“It was pink at the beginning,” Jolie said. Two splotches of pink spread over her cheeks, showing her fury. “That’s what the mice made for her until the evil stepsisters cut it up.”
She shrieked so loudly, she drew the attention of the people at the surrounding tables.
“You still have a problem.” Nikki eagerly pointed out. “You’re the bride and you’re wearing white. So technically, you’re not Cinderella. We are.”
“Ugh. Do you want me to do your makeup or not?” Jolie stood, waving her finger around like a magic wand. She, of course, owned the hugely popular and chic Jolie Beauty Salon.
“Is that a threat?” Nikki crossed her arms. “’Cause I’ve just about had it with you and the baby shower colors you insist on foisting on us all in the name of a wedding.”
“Girls, girls. Let’s all clam down. Jolie has spoken,” Sherelle said, pulling Jolie back into her seat. “She wants pink, we’ll give her pink. Let’s settle on a shade other than salmon and I’m good. I don’t want anyone mistaking me for a slab of sushi.”
“What’s wrong with that?” Leanna giggled. “If the groomsmen are hunky and hungry, I’ll be all the salmon they can eat.”
“You know, that was bad, even for you,” Sherelle sighed loudly. “How about we each pick different shades of pink? Let Terri wear the lightest, blush, since she’s standing next to the bride, then go from there.”
“Fine. I’ll bring up the color wheel on my laptop and find the color code to the salmon Jolie wanted,” Nikki offered, seemingly mollified by the thought of picking her own shade. “That way, if she wants us all to look like we’re wearing the same color, I can Photoshop the pictures.”
“Sounds like a plan,” Terri quickly agreed before the girls could reopen the discussion. Her stomach was growling, and she had a huge shipment of white roses and lilies she had to arrange for a funeral.
Since she didn’t care whether they got lace, fringe, or a plain sheath, off shoulder or princess neckline, she sipped her coffee and looked out the window. Well, she didn’t care for ruffles, but she’d leave the fight to Nikki, Jolie’s roommate who was used to dealing with photographing high strung fashion models. Bet none of them wore ruffles on the runway.
It was a breezy spring day and the sun was shining, spreading rays of brightness through the thick grove of redwoods shading the restaurant. The lunch hour was starting up, and a steady stream of cars entered the parking lot.
Terri narrowed her eyes. Standing on the median strip was a large and healthy looking man. His posture was ramrod straight and from what she could see beneath his open jacket, he didn’t have an inch of fat. Large, broad shoulders, long legs, a pair of sunglasses and a baseball cap. Not a crutch in sight.
He held a cardboard sign and a coffee can.
Begging. Panhandling. Humph. He probably made more in an hour taking money from do-gooders than she did after taxes and expenses.
“What you looking at?” Leanna leaned over Terri’s shoulder. “Oh my, my, let me give him a tip to carry my groceries.”
“He’s not asking for work. He’s panhandling,” Terri corrected her friend, even though her skin heated at the thought of having that hunk handling her pan. “Hot or not, he’s what’s wrong with America. Everyone wants a handout.”
“I’ll give him a handout any time.” Leanna made the sizzling sound of drool sucking. “Yum, yum, yum.”
By now, all the girls were craning their necks, and pushing and shoving just like they had in preschool before a Bumblebee dance recital.
Nikki even had her nose pressed against the glass. “We should hire him for the bachelor party.”
“Where, where? I need to get a better look.” Jolie tried to push Terri aside.
“You’re the bride, you can’t look,” Sherelle said, leaning over Jolie. “Oh, man, take off your jacket. Take it off, dude. It’s hot out there. The sun is bearing down on you. You’re sweating bullets. Take it off, come on now, yeah, oh, yeah.”
“What are you, a panhandler whisperer?” Terri grumbled, although she wasn’t about to take her eyes off the man hunk, in case he really did remove his jacket.
And remove it he did, as the row of cars passed by and the light turned. He bent down and placed his coffee can and sign on the median, showing them a fine pair of tight buns. After that, in a single motion, he unzipped his jacket and flung it off.
