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ROWLEY
*
I STILL SAW RED WHEN I thought of her in that white bridal dress. I'd been so angry about that goddamn dress and having my face rubbed in the fact that she'd said yes to marriage to two men. It didn't even help knowing that she'd reneged on one of those promises.
Logic told me that she wasn’t to blame. She’d been completely vulnerable, set adrift with no support system, and those assholes had both known it and taken advantage.
Maybe the only difference between me and those guys was that I’d be the end of the fucking line. If...when, she married me it would be permanent.
She was usually out of my house by dawn. But today she was in my kitchen making breakfast...and that gave me hope.
She was dressed in faded jeans with torn out knees and a dinky shirt that left her tiny waist exposed. Her hair was pulled back into a bouncy ponytail.
Damn, the girl was sugar through and through, even her sass had a sort of sweetness to it.
She had a serious look on her face as she ladled a spoonful of batter onto the frying pan.
"Pancakes?" she asked.
I poured myself some coffee. "Sure."
She picked up a fork and started transferring the bacon that was sizzling in another pan, to a plate lined with a paper towel for soaking up the grease.
I took a swallow of coffee. "I'm meeting some friends tonight."
"That's nice," she said absently.
"I want you to come."
She frowned at me over her shoulder. "You want me to meet your friends?"
"That's the idea."
She stacked some pancakes on a plate and added a side of bacon and handed it to me. "Butter and syrup are on the island."
"Just two friends from college and their wives. A few drinks at a bar."
She still looked doubtful. “Do you really want me to go?”
"You know I do.”
***
IT WAS A DRY, WINDY October night. The Santa Anas were kicking up, which meant wildfires.
I honked my horn again. She was late. She’d changed in the guesthouse, and I’d already walked to the door and knocked like the Southern gentleman she wanted me to be. That had been ten minutes ago.
When she finally stepped out of the house, she had on a clingy dress with a thin cream-colored sweater and high-heeled strappy sandals. The wind blew the dress against her, so that it hugged her curves even tighter. She gathered her hair together to one side trying to spare it from the wind, but strands were whipping around her face.
I got out of the truck to help boost her onto the passenger seat. As she got closer, I realized that she sparkled. There was glittery nail polish on her fingernails and toenails. Little diamonds sparkled in her ears. And whatever skin lotion she’d used made her skin shimmer.
I took a call from the station as we drove. I glanced over at her. She was twirling a strand of hair around her finger. It was a nervous habit that she’d had since I could remember.
I pulled into the parking lot and checked the address again. Damn, this was the right place. A karaoke bar of all fucking places.
Far too much pink and purple neon was my first impression. That it was crowded was my second impression. I steered her toward the table near the back. Nick and Clay were getting to their feet. She stopped midstep.
“They’re nearly as big as you. Did you guys all play football in college together?”
“Yes. And you would know that if you hadn’t disappeared from my life.”
She squeezed my arm. “You have no idea how much I missed you during those years.”
My heart thumped in my chest. Whenever she said things like that, or told me she loved me, I wanted so fucking badly to believe her. But she was too elusive. She left personal items lying around my house; hair clips, earrings, a perfume bottle, but by the next day the items would be gone.
I even bought her a toothbrush but instead of leaving it in the bathroom she kept it in a plastic baggy in her purse.
I was still treating her like she was a skittish doe who’d run from me if I asked for a commitment. But I couldn’t do this one night stand bullshit much longer.
Harper was still clinging to my arm as we reached the table. I introduced her around.
“Sara picked the place.” Clay’s tone was apologetic.
“What?” Sara said. “It’s fun."
I pulled a chair out for Harper, leaning over to breathe in the scent of her hair as she sat down. “I love karaoke,” she said.
Sara gave her husband a “see, I told you so” look.
Harper took off her sweater, exposing her silky smooth shoulders.
I sat down and Nick pushed a beer bottle in my direction.
“It’s probably a good idea that we’re getting together now. Before the fire season starts, right, Captain Ford?” Kelly said in a flirtatious tone.
“Shit, it’s fire season in California all year round,” Nick answered for me.
“What are you drinking?” Harper asked Kelly. “It looks amazing.” It was a glass jar filled with more fruit than liquid.
“White wine sangria.”
“Oh, I want to try one of those.”
The wives seemed to accept her immediately. But I sensed the men’s surprise. Like they knew I'd trapped a beautiful butterfly and was going to have to let her go at some point.
Nick and Clay started talking sporting goods, aluminum bats more specifically. They owned a firm together and it was still the topic that excited them most.
Sara mock yawned and tilted her head toward the stage. “You want to do a duet?” she asked Harper.
“Sure.”
Nick finally changed the subject to something more interesting, this year’s football team at our college. Clay was the only one of us that thought they had possibilities.
We heard Sara’s comically deep voice and we all turned our attention toward the stage. She was trying to sing the man’s part of a duet. She managed only a couple of lines before both women started cracking up.
A douche bag hopped up on the stage and motioned for the mic. Still laughing, Sara handed it over.
The guy instantly picked up where Sara had left off, putting on an overdone twang.
“What a fucking showboat,” Clay grumbled.
