“I don’t care if you don’t want to go. I have been given explicit directions to make sure you don’t become a crazy old cat lady by staying cooped up in the house forever.”
“What?” I slam my hands on my hips. “You told you that?”
He cocks an eyebrow at the stupidity of my question. “Miranda,” I say. “Of course it was Miranda.”
He nods. “She didn’t give me a choice in the matter, so I’m not giving you a choice either. I’m not sure what made you move from Houston to Salt Gap, but that girl made it very clear that I need to get you out of the house.”
I turn my eyes to the ceiling and let out a long, dramatic sigh. It is right about now that I realize I will be going with him tonight, no matter how hard I wish I could stop it. My brain and my heart are battling and I have no idea which side I’m on, or even which side I want to be on. “Fine, I’ll go.”
His face lights up and his crystal-blue eyes go all twinkly at the sides. I hold up my hand in defiance. “Not because of you. I’m doing this for my niece is who is one feisty beyotch when she doesn’t get her way.”
“Fair enough. Get dressed.” He crosses his arms in front of his chest. It takes a massive amount of effort for me to look away from his bulging forearms and that cute vein that starts on his bicep and disappears under the sleeve of his shirt.
Tyler drives us to a metal warehouse a few miles off the main road, parking in the grass next to a row of trucks that are all similar to his own beat up Chevy. You’d think this place was some kind of manufacturing facility if not for the blaring music and tacky neon beer signs that lead the way to a raised garage door. A bouncer who looks no older than twenty-one himself nods at us as we walk inside and I’m a tiny bit offended that I don’t get carded. I always got carded in Houston.
Pop-a-Top is different from the bars I’m used to back at home. Sure, we have our hole-in-the-wall shit holes in Houston, but most of the bars I go to are classy and upscale which is the total opposite of where I am tonight. The music is country, the smoke in the air is just from cigarettes and not weed, and the people are friendly. I’m definitely not in Houston anymore.
Tyler leads us through rows of pool tables to the back of the building where the bartender, a hot woman covered in tattoos, takes my drink order and then pops off the cap of my Bud Light bottle with her thumb ring.
Tyler holds up his beer and we clink them together although I’m not sure what it is that we’re toasting to.
“To Robin getting out of the house!” he says, taking the thought straight out of my head. I roll my eyes and take a long sip of beer. It doesn’t escape my notice that he watches me the whole time. I find myself thinking really stupid things like, I wonder if I drank this beer sexy enough.
“How about another toast?” I say after swallowing a deep bitter gulp.
Tyler drinks from his beer and then lifts an eyebrow along with his drink. “Okay, what’ll it be?”
“To new friends,” I say with a smirk. “To new, annoying, intruding, demanding friends.”
“Aww, come on,” Tyler drawls, tilting his head to the left as his lips form into a pout. I’m not even drunk yet and the only thing that goes through my head is how badly I want to run my tongue across those gorgeous pouty lips.
I poke him in the chest. “Don’t aww me,” I snap. “You took me out of my peaceful afternoon and forced me to come here. I think I’m allowed to complain about it just a little bit.”
“Fair enough,” he says for the second time tonight. “But you’re only allowed two more complaints for the night and then I’m cutting you off.”
“Only two, huh?” I hold up one finger. “You told me I was dressed appropriately for this stupid bar and you lied. All the girls here look like some kind of cowgirl slut and here I am in a freaking dress.”
“That wasn’t a lie.” He takes another sip, dragging out my wait to hear his explanation. “That was me single-handedly ensuring that you’d be the hottest woman here. No one likes the cowgirl slut routine. Every damn guy in this place has been checking you out since you walked in so I’d say I did a good job picking out that dress.”
“Oh my god no they aren’t.” I roll my eyes and do a pretty good job of faking like I’m not completely embarrassed and flattered at the same time.
The fast paced country song comes to an end and the sudden silence between songs makes Tyler’s gaze feel more intimate than it should. He’s sipping his beer, watching me squirm with this little smirk on his face. Ugh, I hate him.