Not a single female heartbeat could be heard in the diner, roadhouse, café, restaurant or whatever Cooper’s Hangout was designated, as every ovary owner silently catalogued the man before them.
A tight black T-shirt was stretched to its limits over his rock hard chest. Biceps bulged beneath the short sleeves, and a pair of broad shoulders flared down to a solid waist devoid of flab.
When the man bent again to pick up his sign and can, five pairs of high heels clip-clopped to the doorway, as Terri and her friends jostled each other, tripping over their feet, and scrambling with their purses and wallets.
“I saw him first. I have first dibs,” Terri said. She used her larger frame to block her friends from the door, but Nikki slipped under her armpit, and was off like a flash of lightning across the parking lot.
“He’s not your type,” Leanna said. She sashayed faster, bouncing every part of her anatomy as she ran out the door of the diner.
“Oh yeah? If I have to wear pink ruffles, I definitely deserve a break. Besides, don’t you have a boyfriend?” Terri caught her friend’s arm to keep her from jiggling faster.
A large semi truck lumbered slowly through the intersection, cutting off their view of the delectable man, and by the time Terri had pressed the pedestrian button on the signal pole and the light had changed, the man was walking toward the extension parking lot across the street.
“He probably made enough beer money for the day,” Terri said. Just for kicks she yelled. “Get a job and pay taxes like the rest of us.”
Her heart stopped when the man turned and stared at her. A sickening feeling slid down her spine as her friends melted away from her side and headed back to the restaurant.
Chapter Four
Ryker lowered his sunglasses and glared across the street at the entitled female who’d come out of the restaurant with her posse to confront him for panhandling. It was a stroke of good luck that a truck had driven so slowly through the intersection, giving him ample time to cross the street.
He would have let it go, in fact, he should let it go, but the woman, and that was a charitable term for the way he was feeling, had told him to get a job and pay taxes.
And now, she was standing there with her mouth wide open as if she was shocked he hadn’t turned tail and run.
Either that, or his fly was down.
Ryker wasn’t going to take his eyes off her to check, so he tucked the can and sign under one arm and ran a finger over his zipper. It wasn’t open, so she had no reason to continue staring at him.
Against his better judgment, he set his can and sign on the sidewalk and jogged across the street like a missile locked onto its target.
She wasn’t a bad looking woman. In fact, the closer he got, the more he liked what he saw. Curvy and tall, she wore her blond hair straight and parted to one side. She had on a greenish-blue cowl-necked sweater that accentuated her shapely boobs, and despite her fuller figure, her waist narrowed enough to give her an hourglass shape.
Her sapphire blue eyes widened as he closed in, and her mouth opened into an oval surrounded by tart pink lips that he would have been tempted to lick had she not insulted him.
“How do you know I’m not looking for a job?” He lowered his voice to a growl. “What gives you the right to judge me? Do you know me? Do you know what I’ve done? Where I’ve been?”
“I, uh …” The woman swallowed and lost her slack-jawed look. “Just think you should work for a change. Able-bodied man like yourself.”
Her curious eyes took the opportunity to tour Ryker’s body, lingering at a few obvious bulges—biceps, p
ectorals, for starters, before returning to his face.
Right, she was checking out the goods while reserving the right to judge. He wanted to rip her a new one: to tell her to get her privileged ass out of her comfy McMansion, to volunteer at a soup kitchen or visit an orphanage in Afghanistan. But then, he would be just as bad as her—judging without knowing her.
“I’m Ryker Slade. I would love to work. If you have a job for me, I’ll be glad to take it. I’m not picky. I’ll do anything except stand guard.”
“You have a criminal record?” The woman’s eyes narrowed in an assessing manner. She struck him as a no nonsense type, and there was no point lying to her.
“Charged with unlawful sexual intercourse when I was seventeen with a girl my own age, but my record’s been wiped clean and I served in the Marines with no infractions. I was injured in my last tour of duty. Here I am, ready for whatever job you have in mind.”
The buxom blonde’s lips curved upward as if amused. “Unlawful sexual intercourse, you say? Guess that wouldn’t disqualify you from arranging flowers.”