When his part ended he gestured toward Harper.
Harper tried to hand her microphone off to Sara, but Sara refused it with a wave of her hands. She pointed at Harper and then left the stage.
Harper shrugged and brought the mic up and started singing.
I pulled in a sharp breath. Her voice had a drive-men-crazy sultry edge to it. Why wasn't she front and center in her band?
It was a country song of heartache and longing. Thank God she focused on me while she sang instead of the jackass sharing the stage with her.
Heads started to swing in her direction. The chatter noise level dropped.
She looked like a doll up there. I wanted to strip that clingy dress off of her, to yank down her panties with my teeth, and penetrate her with my tongue. I was trying to remember why I’d wanted to go out rather than spend all night fucking her.
“Damn, Harper has a set of pipes on her,” Nick said.
It was the jackass’s turn again. He was trying to get her to look at him. But she kept her eyes fixed on me.
“He’s trying to compete with her. Good fucking luck with that,” Clay muttered. One of his hands was wrapped around a bottle, the other was resting atop the table and curled into a fist. I knew him well enough to know he wanted to beat the shit out of the guy in the worst way. Probably the only thing holding him back was the setting. A karaoke bar with bright pink lighting did not lend itself to brawls.
Sara returned to the table with a glass of red wine.
“You okay, hon?" Clay asked.
“Of course, I am,” Sara said. “Now hush, this is Harper’s part.”
Harper lifted the mic to her lips and started singing again, and I couldn’t help recalling her sweet mouth on my cock for the first time. How hard she’d tried to please me. I took a long pull, trying to cool my blood.
A couple of men had gotten off their bar stools and were making their way toward the stage.
Nick backhand smacked my chest. "Shit, man, your girl’s got an audience."
The song ended and the bar broke out in applause.
“Can you believe that idiot?” Clay asked. “He’s actually bowing. He thinks they’re clapping for him.”
Some fool held out his arms to lift Harper down from the stage. It was only five fucking inches or less off the ground.
I started across the bar. I wanted to crack some heads. Maybe brawling wasn’t such a bad idea after all.
Rather than deal with her admirers, Harper pushed through the back curtains.
"Didn't know you could sing like that," I said as she came around.
"I'm a woman of many talents." She batted her eyelashes at me.
“Are you flirting with me?”
“Maybe.”
Sara came over with two ping pong paddles. “Kelly’s holding the table. Let’s have a tournament.”
Harper took one of the paddles. “Okay. But I really suck at it.”
“So do I. But who cares.”
I watched them walk toward the games room.
Harper could always make friends easily. But beyond her bandmates, she just never bothered making the effort to keep up any of those friendships.
I returned to the table. They’d ordered another round of beer. I grabbed a bottle, twisted off the cap, and took a slug.
“Hey, Ford, did you buy the ring yet?” Nick asked his amused gaze shifting to Clay, as if they shared a joke.
I set the beer bottle down. “Holy shit, am I that obvious?”
Clay chuckled. “Oh, fuck, yeah.”
We were back on sports again. After another round of beer and some whiskey shots, we’d exhausted the subject.
Nick glanced around the bar. “No darts. No pool table. No fucking sports on TV. Fuck, no TV at all for that matter.”
“At least, the girls are having fun,” Clay said.
“Speaking of. Where the fuck are they?” Nick asked.
Nick went to check the games room. “They aren’t there,” he said when he returned. He pulled his phone from his pocket.
“Where are you?” Nick’s gaze slid over to us, and my instant thought was, now what has she done? “Okay. We’ll meet you there.” He ended the call.
“They’re at that fun park a block down.”
“Want to bet who the instigator was?” Clay asked with a laugh.
Nick clamped a hand on my shoulder as we strode down the street. “Bro, you sure caught yourself a wild one.”
We found Kelly and Sara playing miniature golf. They pointed in the direction of the Ferris wheel. Of fucking course, my babe was the lone rider of a stalled Ferris wheel, stuck nearly at the top, with the winds blowing, no less.
She leaned over and waved down at me, rocking the car.
My stomach dropped. I cupped my hands around my mouth and shouted. “Darlin’, you sit your sweet ass down, and wait.” Not sure whether she heard me, I fired off a text message with the same sentiment.
“Bet you wished you had your fire ladder right about now,” Nick said.
I opened the gate and stepped onto the ride platform and ducked my head into the booth. “If you don’t want to lose your operating license you’d better get this shit ride started again.”
“Give me five minutes,” the man said.
It was more like ten before the engine finally kicked into gear.
Clay and Nick had gotten tired of my pacing and gone off to hit some balls in the batting cage.
Harper climbed off the ride as carefree as can be. She had a slushy drink in her hand and her lips were slightly blue.
I dipped my head and gave her a brief kiss. She tasted like cotton candy.
“You worry about me too much,” she said.
“It would solve all of my problems if I could just handcuff you to me.”
“Why not put a collar and leash on me?”
“That would work, too. A kitten collar with rhinestones and a bell.”
“You’ve given this a lot of thought, haven’t you?”
“Could be.”
“Rowley Ford, you can really be an ass,” she said with a frown, and then she broke into laughter.