“I would have said no.” I frowned and shut the door of the cab that had dropped us off outside her apartment on Chicago’s south side in a neighborhood I’d never visited before.
“She stared up at me all sweet and needy with a possibly broken ankle,” Charlotte said.
“Badly sprained.”
“You say po-TAY-to, I say po-TAH-to. It’s obvious she adores you and only wants to see you get married so her heart is secure before she leaves this Earthly realm.”
“What are you talking about?” I sputtered. “My grandma’s not going anywhere anytime soon.”
She took my hand. “I know. That’s not what I’m trying to suggest. It’s just at eighty-three, she’s probably got less years in front of her than behind her.”
“Thank you for making my night even better.”
She squeezed my hand. “I thought tonight was pretty good. Actually, I thought tonight was spectacular.”
The sun was rising in the east over Lake Michigan, the colors sifting through the winter air. The colder tones made Charlotte’s face appear fresh, even though she had light, blue-gray circles under her eyes from not sleeping. Her post-orgasm blush had disappeared.
It had been hours since we’d fucked, and the beast in my pants stirred again. I was an honorable man. I was a horny man. I needed to step up to the plate and do the right thing. Put that glow back on her pretty face. I squeezed her hand back. “You’re right. Hey, I was thinking…” I looked up at the three-story walkup with the dirty patches of snow on the ground and the skinny Christmas tree featuring one strand of lights in the first-floor window.
“Oh no,” she said, reaching up and kissing me on the cheek. She lingered for a long moment before pulling away. “Now that I’m on the job we won’t be doing that again.”
“But that was spectacular. We should definitely be doing that again.”
“I don’t work for you, Joe,” she said walking away from me toward the apartment building. “You might be my client, but technically I work for your grandmother.”
“Dang.” My heart dropped into my stomach.
She stuck her key in the door.
“You need to re-think my offer. That tree of yours needs decorating. Did you deliberately buy Charlie Brown’s Christmas tree?”
She glanced back at me. “That’s not my tree. I live on the third floor.”
“Long way from the first floor to the third. I should escort you to your apartment,” I said. The street lights dimmed as the sun rose higher in the winter skies. “That would be the gentlemanly thing to do.”
“It would,” she said, entering her building. “But then I’d be tempted to ask you inside. You’d take off your coat and see my pathetic hovel decorated with shitty furniture from second hand stores. You’d probably feel sorry for me.”
“No, I wouldn’t. I’m not that guy. Is your opinion of me that low?”
“You’re Joe Delacroix from Chicago. I’m Charlotte Bauer from Oconomowoc, Wisconsin. We were raised miles apart. And I don’t mean geographically.”
“I don’t give a shit about that kind of stuff. Besides, I used to live in Wisconsin. My life was simple.”
“By choice.”
“Let me a gentleman, Charlotte,” I said, walking a few hopeful steps toward her.
“Not a good idea, Joe.”
“An excellent idea.”
“You’d meet my whiney cat.”
“I love him already.”
“And then I’d want you to make me an omelet.”
“I’ll make you one even better than the other night.”
“Difficult. I ran out of eggs.”
“I’ll improvise.”
“I fear you’d try and get in my pants. And I’d probably want you to do that as well. But I don’t think that’s what your grandmother had in mind when she asked me to find you a wife.”
“You’re killing me, Charlotte.”
“Let me do my job. And about tonight?”
“Yes?” I stared at her.
“Best fuck, ever.” She smiled and closed the door.
Chapter Nineteen
Charlotte
13 months ago
Hank’s Bar and Grill was perched at the far end of a tree-lined lane jutting out over Lake Mendota. Indian Summer had blasted by the past couple of weeks. But now it was fall and a distinct crispness tinged the air. Red, orange, and yellow leaves dropped from the tall trees dotting the shoreline and swirled in colorful staccatos through the air.