Another song starts up, a slow country ballad that I remember from my childhood. It’s a Travis Tritt song—I don’t even know how I know that. I think Mom loved him. And she loved this song, I had the Best of Intentions.
“You okay?” Tyler asks, nudging me on the elbow.
“Yeah.” I smile. “I just haven’t heard this song in a while.” I don’t tell him about the pang of nostalgia that rises up in my stomach, showing me memories of Grandpa dancing around the kitchen with Mom while they sang along to this song. She always popped in the Travis Tritt CD when she was on one of her heartbroken rampages. Then she’d badmouth my father for leaving us and tell me over and over again, “That’s why you’re a Carter not a Smith. You hear me? You’re a Carter! You’re my blood. Not his!”
The strong scent of men’s cologne chokes me out of that daydream and brings me back into the real world. An older man who is dressed to the nines in his Wrangler jeans, an ironed plaid cowboy shirt and a fancy hat that probably cost a fortune stands in front of us. He shakes Tyler’s hand.
“I ought to whoop your ass, boy,” he says.
“Why’s that?” Tyler asks, seemingly unaffected by the man’s threat.
“Because you ain’t asked this pretty girl to dance yet. What is wrong with you, boy?”
Before Tyler can answer, the old man reaches out and takes my hand. “Would you have this dance with me, darling?” I glance at Tyler and find him watching me with a curious expression. I think he’s judging me, trying to guess if I’ll play it safe and refuse the old man or if I’m up for a little adventure. Not wanting to let him down, I stand up. “I would love to dance with you,” I tell the man.
I don’t look back at Tyler as my partner walks me to the dance floor, but I’m pretty sure I know what expression is on that ridiculously cute face of his.
I don’t dace well enough to be considered good at it, but luckily neither does my partner. He introduces himself as Joe Luebeck the third, born and raised in Salt Gap, Texas. “I’m Robin Carter,” I say in return. “I was born in Texas but raised in Houston.”
“That’s good enough, I suppose. A Texan is a Texan. You know I used to know a Carter.”
“Oh yeah?” I remember the photo in the counter at the diner. “Who?”
“Ol’ Joe Carter. We had the same first name but we couldn’t be more different. My daddy spoiled us but he was poor and worked for every damn thing he had.” My heart almost stops as I hear this new information. Out of all the people in this town, I’ve stumbled upon one who knew my grandfather. How many Joe Carters could there be in Salt Gap? It has to be him. “I didn’t have to work much, you know.” He smiles at me as we shuffle around the dance floor.
“That was my grandfather,” I say.
“No kiddin’?”
I shake my head as we dance to the slow country song. “Did you know him well?”
“Naw, not really. He was older than me. We had the same name though so that’s how I knew him. He was a good man. What happened to him?”
“He started a real estate business in Houston.” I swallow, gripping the old man’s boney shoulders as we traipse around the dance floor. I catch Tyler in the corner of my eye, still sitting at the bar watching me. I look back at Joe. “He passed away a couple months ago.”
“I’m sorry to hear that, Darlin.”
When the song ends, Joe leads me back to the bar. I hold on to his elbow and he seems to really like that. We walk up to Tyler and Joe
grabs my hand, placing it on Tyler’s arm. Then he pats my shoulder and gives Tyler a piercing stare. “You take care of her, ya hear? This girl’s a real lady.”
Tyler nods. “Yes, sir. Will do.”
I roll my eyes as soon as Joe is out of earshot. “Old people are adorable.”
“He’s a character,” Tyler says, signaling to the bartender. “Ready for another?” he asks me. I shrug because yeah, I do want one, but no, I’m not sure I want him to pay for it. But he does. And when he hands me a second beer all I can do is thank him and wish that things didn’t feel so awkward. There was a time when I liked men buying me drinks. Now, well, now I don’t know what I like.
“So how’s the apartment?”
“It’s great,” I say, thankful for something to talk about. “I don’t like not having cable television but that isn’t your fault.”
He shakes his head. “You tourists are all the same. You can’t waste your life watching TV, ya know.” He nudges my arm with his cold beer bottle. “You’re young. You should be out doing stuff.”
I lift an eyebrow. “I do stuff.”
