"You what?"
Jenna laughed. Across the room, another group of girls laughed.
I stood up and threw some cash onto the bar. I didn't even care if it was enough to cover for a tip. Angela was getting out of here. Now.
***
I clamored up to my feet, slipping on the ice a couple times. When I finally caught my balance, I turned in horror as Tim walked up and grabbed my arm.
"Let's go," he whispered in my ear.
"What?" I said as he ushered me up to the front doors.
"You're getting out of here. Fuck them and fuck this place."
"Tim," I said. "You can't just walk in there and make a stink and then drag me out of there. I need that job."
"No, you don't."
"Yes, I do."
"That job is beneath you, Angela. You don't need it. Why would you want to stay there with those idiots? Kissing their asses like that? No."
"But--."
"He was bragging about taking you. Angela. To me. A stranger. Someone he didn't even know."
Tears filled my eyes. "He. He what?"
"Yea. So you want to work in a place like that? Seriously? For a guy like him?"
I glanced around and grabbed his helmet. "No." I whispered.
"All right. Then come on. I'm still hungry." He sat up on his bike and waited for me to climb up behind him.
CHAPTER FIVE
Tim finally pulled over again at another restaurant. This one had bikes lining the parking lot and inside the lighting was much darker.
I immediately felt out of place wearing this ridiculous tennis uniform.
He grabbed a corner booth and slid a menu in front of me.
"I feel stupid," I mumbled.
"What? Why?"
"Because look at how I'm dressed."
He tapped his fingers against the table and studied my outfit. Then he glanced around the sea of leather jackets and denim vests.
"Look around the room, Angela." He said without turning his eyes back to me.
I lifted my head and glanced around.
"How many eyes you see staring at you?"
"None." I mumbled.
"How many people making fun of you?"
"None."
"How many squeaky little girls plotting to make you quit?"
"Well, but I can't quit if I don't work here," I smirked.
Tim turned back to look at me and smiled. "Okay, true."
"Anyway. I still feel dumb."
"Fine," he leaned over and took his leather jacket off and hung it around my shoulders. "Put that on. I can't do much about that skirt but at least you're presentable from the waist up."
I smiled and slipped my arms through the warm sleeves of the jacket.
A few minutes later we gave our orders to the waitress and were left alone with a basket of popcorn and some sodas. I sucked on my carbonated soda and savored the fix on my tongue.
"So why are you being so nice to me, anyway?" I asked. It wasn't the question I wanted to ask. But it was the question that popped out of my mouth first.
"Why do you think you don't deserve someone to be nice to you?"
He didn't even look at me as he gave his answer. Just talked to the air straight ahead of him.
I blinked. Stunned.
Holy crap. Why wasn't I more accustomed to someone being nice to me? Why is it that my first thought when someone treated me nice was that he was out to get something? Or get away with something?
And why is it that this was the first time I was questioning this?
My silence must have clicked with him because he turned back around and smirked. "I'm not nice."
"Yes, you are."
"No. I'm not. A nice guy doesn't pull up to a fight in the middle of the road and beat the tar out of some guy and then leave the girl to fend for herself against the cops. A nice guy doesn't grab a girl and forcibly drag her out of her job. I don't return phone calls. I don't send birthday cards. Or Christmas gifts. I don't even like pictures on Facebook. I don't brake for whales. I am not a nice guy. I just don't believe that the only alternative to nice is to treat people like dirt."
It took a few seconds before I realized my mouth was hanging open. I quickly shut it and turned my eyes back down to the table.
"Besides. When all the shit happened with Marti when we were kids, you were the only one who didn't judge me for it."
"All what shit?"
"You know what I mean."
"No," I said as I shook my head. "No, I don't know what you're talking about. What shit with Marti?"
He scowled at the table and started scraping at some dried ketchup with his thumbnail.
"Sorry," he said. "I thought you knew. I thought that was why you never talked to me."
"We never talked because your mom divorced my uncle and you never kept in touch. My mom always just told me that you guys wanted nothing to do with us."
"Well, that part's true. We didn't."
I bit my tongue and glared at the table.
"Marti and I slept together."
His words ruptured into my ears like nails on a chalkboard. My heart thumped into my chest and stopped. I couldn't tell if I wanted to vomit or wanted to faint. I just hoped I didn't do them both at the same time.
"Oh. God," I said. I could feel myself turning green.
"No, not recently.," he said.
I calmed my nerves a bit and gazed at him. Now he would have to explain everything.
I wasn't going to give him a choice.
"Back when we were kids. I was17 and she was 15 and we slept together. It's not something I'm proud of, but she was my first. It was the night that my mom was in the hospital, and they sent us kids back home and I was supposed to be watching you and Marti?"
"And I was mad because I didn't want a babysitter."
"Right. Well, after you went storming off into your room, she and I broke into the liquor cabinet and got wasted. I thought I was in love with her."
My stomach continued doing flips as he talked. Nerves rippled up and down my arms and through my chest. I snuggled deeper into his jacket, hoping to hide my disgust for fear he might think it was against him. But at the same time, I couldn't help but think this was some of the worst news I could ever have received.
