by Amie Stuart
“Maybe if you’d lay off those cookies, you wouldn’t need all that dental work.” She’d had four bags of cookies in her basket to go with her bras and panties. He’d never understood why people drank diet soda and ate junk. Did people think they cancelled each other out?
Her cheeks turned a deep pink and she looked away.
With the flush to her face, he finally realized what was different about her. She had makeup on. At least, more than she usually wore. He stepped closer for a better look.
She finally met his gaze head on, her notebook clutched to her 40DD’s. He glanced at her chest, then back up at her eyes, silently telling her as best he could that he’d seen the size on that bra’s tag last week. He couldn’t suppress a smirk as she raised her chin a notch, then angrily turned away again. No matter what he’d said to Skye the night before, Rowdy was a self-admitted breast man. A connoisseur even, but he’d never actually seen a pair that big up close and naked.
While she studied the empty bar, he studied Miss Snooty Pants with her regal posture and pursed lips. As pale as Jade's skin was, he knew her boobs would be snow white. But her dark hair made him wonder what color her nipples would be. A soft pink to match her skin or dark and rosy. She was a pretty woman, even if she could stand to lose a few pounds.
He liked how she got angry and snapped those big green eyes at him, and he got a real kick out of riling her.
“Rowdy,” Toni said, her voice low.
He frowned at her, a silent message to mind her own business, then leaned against the bar next to Jade. “Hope is my goddaughter,” he explained, then wondered why he’d felt the need to explain.
“Interesting.”
“Why do you say that?” he countered
“I’m surprised anyone would trust you with the spiritual wellbeing of their child.” Her green eyes blazed as Jade let loose an arrow that went deeper than she could imagine.
“What the hell’s that supposed to mean?”
“A godparent’s primary role is to oversee the spiritual education of their godchild,” she snapped, in her typical condescending tone.
As if he didn’t know what a godparent’s role was. He might not be the church-going type, but he took his responsibilities seriously. “Spirituality is in the eye of the beholder,” he snapped back, thinking of Charlene’s letters full of religious drivel.
“Rowdy is a wonderful godfather,” Toni threw in, as she took a now-sleeping Hope from him.
“I gotta get to work.” He silently headed across the empty dance floor, not caring if the heels of his boots left scuff marks.
Screw her. Jade was as much a preachy do-gooder as Charlene.
THE FOLLOWING TUESDAY night he called Skye to confirm their plans, a part of him still worried she’d back out. Especially after he’d spent all afternoon at the mall, shopping for a present. He'd spent more time walking around wracking his brains for the perfect gift than actually shopping.
He finally settled on a sterling silver anklet with a clef note dangling from it. Music, at least, was one thing they had in common. But not the only thing. “Do you want me to pick you up?”
“Could we...is your IM on?”
He loved listening to the sound of her soft, breathy voice, but clicked the little icon that launched the instant messaging program they used. “It is now.”
He noticed hers was on also, and a note popped up in his screen. No wonder she didn’t want to talk.
Skyebaby: I’m nervous.
“Would it make you feel any better if I told you I was, too?” He leaned back in his chair and doodled on a notepad advertising a local computer parts store.
She didn’t say a word, but he could hear her typing, and another message quickly appeared.
Skyebaby: Yes it would. Do you mind just meeting me there?
“Not at all.” He’d do whatever she wanted. It was her birthday, after all. “What are you wearing? How will I know you?”
Skyebaby: Red off the shoulder blouse and a black skirt with long fringe and big red poppies on it. My little black dress is at the cleaners
“Black hair, green eyes, red off the shoulder blouse, long skirt with flowers.” He smiled to himself, enjoying the image she’d painted. “Anything else?”
Skyebaby: Pearls
Classy flashed through his mind. “Nice. I’ll be the big blond with a rose jammed between his teeth.”
That got him a giggle and a big smiley face with lots of teeth. From the distinct tremor in her voice, she was beyond nervous. The sugar and spice he’d gotten so used to in almost seven months was nowhere to be found. He tried to think of something that would ease her fears. “Skyebaby, it’s just me.”