“Yeah?” I watch his lips as they slip over the bottle and take another long drink of beer. “Like what?”
“Like…stuff.” I can’t stop watching his lips long enough to know that my answer was stupid.
Tyler sets the bottle down, thank god, and leans forward. His smile hints that he knows something I don’t and I am dying to figure out what it is. “Oh yeah? Stuff?” he says as his eyes settle on mine. “Stuff like go on a date with me?”
I am silent for an entire five seconds. You’d think my hesitation would make him retract his offer, but he doesn’t. My mouth opens and I stumble over my reply. “I don’t exactly…date…”
“People you rent apartments from?”
I shake my head. “No, just…anyone.”
“Really?” He frowns. “Can I ask why not?”
I look at the bar and run my fingernail down a scratch in the polished wood. “It’s just a thing I started doing ever since I was in this situation where I was engaged and well…it didn’t work out.”
He smiles, tilting his head when he looks at me. “Ah, okay. Well I know how that is.”
“You do?”
“Well, no. But I get it. You have to do what’s right for you.”
I nod and gulp down half of my beer at once. Tyler laughs and signals for the bartender once again. “Now that I’ve made this sufficiently awkward, how about another drink?”
I hold up my bottle and we clink them together in a toast, although I’m not sure what we’re toasting to. “Sounds like good plan. I’ll ignore the elephant in the room if you will.”
I swear I see his tanned cheeks blush. He takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly. “Consider it ignored.”
Chapter 5
I sit on the back porch steps and watch the bluebonnets sway in the breeze. Beyond the vast field of blue lies a small pond and then an old barbed wire fence. The Texas land is mostly flat and I can see for miles, but the patch of bluebonnets is more beautiful to me than miles of what lies beyond it. Marcus said they would all die soon because of the approaching cold weather and this makes me a little sad. I can’t imagine the back yard without all the blue. Still, even empty it would be more beautiful than my view of buildings and public transportation busses from back home.
Just thinking about it makes me depressed. Before long, I realize I’ve been sitting here with my toes in the grass, staring at bluebonnets and contemplating the meaning of life so long that it’s yielded no epiphanies and just a whole lot of depression.
I can’t get a job around here because I’m only qualified to sell real estate and there isn’t much of that happening around here. I don’t have many friends yet because I’m unemployed and don’t meet anyone. What I need is a hobby. Hobbies could lead to friends and maybe even a job. At this point I would take almost anything because it doesn’t matter how much money it made. I just need to tackle my to-do list and get a grip on my new life already.
I hear footsteps from inside the house which means Miranda probably came home for lunch again, although I can’t fathom ever getting tired of the diner’s food. Maybe she’ll have an idea for a hobby I can take up to help me pass the time. Something other than back-porch-sitting, for which I’m already incredibly talented. Unfortunately, back-porch-sitting doesn’t give me any intellectual stimulation. If anything, it makes my situation worse.
“Randy, I need a hobby!” I yell, calling Miranda by the nickname she hates as I bounce through the back door.
“You could try fishing,” a voice calls back. “But my name’s Tyler.”
I stop short at the sight of him standing in my living room, in a clean pair of dark jeans and black T-shirt. He holds a tape measure in one hand and a strip of floor molding in the other. “Sorry for the intrusion,” he says, taking a carpenter pencil out of his back pocket. “I just talked to Miranda and she said you wouldn’t be home and I could stop on by.”
“Sure thing,” I say, pulling open the refrigerator door and burying my face inside to help me cool off from what I’m assuming is a flushed face. Miranda knows I’m home today and that I’ll be home all day. I bitched about it as she was getting ready for work. She did this on purpose. Mentally, I vow revenge then grab a soda so I don’t look like a freak with my head in the fridge. “You want a drink?” I ask him.
He’s on his knees, nailing in that last floor board. I lean against the counter and watch him work. I could get used to this view. “No thanks,” he grunts. “I’ve got a beer in the truck.”