Hank’s was an institution around Maple Bluff. The main lodge was a two-story stone cottage structure. I’d hung out here with Ryan and his pals before, and knew the interior smelled of beer—in a good way. It felt warm and cozy with a fat fireplace, dim lighting, and dark lacquered wooden tables. Boats docked at the restaurant’s small adjoining marina that accommodated twenty slips.
Hank’s Bar and Grill had been owned by the same family for fifty years. Hank Firestone passed control of the place to his daughter, Maria, after he retired. It was known for its juicy steaks the size of your head, accompanied by double baked potatoes piled high with sour cream and chives. They had fish fries in the summer. A picnic area twenty yards from the main building was outfitted with wooden tables, outdoor grills, fire pits, and a paved basketball court.
For the last thirty years, Hank’s had hosted Octoberfest—one last night of autumn blast that included grilling, beer, brats and a raffle, whose profits were donated to the local Fireman’s Fund. I wanted to participate in this worthwhile event, be part of this community, fit in and put down roots, so I volunteered to help at Octoberfest.
Ryan sat on the sidelines of the basketball court with a couple of his buddies watching a pick-up game. He’d known Jim and Corey forever. Jim was sweet and worked construction for a local company. Corey owned a small arcade in town and was a little too slick for my taste. Nothing I could put my finger on, he just made the hair on the back of my arms stand up. And not in a good way. “Nice to see you guys,” I said. “Gotta get to work.”
“Chop, chop,” Corey said.
“Have fun.” Ryan said sipping from a long-neck. He smiled and squinted up at me, the sun bringing out the blue in his eyes.
“Spend a lot of money tonight,” I said, and kissed his cheek. “It’s for a good cause.”
“You bet, babe.”
I walked into the kitchen and ran into Marie Firestone, the force of nature who owned and ran the lodge. I saluted. “Charlotte Louise Bauer reporting for duty.” “Awesome. You’re Grill Chick Number 4.” She threw me an apron from a stack in the corner of the kitchen. “Put this on.”
“Okay.” I slipped it over my head. “What does Grill Chick Number 4 do?”
“Go ask Cindy. She’s Grill Chick Number 1 this year.”
“Where do I find Cindy?”
“Outside.”
“Where outside?”
“At the first grill you see.” She crossed herself and looked skyward. “Sweet Jesus, are you creating them simpler these days?”
I wandered outside and quickly spotted the weathered, tatted biker babe with a silver mane. She was wearing the long apron with #1 printed on the front.
She eyed me. “Welcome, Number 4. Orientation?”
“Yes.” Guests were already walking in from the gravel parking lot. Some were dressed in Eddie Bauer attire, others more J. Crew. There were a few hippie and biker types like Grill Chick Number 1.
“Take that path over there ’till you reach the last barbecue. You’ve gone too far if you walk into the lake. You’re further away from the lodge, but you’ll still get traffic.”
I followed where she pointed. “Got it. Any tips?”
“Grill the brats and burgers. Toast the buns. Don’t undercook. Don’t overcook. Place everything on platters. Someone will come by, pick them up, and drop off more meat. Condiments, onions, pickles, and cheese are in a Tupperware with extra supplies in a cooler on the ground next to your grill. Schmooze. Be nice.”
The sun had set minutes earlier, traffic was slowing down, and I realized in the excitement of the party and the crush of the crowd that I’d forgotten to eat. I plopped a burger on a toasted bun and shuffled it onto a paper plate. I walked a few yards to a picnic table and parked it. I took a bite. Not bad.
I downed my dinner, looking out over the lake. The water was lapping against the handful of boats docked at the marina. I heard people laughing in the background, content, happy. It was all so pretty. I’d always have a home with mom—wherever she landed—but I felt like I was becoming part of this community.
A handsome young guy approached me, carrying two beers in red plastic Solo cups. “Thirsty? I’ve got an extra. My buddy met someone after I agreed to go to the trouble to buy him a beer. The least I can do is pass it along.”
I glanced over at Ryan’s table where he’d been hanging the whole night. A few empty pitchers sat in front of him and his buddies. They were laughing. Corey passed around a flask and they took shots. Ryan didn’t appear all that interested in what I was doing. The guys looked a little sloppy, but hey—it was that kind of night. I wouldn’t let him drive. I’d order Lyfts for all of them if I had to.
