WRECKER: A Bad Boy Cowboy Romance (A steamy billionaire romance story)

by Natasha Tanner

  So what if the kisses didn’t shake me to my core? He was sweet and kind and that should be enough. I prided myself on the fact that I wasn’t superficial. I knew Jeffrey as a person, as a best friend, and they always say you should marry your best friend. So I figured we were set.

  So why did my heart fall into my feet when he presented the ring? He was down on his knees; it should have been a slamdunk as far as he was concerned. And I was so young, only twenty-one years old. My brain was telling me that my dreams had come true, but my body was telling me to run. Run as fast as I could to get away from Jeffrey. Instead, I did what a good girl does, and held out my left hand, fingers spread, as the tears rolled down my face. Of course Jeffrey figured I was just overwhelmed by the feelings of being proposed to, but deep in my core I knew I was crying because I was betraying my deepest self.

  I pull the blankets tighter around me even though it’s not cold at all in the room. The truth is that I’m scared. I don’t know how to handle the feelings I have for Kanen. The interest he has in me. I don’t know how to handle anything anymore.

  Six

  Kanen

  “Yeeeee haw!” yells one of the cowboys, and another jumps up and sprays beer on his head. A red-haired girl with breasts like watermelons jumps in between them, rubbing her tits against the guy’s shoulders and laughing up a storm.

  I’m sitting in the corner, the roomful of good old boys all whooping it up. To be honest, I’m not really into this huge party right now. At one point in my life, not so long ago, I’d be the first one leading the charge, a girl on each knee, just teasing myself with the thought of having sex with them, before I let them take me off so they could have their way with me. Or even just do it right there in front of everyone. What did I care? It’s part of being a star.

  I can’t count how many times the girls who show up at the door of the after-party made a beeline toward me, and whisper something filthy in my ear. There was always one grabbing my biceps, another sliding her hand underneath my belt buckle, one in the front and one in the back, just ready to give me anything I wanted. And up until recently that’s been just fine by me.

  “Hey handsome,” says a blonde sitting down beside me. Speak of the devil, I guess.

  “Hey there.” I don’t even look at her; in fact, I couldn’t give less of a damn about this girl. And after seeing Canada’s shiny dark hair, I’m not even sure I even like blondes anymore. Canada’s got a natural beauty where this girl is all artificial. Her fake boobs are pushed up to her neck, as exposed as they could be in a plaid shirt tied underneath her bra line. It’s like she’s on the young Dolly Parton-lookalike committee. Nothing against Dolly; she’s a great woman, but there’s only one of her.

  “And how are you tonight?” she tries, and on cue her hand slips underneath my bicep and she rubs her face against my shoulder, before leaning into it chest-first. “You had a great night on that bull.”

  “Uh-huh,” I mutter, looking anywhere but in her direction.

  “You know what? You’re special. The way you ride that thing, I’d like to see how you’d ride me.”

  I guess it isn’t her fault. But the anger is starting to rise. “Bulls aren’t things,” I say flatly. “They’re noble animals.” A lot more noble than this skank right here.

  She looks taken aback. “Of course not,” she hastens to say. “Very noble. But still,” oh no, I think she’s going to try again, “it was really sexy to see you control him like that.”

  “Well that’s where you’re wrong,” I say, and take a long swig of beer. I finish the bottle and slam it down on the table. Everyone is looking now, but I don’t care. “I don’t control him, and he doesn’t control me. We ride together. We’re part of the same team, me and him. I got a lot more in common with him than I do with you.”

  “I guess I just thought you and I could really get along,” she says, trying to mollify me. It’s not working.

  “Hey, Kanen,” says Joe, one of the other cowboys. “Take it easy, she’s not trying to do you no harm.”

  I stand up. My body is telling me to punch him, but I can’t afford any trouble with the cops. There’s been too much of that in the past and I’m trying to go in another direction.