“Lucky,” I mutter under my breath as I walk past him and sink into the air mattress pretend couch. I’d love to stare at his ass all day but that’s never gotten me anywhere in life. I’d also love to have a beer, but again—that didn’t work out too well for me last time I had a drink since I was asked out by my hot landlord and then denied him like an idiot.
“So, you coming fishing?” Tyler asks, dusting his hands on his jeans.
“You were serious?”
He nods. “I was about to hit the lake back there. I have an extra fishing rod if you’d like to join me.”
“I’ve never been fishing in my life,” I say. Somewhere in the back of my mind, my libido is jumping around and telling me to shut the hell up and let him take me fishing. But I’m pretty sure that my clumsiness and lack of know-how when it comes to anything remotely outdoorsy will only make him run away screaming and never talk to me again.
“There’s no better hobby on earth than fishing.” He holds out his hand to help me get up from the air mattress and I take it instinctively. He smiles and a million dirty things run through my head. He thinks fishing is the best hobby in the world? I bet I could show him a few things that would change his mind.
My feet wobble unsteadily on the dock. It’s a floating dock. Not like the kind of thing I’m used to where a pier juts out into a lake and is firmly rooted to the ground. No, this one is attached to the ground by a measly rope that Tyler used only for a few seconds so he could push us out into the middle of the pond.
If I wasn’t on a mission to impress the pants off him with my charm and wit—the literal pants, I mean—then I would most likely be kicking and screaming and begging to get off this thing. I keep picturing it flipping over and dumping us into the brown water where some kind of loch ness monster will then devour us with its big gnashing teeth.
Tyler pops the lid off a plastic container in his hand. I catch a whiff of the most disgusting smell I’ve ever experienced in my entire life. And I once tripped in a pile of dog crap while taking out the trash to an overflowing dumpster. This is worse.
“Sweet baby Jesus, what is that?” I clamp my hand over my nose, and then the other one over my mouth for good measure. He laughs, but I can tell he’s holding back his gag reflex as well. He grabs a brown piece of the crap in the container, and for all I know it really is crap, and shoves it on his fishing hook.
&nb
sp; “It’s stink bait.” He drops his fishing pole and grabs the hook of the pole in my hand. I watch in horror as he gets another piece of the stink bait and holds it up. “It’s made of meat bits and cheese and just all kinds of gross-smelling shit.”
I wave my hand and push him away. “I don’t need to see it up close, thanks.”
He baits my hook with the stuff and gives me back my fishing pole. “The catfish go crazy for this. The worse it smells, the more they like it.”
I look at my stink-baited hook from an arm’s length away. It’s not a normal fish hook, the kind I would picture when thinking of a fish hook with my limited knowledge of fishing. Instead of being shaped like the letter J, it’s a tripod of hooks, with three extremely sharp and dangerous-looking hooks poking out like a triangle.
“What kind of hook is this?” I ask, immediately picturing the poor fish whose mouth will get massacred with this thing and deciding that this will absolutely not be my new hobby.
“It’s a treble hook. It’s the best way to catch a catfish. Those things have really tough mouths.”
“Oh, so we’re cheating?” I say with a snort. “People in the old days didn’t have all this crazy technology and they still caught fish.” He raises an eyebrow and doesn’t look like he appreciates the joke.
“If you want to reach in there with your bare hand and catch a fish, then be my guest.”
I smile politely and shut up. Why do I always do this? I can’t just enjoy the moment with a guy I like and let him be the smart, knowledgeable one. My practicality and incessant need to question everything always makes me say some totally rude thing and insult the poor guy. Why, why, why, why? I can’t apologize and I can’t back track—that never works. So I just smile politely as the floating pier sways in the breeze. The motion mixed with the scent of stink bait in the air and the nervous way my stomach flips when Tyler smiles is sure to have me spilling my lunch into the lake today. I bet the catfish would like that.
“All you have to do is hold the pole like this,” Tyler says, swinging his arms back like he’s holding a baseball bat. “Then press this button to release the hook.” In a quick, skilled motion with those gorgeous arms of his, he swings and releases the hook and it plops into the water about forty feet away. “Then what?” I ask.
The Fate Series Box Set (Robin and Tyler Book 4) Page 10
