal with a bunch of self-righteous strangers trying to put you out of business was enough to make anyone sour. "Come on. You'll feel better after you eat." He put his arm around her. At least that was what his mom had always preached. Sometimes it was even true.

  They headed to Paradise Cafe and ordered burgers. They found a table by the window and settled in to eat. "So tell me about your brother and the police chief's daughter," Kyle said. "How did those two ever hook up?"

  "She came in to get a tattoo, actually." Theresa swirled a French fry through a pool of ketchup. "It was weird, really. One of those things I thought only happened in books or the movies. The minute those two looked at each other, it was like instant connection." A half smile brought out faint dimples at the corners of her mouth. "Zach kept saying it didn't mean anything, but I knew it did. He was different when she was around. Like something had been missing and he'd suddenly found it." She shook her head and popped the fry into her mouth.