I glanced up at the young man. “Yes, thanks. I’d love a beer.”
He handed it to me and sat on the opposite side of the table. I took a few sips. It was warm, which for some reason went perfectly with the burger.
“My name’s Patrick Williams but my friends call me Bear. You are?”
“Charlotte. How do you fit in here?”
“I am one of those lucky firemen you’re raising money for.” He smiled, looking like he’d just rolled off a nearby farm, and I wondered why he’d chosen this line of work.
“Aha. You’re the reason we are all here tonight.” I took another slug of beer and put the cup down. I stood up and stretched my arms over my head. “I hope we made a lot of dough for your unit.”
“I think you did.”
Grill Chick Number 1 strode in our direction. “Job well done, Number 4. Shut it down.”
“I was hoping for one more burger,” Bear said.
Grill Chick Number 1 pointed at me. “Up to her.”
“Sure, why not?” I walked back to the barbecue, grabbed a patty from the tray with tongs and slapped it on the grill. “Cheese?”
“Yes, ma'am.”
“Don’t ma'am, me. Swiss? Cheddar?”
“I’ll always be a cheddar-head. Pardon me for asking,” he said. “I was watching you a bit earlier. It looks like you’re here on your own.”
“Oh.” I looked at him. He was probably my age, maybe even a few years younger. “Actually, I have a boyfriend. He’s here partying with some friends. Raising money for your cause.”
“Right,” he said, looking disappointed.
I glanced at my platter of almost depleted grilling supplies. “We’re out of cheese.”
“Don’t worry about it.”
“If our firemen want cheese, damn it, our firemen will have cheese.” I turned, and made my way to the cooler, but smacked up against something hard and stumbled. “Ow!” Time seemed to slow down as I spiraled to the ground still holding the tongs. I’d broken my arm on the playground when I was a kid during a fall that played out exactly like this. It wasn’t pretty. Chills zipped down my spine. I squeezed my eyes shut and braced for the worst.
But Bear had lightning quick reflexes. He grabbed my arm, stopped me from face planting, and lifted me upright. He seized my other arm and supported me with both his hands in a steady, fireman’s grip.
“Yikes,” I said, my hands trembling. I dropped the tongs. “Thanks! You totally saved my ass.”
“You’re not going to fall over if I let go?”
“No, I’m good.” I shook my head and looked at the grill. “Flip that burger before it’s a goner, ’K?”
“Right,” he said, walking toward the barbecue.
“You’re going to need the tongs.” I bent down to pick it up but was yanked back. “Hey!”
“What do you think you’re doing?” Ryan slurred. He squeezed my arm, stale beer oozing off his breath. His face was ruddy and sweaty in the dim, outdoor lights.
“Picking up something I dropped.”
“Pick up your reputation while you’re down there.”
I winced. His meaty hands were digging into my arm. “What do you mean—ow—Ryan, you’re hurting me!”
Bear was front and center. “Let her go.”
“So, you can put your hands all over my girlfriend?”
“It’s not like that, buddy. She tripped. I stopped her from taking a header.”
Ryan shoved me to one side. He stared at Bear, his eyes lit. He squeezed his hands into fists, and Corey and Jim strode up, clutching beers.
I’d never seen a fist fight in real life and my stomach curled. Bile rose in my throat. “Ryan, no! Nothing happened.”
“That’s not what I saw. You were flirting with him. He put his hands on you.”
“Of course I think your girlfriend is pretty,” Bear said. “Anyone with an eyeball in their head would think your girlfriend’s pretty. She tripped. I caught her and stopped her from face planting. Again, nothing happened.”
Suddenly Grill Chick Number 1 was back on the scene accompanied by a silver-haired biker dude. “Problems?”
“Disagreement,” Jim said.
I tugged at Ryan’s sleeve. “Come on. Everything’s fine. Let’s leave, okay?” I shrugged off my apron and handed it to Grill Chick Number 1. “Close up shop for me, please?”