"And anyway. I wrote her a love letter. It was just some stupid little poem I wrote and something saying I really enjoyed our night together. But your parents found it and next thing I knew, they accused me of raping her and I was shipped off to a school for problem children and forced into therapy for years."
"Oh my God. I had no idea. No one ever told me."
"Well, the only one who never got on my case about it all was Grams. And you. I just assumed you knew."
"I'm sorry," I tried to swallow the lump in my throat. But I didn't do a good job. "What about Marti?"
"Last night she told me that she was sorry and that she never claimed rape."
"Do you believe her?"
"I don't know. Maybe. I mean, if she had said rape then they would have arrested me, right? Not just shipped me off to some school? Right? So she might be telling the truth."
I immediately dwelled on the wrong part of his story. The part where he said he was in love with Marti. I wanted to ask him if he still was. But I couldn't figure out why I even cared about that? Just a little while ago I was telling myself that I needed to cut things off with Tim before they got too far out of control.
Then it happened. The worst thing that could have happened. The worst thought popped into my mind.
Did he enjoy the sex with me better than with my sister?
The question was so absurd I burst out laughing.
***
"What's so funny? I asked.
Angela's face brightened and turned red. She snorted a couple times, eliciting chuckles from me. But a couple minutes later she ran out of breath so bad she was stuck just swaying with her mouth wide open. Not making any noise. Eyes clenched shut tight. Clapping her hands loosely in front
of her.
I had no idea what I said to make her laugh so hard. My mind started racing over the story.
"I'm sorry," she finally managed to squeak out between snorts. "It's just that...the most ridiculous question popped into my head."
"Do I want to know?"
Her face got real serious. All signs of laughter ended. "Oh God," she whispered.
"What?"
"Oh God. Oh God. Oh this is weird. Oh this is so weird. This is gross."
I sat quiet while she worked through whatever thoughts were running through her mind.
"It's just. Now I picture everything--." She stopped talking to lower her voice to a whisper. "Everything we did and all I can picture is her standing there telling me Why are you riding my leftovers. You always have to have everything I have. You can't just go find a cock to ride of your own."
"Oh God," I said. "No. Don't picture that."
"How can I not? She's always saying I'm jealous of her. And that I copy her." She shut her eyes and rubbed her temples. "Oh God. Oh God. Oh God. Oh God. Oh God. Oh my God."
"Stop," I said and I grabbed one of her wrists. "It's only weird for you if you make it weird. And why does she think you're jealous of her anyway?"
"Because she's the perfect one and I'm the lousy one. She's the pretty one. And the smart one. The one who went to college. Found the perfect man. And job. And--."
"Stop," I said again. "She's...mean. I mean, I say I'm not a nice guy, and I'm not. But she's mean. She's a liar. She manipulates people. And as for pretty one, well...pfft. Pretty is all a matter of opinion anyway. And hers is the only opinion that ever mattered to her."
Angela sat up and forced a smile over her mouth. I couldn't tell if she bought anything I said, but she nodded and at least she stopped freaking out for a bit.
When our food got to the table, I realized I wasn't going to be able to shut anything down tonight. I couldn't build her up and break it off on her in the same breath. That would just leave her confused and upset. So, I decided to ignore it for now and bite into my burger. I didn't have to shut it down right this minute. I would just have to make sure that after we got back to Grams's house we didn't do anything else.
But thoughts of last night kept running through my head. I was remembering so much detail about her scent and the feel of her skin against mine, and those fingers. I had to adjust my seat. Why did she have to bring last night up last night?
When our food was finally gone and the table virtually cleared, I leaned back in my seat and glanced around the room. "Hey you know how to play cricket?" I asked.
"You mean, like, European baseball?"
I laughed. "No. Not like European baseball. Darts. Do you know how to play darts?"
She giggled and shook her head.
"All right. Come on. I'll teach you and we can play a couple games before we head back to Grams's house. Okay? That way no one will question why you got back so fast. You can tell them all you quit your job some other night."
"Oh thank God," she said. Her shoulders relaxed and her entire body shuddered.
"Come on," I said again and grabbed her hand to pull her out of her seat.
We walked up to the dart board and grabbed the house darts. They weren't as good as my darts, of course, but I didn't want to intimidate Angela by whipping out my own darts when she didn't know how to play.
"All right, rules first. For cricket, you're trying to hit three of each number. Three twenties, three fours, three twelves...three bulls eyes. Understand?"
She nodded.
"Good. Now, see how each number is divided like this? Hit here to count as one, here to count as two, and here to count as three. My advice? Aim for the bulls eyes first. They're the hardest to hit, so if you can get them out of the way early, it'll be easier on you. If you miss them but hit a number, you just record that number instead. Well, actually, you won't record the score. The dartboard records it for you."
"Okay," she said.
I was glad to see her smile was growing. My jacket was huge on her tiny frame. And it hid her tennis skirt, which made it look like she wasn't wearing any pants at all from the back.
"All right. So I'll go first so I can show you how to throw. Okay?"