  “My apologies ma’am,” I say through gritted teeth. I tip my hat to her and I walk out of the room, straight out the door, and into the balmy black Texas sky that holds me together. It’s the only thing that I can do right now. I don’t even know Canada’s real name, where she lives, who her daddy is, nothing. But I want to get to know all that. I just gotta figure out how.

  Seven

  Chastity

  It’s my first day training at the bar, and I’m ready to take on the world. I just hope I can concentrate, what with Kanen dominating my thoughts every minute. I’m not going to lie, I spent a lot of last night fantasizing about being with him. It’s okay, I tell myself. Fantasy is not reality. It’s all right to just think about someone. Look, but don’t touch. It’s easy!

  Lacey is standing with the other waitresses when I walk up. They take one look at my outfit and they all shake their heads.

  “What?” I ask. “What?”

  “Well,” starts one, “it’s what you’re wearing.”

  “What’s wrong with it?” I look down at my T-shirt and jeans. “It’s all black, just like I was told. Isn’t that the dress code?”

  Lacey pulls me aside, and lowers her voice to a whisper. “It’s just not... very sexy,” she says. “Sorry, I thought you knew.”

  “Knew what?”

  “What to wear!” says the girl who broke the news in the first place, in an exasperated tone. “Look, I might have something extra, and really cute, in my bag.” She cracks her gum. “Anyone about the size of Chastity here?” Another eyes me appraisingly. “What size are you?”

  I don’t answer right away. Aren’t I wearing the dress code? Nobody told me to dress sexy! “I dunno, a medium?” I finally say in a small voice.

  “Yeah, I might have a skirt.” She rummages around in a bag behind a counter.

  “And I have a top!” They toss the clothes to me.

  “Put those on, and we’ll go from there,” Lacey says, an encouraging tone in her voice. “You’ll do a heck of a lot better if you look really devastating! Go on, get changed, you can do it!”

  “Okay,” I say, but I’m doubtful. I thought all I had to do was serve food and drinks, and now I’ve got to look the part as well. In the bathroom, I lock myself in a stall and pull the top over my head. It’s definitely meant for a girl with smaller breasts than me, because I’m practically busting out of it. But I pull it on and then the skirt as well, which barely covers my ass. When I look in the mirror, my mouth gapes open. My cleavage has never been so on display before. I barely recognize myself, mostly because I can’t see anything but my body.

  I hear a knock. “Can I come in?” Lacey yells.

  “Sure,” I say, pulling the door open. I make a face at her as she eyes me up and down.

  “Damn girl, now we’re talking!” She whistles long and low.

  “Are you kidding me? This is incredibly slutty-looking, don’t you think?” I pull the shirt down as it’s threatening to expose my abdomen, but when I sort that out, it’s cleavage for days. I can’t win.

  “It’s perfect!” she says, shocked. “You look totally amazing.”

  “I guess.” I can feel my face scrunch up in disbelief. I can’t really agree, but she seems really convinced.

  “Your tips just went WAY up.” She nods at my reflection in the mirror, clearly satisfied with herself.

  “Or my tits did,” I joke, squirming the shirt down again. “Stupid shirt!”

  She snorts, and opens the door. “Girls, check out Chastity now.”

  The one who lent me this booby trap of a top walks in first and stops in her tracks. “Chastity,” she says. “More like Chas-titty! Very nice!”

  I cross my arms over my chest. “Oh man, it’s too much, I can’t do this,” I moa
n.

  “You have to do this!” says the girl. “You look way better in that than I ever did. You can keep it!”

  “And you should wear it every day, right Chrissy?” Lacey says slowly, like she’s talking to a child.

  “Damn straight. That’s an extra couple hundred dollars a night,” she says. “At least!”

  I play with my hair in the mirror, wondering if I can cover up my exposed skin a little more if I wear it down.

  “Nah girl, you’re perfect,” Lacey says. Then she looks down and stops. “Except for the shoes.”

  “What’s wrong with the shoes? Are you kidding?” I plead. I was trying to look so professional. Who knew professional meant skankville?

