by Tiffani Lynn
“I’m an estate lawyer.”
“Makes sense. You look like a lawyer.” One of his eyebrows ticks up.
As I open my mouth to tease him, a man I’m familiar with, but don’t care for appears at our table.
“Victor, my man!” he greets and shifts his attention immediately over to me. “Colby Averette?”
My stomach rolls. He’s a client at the garage. I used to work on his car until he got too handsy. Marshall took over servicing his vehicle and I find a way to stay busy and out of sight any time I know he’s coming in.
“I guess I don’t need to introduce you to my date,” Victor says with a slight edge to his voice. He doesn’t seem to like that we know each other.
“Hi, Stanton.” I greet in a dull voice. I don’t want to be rude, but I don’t want to give him any ideas either.
He smacks Victor on the shoulder harder than is polite and chuckles. “You’ve got to tell me how you got her to go out with you. I may want to be next in line.”
My eyes jump from the fork I’m fidgeting with to see Victor’s expression, which is murderous, and I swear I hear a growl from him.
“Have some respect. This is my date. There’s no way in hell I’m telling you how to get your own date with her because I don’t plan on this being my last. So, unless you want us to have a problem, I suggest you find your way back to your own table.”
Stanton throws his hands up in a mock gesture of surrender and chuckles uncomfortably. “I was just foolin’. Lighten up, dude.” He straightens his coat, puffs up his chest and says, “Have another drink and relax, man,” before he turns and walks away.
The air around us is tense and uncomfortable now.
“How do you know him?” I ask to break the awkward silence.
“The firm,” he answers without any further explanation.
Great, that place sounds like a hoot. I think I need a minute to calm down. Between first-date jitters, Miriam the bitch, and Stanton the sleazeball, my stress level is through the roof. I’ve had enough and we haven’t been here more than half an hour.
I push back in my chair and rise. His eyes follow me the whole way. “If you’ll excuse me, I’m going to the ladies’ room.”
After I do my business and wash my hands, I’m reapplying my lipstick when Miriam comes through the door and steps up next to me, twisting her own lipstick up. Great. Did she follow me in here? She pauses before she applies the devil-red lipstick and makes eye contact with me in the mirror.
“I’ve been waiting a long time for him to be ready to date. Don’t plan on sticking around long. There’s a line of us ready to fight for your seat at the table, but,” she pauses, stepping back and looking me over, “it won’t take him long to tire of you. Arm candy always bores the smart ones.”
I slide the top back on my lipstick and shove it into my clutch with shaking hands. “For your information, I’m a member of Mensa, not that you’d know what that is, but I’m sure you can look it up. And as for him tiring of me, I’d bet money on the fact that you wouldn’t get asked out even if you were the last woman at the firm and you offered yourself up naked on a silver platter.” I turn and strut toward the door, and just before I walk through I give her one final parting remark. “Oh, if you knew Victor as well as you think you do, you’d know he requires a woman with class on his arm. I suggest you buy some before you make your next approach.”
I can hear her gasp behind me as I leave. My hands and legs are shaking so bad I’m surprised I can walk. I hate confrontation. How dare she say that to me! She doesn’t even know me!
When I sit down, Victor immediately notices the change in my demeanor.
“What’s wrong? Are you okay?”
I should let the little scene in the bathroom go, but I’m not that girl. “I ran into your colleague in the bathroom and she made it clear she’s ready for you to ask her out.”
His eyes bulge, clearly shocked. “What? Who are you talking about?”
“Miriam.” I take a big unladylike gulp of my wine and study him as he goes through a series of expressions.
“I’m sorry. This is like a bad movie. Some of the women at my office are like dating-vultures. I’ve been able to keep them at a distance by saying I’m not ready to date. Apparently, that story is dead in the water now that I’ve been seen with you. I apologize for bringing you here. We’ve run into nothing but classless assholes tonight.” He fiddles with the fork on the table, unable to look at me, and I feel bad. I shouldn’t blame him for the behavior of others.
I sigh. “It’s not your fault. You can’t help how other people act, but I think part of the problem is that I don’t fit here. Both things that were said to me indicate that I’m low-class.”
Without acknowledging what I said, he raises his hand for the waiter. “I’d like a bottle of the wine we were drinking to go, along with both of our meals,” he tells the waiter, who glances at me then back to Victor and nods before heading for the kitchen.
“I’m sorry, Victor,” I tell him sincerely. Why I’m apologizing I don’t know, other than I hate that I put that look on his face.
“Not your fault, hon,” he tells me.
It’s quiet between us as we wait. When we finally get our food, wine, and he pays, he leads me to the car and peels out of the parking lot like he’s in the Grand Prix. He doesn’t turn toward the auto shop like I expect. Instead he drives in the opposite direction, pulls into a dark park and helps me from the car. The tension was so thick during our drive that I was afraid to ask him where we were going.
Before he comes around to open my door he opens the trunk and pulls something out. Then he leads me, using the light on his phone, to a picnic table. He lays a blanket down on the seat part.
“Sit,” he tells me, and before I can chastise him for talking to me like a dog, he continues. “I want to have this under you so you don’t mess up your dress, but I also want to cover your legs so they don’t get cold.”