She nodded.
I stepped up in front of her, darts in hand, and took aim. One. Two. Three. Each dart flew and stuck on the 17.
"So, wait. Let me see if I got this straight. So you got five 17s right? Because that's one, that's one, and that's three?"
"Right."
"But if you only need three of each number, what happens to the other two?"
"You just don't get any points for them."
"Oh, okay. I think I get it."
I smiled and walked up to pull the darts out of the board and handed them to her. Then I walked around behind her and watched her step up to the line.
She looked like she was getting ready to go bowling.
"Wait," I said, scratching my forehead.
She froze in her tracks and glanced over at me. I walked up behind her and knelt to straighten her leg. Then I pulled her back into me and straightened her posture. As I positioned her arms, I was really glad she was still wearing my jacket. My cock hardened in my jeans and pressed up against her backside. I closed my eyes and hoped the leather jacket was enough padding so she didn't feel that.
"Just like this, okay?"
"Okay," she said.
I backed away slowly. She stood just as I positioned her for a moment and then threw the first dart.
Bullseye.
And the second.
Bullseye.
Third.
Bullseye.
I was about to laugh out loud and call her a hustler, but then she turned to look at me. Her eyes were wide with shock and her smile reached from ear to ear. She bounced over to me and jumped into my arms. Throwing her arms around my neck.
"Did you see that?" she said. "Did you see? I bet I couldn't do that again if you paid me to!"
I laughed and peeled her off me.
"That was pretty fucking amazing. You sure you never played before?"
"No! I mean, not darts. I used to do archery though so I knew my aim wasn't all that bad."
"You know how to shoot a bow and arrow?"
"Yea. I haven't in a long time though. I should find a place and go sometime..." Her voice trailed off into her thoughts.
Jeez. Was there anything this lady couldn't do?
She whirled back around at me and stared. "So, it's your turn. Right?"
"Yea, as soon as you walk up and grab the darts back."
"Oh, sorry." She ran up to the dartboard and yanked on the darts.
I thought for a moment she might fall over backwards, she was pulling so hard against the board. The back of my jacket pulled the bottom edge of her skirt up, revealing her panties and those firm, round cheeks. My skin tingled and my cock stiffened at the sight of it. I couldn't get Mike's words out of my head. Sometimes I fantasize about bending her over the bar and just taking her. He might have been a pig...but now my thoughts weren't all that different.
Stop it. I told myself.
She finally managed to get the last dart to pop out of the board and ran them over to me. The smile on her face as big as ever. She handed them over to me with triumph.
I grinned and stepped up to the line to take my turn. Three 16s later, I pulled the darts back out to hand to her.
"So, I wanted to talk to you," she said after a few minutes.
Oh God. I missed my chance. This was going to be the talk. The one where she wanted to know where she stood and if we could be a couple. Now I was going to have to break her heart because I didn't start the talk fast enough.
"Oh, kay," I said and walked with her back to our booth.
***
"It's just that. I know you said you weren't a nice guy and all. But I thought that. Well. I mean. I'm not in a place where...Look. What happened last night can't happen again," I finally spit out my thoughts.
I blinked, taken aback that he would find any humor in what I was saying.
"I'm sorry," he said between breaths. "It's just that I was trying to figure out how to say the same thing."
"Really?" I asked. "So you didn't want to--."
"No. I was worried you were going to get all girly on me and start crying that you wanted a relationship."
"Hey. I'm not that bad."
"No but, Oh...come on, Angela. How many guys have you been with?"
My cheeks suddenly grew hot to the touch. I glared at the table, hoping he couldn't see the tears forming. "That's none of your business."
"I don't mean anything bad by it, Angela. There's nothing wrong with it. But you've always been the type for soul mates and true love."
"Well what's wrong with believing in a soul mate? Or in true love?"
"Nothing is wrong with it. That's what I'm saying. But those people don't do flings. They don't do one night stands."
"I can have a fling with the best of them."
"Of course you can." His words agreed with me but his sarcastic grin and raised eyebrow said something very different.
I huffed and crossed my arms in front of my chest and leaned back into my seat. I had no idea why his words seemed to hurt so much. I was going to break this off anyway. So why should it bother me that he was relieved it was being broken off? Or that he was planning to do the same thing? Why should it bother me that he didn't think I could just have a fling.
The lump in my throat ached. I needed him to know that I could have a one night stand. More than that, I needed him to believe me. Not always wanting one was not the same thing as not being able to have one.
And why would it be such a bad thing, anyway?
I leaned in to the table and stared just in front of him "Last night," I whispered. "The only reason you even got laid is because I wanted a fling. I just needed an orgasm. That's it."
With that, I leaned back in my seat and grinned. I didn't know what I thought I was going to accomplish with that.
He smiled, but he stopped chuckling. He drank in a big gulp of his iced tea and nodded.
"Fair enough," he said. "So, okay, Angela. You can have a fling with the best of them. But you still haven't answered my question. How many guys, or girls. Partners. How many partners have you been with?"
Cousin - Improper (A Bad Boy Romance) Page 6