“Yes.” She doused water on the flames of the barbecue and shut the lid.
“Let’s just go home. I’m driving,” I said.
Ryan stood there, his face wavering between anger and indecision.
“Let this one go, buddy,” Corey said.
“Fine.” Ryan dropped his fists. “Sorry, man. From where I was sitting it looked different.”
“Nothing happened,” Bear said. “Hey, we’re cool.”
“No, we’re not.” Grill Chick Number 1 eyed me as she walked away.
“Name’s Ryan.” He held out his hand to Bear who shook it. “Ryan Kessler.”
“Your dad owns Kessler’s Autos?”
“Yeah. Sorry man. Just a misunderstanding.”
“No worries,” Bear said.
“It’s all cool,” Corey said.
I tugged Ryan back down the path to the parking lot.
Gravel ground under the tires as I drove Ryan’s truck out of the parking lot at Hank’s Grill onto the narrow black topped lane. The party was still happening behind us. My arm was sprouting bruises from where both Bear and Ryan had grabbed me, but all in all, things could have been worse.
Ryan slumped against the passenger door, a hand shading his eyes.
“I think the fundraiser went really well, tonight,” I said. “People were friendly. I liked helping. Great cause—”
His backhand came out of nowhere, striking my face. My head bounced off the driver’s side window, and I lost control of the car for a few seconds. I veered off the road into the grass. Luckily I still had enough reflexes left to hit the brakes.
“What the fuck, Ryan?” My cheek stung. It wasn’t really a hard punch, just completely unexpected. I tasted a trickle of blood in my mouth, and put my hand to my lip. “What was that for?”
“You know what the fuck that was for. Don’t ever embarrass me like that in front of my friends again.”
“Embarrass? What—”
He pointed at the steering wheel. “Drive.” His voice was terse. “Just drive.”
“Right.” I dropped my trembling hand from my cheek and placed it back on the steering wheel. Bile rose into the back of my throat and fear clutched my chest. I felt
defeated. I felt powerless. I pulled back onto the darkened small road. “Of course.”
Chapter Twenty
Charlotte
I sat in my cubicle at White Glove Agency and tapped the bottom of my pen on Joseph P. Delacroix’s ten-page intake form. He’d filled out his name, date of birth, address, education, and perfect mate preference: single, female, age 24 to 35, decent figure, smart as shit. Educated. His medicals looked fine. Habits: pretty much everything in moderation.
I stared at his photo attached to the file: Dark hair. Deep eyes. A bit of scruff on his face. Fabulous shoulders.
I closed my eyes and remembered his beautiful shoulders when he was shirtless and I’d dug my nails into them, pulling him deeper inside me. I remembered dragging them down his back as he pumped his hard, well-endowed cock into me, filling me, taking my breath away. I came so hard I bit my lip so I wouldn’t scream out his name in the middle of the hospital at 3:30 in the morning.
Now, as I stared at his stupid intake form on my stupid desk, as much as it pained me, I knew the first person I wanted to set him up with was Violet Accardi. But before I committed this awful deed—an act that felt criminal on so many levels—I needed to fill in the rest of the missing spaces on his application.
Why did he drop out of the University of Wisconsin a few months before he was scheduled to earn his MBA? What did he do the year before he went to Loyola, earned his degree, and took course work for Masters in Library Science? Travel across Europe? Was he a serial killer? He’d never been married. Never been engaged according to the form. Was he just a player? Had I slept with a random player?
I wouldn’t feel right about setting him up with Violet, who I actually liked, before I found out the rest of his details. I’d already left Joe two messages regarding the unpleasant data collection. I checked my phone for texts or emails, but he hadn’t gotten back to me. I might be in the matchmaking business but I hadn’t signed up to become a professional nag.
Hailey popped her head into my space. She was munching on a chocolate donut and thrust one into my hand before I could decline. “How goes it with the new client?”
The Client: A Playing Dirty Novel Page 10