“I know,” she whispered. “I’m gonna go. I want to get done with work early tomorrow, so I can come home early and start getting ready.”
“Hey.”
“Huh?”
“If you decide this is too much, call me. I’ll understand.”
“Okay. I’m gonna go do my toes.”
“Night, Baby.”
“Night, Shy.”
GREAT EXPECTATIONS
IN HONOR OF MY first class case of nerves, I’d stopped on my way home and bought a bottle of wine. Otherwise, I’d be up all night fretting and fretting … and fretting. I had to work Wednesday, and that meant getting some sleep. Somehow. I was a cheap date. Two glasses of wine would put me out like a light. At least that was the plan.
In the last ten days my routine had completely bit the shit, and I’d begun to feel like a headless chicken. I’d managed to do just enough Pilates so that I didn’t walk like a rusty robot anymore, and I’d spent every afternoon off searching for a skirt, the right pair of earrings, or getting a pedicure and manicure. I’d never get caught up on the list mail. And I’d never had this problem before.
All thanks to Robbie.
Not that I was complaining, mind you.
After hanging up with him, I shut down the computer. For the first time in a long time, we wouldn’t be up late talking.
And in less than twenty-four hours, we’d be having dinner together. Dancing.
Glass of wine in hand, I smothered a whimper and crossed the small hallway to my bedroom.
Laid out across the bed was my outfit. Black strappy sandals studded with red rhinestones, like something out of an old black and white dance movie, and my special find in a plus size resale shop, a sexy black asymmetrical skirt. One side brushed my ankle while the other was cut up to my knee. It looked absolutely fabulous.
While Chris Cagle serenaded me from the stereo on my dresser, I soaked in the tub with my wine, shaved my legs and bikini area, and then rinsed. Not that he’d actually see my bikini area, but as a matter of pride, I shaved everything and trimmed too.
Then, sat on the commode lid, my feet propped on the edge of the tub, digging and filing at my toes. Ten days and two pedicures after my new leaf turning, I’d made a lot of progress with my poor neglected fingers and toes, but still had a ways to go. Much like the rest of me, they were sadly out of shape, and I found myself assuming the oddest positions and gasping for air while trying to get the polish on my toes and not make a huge mess.
While the base coat dried, I moussed my damp hair, tossed on an oversized t-shirt, featuring some long-since-faded Disney character, and tried again to duplicate the style I’d found in a magazine. Parted on the side, smoothed down in the front and tucked behind my ears. I turned this way and that in the oversized mirror checking the retro asymmetrical ‘do from every angle, relief and excitement filling me at how everything seemed to be coming together so beautifully.
Even without hairspray, my hair looked good. After combing it out, I labored through the application of bright red polish on my toes.
While they dried, I hobbled around my bedroom on my heels, packing for my trip home on Thursday and tidying up. By the time I was done, you could actually see the cinnamon-colored velvet of the chaise my suitcase sat on.
Like the rest of my bedroom furnit
ure, the chaise had been my grandmother’s. I’d never known her, but bless him, Daddy had insisted I take some of her antiques when I moved south three years ago. Even if the ornate Greek key design carved into the queen-sized bed, dresser and chaise weren’t my style, I found having her things rather comforting, since he also said I was so much like her. The carpet in my room was the same plain navy as the rest of the house, but the walls were a pale sand with the half wall that made up my closet painted a shocking rust to go with the chaise—my favorite southwestern colors. It all looked so cozy. Maybe I should turn over a new leaf in regard to cleaning also.
Wait a minute. One thing at a time.
The alcohol and activity had helped until I tossed back the last of my wine, shut out the lights, and crawled under the covers. I still had one last thing hanging over my head. I hadn’t told Robbie about my little problem. Okay, big problem. All two hundred and seven pounds of me. I’d tried while he talked and I’d typed, but a knot had formed in my stomach, and my fingers had gotten all cold and stiff and I just…couldn’t. At least he’d admitted to being nervous, too, and given me an out.
