by Rome, Ada
“So, Cami seems to be doing very well. I was shocked to see her all grown up. I was also shocked that she remembered me.”
Cayne leaned forward with one hand perched on the lifted hood, the stretch of his arm accentuating a network of rippling muscles. He straightened and dropped his hand, briefly swiping the road dust over the back pocket of his jeans.
“We all remember you, Brinley. You made quite an impression.” He suddenly sounded very serious, any trace of the mocking tone discarded. We stood in silence for a minute, a light breeze lifting a few wispy tendrils of hair across my vision. I smoothed them back into place and cleared my throat. Cayne broke the spell by dropping the car hood with a decisive thud.
“The shop is a little busy, as you can see.” He gestured to the cars already in the garage and the crowd of mechanics bustling around them. “I can’t promise you any set time frame, but I will certainly take a look at this little beauty.”
His leering grin returned. His eyes traveled once more down to my bare legs, where the breeze played at the edge of my dress. My cheeks grew warm. I pulled at my hem like a shy little girl, attempting to control the dress where it batted against my thighs and nearly revealed an unexpected peek at my peach lace panties.
“Do you need me to drive you anywhere? I hate to leave you high and dry without wheels. You’re welcome to wait here while I check out the damage, but our coffee is terrible and the reading material is mostly car mags.”
“No, that’s fine,” I said hastily and with instant regret. “I can walk.” I could have sworn that his posture sagged a bit with disappointment.
“Alright then, Brinley.” He pulled a phone from his back pocket. “Give me your number and I’ll let you know when I have some news on the car.”
His serious tone returned. My own posture wilted a little in response. I recited my number and felt an immediate buzzing in my purse. I automatically flinched at the sound and sensation. My racing pulse slowed to a normal beat when I realized that the call was coming from Cayne.
“There,” he said with a wink. “Now you have my number too.”
I opened my mouth to respond, but a squeal of tires erupted behind me, and a spray of gravel hit my ankles.
“Hey, baby!” yelled a sharp female voice with a molasses-thick drawl.
Cayne’s lips curled into a devilish smile. His green eyes glinted at something over my right shoulder. I turned to see a young woman hanging half out of the driver’s side window of a cherry red pickup truck. She wore bronze aviator sunglasses. Long wavy sections of her honey blonde hair cascaded down, framing a set of abundant sun-kissed breasts that were barely contained within a tightly stretched and practically transparent white tank top.
“You get on over here!” She slapped the car door like a command.
Cayne exhaled a chuckle through his nose and shook his head. He gave my arm a friendly pat and edged around me.
“I’ll give you a call later,” he said without even glancing in my direction. I turned just in time to see him remove the girl’s sunglasses and tenderly push a thick blonde curl behind her ear while she giggled and snapped her gum.
***
The virtue of such a small town was that I could reach almost any destination with no more than a fifteen-minute stroll. Cayne’s breezy dismissal at the auto shop still stung a bit, but I tried to put it aside. I didn’t know this new version of Cayne who leered like a playboy and oozed masculine energy. I could not honestly expect him to hold a candle for me through a decade of absence. Regardless, comments from Cami and Aunt Lu hinted that he was exactly the kind of cold womanizer of which I should steer clear, especially given my recent track record.
As if on cue, my phone buzzed. A tiny flicker of excitement sparked at the thought that it might be Cayne. That flicker was extinguished when I remembered that it was probably Granton. I braced myself and reached into the front pocket of my purse.
Hey gurl. It’s Cami. Hope you’re settling in. Wanna go drinking tonight?!?! :)
Granton had neither called nor sent any messages since the previous night. His silence was oddly more unnerving than his threats.
Finding myself only a short distance from the diner, I headed over to see Cami in person. The same tinkle of bells announced my arrival in an empty vestibule. In the mirror, I noticed that my nose and cheekbones were starting to redden from the high summer glare, and a pink scoop on my chest traced the neckline of my sundress.
