Chapter 27
Chapter twenty-seven
Lou
It’s Saturday night, and the bar is busy, but we run into each other—me going out of the kitchen, Clay coming in—and before Mariah notices him, he grabs me around the waist and pulls me into the stockroom.
“Think I can get you off before anyone misses us?” he asks, pressing me against the shelf and making the bottles rattle.
My fingers are in his hair as he kisses my neck. “We can’t.” Though I’m tempted.
“Why not?” There’s desperation in his voice.
I sigh. “Vebjorn.”
“May he rest in peace,” he says, drawing my leg up his thigh and grinding his erection against me.
The desk that took me hours to assemble didn’t survive the rescinding of the office being a fuck-free zone. It dumped us both onto the floor, along with the computer and assorted office supplies we hadn’t already knocked over.
“These shelves are better made,” he says, ignoring the way each grinding thrust causes the bottles to rattle.
“Don’t insult the dead,” I say, but I’m pulling my skirt up, and it’s on the tip of my tongue to suggest he take me against the door instead of the shelf when there’s a sharp knock on that door.
“Shareholder meeting is over, you two,” Briar calls. “When you come out, don’t forget the bitters you were supposed to grab.”
Clay groans, but breaks away from me, adjusts himself, grabs the bitters, and winks on his way out the door.
“New hairstyle?” Briar innocently asks from outside the kitchen.
The stockroom door shuts on his response.
He managed to avoid my lips and lipstick this time. He started carrying a pocket mirror and makeup-removing wipes, but he didn’t anticipate what I could do to his hair in twenty seconds.
It looks best sex-mussed anyway.
I take a moment to smooth the skirt of my dress and touch up my hair before I walk out. The order I’d been checking on in the kitchen is up, so after washing my hands, I take it out.
I can’t remember a time when Gallo’s didn’t feel like home, when the locals weren’t family.
Weaving through everyone’s good time gives me a sense of satisfaction.
Rita, Loretta, Marcella—all the Gallo women who made this place what it is, who fought tooth and nail to keep the bar going—they’re all here, from the Depression era advertisements and newspaper clippings great-grandma Marcella hung on the walls in her later years, to the wood paneling installed by grandma Loretta, and the little touches Aunt Rita left everywhere, like her initials engraved on the side of the bar from her teenage days and the celebrity prayer candles.
I resented sharing this place with Travis, and even with Clay at first, but this feels right. This thing with Clay is more than infatuation or lust. It’s deeper. It feels like the end of a curse and the start of something good.
Which is stupid because that isn’t how curses work.
In fact, it’s what they have you thinking before life yanks the rug out from under your feet.
Marcella might have felt the same after she and Benito bought the land, just before he was arrested.
Loretta may have been hopeful when she took over the bar with her young husband, not knowing he’d drink himself to death.
Perhaps Rita even saw the promise of peace and happiness in the twinkle of Patrick’s eyes on their wedding day.
By the time my parents had dumped me on her and left, that future was gone.
“Hey, Lou.”
I turn to find myself face-to-face with Blake Haagen Junior, Hayden’s boss and friend. From the uncomfortable look on Blake’s face, whatever he has to say must have something to do with my ex.
I prop a hand on my hip and wait.
Blake winces. “He wants to talk to you.”
A flicker of anger comes to life inside me. “So he sent you in here like we’re in middle school?”
Blake glances around. “I think he’d rather meet on more neutral ground.”
“Well, considering he drained my bank account, he can step into enemy territory if he has something he wants to say to me.”
“He’s outside. You should hear him out.”
I don’t owe Hayden dick. I start to walk away, but then I stop.
I want to hear what that asshole has to say. I want my money back.
Clay looks up as I drop an empty glass at the bar.
“There’s someone I need to talk to. I’ll be back in ten minutes.” Probably a lot sooner if this goes as I expect.
The sun is just past setting, the lone working parking lot light flickering on as I step outside into the warm summer night.
Sure enough, Hayden’s truck is parked at the very edge of the parking lot, close to the highway, and there he is, standing outside and leaning against the driver’s side door, looking every bit like the small town heartthrob.
Scruffy stubble. Tousled dark hair. Flinty eyes with enviable lashes.
He courts just enough trouble, just enough danger, to give him the bad-boy appeal that makes everyone think they can fix him, that they can be the one to make him settle down.
