Chapter 18Like a puppy
EIGHTEEN
Like a puppy
Trace
“Your daddy told you to stay put,” Hudson says, glancing at his phone again.
“He ain’t my daddy,” I growl, pacing behind the row of barstools at the diner counter.
Hudson pulls a toothpick from his lips, eyeing me. “He told you to calm down, said you can’t come to the shop till after lunch, and then said stay put.” He shrugs. “I got two kids. That sounds a lot like you getting grounded by Daddy.”
I roll my eyes. “He wants me to calm down, that’s all. And stop saying daddy,” I grumble while I continue to stomp back and forth, feeding my hands through my hair, wondering why I always gotta say the worst fucking thing instead of how I actually feel.
“And are ya?” Hudson asks, pouring the warmed maple syrup into a to-go container. He begins filling another one.
“Think you got enough syrup?” I question, taking out my frustration anywhere I can.
“Not for what Dolly has planned.” He pops the lid on and pinches the top of his hat, resting it on his head. “Well, if you don’t mind a word of advice from a man married to an Ellington sister–”
He lifts the plastic bags full of food from the counter, leaving a healthy tip for Lucy. I realize then that if things work out with Ivy, if I can get my shit together, this man may be my brother-in-law. Which would make Deuce… Well, nothing. But I’d be in their circle. I’d belong somewhere. Somewhere I think I actually enjoy being. With people I like.
Who, if I get my shit together now, may actually like me too. Not Trace Calhoun the has-been TV star but actually me.
Nodding, I welcome Hudson’s advice.
“Well, from what I’ve observed, you seem a bit… tantrum-y.”
I press a hand to my chest, still worked up from earlier. Now? “Tantrum-y?” I repeat. This cowboy boot-wearing, buckle-loving, hay-baling guy is gonna call me tantrum-y. “I am not,” I retort angrily, stomping my boot.
Hudson’s eyes veer to my boot, and my gaze follows. A moment of silence passes.
“You gotta have a level head with these women, okay? Because they’re smart, and if you’re all,” he makes this face like he just licked a lemon, “all the time, then it makes it hard for things to happen.” Gathering the second plastic bag full of food, he says, “I pushed Dolly away for stupid reasons. She stuck around. I’m just saying, don’t think of stupid reasons to prolong the inevitable.”
“Inevitable?” I repeat.
“You’re a one-word master, aren’t ya?” Hudson moves past me toward the door. “Ivy likes you. Ellington women get what they want.”
“I like Ivy, too,” I admit, feeling like a fourteen-year-old talking to my guidance counselor.
“So then, quit being a baby, get over whatever you got to get over, and accept that you’re hers.”
I can’t help but chuckle at that. “Isn’t that my line? Shouldn’t I be the one calling her mine?”
He smirks. “Sure. Try that.” He steps one foot onto the sidewalk. “Get over yourself. That’s my best advice.”
Then he takes his five thousand bags of food, his gallon of syrup and his coffee and goes to meet his pregnant wife.
And I find myself jealous of the cowboy boot-wearing, buckle-loving, hay-baling guy. And I’m inclined to take his advice.
“Can I bring you a sandwich?” Lucy asks, giving me that half-tilted head, droopy smile that your mother gives you when she feels bad you got dumped again.
I smooth my hands through my hair. “I just had breakfast.”
There’s that sad smile again. “Honey, that was three hours ago.”
I look at my phone and see it’s nearing noon. Holy shit, she’s right. I’m not hungry, but the urge to have a sip of whiskey to calm my nerves strikes. “I’ll take a sandwich. Something with bacon. And french fries, too.”
Lucy nods. “You want me to get something for Ivy, too?”
I hate that Lucy knows her favorite meal and I don’t, but I’ve never asked. I’ve been the guy who answers questions, who soaks in a woman’s focus and attention. But I have never reciprocated, and I dislike myself greatly for it.