“Brinley!” Cami’s cheerful call sounded from across the diner. She nearly dropped a plate of chicken-fried steak and mashed potatoes onto the linoleum as she waved toward an empty stool at the counter. “Sit down! I’ll be right over!” A flannel-clad trucker looked on hungrily. She spun and deposited the plate with a clank. I took a seat as directed.
“Good Lord,” she said with a tired huff as she bellied up to the counter and eased onto the cracked green leather stool beside me. The curls around her temples were damp. She ironed them with her palms and attempted to press them out of her face, but they sprang back like rubber. The spinning ceiling fans were doing a poor job of cooling the room. “It’s damn hot and damn busy in here.” She slapped my knee jovially. “But how are you?”
“I’m fine. I stopped by and saw Cayne today.”
“Oh reeeeeally.” Her hazel eyes danced with mischief.
“Yeah,” I responded tersely. “He’s taking a look at the car.” I declined to mention the girl with the healthy breasts and the red pickup.
“So, anyway, about tonight,” Cami abruptly switched gears and swiveled around on her stool. “We’ll get drinks at McGinley’s and catch up. It’ll be great. I should be out of here by nine. Our other full-time waitress quit last week with no warning, so I’m running double shifts until we find a replacement. Pain in the ass, I tell you.”
“I could work here.” The words were out of my mouth before I had even considered the idea. But why not? I couldn’t mooch off Aunt Lu forever.
Cami banged the counter with the crack of a rifle report. A burly customer with an Old Testament beard briefly peered at us from across the way and then returned to lazily chewing his scrambled eggs.
“Are you serious?” she shouted giddily.
I paused. Was I serious? “Yes!” I said assertively, settling the question both for her and for myself in the same breath.
“Cami!” The doughy manager emerged from the swinging kitchen doors, his squat legs paddling furiously and his bald head glistening with sweat. He threw his hands outward, fingers raised to the sky in the universal gesture of exasperation.
Cami adroitly hopped to the floor. I reached over and plucked down a section of her skirt that had flipped revealingly up over her rear end.
“Mr. Pinkles!” she chirped brightly. Then she made a ta-da motion in my direction. “Meet your newest employee, Miss Brinley LeClare.”
Mr. Pinkles looked back and forth between us in confusion. He wiped his shining dome with a napkin.
“She’s going to take the open waitress position,” Cami clarified.
“Do you have experience?” he asked with a worried glance at the packed booths.
“I have a lot of experience,” I replied.
During my lean years trying to succeed as a dancer in New York, I had done my fair share of waitressing. In fact, that was how I’d met Granton. I was working a lowly catering job at an art gallery opening. I circled the room in a black miniskirt and form-fitting turtleneck, carrying a tray of hors d’oeuvres from one knot of snooty patrons to the next. Most chose to ignore me, absently pinching a toothpick between their smooth fingers and continuing their conversations. Granton tracked my movements like a laser beam. He struck up a conversation, seeming witty and debonair. Romantic movie plots cycled through my head. Down-on-her-luck dancer meets handsome and charming millionaire. They live happily ever after. I tamped down any doubts and plunged ahead, forgetting that appearances can be very deceiving. Three weeks later, I was living in his sumptuous Fifth Avenue penth
ouse. Two months later, he told me that I should lose weight if I ever wanted to make it as a dancer. Three months after that, he hoisted me by my neck and slammed my back against a solid oak door. My fairy tale was over.
“Pleeeeeeeease, Mr. Pinkles,” Cami crooned. “Look at her. She’s perfect! She’ll even fit into Shaila’s uniform.”
“Ok, fine,” he said and distractedly shook my hand. His palm was lukewarm and mushy. “Be here tomorrow at ten for training.” Two more plates clanked onto the open ledge from the kitchen. Mr. Pinkles pointed at them and wagged his head at Cami. “Now go and serve those!”