  “You need something with a little bit higher heel, you know?” Lacey says. “I think I have another pair in my locker.”

  When she leaves, Chrissy puts her hand on my shoulder. “Didn’t you ever waitress before?” Her voice is sympathetic, but in the kind of way that makes me feel like she thinks I’m a bit slow or something.

  “Not really. Honestly, I never needed to work.”

  It’s true, when Jeffrey and I were married, his plan was that I’d stay at home, and instead of arguing, I just got right down to baby-making. I think of the little one I was carrying, the bun that I had in the oven, and a spasm of pain goes across my face before I can hide it.

  Chrissy catches it, and says, “Don’t worry hon, I’m sure you’ll pick it all up right quick.”

  “Thanks,” I say, trying to give her a convincing smile.

  But that’s where love leads, eventually, to this kind of pain. The day that we got into that car accident was the day that all my dreams died. In the hospital later, while Jeffrey was in emergency surgery and the doctors were assessing me, I already knew. I knew the baby that we had been anxiously awaiting, building a nursery for, the one we were so excitedly choosing names for, going back and forth, I knew that baby was gone. And it was the deepest pain that I’ve ever felt in my life. More intense than knowing that Jeffrey probably wouldn’t make it through the surgery, and Jeffrey had been my main concern for my whole, albeit short, adult life.

  I never felt love for anyone like I did for that little baby. Of course the little one was part of me and part of Jeffrey, and I guess Jeffrey loved at least the idea of him, but he was inside me. He was real to me in a way that he wasn’t real to anyone else, even my husband, his father. I could feel the baby from the inside, and when he moved and turned, it made something inside me sing. And that singing had stopped. Like a bird who had flown away, never to return, or the sound of an old record player skipping over and over again just waiting to be turned off. That was how I felt then—like an empty cage—and I vowed never to go through anything like that again.

  I pretend to be fixing my eyeliner in the mirror, but really I’m wiping away a tear that surprised me with its insistence. I’m sure Chrissy would be embarrassed if she knew what I was thinking about. We’ve only just met. So I affect a bright tone to my voice, and exclaim, “Thanks so much for this shirt! I don’t know what I was thinking wearing something so plain.”

  “Hey it’s no problem,” she assures me. “We all have to start somewhere.” She looks around. “Where’s Lacey with those shoes? We have to start soon. Time to get on the floor!”

  As if on cue, Lacey walks in, holding higher heels than I have ever seen in my life. “Here, try these on!” She says passing them to me. “We’ve got to get a move on, earn some money.”

  I wedge the heels onto my feet. They’re too small, but I manage to cram them on my feet. The pain starts shooting through the soles about three seconds after I stand up.

  I toddle through the door, following the girls. I feel like I’m in a costume, but I guess they would consider this the uniform. When in Rome I guess.

  Lacy points. “There’s your first table,” she smiles, pointing at a young couple who are totally engrossed in one another.

  “Here goes nothing!” I say. As I sway over, I’m starting to wonder why I accepted this job in the first place.

  Eight

  Kanen

  My truck’s running a little rough. I hope it can make it to the center. I know those kids are waiting for me, like they do every weekday, even if they know I won’t be in. Or so the staff tells me. I should probably spend some money on a new vehicle, but I don’t know if I can be bothered. I’ve always had an old beater truck. It seems like me. More so than a top-of-the-line Mercedes or something. I have one, just for business, but I don’t like to drive it around. I only go for ostentatiousness when it can help my causes.

  But as it coughs again, I realize what I also don’t like is breaking down in the hot Texas summer sun. Yeah, have to bite the bullet and buy something different if I can’t fix it up myself.

  I imagine what it would be like to drive Canada around in this truck. Would she judge me for an old beaten-down Chevy? Or would she more likely look with disdain at a fancy new vehicle?

  Something tells me that she might just be happy to be holding my hand as we drove.

  The truck coughs again. Shit. That doesn’t sound good.

