by Ivy Raine
Brad nearly choked on the drink he’d just begun to sip. “You mean you haven’t heard?”
All kinds of strange thoughts ran through Marta’s head when she saw the look on his face. Maybe he’d been a cook in the military, a prison potato peeler, or a grade school cafeteria worker. She bit her lip. “Um. No. Is it that bad?”
“I’m a little disappointed. I thought all the new-hires were initiated with my biography.” Dejected, Brad quickly finished his drink. “It was all because of my grandparents.”
Marta raised a brow. She knew there was much more to this story than just his grandparents. “And?”
“And they ran away with the circus when they were seventeen. Their parents were furious, of course, but they were in love, and you can’t tell two kids that throwing axes at one another isn’t the best career choice if you’re planning to eventually settle down and raise a family. They simply won’t listen.” Brad grinned. “There it is,” he said, nodding toward Marta. “The look of disbelief. Only trouble is,” he added quickly, “it’s all true.”
“Axe throwers. For real.”
“Yup. Grandma was the thrower and Pap prayed. Thank goodness she was a dead eye or Pap may have been singing an octave higher – and I wouldn’t be sitting here right now.”
Marta shook her head. “I just can’t get past it. Axe throwers!”
“Someone’s gotta do it.”
“But the restaurant,” she said, struggling to see the connection. “What does axe throwing have to do with cooking?”
A glimmer sparked in Brad’s lovely eyes. “Elephants.”
“Elephants? Why do I feel like this is part of a corny joke?”
Brad laughed. “Well, it’s been the butt of family jokes for years. Anyway, back to the elephants. Pap took a fancy to the elephants. Especially the cute little one that was born between Pittsburgh and Detroit. He’d keep peanuts in his pocket and little Rosie would follow him around the camp. One day, he ran short on peanuts and decided to whip up a batch of peanut butter cookies instead. He tossed in a few things he remembered his mom using when she’d make them and out came this magnificent masterpiece that turned his life in a different direction.” Brad’s dramatic pause pulled Marta in. “He and Grandma opened a bakery.”
Marta couldn’t help but giggle. “That’s really cute.”
“And true. I spent my summers with sheet after glorious sheet of cookies fresh from the ovens lining the wall.” He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. “Stainless steel is my favorite color.”
“Stainless steel is not a color,” teased Marta.
Brad opened one eye. “We’ll debate that later. Right now, we need a refill.”
Maybe it was the atmosphere or maybe it was the four drinks he had in him. Whatever it was, Brad was feeling pretty good by the time the evening wore short.
“Have you ever been to Disney World?”
Looking down at his empty glass, Marta guessed there would be more odd questions before the night was over. “Actually, no. My family could never afford it, and I get sick on things that go around in circles, anyway.”
He raised a brow. “There’s much more to Disney World than circles. Much more. You’ll have to come with me when I go again.”
As with anything a drunk says, Marta took it with a grain of salt. “Sure, Brad.”
“I’m serious!” he said, noting the lack of commitment in her words. “I take my mom and go every year. We go again in two months, and I’d really like for you to go with us.” He leaned over a little too far and nearly fell from his chair. “I’m really not as inebriated as I appear.”
Marta pushed her untouched drink away. It was inevitable that she’d be the designated driver. Marco and Shelli were already toast and were off snuggling on an overstuffed, leather loveseat near the dance floor. “I think it’s time you started sipping on some cranberry juice, don’t you? You’re gonna have one monster of a headache in the morning.”
He scrunched up his nose. “Do you have any idea what that stuff’ll do to my kidneys?” Shaking his head, Brad slid around the leather bench seat and wobbled to his feet. “We need to dance. That’ll help.”
Marta reached up and took his hand. “I think a walk would help more. Besides, think of my poor toes. Come on,” she said, leading him toward the lovebirds cooing in the shadows of the dance floor. “Let’s grab Marco and Shelli and get out of here.”
The cool air seemed to sober Brad up quite a bit, but there was no hope for Marco and Shelli.