Despite my nerves, I just didn’t feel that copping out on him was an option. I’d thought about it a lot over the last week, and copping out would mean losing him, not to mention, hurting him. Neither of which I wanted. Seeing him could very well mean the same thing, but after all, I was the daughter of Judge Trudy Ballard, and the Honorable didn’t raise cowards. Most of the time.
I finally managed to doze off, plagued by dreams of Robbie and tomorrow night. For some reason, our meeting place looked more like the Bluebonnet Dancehall than the Riverwalk.
My day started at six, when I got up to check my e-mail and drink my first cup of coffee. I sighed in frustration as mail filled my inbox. They’d had a busy night on the list—a group had just returned from seeing Chris play in Vegas. I scanned some, feeling so far behind and out of the loop at all the chatter over how things had gone at different concerts and stuff. Tickets for the Texas shows hadn’t even gone on sale yet and wouldn’t for a week. I had what looked like a dozen e-mail birthday cards and a private e-mail from Chrystine wishing me good luck on my date and another from Robbie.
Remember darlin I’m just as nervous as you are. But I’m excited too. I can’t wait to hug my Skyebaby and give her a birthday kiss. Meet me outside The Bayou at 6:30. I’ll be wearing a navy blue shirt and khakis. I might even put a tie on for ya :-)
I giggled and kept reading.
I hope you don’t mind but I got you something for your birthday. It’s nothing much but I found something that made me think of you. Of course, I think of you all the time so that goes without saying
Aw! I bit my lip and kept reading.
but anyway...I just wanted to do everything I could to make your birthday as special as possible.
I hope you don’t feel too pressured to meet me. I don’t want to do anything that makes you unhappy or uncomfortable. So if you decide that you’d rather not meet or something comes up, call me.
Happy Birthday lovergirl...Robbie
No way was I canceling now. And no matter what happened, I’d just embrace my destiny. Who couldn’t love a man as considerate and caring and sweet and kind as that? He’d even bought me a birthday present. Aw!
Coffee in hand, I sighed and read it three more times before finally rousing myself to shut down the computer and run downstairs for a refill.
No Pilates for the birthday girl!
I dressed, slipped a pair of high-heeled sandals on and hightailed it to work.
My boss, Danny Ramirez had already given me the green light to rearrange my Friday stops so I could go to Austin on Thursday, and I spent the morning on the phone returning calls, rescheduling appointments or taking orders.
We had cake and wine at lunch in the office, then I took off for my afternoon calls. Wednesday consisted of four stops. Western San Antonio, including the Bluebonnet Dancehall. But today was my birthday, which meant nothing could go wrong. No Rowdy Yates in sight at the dancehall. The gods were smiling on me. My day was beautiful, perfect, the best birthday a girl could ask for.
I’m home free! I even found myself rambling on to Susie Boudreaux about my birthday date. How wonderful he was and what a lucky girl I was to have such an adorable and considerate boyfriend—even if he wasn’t really my boyfriend. She didn’t need to know that, right?
Who said turning thirty was rough?
AFTER ANOTHER NICE long soak in the tub, I slathered lotion from head to toe and fixed my hair and makeup. Thanks to my shaking hands, it took three tries to get my eyes made up correctly. Charcoal eyeliner and a touch of gray shadow made my green eyes look huge and smoky, and I blinked, pleased with the effect. I was so pale from nerves, I opted for a soft pink lip liner and a pale, sparkly pinkish-gold lip gloss, playing up the retro look to go with my eyes and hairdo.
New Spanx to smooth everything out, but no hose—with my shaking hands, I would never have gotten them on right. My cute new silver toe ring twinkled up at me.
I’d spent ten minutes anxiously preening in front of the mirror and decided I looked like a really cute hippie chick. I smiled at myself and offered up a little prayer. God, please don’t let me throw up. And please don’t let him freak out when he sees how big I am. I promise I’ll even be nice to my mom all weekend. Yes, all!