Cami shrugged sheepishly and trotted away. Mr. Pinkles sighed, straightened his too-short tie, and took to rearranging the desserts in the pie case. It was hard for anyone, even Mr. Pinkles, to stay angry at Cami. I knew this from experience. As a child, she spent most of each dance class cartwheeling around the studio, her tutu hanging crooked and half-smooshed, and dissolving into fits of contagious laughter whenever I tried to discipline her. Cami’s spirit was irrepressible.
“I’ll text you later!” she shouted, again nearly toppling a steaming pile of biscuits and gravy into the lap of an impatient customer.
I gave a two-fingered salute and a nod as acknowledgement. Rather than burden her workload any further, I decided to head home for lunch. I slid off of my stool and departed the diner to the now familiar tinkle of overhead bells.
Chapter 4
R u ready?
That was a good question. I was wearing one of the few sexy pieces of clothing that I’d hastily shoved into my suitcase before tiptoeing out of Granton’s apartment with terror pounding in my chest in the pre-dawn hours. I wasn’t even sure what I was grabbing at that point, snatching fabric in the dark and trying to still the clattering hangers with shaking hands.
I checked my reflection in the floor-length mirror. The sleeveless black top draped appealingly low and loose over my breasts, showing a shadow of cleavage and a slight glimpse at the black lace edging of my bra when I tilted forward. The dark-washed jeans sat below my waist, hugged the curve of my hips, and clung tightly to my legs. Strappy heels lengthened my stance, and a bouncy ponytail lent a casual and youthful vibe. I took a deep breath and typed out a response to Cami.
Ready when you are.
Cayne had yet to call about my car, so I was relying on Cami for a ride to the bar. I tried not to be disappointed at his silence. I was not a priority. I was a client just like any other. My phone buzzed. I snatched it from the bedside table, assuming that it would be Cami. The message was from Granton.
Done playing runaway yet? Sleep lightly, princess. I’m watching.
My stomach swirled with acid fear. I still believed that he was bluffing. If he knew where I was, he would already be here with one hand smothering my mouth and another tearing at my pants. The vision, half memory and half nightmare, shortened my breath into ragged gasps. I sat on the bed, my clammy fingers gripping the quilt in moist folds. He is lying. He won’t find me. I kept chanting these sentences in my head like a soothing mantra until my prickly nerves cooled and my knees stopped trembling.
A car horn beeped twice out front. I peeped warily through the curtains and saw Cami waving from the front of an open Jeep. I jammed my phone into my purse and took one last look in the mirror. I placed a steadying hand over my stomach, closed my eyes, and inhaled and exhaled slowly. He is lying. He won’t find me.
“Good night, Aunt Lu,” I called in the direction of the living room as I galloped down the stairs and into the waiting night.
***
“Tell me about New York!” Cami was beaming from the other side of a scarred and heavily varnished wooden table as the raucous shouts, clinking billiard balls, and tinny jukebox music of the bar surrounded us. A margarita, filled to its salt-rimmed brim, sat in front of me. Cami stirred her rum and coke with a straw.
“There isn’t much to tell, I guess.” I peered around the bar at the unfamiliar faces. Granton’s text still had me a little shaken.
“Oh, come on,” Cami rolled her eyes. “Why so secretive?”
I took a long sip of the margarita to disguise my nerves and smiled limply. I was desperate for a new topic of conversation.
“I saw Cayne’s girlfriend at the shop today,” I said with an intentional lilt of inquiry in my voice.
Cami did a spit-take, droplets of soda spraying over the table and onto my fingers. She apologized, mopping up the mess with a napkin while she tittered with amusement.
“Cayne’s what?” She raised her eyebrows in mock astonishment.
“She drove a red pickup. Long blonde hair and, you know.” I made a cupping gesture in front of my chest to indicate big boobs.
“Oh Lord,” Cami rolled her eyes again and emitted a throaty guffaw. “Mindy Lowder. Rest easy. That girl is tackier than a barrel of tree sap. And she is definitely not Cayne’s girlfriend. She’s been after him for a solid year. Maybe they’ve fooled around. I don’t know. I don’t want to know. But Cayne could do way better and he knows it. He’s just jerking her around. I think he has several other little playthings on the side. It must be nice to be a man.”