“We’ll snag a room here.” Marco was practically holding Shelli up; she looked like a marionette bobbing on strings. “No way can I drive like this.”
Brad cast a sheepish glance Marta’s way and she knew exactly what was coming. “You wanna get a room, too? It’s a long drive and you’re probably tired.”
Marta crossed her arms and looked him straight in the eye. “And as sober as a judge. Come on, Bradley. Let’s get you home.” She stuck out her hand. “Keys, please.”
Brad dug down into his pocket. “I didn’t really mean anything, Marta. I just don’t want to see you have to drive.” He cut himself short. “Okay. I meant it.” He confessed his sin like a seven year old with a cookie hiding behind his back. “You can’t blame a guy for trying. It’s that damned man card thing.”
A damp spray of wind pelted them from the front as they made their way through the maze of cars still littering the parking lot. Marta didn’t dare look at Brad’s watch. It had to be close to daybreak.
Brad ushered Marta into the driver’s seat before stumbling around and falling into the car. “I hope you had fun, and I’m sorry to find myself a little drunk. Drinking’s not something I do on a regular basis, so I guess it affected me more than I thought it would.”
How could she be mad when he looked so innocent? “Oh, just close your eyes and dream about elephants and cookies. I can get us home – I think. Just don’t call me tomorrow. I plan to sleep the entire day away.”
The lump of man beside her roused under his drunken weight and opened one eye. “Tomorrow’s a work day. Be there early.”
Marta jerked the car in reverse and maneuvered her way out of the parking lot. “Not for me, it’s not. I don’t know about you, but I require sleep – and lots of it.”
“Hmm. No. No sleep for me,” he said, drifting off.
The rumbling of the tires against asphalt kept her company on the long trip back to Lee’s Cove, and her mind trailed off in its usual direction when faced with long stretches of silence and time.
“I can’t do something like that! What if we get caught?”
Kyle shrugged. “I’d do it myself if my handwriting was better. Besides. They’ll never know you were the one who wrote it.”
“Right. They’ll just have my fingerprints, DNA, and writing sample.” Marta couldn’t believe she was on the cusp of allowing him to manipulate her yet again. “And just how do you propose getting out of the school without an adult? They’re not gonna just let you leave, dummy. They might even call your parents.” Marta had just about had it with Kyle’s never-ending schemes to ditch school. “Why does it have to be today? Tomorrow’s Saturday.”
Kyle gave her a gentle punch in the arm. “Just do this one thing for me, Piglet.”
“Story of my life,” she grumbled under her breath. “Good, old Marta’ll take care of everything and do anything whether it’s good for Marta or not.”
Chapter 12
“Wow. You look like shit. Cute shit, but shit, just the same.” Midge straightened Marta’s name badge. “What happened? You forget to go home last night?”
“There’s nothing to tell, if that’s what you’re driving at. We went to dinner, then we went dancing, then we went home. End of racy story.”
If eyebrows could walk, Midge’s would’ve climbed right up on top of her head. “Really. From what I hear, Mr. Mirelli’s been danced into a coma and he’s planning on sleeping all day.”
Marta’s piss-o-meter spiked. �
�How do you know that?”
Midge shrugged. “It might not be exactly what you’d call ethical, but you sure learn a lot when you walk very slowly by a door.”
“Hmm! Sleep all day while I stand on the swollen blob I once called a foot? I think not!” Marta yanked off her shoulder cloth and hobbled to Brad’s office. She passed Jennifer on her way in.
Jennifer put a finger to her lips. “Shh. I think he’s coming down with something. He’s complaining of a headache and nausea.”
“Oh, please. We both know it’s a hangover.”
“Shush! Someone’ll hear you!” Jennifer flapped her hands like a chicken trying to fly. “Go in and see if you can get him moving. I can’t do all the cooking by myself.”
Marta peeked around the door and spied the gaping hole leading to Brad’s darkened bedroom. “Was he asleep when you left him?”
