“Well, you’re looking at him.” He pointed to himself. “Slayton McKenzie.”
The man’s posture went stiff, and he took a step back from the counter. When he spoke again, his tone wasn’t at all flirtatious. “Do you have a tattoo just here?” He pointed to his left hip. “A trail or a path?”
Caleb’s protective instinct flared. He had the urge to step between this guy and Slate. Nothing good was going to come of this conversation.
“This tattoo?” Slate lifted his shirt and pulled the side of his pants down to reveal the tattoo on his hip.
“Of course. Of course it has to be you.” The stranger shook his head.
“I’m sorry, but what are we talking about here? Do we know each other?”
“No. Not you and I, anyway.”
Before they could continue the conversation, the bell at the front door jangled again, and a young woman stepped inside. Caleb meant to only glance at her, but as he did, her eyes met his. Their gaze lingered several beats longer than was polite before she looked at the stranger. “Robin?”
Robin moved to her side and took her hand. “I think we found him, Taryn.”
The look Taryn gave Slate was appraising, and if she had not gone shock-pale, Caleb might have been irritated on his friend’s behalf.
“This is Slate,” Robin said.
“Slate!” The woman slapped a palm to her forehead. “Yes. Of course. Slate.”
“Okay,” Slate mumbled, crossing his arms over his chest. “What the heck is going on? You two obviously know me, but I have no idea who either of you are.”
“Oh, man. Okay. Time to face the music.” The woman looked as though she was going to be sick. Robin obviously thought so too as he wrapped a supportive arm around her waist. She gave him a shaky nod. “I got this, Rob. Give us a second, yeah?”
“Are you sure?”
She didn’t look sure, but she nodded.
For a moment, Caleb was sure Robin was going to argue, but he hugged her instead. “I’ll go get Mel. We’ll be here, okay?”
“Thanks.”
The silence that followed was awkward. Even the other artists seemed to have piped down. The buzzing tattoo guns made for eerie background music. Caleb was on the edge of his seat, his mind flipping through various scenarios. This woman didn’t have any paperwork with her, so she probably wasn’t from the courts.
“Lady, you’re killing me,” Slate said. His smile was weak, and Caleb could see he was trying not to fidget.
“I’m really sorry.” She looked him over again. “You really don’t remember me at all?” The tone of her voice was pleading. “It was a bar. What’s it called? The 21st, a few blocks from here? It was five weeks and two days ago?”
Caleb started at the name of his bar, but Slate banged his fist on the counter. “Shirley Tipsy!”
She closed her eyes. “That’s how you remember me?” She sighed. “My name is Taryn.”
Now that he had identified her, Slate was his usual smiling self. “Oh, man, I didn’t think I’d ever see you again. What happened to you? I woke up the next day and you were just gone.”
Caleb was beginning to catch on. A few weeks before, he was supposed to go out with Slate, but he’d gotten held up. Slate had a one-night stand with a woman he had nicknamed Shirley Tipsy—she’d ordered many dirty Shirley Temples—and now she had tracked him down despite the look on her face that told him she would rather be anywhere else.
“It wasn’t one of my finest moments,” she said, reaching one hand up to twirl a finger through her hair in a nervous gesture. She glanced at Caleb and back to Slate. “Do you think we could go somewhere private? Outside at least?”
Slate’s smile fell, and he narrowed his eyes in suspicion. “Wait. Why are you here? What’s so important you need to speak to me in private?”
“I really think we should be alone.”
“Ah, fuck.” Slate looked pissed. “I’m clean, lady. You didn’t get it from me, okay?”
Caleb rolled his eyes, suppressing a groan. “Christ, Slate.”
Taryn’s head snapped up. “Wait, what?”
“I’ve never had a disease, so you didn’t get it from me.” He tugged his hair out of its ponytail in restless irritation. “Great, there goes my clean record.”
“Slate,” Caleb said, but it was far too late.
“Are you kidding me?” Taryn’s face had gone from pale to flushed red with anger. “I’m not diseased, you arrogant asshole. I’m pregnant.”