I took another sip of my margarita. Though a part of me was pleased at the news that Cayne was unattached, several other facts were disquieting. From the intimacy of their interaction at the auto shop, I was pretty certain that Cayne and Mindy were sleeping together. And she apparently wasn’t his only “plaything.” Did I want to mix myself up with a guy who treated women like toys?
A hand on my bare shoulder sent a ripple of panic through my body. Cami’s eyes brightened in welcome.
“My two favorite girls,” said a deep voice that I immediately recognized. Cayne swept his fingers lightly over the back of my neck, flipped around the chair on my left, and sat spread-eagled with his forearms resting on the table. “Looks like a serious conversation you’re having. What is it about?”
He peered at me from the corner of his eye. I picked up my margarita and downed a good portion of it. The tequila was just beginning to go to my head. I spun a little internally as I lifted the glass for another swallow.
“Not at all,” Cami giggled and slapped her palms on the table. “Brinley thought Mindy Lowder was your girlfriend!”
All of the blood in the top half of my body seemed to rush to my temples. My ears burned with embarrassment. I felt like a teenager who’d just had her secret crush revealed to the entire high school cafeteria. Cayne swiveled the full force of his gaze in my direction.
“Is that so?” he asked. His lips curled up and sideways, his glossy teeth peeking out and his dimple popping into place. “And why would you be interested in that, Brinley?”
I puffed out my lower lip and shook my head, staring at my nails where I tapped them against the side of my glass. “No reason. You two just looked very cozy at the shop. I don’t care if you have a girlfriend. That’s none of my business.”
My insistence was only making the lie more obvious. I was also sure that my hot cheeks were splotched scarlet at this point. The grin plastered across Cayne’s face told me that he was not buying my act. Cami chuckled and hid her face behind her drink.
“Well, that’s good to hear.” He lowered his voice to a near whisper and angled toward me. “I guess we should stay out of each other’s business then.”
Before I knew what was happening, he reached over and touched the gold pendant where it lay against my chest, briefly caressing my skin as he picked it up and let it rest on his fingertips. I wondered if he could feel my quickened heartbeat. He leaned in closer, his warm breath skating across the tops of my breasts.
“Love,” he read the inscription. His flashing green eyes met mine. “What’s your story, Brinley? Someone must have been in love with you to give you this necklace.”
I tilted backward and let the pendant fall gently from his hand where it was poised in midair. “That necklace has nothing to do with love.”
A shadow of concern mixed with interest pa
ssed across his face. He nodded as if I had told him something important.
“I have to go to the ladies’ room,” I declared abruptly and rose from my chair. The tequila swished in my brain and sent my balance off kilter. I jerked a hand out to steady myself. Cayne was instantly on his feet, gripping my waist to prevent me from falling.
“We have to stop meeting like this,” he joked.
Unexpected emotions bubbled to the surface. Tears swam at the boundaries of my vision. Cayne edged his strong hands around my back and gripped me tighter, our hips pressing against each other, only a thin layer of fabric separating my flesh from his fingers where they ran gently down my spine. I looked up into his eyes.
“It’s alright,” he said with a softened tone. “Whatever it is, it’s alright.” My tears were threatening to break into a flood, so I pulled swiftly away from his grasp and clomped toward the other end of the bar, holding onto chair backs and tables for balance.
Once inside the ladies’ room, I clutched the edges of the sink and breathed deeply through my nose. Was I having a breakdown or was I just drunk? Or maybe a little of both?
When I reluctantly raised my eyes to the mirror, all I saw was fear. Perhaps I was foolish to think that I could maintain the charade of a normal existence when there was a devil hunting me. But what choice did I have? Granton had already taken so much from me. He had taken my happiness, my career, and my sense of self. He had taken my passion and my confidence, thrown them onto a bonfire fueled by his own inadequacies, and laughed as the flames licked them into charred ruins. I refused to let him take anything else.