“No. But, he was complaining like a three year old.”
“Can you bring me a half a glass of pickle juice?”
Jennifer scrunched up her nose. “Oh, my god. I’m getting sick just thinking about it.” An evil smile crept to her lips. “I’ll be back,” she said, disappearing into the bustling kitchen.
The door clipped to a close, leaving Marta all alone in Brad’s massively empty apartment. She gave the place a quick once-over and determined that Brad definitely wasn’t lying when he said he was no interior decorator. Everything was brown – literally, everything. She hadn’t noticed the first time she’d been in, but now that she had the freedom to let her eyes go where they may, it was quite obvious that he had a deep fear of color.
“Jenn! Are you still here?” Brad’s voice twirled from the black hole like a wisp of smoke – thin and trailing.
Marta heard rustling and the kitchen door opened. Jennifer stuck her arm around the corner with a juice glass filled to the rim with bright, yellow liquid. “Good luck,” she whispered, trying to hold back a giggle.
Marta took the glass and headed across the brown, shag carpet toward the forbidden lair. She wondered if she’d find more of the same, dull color draping his bedroom, but when she flipped on the light, she was assaulted with shades of red.
“You do realize that red is an absolute no no in the bedroom.” She sat the glass of pickle juice on the nightstand. “It keeps you awake.”
“I thought you told me you weren’t coming in today?” Brad propped himself up on one elbow while massaging his temple with his free hand. “And what’s that?”
“It’s pickle juice. And in case you’ve forgotten, the last coherent words you uttered seemed to indicate that I couldn’t take today off.”
Squinting up at Marta, Brad yawned. “Did I say that?”
She crossed her arms. “You did. Now, how about downing a bit of that pickle juice?”
He shook his head. “Pickles and I don’t get along.”
Nudging the glass closer, Marta had to bite her lip to keep from laughing. Jennifer’s description of him as a three year old fit perfectly. “Well, you’ll have to make friends. You’re needed in the kitchen. Come on,” she prodded. “It’ll make you feel better.”
Brad grudgingly took the glass and raised it to his lips. “Oh, god!” he choked, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. “Wouldn’t it just be easier to eat the pickle?”
“Won’t work. It’s got something to do with the juice.”
Marta watched as he took two more big gulps.
“Okay,” he said, tossing aside his sheet. “I’m getting up before I get stuck drinking more of that stuff.”
“Next thing you need is some exercise.” When Marta reached out to help Brad up, he caught her hand and pulled her down to his lap.
“Next thing I need is something else,” he rumbled in her ear. “After I brush my teeth.”
Marta laughed and wiggled free from his hands. “Actually, that’ll help.”
“How is it,” said Brad over his shoulder as he headed for the bathroom, “that you know so much about curing a hangover?”
“Oh, shit. My head feels like a squashed watermelon.” Kyle sat with his head between his knees while Marta crouched at his feet. “And where’s your headache?” he said, eyeing her up.
Marta’s looked down to avoid his eyes. Guilt was a terrible thing. “Well, to tell you the truth, I didn’t actually drink anything.”
A moment of clarity seized Kyle. “But I poured them for you.”
“Um, yeah. You only poured the first one, which I dumped out when you had your head tipped back.”
“And?”
“The second one I kinda filled with water and the last one…well, you were so far gone that you didn’t even realize that my shot was empty.”
“You little bitch!” Kyle’s mouth said one thing, but his eyes said another. “Think you’re funny, do you?” He jumped up and tumbled her onto her back in the grass. “Maybe I should punish you.”
Marta’s eyes widened. “Don’t even think about it, Kyle! I’ll scream! I swear I will!”
Kyle didn’t care. He was already heading for the soft flesh of her neck. “Granny kisses!”
Marta squealed when he pulled in his lips and gummed her neck until she gasped with laughter. “Please! Please!” she panted. “I’ll pee my pants!”
Kyle sat up and crossed his arms. “I suppose you’ve been punished enough. But next time you pull a stunt like that, it won’t stop with just your neck.”
