by Ivy Raine
“How’s the fishing today!” Marta pulled out her smile and headed to Travis’ table with her pen and order pad ready.
He shook his head. “It could be better.”
Marta laughed. “You say that every week.”
Travis looked up at her. She’d expected a smile, but was met with concern.
“Do I?”
Marta raised a brow. “Usually, but that’s okay. Stability’s a good thing, Travis.”
His black eyes glimmered and a smile spread across his face. “I suppose I’m a bit redundant. It’s just fisherman talk. Ignore it. Do you like to fish?”
Marta knew where this was headed. “I haven’t gone for a while, but I like it. How about you?” Deflective questions had gotten her out of more than one tight spot, and she hoped it worked this time.
He looked confused. “Well, I am a fisherman.”
“Yes,” said Marta. “But do you like it.”
It didn’t take more than a moment of thought for Travis to answer. “I do. I couldn’t imagine a different life. It’s all I’ve known since I took my first steps. My dad would come home smelling like the ocean and I couldn’t wait until the summer I turned twelve so I could start going out with him.” The faraway look in his eyes confirmed it. “Yep. It’s a good life.”
Marta tested her pen on the border of her pad. “Do you want your Thursday regular?”
Travis nodded. “Sounds good.” He clipped his menu shut and slid it off to the side. “You wouldn’t want to go fishing sometime, would you?”
Damn. It didn’t work. “Maybe sometime. I’m really busy with work right now, though, and don’t have much free time.” And in a few months, she thought to herself, she’d be back in the city in her nice, new office.
He nodded and folded his massive calloused hands under his chin. “I understand, but at least you have a job.”
“Yeah, and I’d better get moving if I want to keep my job.” Something kept her there a moment longer. Guilt, possibly, for turning him down yet again.
“I absolutely will not go to the prom with you.” Marta crossed her arms and shook her head. “First of all, I don’t have the cash for a dress, and second, my parents would never allow it. It’s not like your name’s not been foisted all around the neighborhood lately, you know.”
Kyle shrugged. “She wasn’t pregnant. Besides, I never even touched her.”
Marta slapped a hand to her forehead. “That’s not the point.”
“Then what is the point, Marta!”
No use pretending. “You’re a whore.”
When his lip first began to curl, Marta was sure she’d witness tears, but his mouth kept going into a full out grin. “Seriously?”
Marta’s eyes widened. “That’s not something to be proud of, Kyle!”
He shrugged. “So you won’t go out with me because I’m a piece of red-hot real estate. Is that it?”
“You’re missing it entirely.” Marta spun around and dropped down into the soft, spring grass that hadn’t yet received its first cut. “If I go out with you, everyone’s gonna think I’m a whore, too.”
Kyle plopped down beside her. “I thought about that.” He picked at the tiny, purple flowers pushing up through the green carpet. “But they know we’re best friends.”
Best friends. Marta hadn’t heard him call her that for a long time.
“When did that happen?”
He rolled onto his back and looked up at her. “Don’t be stupid, Marta. Just because we don’t hang together as much anymore doesn’t mean we’re not friends.”
She looked away, tears filling her eyes. “You could have told me that when you ditched me day after day. Do you have any idea how many days I ate lunch alone?”
Reaching up, he grabbed a handful of curls and tossed them over her shoulder. “I know. I’m sorry. But, you didn’t bother trying to make any friends, Marta.”
Now, she just wanted to slap him. “I did try, dope! The only girls who want to be my friend are ones who are trying to get to you. Do you know what it’s like trying to fend off a bunch of pretend friends who turn into bitches when you refuse to help them?” She turned her back to him. “Of course you don’t. You’ve never had a shortage of friends.”
“Well,” said Kyle, sitting up, “you did have Amie.”
Marta rolled her eyes. “Yeah. For a whole six months.”
Amie. Even though they’d only been friends for a short time, Marta missed her. She was nothing like the girls around town. She was quiet and kept to herself – just like Marta. They kept in touch for a little while after Amie’s mother was transferred to another location, but the contact dropped off after a year or so, leaving Marta alone in a sea of estrogen.