“What’s she like?” I ask quietly, twisting an empty straw wrapper around my finger. “For lunch, I mean.”
She shrugs. “Her favorite is the chicken club. She likes sweet potato fries and coleslaw. But there isn’t a single dish in this diner she won’t eat.”
I nod. “Okay then, I’ll get her favorite.”
“To go?”
I twist on the barstool and look through the glass, across the street, toward Ink Time. Deuce said I could go back about now, but something about rectifying what happened where it happened feels logical to me. “Here, maybe. Let me ask her.”
Lucy smiles. “Good start.”
I don’t know if she’s talking about lunch or relationships, but either way.
Meet me for lunch across the street?
I hover over the send button, considering just walking across the street. But I want to talk to Ivy and I don’t necessarily need an intimate audience.
I hit send and within a moment, she’s responding.
I don’t have an appetite.
C’mon, Firecracker. You gotta eat and I gotta talk.
Fine.
Got your crispy chicken sandwich with sweet potato fries waiting for you.
Thanks, Lucy.
She told me but now I know.
Gonna put that knowledge to use?
You wait and see. And get your ass over here.
A moment later, there’s a swish of black hair and tights as Ivy pushes through the diner doors, greeting Lucy and two of the line cooks with a broad grin. And when her eyes find me in the semi-crowded diner, my chest aches.
My locked cock aches, too.
I lift an arm, waving her to me, and in return? She rolls her eyes.
Again, my cock aches and I let a quiet groan free. “ Fuck ,” I whisper, my heart racing. She makes her way to me in long strides.
“Hey, Firecracker.” I smile, slipping out of the booth to stand until she sits too.
Dropping her purse into the booth, she eyes me cautiously. She’s got blue cat eye liner on today, and it’s hot as fuck. Blue cat eyes, black lips, her gauges switched to black. My caged dick howls for her. “You stood for me,” she comments, sliding into the booth.
“I didn’t know I was gonna do that,” I admit, sitting again. “But it felt right. With you.” She stares at me as she plucks a sweet potato fry from the plate. “You want to roll your eyes at me, don’t you?” I smirk.
Another fry, followed by a sip of water. “Kinda.” And then I’m blessed with a smirk, the sassy one I’ve recently been thinking about in the shower when my hand is wrapped around my cage.
I stare down at my plate of food, unable to eat anything with so many unsaid things between us.
“I’m sorry,” I admit, and as soon as I say it, make the admission, my chest lightens. I don’t apologize often, and definitely not enough, but it feels good. I am sorry, and telling her feels like a massive leap in the right direction.
My greasy burger with crispy bacon poking out looks more appetizing. “I’m very sorry, Ivy.”
She takes a bite of her chicken sandwich and the blob of special sauce at the corner of her mouth makes my balls pulse. God, I’d love to lick that sauce from her lips then cram my cock into her mouth.
“You’re sorry because you want the key back,” she says around a mouthful of sandwich.
“You talk with your mouth full, huh?” I tease her but I like it. I like how comfortable she is, and nothing is disingenuous either.
“Need I remind you that you passed out naked? Because talking with my mouth full,” she says, making an apothecary scale with her palms. “Versus having my genitals out in public.” The hand representing my naked penis sinks. She grabs her sandwich and takes another bite. “You really aren’t in a position of judgment.”
I can’t help but smile. “I wasn’t judging, I guess I just commented because I knew it would get under your skin, and I love seeing you riled up.”
She rolls her eyes. “I thought you were apologizing.”
My first instinct is to argue that I did, but I know there’s more to be discussed. I clear my throat. “I am.” I hold her eyes, hoping she feels my sincerity. I’ve never been more sincere. And that has my stomach tight and my palms sweaty. “I’m sorry, Ivy. I’m sorry for lying because what you overheard me saying to Deuce was absolutely a lie.”
Her lips part and her hands, clutching half of her chicken sandwich, stay steady over her plate. “It was?”