He blatantly eyed up the rest of her. He’d been doing that a lot lately – looking at her in strange, new ways. Sometimes she wasn’t quite sure how to feel. Should she be flattered or fearful of the wolf in Kyle’s clothing?
“Did you hear me Marta?”
“Yes!” Marta dragged herself back to reality. “Hangovers. Well, it just so happens that I had a friend a long time ago that always seemed to be in serious need of a quick cure.”
“I think the pickle juice might find its way back up.”
“Well, it’s one of those cure you or kill you things, but you’ll be stronger for it. Or so says my dad,” she added with a laugh.
“I’d like to meet your parents,” he said through a mouthful of toothpaste. “What do you think?”
Marta’s heart lurched. She’d lived out this scenario a million and one times in her head in the wee hours of the mornings when she lay awake listening for familiar footsteps, but the smiling face she introduced in her fantasy was always Stash.
“Sounds good.” God it was hard to fake the enthusiasm! It wasn’t that she didn’t like Brad – a lot. It was something more – something she couldn’t quite define and it was driving her crazy.
“You wanna take a quick run with me?” Brad peeked around the half closed bathroom door.
“Don’t think so,” she said, holding out her foot. “You see this shoe? Under the cute exterior is a bruised mess.”
Brad stopped in mid motion. “Oh. Did I have something to do with that? Because I seem to remember a few hazy details.”
Marta wondered if he remembered propositioning her. “Yeah. Something.”
His perfectly manicured eyebrows met in the middle. “I’m so sorry, Marta. You must think I’m a real jerk. I invite you out for a bit of wine and dancing and I end up stepping all over you.” He shoved his toothbrush back in its holder. “Sit down,” he ordered, motioning her to the bed. “Let me have a look.”
Though Marta was a bit protective of her foot, she allowed Brad to remove her shoe and sock.
“Yep.”
Marta raised a brow. “Yep, what?”
“Definitely the most beautiful foot I’ve ever seen.”
Using her good foot, Marta shoved him. “Don’t be so stupid,” she said, trying not to laugh. “This is serious.”
“I’m serious,” he countered. “Haven’t you ever really studied the human foot? Well, I have, and I can tell you from research and experience that the human foot is one of the ugliest things ever to touch this earth.” Rubbing his finger gently over the bruise on her foot, Brad�
�s voice shifted and a smooth, telling octave tickled her ears. “I’m an expert,” he said, tracing a lone finger up the back of her calf, “and I’m qualified to tell you that your foot – and everything attached to it – is absolutely perfect.” Realizing he may have gone a little too far, Brad cleared his throat and straightened up. “Maybe we should wrap this. There’s an emergency kit in the kitchen. You stay right here and I’ll be back quicker than you can recite the alphabet.”
He left just before a bloom of color lit up her cheeks. Marta sat there wondering what had just happened to her. The sound of his voice, the sensual, heart-pounding feelings he conjured up in her with a simple touch of his hand. The thought of him touching her more and in other places sent a flame of heat searing straight through her.
“Oh, God,” she whispered, running her hands over her face. “Why me?”
How could it be possible to want two men at the same time? Marta grabbed a magazine from the bedside table and fanned away the heat in her cheeks. She was still fanning when Brad appeared in the doorway.
“Um, I’ve got the wrap. Here,” he said, gently pulling the magazine from her hand. “I don’t think you want to see this.”
She caught a glimpse of flesh when he whisked it into the red trash can in the corner.
“If that swelling doesn’t go down by the end of the day, I want you to go see a doctor, got it?”
Marta scrunched up her nose. She hated doctors. “I really don’t know any doctors in the area.”
“That’s not an excuse, young lady.” Brad propped her heel on his leg and began to wind the wrap around her foot. “I’ll cover the bill. Besides,” he said, a sly grin curling up one corner of his mouth. “I need you healed up so we can take a little trip next Friday. If that’s okay with you,” he added, trying to back-pedal from his boss-like statement.