“So I guess that’s a ‘no’, right?”
“Marta?”
Marta jumped when Travis spoke.
“I’m sorry,” she said, pulling herself back to reality. “I was just trying to remember what you normally have to drink with your meal.”
Travis didn’t look too convinced, but Marta had little else to offer up for her complete zone-out.
“Water’s good.”
She nodded and slid the stubborn pen across the pad, the ink skipping several loops. “I’ll be right back.”
Her heart was still pounding when she passed Midge in the kitchen.
“Hey! You okay?” Midge caught Marta’s sleeve.
“Yeah.” Marta fanned her face with her order pad. “Just a little warm.”
“What’s going on, ladies?”
Shit. Mr. Mirelli.
“Nothing.” Marta tried to smile, but the room seemed to darken. “I’m just a little hot.”
He put one arm around her shoulders and led her to a chair. “Sit down for a few minutes. You look a little pale.” He stood hovering over her. “What did you eat today?”
Confused, Marta looked up at him. “What?”
“Food. You need it to live.”
Rubbing a hand across her face, Marta tried to remember. “Nothing, I guess. I was in a hurry this morning and -.”
“And nothing,” he said, finishing her sentence. “You can’t stand on your feet all morning without something in your stomach. That’s a good way to land on your head. Paige!”
“Yes, Mr. Mirelli?” Paige seemed to materialize out of thin air.
“Get Marta a lunch tray. She’s taking her break early.”
“Really, I’m fine.” Protesting, as Marta quickly found, was pointless.
Mr. Mirelli unleashed his stern look, sending Marta farther back into the chair. “Do I pay you, Miss Manchester?”
Marta raised a brow and checked her words. “Obviously.”
“Obviously,” he repeated. “That means that I want you to do the work that I pay you for, and you can’t do that work if you’re passed out from not eating. See how that works?”
Marta sucked her cheeks between her teeth to keep from saying what was on the tip of her tongue. Thankfully, Paige arrived at just the right moment.
After inspecting the offering, and apparently finding it to his liking, Mr. Mirelli sat the tray on Marta’s lap. “Eat. Every bite.” He turned to walk away, but stopped. “And don’t get up until you feel better.”
The smile he left with Marta melted her anger away. Why did she have to get so damn defensive all the time and why did he have to smile at her like that? She wasn’t done being pissed off at him. Marta took a deep breath to chase away the hint of dizziness knocking around in her head. Though it pained her to admit it, Bradley Mirelli was right: food is a girl’s best friend.
Marta spent the next twenty minutes pondering whether or not Mr. Magic Chef had a girlfriend or if he was, as it so readily appeared, monogamous with his kitchen. By the time she’d finished her lunch, Marta had him all figured out. His girlfriend was a redhead named Liz who refused to marry him until he was able to spend at least ten consecutive minutes a day with her.
“That’ll never happen,” Marta mumbled under her breath
as she watched Mr. Mirelli flip a steak on the grill.
“Feeling better?” Midge blew by with a tray of drinks. “We’re getting a little backed up out there.”
“I’m on my way.” Marta slid her tray onto the conveyor.
“Marta!”
Shit. She almost made it out.
“Yes?”
Mr. Mirelli wiped his hands on his apron as he hurried toward her. “I need you to stick around here in the kitchen. I’m a girl short and it’s our busy night.”
Midge shrugged and headed back out into the den of hungry customers.
Marta wasn’t so sure. “Kitchen duty. No tips in kitchen duty.”
“You’d be surprised. A steak grilled to perfection, according the customer’s desires, of course, commands a nice tip.”
The flame from the grill flicked up, taunting Marta. “I don’t know about this. I’m not much of a cook. Stash usually does the cooking.”
Mr. Mirelli stopped in mid flip of an inch thick steak. “Stash?”
“A friend of mine. He’s pretty good in the kitchen,” she said as she washed her hands. “Especially breakfast.”