  But honestly, the last thing that I’m going to worry about is this old jalopy. She’s seen me through enough crazy times that I wouldn’t begrudge her if she leaves me on the side of the road once.

  But as luck would have it, the transmission holds and I’m able to pull into the Native American youth center right on time. The kids run out as soon as I park. I’m turning off the truck and there’s at least three of them ready to hug me as I climb out the driver door.

  “Hey guys,” I greet them happily. Seeing their smiling faces always makes something inside me melt—something I didn’t know was frozen, but when it loosens up, it gives me real peace. I ruffle Joe’s hair, and give Duke a high five.

  “Kanen, how’s it going?” pipes up a shy high-pitched voice. I know it’s Damien. He’s one of my favorites. He was being raised by his grandparents, until it got too be too much for them. Both his parents were alcoholics, and not exactly meant for this world. But Damien is. And I try to tell him that every time I see him, one way or another.

  I pick him up and hoist him on my shoulders. “Hey buddy! It’s going great. How are you doing?” He wraps his hands around my forehead, giggling. “Where we off to?” I ask.

  “That’s up to you. You’re the bull and this time I’m the rider!” he shouts. I have to laugh.

  “That’s a new role for me!” I tell him. “And quite a challenge!” I say, but wasting no time I start running around, snorting and stamping my feet in my best imitation of a toro. His laugh is like music—the best music I’ve ever heard.

  The other kids are chasing us, and when they catch up, I come to a stop. “Now that was an award-winning ride,” I say, letting him down off my back. “You might have broken a record with that one!”

  “Me next, me next!” they’re all yelling, but it’s time we go inside.

  “Next time!” I say, putting them off. “Now what we need to be doing is some reading!”

  “Aww,” the kids say, disappointed not to get some special attention running around, but it’s important to get them hooked on reading early. That’s something I’ve learned the hard way.

  “Don’t worry, there’s plenty of time for everything. And you know how much I love reading.”

  I really don’t, but it’s only because it was always hard for me. And that’s what I’m trying to change for them. The more times I can get them to read to me, the better they’ll be for it. And that can set them up much better in life than I ever was. They might not have to risk their lives riding bulls, as fun as it might be, to respect themselves.

  Nine

  Chastity

  It’s about two hours into my training shift, and I’m just about ready to leave. My feet are absolutely killing me, my brain is full to bursting, and I’ve screwed up more times than I want to count. The worst was when I poured a large Coke down the back of an older woman w
ho was obviously there to celebrate a birthday. She was as charming as could be as I mopped off the back of her pretty blouse and stuttered apologies, but it was still pretty awful. And what’s almost worse are the twin looks that the other waitresses are giving me: contempt and pity.

  Lacey and Chrissy are both trying to keep my spirits up, and make this day not a complete disaster, but I’m not sure how well it’s working. Maybe I’m just not cut out for this kind of job.

  I walk up to my last table so demoralized I barely even look up.

  “My name’s Chastity and I’ll be your server this evening. What can I get you?” I say staring at my pad of paper.

  “Chastity… That’s funny, I thought your name was Canada,” says a deliciously sinful voice. I manage not to drop my pen and paper, but I know my jaw falls to the floor. “You might want to close that pretty mouth of yours, Canada,” he grins. “The whole bar will go wild.”

  I do. “How did you… Did you… How are you?” I finally manage. Did he know I work here?

  “Well I’m just fine,” he says, looking at me sideways. “But the question is, how are you?”

  “Um, it’s my first day, honestly,” I babble. “And I’m rapidly coming to the conclusion that maybe I’m not made for waitressing.”

  “Well I can vouch for that. You’re made for something a lot more special,” he says. “But there’s no shame in working for a day’s pay.”

  “Thanks,” I blush wildly. “Now is there something I can get you? Maybe I won’t screw this order up.”

  “Well I could really do with a draft beer and a burger and fries,” he says. “But what I’d like even more is some company.” He winks at me. God help me, I melt. “What time are you off work?” he says smoothly. “...Chastity?”