“Arranging what?” Ryker jerked his head back, not sure if he’d heard her correctly.
“Flowers, I’m a florist.” The woman held her hand out to shake. “Name’s Terri Martin, owner of Love Me Flowers, you know that love me, love me not thing they do with daisies?”
“Actually I don’t.” He took her hand, surprised to find it warm and cozy. “Nice to meet you, Terri, er, Miss Martin. Does this mean I’m hired?”
“On a temporary basis,” Terri replied. “And you can call me Terri. I have a guy who does deliveries and an assistant, but we had a rash of funerals lately, and I need an extra pair of hands.”
“Great. What’s the pay?”
Ryker let his hand linger too long, because Terri withdrew her fingers and frowned. “Minimum wage. Or do you make more per hour panhandling?”
He’d like to wipe that scowl off her pretty face, but she was the boss lady, so he nodded politely and said, “I’ll take it. I can start right away.”
She slipped a twenty dollar bill from her wallet. “Here’s cab fare and my business card. I’ll see you at two o’clock. Two fifteen latest, or the deal’s off.”
Without waiting for him to give the money back, she wheeled around and walked away, and boy did he enjoy watching her hips sway and the way the wind played with her hair.
“God bless you,” he shouted after her, but either she didn’t hear, or she’d already written him off, deciding that he’d take the twenty and run.
Except Marines ran toward trouble, not away.
Chapter Five
Too late, Terri realized her friends had seen the entire interaction. She wandered back into the restaurant to their expectant faces.
“Omigod!” Leanna squealed. “You totally flirted with him, you slut, you.”
Jolie patted her shoulder. “I thought he was going to tackle you the way he charged you, like a rutting male elk.”
“Rutting male elks only charge other rutting male elks,” Sherelle corrected. “But what’s with giving him money? I thought you didn’t want to encourage panhandlers.”
“Oh, she makes an exception for the hunky ones,” Nikki commented while looking at her smartphone. “I took a video. Too bad I didn’t get the sound. What did you say to him? What did he say to you?”
“I offered him a job.” Terri smoothed her wispy hair and patted it down, then bumped her behind into the booth, edging Nikki to the corner. She hoped she sounded casual enough. It wasn’t as if she’d offered him a date.
“Doing what? Delivering flowers?” Jolie’s eyebrows arched. “I can’t imagine but he’d scare away all the customers.”
“Or, get a little action on the side,” Leanna said. “Think I’m ordering me a little bouquet and a bottle of bubbly this afternoon.”
“Did you check his references?” Sherelle, always the voice of caution, interjected. “Rough looking guy like that. I bet he’s running drugs.”
“He says his record’s clean. Former Marine,” Terri replied. “Only trouble he ever got into was unlawful sexual intercourse.”
“Unlawful? Like what? He was caught with a prostitute?” Jolie frowned. “I can’t believe he admitted it to you.”
“He was seventeen having sex with a seventeen-year-old girl, or so he says. They threw it out of his record.” For some reason, Terri felt the need to defend Ryker.
“Sounds like a come-on to me,” Leanna said. “How much did you give him?”
“Twenty bucks cab fare and my card.” Terri felt her cheeks heating up. She hardly dared to expect to see him again.
“Ai yi yi!” Leanna exclaimed. “I’m going back to the flower shop with you. See if he shows up.”
“Don’t you have a cake to bake or a piecrust to roll out?” Terri tried not to feel possessive about Ryker. After all, she’d been the one to give him a handout. “Besides, I don’t expect him to show up. Easiest twenty dollars he ever got. I ought to have him arrested for aggressive panhandling.”
Four pairs of eyes zeroed in on Terri, making her squirm in her seat. Sweat dampened between her boobs and she knew she was making too big a deal out of this.
She picked up the menu with a flourish and parked her nose in it. “Let’s order. I’m starved.”
“Oh no, not until we take a bet,” Jolie, her supposed best friend from preschool play dates, said. “I bet he shows.”
“Me, too,” Leanna chimed in. “He totally has the hots for you. Did you see how he catalogued your entire body?”