Deep down, I knew that wasn’t me, and I would’ve settled anyway.
He watches me as I walk up to him, and maybe I sway my hips a bit more than I usually would because the black skirt swishing around my knees makes me feel a little better. His eyes drop over my body, the slightest trace of regret in the twist of his lips. I want his regret. I want his pain.
I want my sixty thousand.
“Lou—”
I slap him, and the sound rings across the parking lot, music to my ears.
I’ve been in bar brawls. I’ve thrown an occasional punch in self-defense. I’ve slapped men for grabbing my ass or my tits when I’m trying to work and then thrown them out of my bar—sometimes with the help of my baseball bat—but I’ve never straight-up slapped someone like this before.
“You'd better have my money, Hayden Clarke,” I say as he slowly turns his head back to me.
He doesn’t get angry. Hayden isn’t an angry guy. Instead, he sighs as he rubs his cheek. “Get in the truck and we’ll talk.”
“I’m not going anywhere with you.”
“We’ll stay parked right here,” he promises.
God, does he think I’m a fool? “Give me your keys first.”
He hands them over. I ball them in my fist and then hurl them into the dark woods. “Now we can talk,” I say, turning to walk around the front of the truck. I yank the passenger’s door open and climb in.
“You’re a real bitch sometimes,” he complains, sliding into the driver’s seat. “How the fuck am I supposed to find my keys in the dark?”
“You took my savings, so turns out I don’t give a fuck. Walk home.”
He gives me that hard-done-by look. Once upon a time, I might have felt guilty when he looked at me like that.
“Are you here to give me back my money?” I ask pointedly.
He turns to stare out the front, but I still catch the flicker of pain across his face. “I don’t have it.”
It was foolish to hope he would find some decency in him.
“Why did you take it?”
He runs a hand through his hair once. Twice. “I’m going to be a dad.”
“What?” I expected a gambling problem, or drugs, or an ailing family member. His father hasn’t been well for a long time.
“There was an old girlfriend,” he mumbles. “When I went to my cousin’s wedding.”
“The one in Missouri?” I ask. I’m going to murder him. “When we were still together?”
“It was just the once, months ago, and we weren’t exclusive then.”
I smack his arm. “The fuck we weren’t.” I’m glad I listened to my gut and got tested.
“She doesn’t have a place to stay, Lou. Her parents kicked her out. She needed the money.”
“You better not be blaming this woman for your shitty decisions.”
Hayden rubs his eyes, and he looks miserable. “I was wrong. I shouldn’t have slept with her. I shouldn’t have taken the money when I found out she was pregnant. I made a mistake.”
“Mistakes, plural.”
He nods. “I messed up. I’m so sorry, Lou.”
I take a deep breath and let it out. As shitty as it is to find out he knocked someone up while he was with me, at least I know why he took the money.
The other woman can have him—and the money, too. Clay offered to replace what my ex stole, and to give me back my bar, and I trust he’ll follow through.
A little voice in the back of my head warns me that putting that kind of trust in Clay on the heels of Hayden’s betrayal is beyond foolish, but I shove it aside as a problem for future me. Right now, I’ve wasted enough time and energy on Hayden Clarke—no more.
“Congratulations, I guess,” I say, reaching for the door.
Hayden grabs my arm. “She threw me out.”
Now that makes me laugh. “Smart lady.”
“She threw me out because I’m still in love with you. I want you back, Lou.”
I laugh harder. “No.”
“I heard you’re with that fucker who bought the bar off Travis,” Hayden says. “How much do you know about him?”
“I know that he’s not going to knock up an old girlfriend and then clean out my savings account,” I snap.
“He paid Travis in cash. He was in a rush to get it done. Rumor has it he’s loaded. Where do you think he got that money from?”
“The old-fashioned way—all tied up in trust funds and investments from his daddy,” I lie. Inaccessible is what I want Hayden to take away.
“Lou—”
I slip out of the truck, slamming the door so hard he jumps.
Hayden gets out and rushes around to the front of the truck, intending to cut me off. “Don’t be like that—”
When he tries to grab my arm, I slap his hand away. “Get the fuck off my property.”
“You don’t even own Gallo’s anymore,” he spits, irritation finally flaring.
“In that case,” a cold, smooth voice cuts through the dark, “get the fuck off my property.”