“Breakfast. Does he cook for you often?”
Taking the two-tined fork from Mr. Mirelli’s hand, Marta attempted to flip the next steak. “Usually every morning. Sometimes I cook if he sleeps in late, but I burn everything to a crisp. Even the orange juice.”
“Feel free to bring him to the bonfire. Maybe he and I can trade a few cooking stories.”
Marta bit her lip, hoping he didn’t press further; her hope was short-lived.
“You are coming, right?”
The steak she was tending to began to sizzle. “I hadn’t really decided yet.”
“You’ll have a good time. Guaranteed.” His added caveat was made with gusto, and it demanded a response.
Trying her best to fake a smile, Marta nodded her head. “I’ll do my best.”
Chapter 6
“Would you just take a look at this!” The safety-blue check pinched between Stash’s fingers flapped in the ocean breeze. “Three hundred and forty-five free and clear bucks. Flipping it over, he admired it some more. “And to think that a few weeks ago we were worried about gas money.”
Marta couldn’t help but feel an insane level of excitement for Stash. Their little adventure was proving successful, and everything seemed to be falling into place. “We’re practically rich! Together we’ll be rolling in cash.”
Stash gave her a quick hug and stuffed the check down in his pocket. “I think I’d give up the cash to be rolling in bed, but since you’re being stubborn, I guess this is a pretty good alternative – for now.” He plunked down in the hammock strung between two posts. “It feels good to be among the working again.”
Kicking off her sandals, Marta sat down in the sand near Stash. “What do you mean, ‘again’? Just how long have you been unemployed, anyway?”
He tapped a finger against his chin. “Too long to remember.”
Marta wasn’t quite sure whether to believe that one. “How did you survive? Who bought your food and paid for your necessities?”
Reaching down, Stash grabbed Marta’s sun hat and dropped it over his face. “Isn’t that what women are for?”
“Seriously?” Marta rose up on her knees and lifted the brim of the hat away from his face. “That makes you –”
Before she could finish her sentence, Stash reached out and enveloped her with his arms, pulling her down into the hammock beside him and straight into a deep, time-stopping kiss.
Struggle. Marta tried that for about two seconds before the intoxicating feel of his deliciously sweet mouth against hers completely wiped away the logical reasoning area of her brain. The warmth of his breath against her cheek and the subtle way he wrapped his fingers through her curls as he cradled her head nearly burned up any and all common sense pathways. Instinct kicked in and Marta found herself wrapping her legs around him – and then he pulled away as if nothing ever happened.
“That makes me smart,” he said, plopping Marta’s hat back on her head.
Untangling her legs from his and trying very hard to ignore the hormones racing through her veins, Marta hoisted herself up on one elbow. She needed to see his face. Words were one thing, but the face couldn’t lie.
“Truly?”
She watched his eyes crinkle up as the grin came. “I’ve had some really good teachers, but apparently I’m a terrible student. They always end up getting me even when I’m careful.”
Marta grunted and lay back down. “Well, you’re the one taking the class over and over again, so I can only assume you like failing.”
Stash nuzzled his nose into her hair and Marta found herself melting again. His voice, his smell, everything about him drove her so damn close to the edge.
“It has its perks, beautiful. Maybe you should take the class sometime. You might learn a thing or two and you just might like how it feels.”
Instant flame hit Marta square in the face. So that was his little game. She was instantly pissed at herself for so easily allowing him to use her to make a point. “I need a good teacher, first, Stash.”
“Ouch.” He extracted his arm from behind her head and crossed them over his chest. “You wound me, beautiful.”
“And the next time you decide to put your lips where they don’t belong, try to remember that we’re just friends.” She took a deep breath and shoved the conversation back on track despite the fact that her mind was everywhere but where it should be. “Anyway, are we eating in or out tonight?” When Stash didn’t answer right away, Marta jabbed him in the side with her elbow. “Did you hear me? It’s Friday, remember?”