Even the last of San Antonio’s rush hour traffic couldn’t wipe the smile off my face.
The icing on the cake? I’d been blessed with a wonderful parking space and didn’t have to hike too terribly far in my cute three-inch heels to meet Robbie. Off I went, swinging my hips and my little red evening bag, telling myself everything was going to be just fine. I even got a smile or two.
As I neared the restaurant, I slowed my pace and searched for Robbie. Tall blond. I giggled at the thought of his receding hairline. He was almost five years younger than me, for crying out loud. Navy blue shirt and khaki pants. Rose in teeth. I giggled again and scanned the crowd, chanting “tall blond” in my head.
A hand pressed to my stomach, I took a deep breath, desperately praying the butterflies would let up their assault. I had to pee, but knew it was just my nerves talking. I took another quick look around, suddenly conscious of looking like a girl in a blind date, looking like a girl afraid of being stood up. And what if he did stand me up?
Getting stood up was the least of my worries. I still feared he’d take one look at me and head for the hills.
“My God,” came a gentle, drawn out rumble of what sounded like maybe admiration from behind me.
I stiffened at the sound of his voice, then forced myself to breathe and turn around, encouraged by that sweet sexy drawl I’d come to love just as much as I loved everything else about him. Only it wasn’t him.
Or, not him as I knew him.
I uttered a garbled whimper of angst and confusion at the sight of Rowdy...Robbie standing not even two feet away, holding a peach rose and a tiny silver box.
I blinked. Then blinked again a few more times, hoping the vision before me wasn’t real, or that he’d say “excuse me” and pass on by. But, of course, he didn’t.
The smile on his face was replaced with a scowl, and the hand holding the rose fell to his side as he looked me up and down.
No way!
No fucking way. My life surely could not be this fucking bad! It’s my birthday. Nothing, and I mean nothing, is supposed to go wrong! “You!” I finally squeaked.
“You!”
Redneck, hick, good ‘ole boy. I rubbed my temple and smothered an attack of tears. “Shit!”
My darling ShyCowboy could not be Rowdy Yates! Bluebonnet’s answer to the American Gigolo. The man shamelessly flirted with every woman who crossed his path.
From down the way, the sound of a blues band warming up penetrated my scrambled brain. I wondered if they were the band we would have danced to later. Would have being the operative words, because there was no way in hell...
&nb
sp; I struggled against the urge to wail at the top of my lungs and stamp my foot like a three-year-old.
People circled around us, some openly staring. We were creating a scene. Ballards never created scenes. Ha!
Flies buzzed above a nearby trashcan. That damned trashcan now represented my life.
From somewhere deep in my head a voice screamed at me to move, leave, go now. I finally managed to clamp my mouth shut and move. Never taking my eyes from his, I gathered up handfuls of my skirt and circled around him, praying I didn’t trip in these stupid heels. “I’m sorry.”
I turned and ran as fast as my heels would allow, cursing myself for saying something as lame as “I’m sorry.” Why the hell had I said that? In the midst of my tears and struggles to get my car unlocked, I never heard him come up behind me and jumped when he took the keys from my hand. I hiccupped, unable to catch my breath.
“Come and have a drink with me.”
I shook my head, past words, and reached for my key ring.
He shook his head and held them a little higher. “I don’t think you need to drive right now, Sweetheart.”
“I’m not your sweetheart!” I grabbed my keys from him and wormed my way into the car, slamming the door and shutting him out.
The engine roared to life, and he stood on the sidewalk and watched as I backed out.
My stomach churning, I circled San Antonio on Loop 1604 four times, my body on automatic pilot. Finally, when the bell rang announcing I was low on gas, I exited the Loop and pulled into the nearest gas station. While the tank filled, I dialed his cell phone and listened to it ring. Deep down inside, some secret part of me hoped he’d answer and ask where I was and wonder how we’d managed to miss each other, then tell me that he wasn’t Rowdy Yates.
I still couldn’t get past my Robbie, my Shy and Rowdy Yates being one and the same. That hick was not my angel baby!