We both jump and whirl.
Clay is standing about ten feet away, my baseball bat casually draped over his shoulder. “Thought you might want this,” he says, strolling over and handing me the bat.
I laugh, delighted, as I take it and eye the headlights.
“Oh come on, Lou,” Hayden whines. “Not my truck. I can’t fucking leave because you threw my goddamn keys into the woods.”
“Then you might want to run inside and see if Blake will give you a ride home,” I suggest.
Hayden mutters something as he storms into Gallo’s.
Clay’s lips turn up, but that mild amusement doesn’t touch his eyes. Anger burns there, entirely at odds with the casual way he backs me up against Hayden’s truck. He kisses me softly at the corner of my mouth.
“We need to get in there,” I say.
“Milo saw you talking to him,” Clay says, continuing those soft little kisses over my cheek. “So I deputized him. Let him and Briar look after the bar. I need you for ten minutes.”
His lips reach my neck, and the rage simmering inside me takes a new direction, bursting into straight-up lust.
“You want to fuck me in the parking lot?”
“I want to fuck you against the side of your ex’s truck,” Clay says between those hot, wet kisses, “while he’s inside the bar seething.”
I moan. “Best idea you’ve ever had.”
His laugh is muffled against my neck, but his hands are already drawing the skirt of my dress up, then moving to undo his pants. “I don’t have a condom, so if I come inside you, you’re going to be dripping the rest of the night.”
“It’ll put a smile on my face.”
“So what you’re saying,” he says as he presses me harder against the truck and lifts my leg up his hip, “is that fucking me is good for customer service.”
I’m about to tell him that my customer service is already phenomenal, but the pressure of his cock pushing into me, filling me, leaves me speechless.
“Other leg, too,” he murmurs, and then both my legs are around his hips, and I cling tight to him.
“Can you do this, old man?” I ask. My question gets the result I’m looking for—he spanks me. The skirt of my dress muffles the sting of it, plus he has me up against Hayden’s truck, so the angle was already a little awkward, but I love it anyway.
We’re in the shadows, and there’s barely any twilight left—just the mere suggestion of it to the west. Hayden’s truck blocks us from the highway, but anyone coming to or going from the bar could see us.
My skirt hides everything, but the way he moves, thrusting into me while he continues to suck at the sensitive skin of my neck, would make it crystal clear what we’re up to.
A little thrill runs through me.
It would be a lie to say I haven’t fucked in this parking lot. Hell, most of Havenwood has at some point. It’s a rite of passage for drunk twenty-somethings. But I’ve never done it outside the cab of a vehicle, and anyway, this is with Clay, which immediately makes it new and exciting.
He knows just how to fuck me, to hit places that light me up. Or maybe he was made for me. I’m drunk on the mingled gasps, the sound of our bodies, the way each grinding thrust is pulling me apart in the best way.
A moan carries on the warm night air, but it’s not mine. Clay pauses to listen. “We aren’t the only ones out here.”
I turn my head to scan the parking lot, and there, on the other side near the lake, just within the reach of that lone light, is Keith’s truck. And it’s a-rocking. There’s a woman on his lap, but I can’t see either of them clearly. The idle curiosity of small-town life has me wondering who it is.
Clay bites my ear, not hard, but enough to refocus me. “You can watch, but don’t forget whose cock has you pinned to this truck,” he grumbles.
Like I could.
Clay already has me close. I don’t need to watch Keith’s truck, not when I can hear them.
Knowing we’re not alone puts me on the brink, and when Clay starts to struggle to keep control, it sends me over.
I do moan then, but I don’t look to see if anyone heard.
Instead, I pull his head back so I can watch his face as he comes.
He stays inside me as we catch our breaths, but too soon he’s sliding out and tucking himself back into his pants while I shake out my skirt.
“That was cathartic,” I say, picking up the baseball bat. All my rage and anger at Hayden, the crushing disappointment and shame in being taken advantage of—all that is gone. I feel good. Powerful, even.
This is me landing on my feet.
“But maybe I’ll take out a headlight for good measure,” I say, moving into swinging position.
Clay grabs the end of the bat. “Let’s not bring the cops here.”
“A tail light?”
“Louisa.”
“Fine.” I hand him the bat to remove temptation and we walk back into the bar.