“Oh, okay,” I say, surprised at his thoughtfulness.
Once he covers my legs, he places our food containers on the table and he pulls a swiss army knife from his pocket and opens the wine with the little corkscrew.
“Shit, I forgot about glasses,” he grumbles.
“We can drink from the bottle. It’ll be fine. At least they sent us with plastic utensils,” I tell him.
The streetlight not far from where we’re sitting and the moon are bright enough that I can see his facial expressions.
I try to lighten the overall mood by talking about the garage and my sister and her family. Then I move on to my brother and my best friend, Dana. By the time I’ve started talking about Pop, it’s time to go and he still hasn’t said much. Maybe being honest about my unhappy time at the restaurant wasn’t a good idea. I probably should have just sucked it up and made it through dinner. I’m just not good at faking how I feel.
With the date reaching a new level of awkwardness, Victor drives me back to the shop and walks me to the door. To my surprise and disappointment, he kisses my cheek. “I’m sorry that date was bad, but thank you for saying yes in the first place. It was hard to ask. You’re beautiful and deserve so much more.” With that parting line, he turns, strides to his car, slides inside and waits for me to get inside my car and pull away before he leaves.
What the hell was that? It got better for me just by leaving the restaurant. All he had to do was participate in the conversation to make the date better. I don’t go into the shop. Instead I fire up my ’69 Mustang, since my truck still isn’t fixed, and drive to Dana’s house.
I know she’s home tonight so I’m not surprised when she answers the door and lets me in without question. I go straight to her room like I’ve been doing since we were teenagers and borrow a T-shirt and sweatpants and come back out to join her on the couch. Once I fill her in on everything, she asks, “Did you talk about the dead wife?”
“Nope.”
“Well, between the bathroom bitch and what he said w
hen he left, I don’t think he’s dated much or at all since she died.”
“Well, he obviously doesn’t want to take me out again.”
“Honey, open your eyes. If he was done with you he would’ve taken you home after the restaurant, not to a romantic spot to finish the date. I bet a million bucks he thinks you don’t want to go out again.”
“No,” I scoff.
“Yeah. Everything he said indicates he thinks he failed you. Two people he knows from work approached you inappropriately and upset you. I say you ask him out for the next date if you really want to go out with him again. Take him somewhere that’s more you. Give him a dose of the real Colby.”
“You really think I should?”
She throws a decorative pillow at my head and says, “Don’t be so dense. Yes!”
I change the subject, not wanting to beat a dead horse. Monday I’m scheduled to make an appearance in the children’s cancer ward at the hospital and his office is near there. Maybe I’ll drop by then.
Chapter Five
Victor
It’s been a long day. If I’m honest, it was a long weekend too. After my disastrous date with Colby, my mood never came out of the black hole. I ended up skipping the Suarez family dinner this week, not wanting to see the plethora of happy couples in the house or answer questions Javier might have for me about my date with Colby.
Since Carol died, there haven’t been many women who’ve caught my eye. Sure, I see beautiful women all the time, but none have really intrigued me other than Valerie, who is currently living with Javier, and now Colby, who came out of nowhere, it seems. I wish that date would’ve gone better. I probably should have taken her somewhere different, but I wanted to impress her.
Instead of working on the case I have pulled up on my computer, I’m staring out the window of my office at the mountains when my assistant buzzes me, pulling me out of my zone.
“Mr. Martinez, there’s a woman here to see you.”
“A woman?”
“Yes, she won’t give me her name and she doesn’t have an appointment, but she says she needs to speak with you.”
Oh, hell. Why not? “That’s fine, Nina. I can’t concentrate on what I’m supposed to be doing anyway. Please show her in.”
I stand and straighten my tie. Before I can come out from behind my desk to greet my visitor, Nina opens the door and leads Colby in. My jaw hits the floor. She’s the last person I expected to show up here and she looks amazing in black pants and her monster truck team polo shirt. Her hair’s down and swept over one shoulder.
“Colby,” I breathe, still surprised. Nina gives me a funny smile and pulls the door closed as she leaves us alone.
“Hey, Vic. I hope it’s okay that I came by. I thought about calling, but that didn’t feel right so I decided on the drop-in option.”
I clear my throat and try to gain a little composure. “Of course it’s okay. I’m just surprised is all. Is everything alright?”
She moves across the room until she’s standing in front of me and I’m forced to look down at her. Her smile is bright, but I can tell by the fact that she’s twisting a lock of hair around her finger that she’s a little nervous.
“Well, I…” she pauses and glances down.
“What is it, Colby? Is it your sister? Is she okay?”
She sighs and smiles up at me, resolve moving over her features. “A group of us are going hiking on Saturday and I wondered if you want to go.”
“After our disaster of a date, I figured you were done.”
“It was pretty bad, but that wasn’t our fault so I don’t think in our case one date should decide if we have a second. Do you want to go or not?” Her voice has turned playful, her grin sweet. It’s a no-brainer.
