Chapter 1
TAMMY
“Suit’s order is up,” Ginger hollers from the front of the diner.
I button up my pants, then wash my hands, trying but failing not to stare at the mirror. I take note of the bags under my eyes and the hair sticking out every which way. I’m gonna hit thirty-five in a few months, and my body feels eighty.
Overworked and underpaid is the name of the game here in Winston, Wyoming, population thirteen thousand. Them sleepless nights take a toll on a girl. But that’s what it takes to raise my sister’s kids, so I’m gonna stick it out.
“Tammy,” Ginger hollers again.
I swing open the bathroom door and rush down the hallway to the front of the kitchen, where Ginger thrusts a plate of scrambled eggs and bacon into my chest. “Hot plate. Sat under the lights forever.” She winks.
Ginger is my best friend, my babysitter, sometimes my mom, even a boyfriend who takes me out occasionally. Basically, my wife, just not in a sexy way. I grab a serving cloth and take the plate, heading down the packed diner toward a guy we call the Suit, a businessman who recently arrived in town.
He’s staying over at Linda’s Lodgings, where I work housekeeping part-time, and he tips well. He comes in every morning, so I make an extra effort to be sweet.
Smiling, I drop off his plate. “Here you go, dear.”
“Blake,” he says, and lifts his gaze from his tablet where he’s reading the Business Review every morning. From the week I’ve seen him here, I’ve gathered he’s predictable. Structured. Disciplined. Uninterested in raggedy waitresses in small towns, and I can’t blame him.
However, if I can’t bang him, I want to be him, because I could definitely use some order in my life. “Tammy,” I say, and when he doesn’t extend his hand, I clasp my hands in front of me.
“I heard. The entire town hears your coworker.” His eyes twinkle, and I can’t tell if he’s annoyed with Ginger or if he’s trying to be funny. I opt for the latter and force myself to laugh a little, then ask, “Is there anything else I can bring you?”
“Ketchup.” He pulls out the empty bottle from the condiment basket, and fuck, I forgot to check the condiments when I came in this morning before Mary slipped out without doing her side work on the night shift.
“Coming right up.” Back at the front of the kitchen, we have a large counter where Ginger passes the orders, and I find half-full ketchup bottles and groan, annoyed with Mary. “Ginger,” I say. “Mary’s still not doing her side work.”
“I’ll talk to her again.”
Uncapping the bottle, I climb the tall stool and bend over the counter to pump the bottle full from the big container we keep under here. “How many times are you gonna just talk to her?”
“As many as it takes.”
Rolling my eyes, I cap the bottle and return to the Suit, who’s inhaled half the eggs already. “Here you go, Blake. More iced tea?”
He nods, nose in the book on his tablet now. I check the time. Eight sharp, so there’s time for him to read something. Like clockwork.
“Tammy,” Devon Washington says from the table next to the Suit. “The kids and I are done. I need to run to Marty’s. Mind if you babysit? I won’t take long.”
I sigh, putting a hand on my hip. I want to say no because I’m working and Marty owns the only market in town, so this trip could take an hour.
Mr. Washington’s kids aren’t the best behaved, but Devon lost his wife, Heather, in the same accident in which I lost my sister, so the entire town is helping out with his kids.
Funny how only my mom and Ginger help me, but hey, the single-dad trope is more popular than the single-mom-or-aunt one.
I nod, and he slides out of the booth, knowing I can’t say no. My sister and his wife were best friends. Born on the same day, died on the same day.
The front door’s bell jingles as he exits.
“Vanilla shakes?” I ask the kids.
They shout a yes like a chorus.
I glance back at Ginger, who’s looking a little pale. I walk over. “What is it?”
“I forgot to tell you about the back room.”
“There’s people in there?”
“A few.”
“Shit.”
“I’m sorry. You want me to go there first?”
“It’s fine. Make vanilla shakes for Washington’s kids. He’ll probably be an hour. Also, keep an eye on my Suit, and the Tornstens are waiting on pancakes.”
I spin on my heel and practically run between the booths, cutting a corner to the left, passing the bathroom, and hopping over the three steps to enter the back room we use for parties larger than ten, such as weddings, birthdays, and, sadly, funerals.
I take stock of the party and inhale the smell of leather and fresh-shaved man.
Instantly, butterflies flutter in my belly because, let’s face it, I’m a single mom-aunt in her midthirties in a town where nothing ever happens, and I’m horny as fuck.
These guys are hot. Clean-shaven, tightly clipped hair, jeans, leathers, and…
they smell like motorcycle fumes. Are they bikers?
The butterflies in my belly roar like lionesses in heat. With the roar comes an instant reminder of how the last time a biker gang drove through town, I got laid and panicked when the condom broke and I missed my period.
Thankfully, I didn’t get pregnant and avoided having to chase the baby’s daddy all over the country just so he could remind me it was a one-night stand and an accident.
“Hey there, cupcake,” one of them says. I realize I’m standing at the entrance like a deer caught in the headlights.
The guys chuckle, some still reading menus, others just looking bored.
I smile a wide one. “Hey.” The one who spoke is a redhead like Ginger, but with fewer freckles on his face and a cleft chin, which makes his smile even sexier.
“I’m sorry to keep you waiting. Can I get you a cup of coffee?”
They shout orders at me, talking over each other, and I start circling the table, writing down orders on my pad.
These men know what they want, and they’re firing at me quickly and with certainty, so I’m hustling to write it all down as fast as they spit it out.
I’m busy writing the last guy’s order, so I don’t look up as I circle to the head of the table, the last man on my list.
Because I’m not looking, I’m unprepared.
Even if I’d looked, I wouldn’t have been prepared for this man.
And when I do lift my head, smile, and lock eyes with his blue ones, my knees almost fold.
Oh my God. Black hair, blue eyes, black turtleneck, leather jacket, and a perfect nose.
The nose got me. No, really, the nose makes or breaks a dude’s face.
I know better than to stare into those dreamy eyes and believe a single word he says.
Unless he was talking about eggs or pancakes.
No, not eggs. Those things can be fertilized with his sperm.
He’s got a lot of sperm. I’m sure he’s massive, and bam, I look down, trying to see between his legs.
Briefly, but I bet he caught it, because he pushes back his chair, and spreads his legs wider.
I open my mouth, and nothing comes out.
With a smirk on his face, he does a once-over of my body. I’m wearing a dirty apron over my jeans and a brown sweater I’ve worn for the past three years ever since I got it on clearance. And remember those bags under my eyes? Yeah, those.
And did I mention I gained six pounds over the long winter and that I now have a lower belly bump as if I’d delivered my sister’s babies? Yeah, I’m conscious of how I look. Like a worn-out single mom who just needs to take this dude’s order. So that’s what I do.
I take his order and leave the room, dragging my screaming pussy behind me.