Under other circumstances, the look on Slate’s face would have been priceless. He stumbled back a handful of steps. “I . . . what?”
“I said I’m pregnant. Yes, it’s yours. Yes, I’m sure.”
“That’s not p—”
Before Slate could make a bad situation worse, Caleb grabbed him by the arm and yanked him. “Shut up. Now.” He turned to Taryn. “I’m sorry. My friend here has a very bad case of foot-in-mouth disease. He’s not an asshole. I promise.”
Taryn huffed. “Right.”
“You’re upset.”
“You think?”
“Half an hour. Give us half an hour to regroup, and then everyone can speak like rational adults. There’s a Vietnamese restaurant one block that way. Give us half an hour, and we’ll meet you there.”
“We?”
“Assumption on my part. Bring your friend with you. It just seems like the kind of situation you both need support for, right?”
Taryn glared. Caleb got the distinct feeling she would have argued, except her eyes brimmed with tears. She looked away quickly. “Sure. Fine. Whatever. Vietnamese food. Half an hour. I’ll be there.”
The second she was gone, Slate let all his breath out in a whoosh. He gripped Caleb’s arm and began muttering under his breath. “Oh, man. Oh, man. Oh, man.”
“Come on.” Caleb started leading him to the door Taryn had just exited.
“Oh, man. Where are we . . . what . . . ?”
“Just follow me, Slate.”
Caleb dragged Slate to his bar, and sat him on a barstool. Almost twenty minutes had passed, and Slate still hadn’t touched the shot the bartender, Oni, had set in front of him at Caleb’s request. Instead he sat with his head in his arms on the bar. “I’m in trouble. Oh, man. I’m in so much trouble.”
Oni eyed Caleb for an explanation. “What he means to say is he got a girl, a woman, in trouble.”
“Got her in trouble?” Oni’s eyes bulged. “As in you knocked her up?”
Slate groaned.
“Come on. Get up. That’s a bar, not a pillow.” Caleb patted his friend on the back. “Talk to me.”
“It was a dick thing to say to her,” Slate said as he lifted his head.
“Yeah, but that’s pretty much the least of your problems right now.” He shook his head. “You really have the best taste in hookups, don’t you? The kind of people you—”
“Hey.” Slate’s eyes narrowed. “Shut your mouth, okay? Whatever happened that night, she seemed like a nice girl. Either way, she’s going to be my kid’s mother, so show some respect.”
At his own words, Slate paled, and he slumped again. “Oh, man. What am I going to do?”
“You know I have to ask this, but are you sure you want to take her word it’s yours?”
“I’m not going to be that prick who insists it has to be someone else. I was a moron that night. We both were. Yeah, I’m not naive. I know she could be trying to pull one over on me, but I’m not going to be the one to suggest that. I’ll keep my eyes open, and if something doesn’t add up, I’ll deal with it then. But really, I just can’t figure why she would lie about it. Why choose me? I’m no one. I’m not rich.”
“Oh, good. Your rational self seems to have kicked in.”
“Yeah. Crap, how did this happen?”
“Looks like you should have spent more time paying attention in sex ed instead of giggling when the teacher was trying to teach a class of freshmen how to use a condom properly.”
“I did, too
. I giggled my ass off in that class.”
“I know. Are you calm enough now to think before you speak? That woman, Taryn, is probably pissed and scared.”
Slate grabbed the glass in front of him and shot it back. He waved Oni over. “Can I have another?”
“Uh, no. No other shot,” Caleb said. “You’re going to need a clear head for this one.”
“You’re coming with me, right? I can’t do this on my own. I need to borrow some of your calm, or I’m going to freak right out on her again.”
He looked so much younger than he was and scared. Slate had always brought out a protective side of Caleb, and it had never been stronger than it was right then. “Of course I’ll go with you. I said I would.”
Slate sighed in relief. “Thank you.”
Chapter Three
“He looked so dumb. For Patch’s sake, I hope my DNA is dominant,” Taryn said, going over the first meeting for the umpteenth time.
“You think maybe his stupefied expression had something to do with the fact you screamed the news he was going to be a father, Tare?”