I nod. “It was a lie. Because lies, for me, are easier than the truth. Alcohol and women have been another way to avoid the truth.”
She sets her sandwich down and waves Lucy off as she appears with a pitcher of water, asking about refills. “What’s the truth then?”
“Mr. Calhoun,” a voice interrupts us, someone approaching from behind me. Ivy’s eyes lift to the person approaching, and a smile curls her lips.
“Hey, Dash,” she says. A moment later, a police officer appears, his uniform pressed, his hair neatly styled, one hand resting on his belt, the other tipping his shades up.
He says hello to Ivy then turns to me. “I hardly recognized you with your clothes,” he grins.
Ivy leans over the table, lowering her voice so other patrons don’t hear. “Dash came to Ink Time two nights ago when the— well, you know what happened.”
I shrug. “Deuce told me but I didn’t watch the footage.” I wipe my hand on the paper napkin draped over my thigh and extend mine to his. He looks at my hand. “Thank you for your help. I was in a bad state, and I appreciate as a new citizen of Bluebell knowing law enforcement is solid.”
Dash looks a bit startled by my words and just like standing when Ivy walked in, I’m a little surprised, too. But I mean every word. He came and helped and while yes, cops should always help, I’ve known some bad ones. In fact, in the next town over in Willowdale, I’ve met a few unhinged ones.
I know they’re just people, and the badge doesn’t automatically make them good. But Dash was good to Ivy, and Ink Time, and therefore, I like him.
“And by the way,” I add, while I still have them both in stunned silence, “Calhoun is my middle name. It’s what I went by on the show because… well, they liked it better. But… I’m going by my real name now.” I extend my hand again, for another shake. “Trace Wade.”
Dash shakes my hand again, this time smiling. “Trace Wade,” he repeats. “Good to meet you.”
“You, too.”
Dash looks at Ivy, and it gives me a moment to read his nameplate. FOSTER. It’s important to take note of the people around me that matter. That’s the recipe for laying roots.
They talk a little while I catch up on my burger. There is talk of Juniper, Ivy’s older sister, and her jam delivery. Dash asks about getting an appointment with her to get some new ink, he compliments me on my boots, then he’s gone.
“He’s cool,” I say, trying to control the flare of jealousy rearing inside me when she smiles.
“Super cool.” She takes another bite, then adds, “And I’m pretty sure he’s in love with Juniper.”
Relief spreads through me and I glance at my watch to divert energy. Knowing I have an afternoon session, and seeing that time is running out, I redirect my focus. “You know, I think being locked up is somehow helping me… I don’t know? Focus?” I’m not sure if focus is the right word, but the clarity I’ve had today, despite the hiccup this morning, is incredible.
“So… you’re not horny?” Ivy whispers, eyes wide. God do I love her saying horny.
“Oh, I’m horny,” I laugh. “Since you’ve been in this diner I’ve thought about fucking your mouth at least twice.”
Her cheeks grow pink, and I love that I can turn my little Firecracker red.
“But not being able to act on it… well, it’s different. But I like that it forces my brain to go other places.” I discovered after holding in my piss for two and half hours, that the cage is indeed open at the tip, so all that agony was for nothing. And it’s oddly comforting and I find my mind freed up since I no longer think about my dick half the day.
She smiles, and my entire chest radiates warmth. Fuck, I like her. I like her so much. “Hey, by the way, Deuce thinks you should ink me. Not sure if you caught that earlier.”
She eats her last fry before responding. “Yeah, I heard.”
“I think he’s right. And not just because of what you did for me. But… I want your work on me, Ivy.”
I don’t know if she knows she does it, but right then, her hand rises, the tips of her fingers smoothing along the rough edge of the key.
“Thank you.” I don’t know if she’s thanking me for the apology, or for letting her ink me, but her appreciation is as good as praise. With her flushed cheeks and my leaking cock, I pay the bill, and I trail behind her like a puppy across the street.