“Yes, I’d like to go.” And just like that my day is saved, my mood no longer melancholy. The fact that she wants to see me again makes me happy. When did I turn into such a pussy that my mood depends on a random woman? She’s not just any woman though. She’s a cussing, monster truck driving, mechanic who’s as beautiful as she is sweet. She’s also bold, as evidenced by her next move. She rises on her tiptoes and plants a closed-mouth kiss right on my lips. Then she turns and struts to the door with her hips rocking in the perfect motion to attract my attention. Right before she passes through the door she turns back and blasts me with a radiant smile.
“Meet me at the shop on Saturday at 10 in the morning. We’ll hike to a lake, swim and have lunch.” She blows me a kiss and is gone.
I run my hand through my hair and shake my head. I doubt I’ll lose the smile she gave me—at least for the rest of the day. As I sit back down, Nina knocks lightly and pushes the door open, peeking inside cautiously.
“Mr. Martinez, are you okay?”
“Yes, Nina, I’m good.”
“Is she the reason for your sour mood?”
“What?” Has it been that bad that Nina’s noticed?
“Well when she got here you looked really sad and you’ve been very quiet today. Now it looks like your smile is back.”
I nod and say with a grin. “I guess she is.”
“Good.” She pulls the door shut behind her and just before it closes she peeks back in and says, “Carol would’ve liked her.”
I have no response. The mere mention of my dead wife makes my chest hurt a little.
“She’s pretty and she’s sweet. Maybe she’ll keep the barracudas around here at bay.”
I’m unable to contain my laughter. She has no idea. You’d think after all these years the women in this office would’ve gotten the message that I’m not interested, but it seems like my disinterest makes me a bigger challenge. I’ve never been attracted to predatory women and this office is full of them. I like strong women, just not pushy ones.
At the Christmas party last year one woman followed me into the men’s room and suggested we slip into a stall. The encounter was so uncomfortable. I didn’t know what to say without being a dick, but there was no way I was going into that stall with her. Everything about that scenario screamed hell no!
Colby comes across as strong, but it’s a different kind of strong. I can’t explain it.
“We can only hope,” I mutter as Nina closes the door.
Saturday morning, I show up at five minutes before ten in shorts, a T-shirt, hiking boots, and with a backpack holding my usual hiking supplies. Colby’s sitting on the tailgate of her pick-up truck wearing shorts, swinging her bare legs and wearing a sleeveless button-up shirt that’s tied above her waist. Her blond ponytail bounces as she hops down to greet me. The four guys standing around the truck all turn to follow her with their eyes and I fight the urge to tell them to get their eyes back in their sockets.
“Hey,” she says softly.
“Hi. Am I the last one here?”
“No, we’re waiting for Dana. She’s always late. My brother threatens to leave her every time, but she shows up eventually.”
I grab my bag from the passenger seat and slip it over one shoulder.
“You came prepared.” She sounds surprised.
“Of course. I had no idea how far you planned for us to go.”
“Your boots don’t look new.”
“Why would they?” What is that supposed to mean?
“I wasn’t sure this was going to be your thing.”
“Really?” I wonder what she thinks of me exactly. “I love hiking. How can you live in Colorado and not? The last few times I went was with my friend Diego, his son and some of our other friends. I work a lot but try to get out every couple of weeks when the weather is nice.”
“What other surprises do you have up your sleeve?” she asks, the corner of her mouth raised a little.
“None that I know of.”
“I have a feeling that’s not true, but I look forward to them. Come on, meet the guys.”
When I reach the truck, she makes introductions. Marshall is first, then Pete, who also works at the shop, and Marshall’s friends, Charlie and Bob
by. None of them are particularly friendly, but they at least shake hands and say hello. They’re all talking about auto racing, which I don’t follow, so I stay quiet until Dana arrives with another woman in the car.
The brunette, whom I’m now assuming is Dana, jumps out of the car and runs over, yelling, “I’m sorry! It wasn’t my fault this time; Emma was running late.” Marshall grumbles until she kisses his cheek and says, “You know you love me, Marsh.” He rolls his eyes but it’s obvious he’d wait another hour for her if she needed him to.
Colby looks at Dana and Emma and says, “You’re with Marshall.” Then she turns to me. “You’re in my truck.”
Everyone else loads up into various trucks and we exit the parking lot in a convoy. The windows are down and I alternate between watching the road while she’s driving and studying her. The wind tickles the ends of her hair, lifting and twisting them wildly, and I have the sudden urge to run my fingers through her hair before I wrap the soft strands around my hand and pull her to me.
She breaks my train of thought when she leans forward and presses a few buttons on the radio. In less than a second, the music of Chris Stapleton blares from the speakers. She adjusts the volume and begins to sing along. Her voice isn’t the prettiest I’ve ever heard and it’s not the ugliest. It’s confident though and full of passion and I find myself enjoying her little show.
“What?” she asks on a grin at the end of the second chorus.
“Just enjoying the performance.”
“Don’t be mean. I have to sing when I hear a song I love and I love anything by Chris Stapleton.”
“I’m not being mean. I’m really enjoying it. You’re happy and it’s obvious when you sing. It’s nice.”
She goes back to her singing and I continue enjoying it until she pulls off the road and down a dirt path into the woods.