“You blame me for yelling?” Taryn crossed her arms and hunkered down in the booth, glaring at Rob.
“Of course I don’t blame you for yelling. I’m just saying, why don’t you wait before you decide he’s a dimwit?”
Taryn didn’t answer her friend. She was hurt and scared and certain Slate’s being dumb was the best case scenario. He could be any number of things she didn’t want to deal with, let alone let anywhere near a baby. She wondered why she’d thought it was a good idea to find Patch’s father in the first place.
“Here goes nothing,” Rob said.
Taryn followed his gaze to the door where Slate stood with his friend. In retrospect, she didn’t understand how she had only remembered that one tattoo. The man standing in the doorway had quite a few more. A full sleeve disappeared up under the concert T-shirt he wore. His hair, back up in a ponytail, was pulled sufficiently away that she saw a tattoo curling from behind his ear down to his neck.
None of his ink was unattractive, but Rob had been right—tattooed guys were not normally her type. She was drawn to his eyes, though. Tranquil blue eyes and soft hair she wanted to touch again just to see if her memories had done it justice. Bitterness roiled in the pit of her belly. She hated the way her hackles raised at the sight of him. Regardless of the situation, she didn’t want to hate her baby’s father.
“His friend is a different kind of eye candy, too,” Rob said, trying to inject some lightness into the situation. “A little too proper for my tastes but still not difficult on the eyes.”
Taryn hadn’t spared much thought for the man who had jumped in to save Slate from the stupidity spewing from his mouth. He was a handful of inches taller and broader across the shoulders than Slate. His hair was a lighter brown and quite a bit shorter, though it was still on the longish side.
“Whatever. Let’s get this over with.” She raised her hand to wave the two over. When they saw her, she clasped her fingers together on the table in an attempt to get them to stop shaking. As they sat down and everyone was introduced, Taryn watched Slate closely. Everything about his expression and posture screamed his discomfort. She was sure he was hating every minute of this.
“I want to apologize for my reaction earlier. You gotta understand I was caught off guard, and all sorts of scenarios were running through my head when you showed up out of nowhere. The last thing I expected was for you to tell me you were . . .”
“Pregnant?”
His gaze dropped to the table. “Yeah.”
“Yeah, well. I promise you’re not the only one surprised by all this.”
“I have a couple of questions, if it’s okay?” The way he fidgeted in his seat was driving Taryn crazy, but she waved for him to continue. “Okay. Well, um, please don’t take this the wrong way, but—”
“Oh, for Christ’s sake.” Taryn already knew what he was about to ask. “Despite how it may seem, I do not sleep around. It just so happens you’re the only person I’ve slept with in over six months. I already told you. Yes, it’s yours. Yes, I’m sure.”
His eyes flicked to hers, and she was taken aback to see he looked as irritated as she felt. “That wasn’t what I was going to say.”
“Listen, I shouldn’t have bothered you with any of this. It’s not like I need your money or anything. I can raise this kid on my own. It’s pretty obvious we’re two different people, and someone like you doesn’t need to be burdened with a responsibility like a baby.”
“Hey.”
The sharp protest came not from Slate, who looked livid, but from his friend. What had he said his name was? Caleb, she thought.
His eyes looked amber—the dark color of whiskey when it was held up to the light. And they were glinting with anger as he glared at her.
Caleb took a deep breath, as if calming himself before he spoke. “Listen to me, both of you. This could get very ugly very fast, but it doesn’t have to. You’ve already established that this is a surprise and not a good one. Assumptions from either side aren’t going to help.”
“What are you? His boyfriend?” Taryn muttered, but there was no conviction in her voice.
“Why don’t we all start over,” Rob said, his voice raised a fraction to talk over the beginnings of any argument that might have cropped up over her comment. “I’m Robin, and that’s Caleb. Concerned friends.” He put his hand on Taryn’s shoulder. “This is Taryn, and you are Slayton. Taryn is going to have a baby, and everyone is going to come at this as the adults they are.” He squeezed Taryn’s shoulders. “Right?”
“I’d like that chance,” Slate said. For the first time since he sat down, he looked at Taryn directly. “Please.”