“Well, if he did, that’s all the more reason for disappearing.” Terri desperately tamped down the flicker of hope that Ryker might have honestly wanted a job.
“Oh, he’ll show,” Nikki said. “Can’t miss the chemistry in the body language. Here, let me rerun the video.”
“I agree,” Sherelle concluded authoritatively. “He left his can and sign on the other side of the road and took off on a motorcycle. A big, souped-up Harley.”
All eyes turned to the window again. Sure enough, the can, presumably empty, was sitting on the sidewalk across the street.
“A motorcycle?” Terri’s stomach rumbled and rolled as if a wild squirrel had taken up residence. Her supposedly homeless Marine had a motorcycle? Then he couldn’t be as down or out as he’d portrayed himself to be.
“Terri, are you betting he won’t show up?” Jolie made markings on a napkin.
“Yeah, sure, what are we betting for?” Terri took a gulp of ice water and slapped herself on the inside for believing the handsome, rugged stranger oozing with testosterone.
“Ruffles,” Jolie said. “If you lose, you’re wearing ruffles.”
“And if I win?” Terri lifted her chin to show them she wasn’t the least bit upset to have parted with twenty of her hard earned after-tax dollars.
“We hire someone from Bad Boys for Hire for your birthday party.”
Chapter Six
After a quick meal from a food truck, Ryker checked the time and rode to his buddy Axe’s property in the backwoods of Old La Honda Road. He hoped his buddy was home, but he knew where the spare key was hidden.
The rumble from his Harley alerted the big black mastiff guarding the cabin. It lunged from behind a chain linked fence, barking and baring his teeth.
“Shut up, Gio,” Ryker growled, tossing a strip of beef he’d saved from the kebob sandwich he’d had for lunch.
Working for a florist wasn’t his first choice of jobs, but the owner was definitely an attraction—not that he should jeopardize his job by chatting her up. Still, she would be good to look at, and her shapely curves definitely revved his engine. He glanced at the business card and chuckled. Love Me Flowers. Very catchy and clever, just like the owner.
The dog wolfed down the meat and resumed barking, but no longer showed his teeth.
Ryker leaned on the doorbell and waited, giving his buddy time to get decent if he was wrapped between a woman’s legs. Axe Salvadori ow
ned a nightclub in Foster City, and he plowed through women like a bull goring a matador’s red cape.
The dog, meanwhile, kept up the barking and growling, which would take the heat off whatever action was going on inside. Ryker buzzed the bell long and hard.
“Enough, enough,” shouted a deep, Italian-accented voice from inside. Heavy footsteps plodded toward the door. “Ryker, this better be good.”
Axe knew none of the few door to door solicitors would drive down his winding road and face down Gio, short for Gio Batta, the large Italian mastiff used by ancient Roman legions in warfare. A Cane Corso was not a dog anyone would want to mess with.
The door was thrown open to a bare-chested man with streaks of lipstick over his face, pulling up his pants.
“I need some clothes,” Ryker said. “Got a job.”
“What about my offer to tend bar at the club?” The other man stood back to let Ryker enter.
“You know the reason,” Ryker said. His former motorcycle club hung out at Axe’s nightclub, and there was no way he could step in there without blowing it into a full fledged war.
“Maybe they forgave you already,” Axe mumbled under his breath. Neither man really believed that, and Axe would never understand the motorcycle life, and what a betrayal Ryker’s actions had been both to his family and to his club brothers.
“What’s the new job?” Axe led the way past the bedroom to a room that served as a storage closet. Despite Axe inviting him to stay with him, Ryker knew better than to impose on his buddy who kept late night hours and favored screamers in bed, sometimes more than one.
“Doesn’t matter. Might have customers, so I need slacks, dress shirt, loafers. Business casual.”
“Do I look like a department store?” Axe’s grin split his rugged face as he slapped Ryker on the back.
Despite all the ribbing, the men were tight like brothers—maybe tighter than Ryker was with his blood brothers. He shoved the thought of his family from his mind.
Bad Boys for Hire: Ryker (Bad Boys for Hire #1) Page 2