“Mmm. I heard you.”
“And?”
“And, I won’t be home tonight.”
Marta froze. She knew it shouldn’t have bothered her, especially since they were nothing to each other, but that little ache poked at her stomach. “Oh?”
Stash reached over and rubbed her arm; Marta wondered if he’d felt her tense up.
“I should be home before midnight. Just don’t club me over the head when I come through the door in the dark.”
The questions burned Marta’s tongue, but she held back. “Well, have a good time…I guess.”
Stash laughed and kissed her forehead. “Ever the progressive girl, aren’t we?”
“What do you want me to say? No, you can’t go? And anyway, I have plans of my own.”
Now it was Stash’s turn to tense. “Really? With whom?”
As pathetic as it was, Marta got a bit of twisted glee out of making Stash jealous. He deserved it after what he’d just put her through. “Just friends from Mirelli’s. Tonight’s the company’s annual bonfire.”
Thought she’d not planned on attending, finding herself faced with sitting at home alone while Stash went out, spurred on her decision.
“Friends. Would these be male friends or female friends?”
Marta sat up and rolled out of the hammock, landing with a thud in the sand beneath her. “Does it matter?”
Clearly frustrated, Stash bolted upright. “Obviously it matters,” he said, jumping up behind her. “As your friend, I have an obligation to make sure you’re safe.”
“Oh, please. I’m sure keeping me safe is always first in your mind.” Stumbling barefoot through the sand, Marta broke into a slow jog.
“It is.” Stash – the degree holder of indignancy. “Or at least it’s a close second.” He grabbed her arm to slow her down. “You haven’t answered my question yet.”
Marta stopped and looked at him, drinking in every fabulous ounce of him – the arrogant bastard. With the very tips of her fingers, Marta ran her hands up his lovely, sculpted arms and traced her fingers around his ears before gently pulling him to her. Stash, now clearly bothered, lunged for her lips. Jerking her face to the side, Marta flicked his earlobe with her tongue.
“And I’m not going to,” she groaned in his ear.
Leavin
g him with his mouth agape and her sandals dangling from the ends of his fingers, Marta blew him a kiss and sauntered off to the cottage.
***
“Oh, stop pouting.” Marta threw Stash a fresh towel from the laundry basket and pointed toward the bathroom. “Don’t use all the hot water.”
“I’m not pouting. I’m concerned.”
“You’ve been going on and on about this for nearly two hours, and where I come from, that’s pouting.” Marta gave her cell phone a squeeze before placing the offending piece of technology on the lamp stand. It was too late, now. Midge would be by to pick her up in less than an hour.
“I just don’t think it’s a good idea. That’s all.” Stash shoved the bathroom door, but caught it before it went all the way shut. “You don’t even have a key. What if you get home before I do? How will you get in?”
Marta couldn’t help but watch the mirror in the bathroom through the six inch crack. The quick, sporadic glimpses of flesh gave her a fresh rush and made her feel like a peeping Tom – and she liked it. Much to her dismay, and probably for the best, the shower kicked on, and within thirty seconds, the tiny room filled with steam, effectively ruining her perfect view. Rubbing her hands over her face, Marta took a deep breath and inched toward the steam rolling out the door, chastising herself for allowing him to affect her like this. Lock it down, Marta. Keep him out.
“You could always leave the key with me!” she called over the rush of the water. Leaning against the doorframe, Marta purposely put her back to the door. For hours she’d been struggling to forget how it felt to have his lips on hers, and seeing Stash in the buff might be the deal-breaker. “You’re taking the van, anyway, so it’s not like you won’t have a place to stay if you get home first.”
The water came to a grinding halt, the pipes under the cottage fluttering in appreciation.
“If I can’t talk you out of going, I suppose that’s the best option.”
She heard him yank the towel from the rack; the mental vision of Stash’s steamy, wet body made Marta’s heart skip a beat. She knew she held the ultimate power. She could have him anytime she wanted him, and it scared the hell out of her. Especially after Kyle.