Taryn closed her eyes and took a few deep breaths before she felt calmer. She was glad Rob had convinced Mel to stay behind. She wasn’t as coolheaded as he was, and she would have stoked Taryn’s anger. Opening her eyes, she nodded at Slate. “Okay.”
“What I was going to ask earlier was where you lived.”
“Why would I have taken that the wrong way?”
“I don’t know. It’s kind of a creepy question coming from a stranger, isn’t it?”
“Oh.” Taryn’s cheeks heated. “I live in Orange.”
“Really?” Caleb said. “I live in Tustin.” Tustin was the neighboring city to Orange, about thirty-five miles away from downtown Los Angeles in Orange County.
Taryn offered him a brief smile before looking back at Slate. “I didn’t mean it to come out like that, but I meant what I said before. I’m not here looking for money or help. I’m the one making the choice to keep this baby, and I thought it was only right you should know. If you want to take off, I’m not going to hold it against you.”
Slate was already shaking his head. “No. Hell no. I’m not about to be another deadbeat dad.”
His words knocked the breath from her. “Oh. Then I, I don’t know where to start.”
“Um. I . . .” Slate laughed without humor. “Yeah, I got nothing.”
Caleb cleared his throat. “Can I offer a suggestion?”
“I haven’t been able to stop you so far,” Taryn said, but she gave him a weak smile to let him know she didn’t have a problem with it.
“You have some time before you have to know all the answers. Start at the beginning. Get to know each other.”
“He’s right,” Rob said. “You should do the dating thing.”
Slate and Taryn both looked at him. “The dating thing?”
“Sure.” He grinned and winked at Taryn. “Dating is where you go out with a person and have stilted conversations over dinner to see if you’re compatible at all? If nothing else, even if you don’t mesh as a couple, you can try to be friends. It would be better for Patch if you were friends.”
“Patch?” Slate asked.
“That’s what Taryn calls the baby. She doesn’t want us to call it ‘it.’”
“Patch.” Slate me
t her eyes again and tried for a smile. It didn’t quite work, but she appreciated the effort. “I like that.”
The waiter came over with the drinks they’d ordered. Taryn sipped her water, jealous as everyone else enjoyed their Thai teas. That minor injustice of pregnancy was something small to concentrate on when everything else seemed too big.
Since no one had looked at the menu, Robin asked the waiter for another minute, but even when the man walked away, they still didn’t move. The silence that descended over the table was deafening.
“So . . .” Caleb made a deliberate move to open his menu. “Who’s hungry?”
Amidst conversation over the correct pronunciation of pho, the ice broke naturally and stayed broken. Caleb and Rob acted as a buffer when conversation got stilted. They talked about safe topics—family of origin, work, bands they’d seen—anything but the only thing they should have been talking about.
Time passed, and when their food was long finished, they all began to make noises about leaving. Taryn and Rob had to collect Mel before they could get back to Orange County. Slate had missed his two o’clock appointment, and Caleb had to get back to his bar.
Outside, Slate walked over to Taryn, his hands shoved deep in his pockets. “I’m really sorry. About everything.”
“It’s a relief to at least know a little about you. It’s better. Or not, really. I don’t know how to feel. When I woke up that morning next to you, and I didn’t remember anything . . .” She shrugged, helpless to finish her thought. She didn’t want to insult him again. “I don’t know.”
“It felt ugly,” he said, his voice soft. “Dirty. Like someone had taken advantage of you.” He tugged on his ponytail. “That’s gross.” He shook his head and looked over at her with guilt in his eyes. “I’m not that guy. I’d never take advantage of a girl who was drunk.”
“Well, if you took advantage of me, I took advantage of you. You were drunk, too, and sauce for the goose is sauce for the gander. I’m not that girl either.”
His smile was slight but genuine. “I believe you.” He looked uncertain a moment before he grinned at her, the expression undeniably charming. “I’m Slayton Marcus McKenzie,” he said. “But call me Slate, ‘cause Slayton is a horrible name.”
One to Tell the Grandkids Page 2
