Lifers (6 page)

“Ma’am, I…”

“What have you done to your arms?” she snapped, pointing at the numerous cuts and scratches that were decorating my skin where the tattoos ended.

“Are you freakin’ crazy?” she went on, her voice getting louder by the second. “Why aren’t you wearing gloves?”

“I don’t have any.”

She stared at me like I wasn’t speaking English.

“Come here, you idiot!”

She grabbed my wrist and dragged me into the house.

I’d never been in the Reverend’s kitchen before. It was pretty basic, not all fancy like I’d seen on TV. I guess she didn’t make much money in a one-horse Texas town. Or maybe she just didn’t care about cooking. I somehow thought a Boston lady would have something fancier. I knew the Rectory belonged to the church, but I guess I thought she’d have it fixed up a little more.

Torrey pushed me in front of the kitchen sink and filled it with warm water. She was mumbling and cursing to herself the whole time. Even while I was wondering what she was doing, I couldn’t help thinking she was so damn cute.

Then she started washing my arms, using her hands to cup water and pour it down over the cuts. It stung plenty, but that was nothing compared to the spark I felt every time she touched me. I realized with horror that I’d gotten an instant boner.

“I can manage,” I said roughly, taking over cleaning my cuts.

“Sure, big guy,” she said, snidely. “You managed just fine in the yard, didn’t you, cutting those brambles down to size with your bare hands. Oh yeah, you showed them who’s boss. What’s a little blood as long as you can look like a big strong man? God! Men can be such assholes!”

Boy, this woman was a firecracker. Just the kind I would have gone for once. Not now, of course. She was still standing behind me, and I could feel her eyes burning twin holes into the back of my neck.

“I’m going to get some bandages and Bactine. Don’t move!” she ordered.

She was gone for a few minutes and I started panicking, wondering how it would look if the Rev came back to find me standing in her kitchen, looking all kinds of creepy.

I ignored what Torrey had told me and had one foot out of the door when she came back.

“I told you not to move!” she said, crossly. “Jeez, have you got attention deficit disorder?”

I shook my head slowly like a dumb dog.

“Sit!” she ordered, pointing at a wooden chair.

I sat.

She smoothed dollops of hospital-smelling cream all over my arms and put Band-Aids over the worst of the cuts.

“Don’t you have a long shirt, or something you can wear to cover up your arms? And you really need some work-gloves. I’ll tell Mom to buy you some. For now, you’d better use these.”

She threw me a pair of pink rubber dish gloves. I stared at them in disbelief.

“I cain’t wear those!”

“Is this some macho bullshit thing about not wearing pink? You’d rather get your arms ripped all to pieces? Do you actually have two brain cells to rub together to keep your head warm?”

“Do you ever make any tips when you’re waitressin’, ‘cause you’re so damn charmin’?” I snapped back.

I could have bit off my tongue when I realized I’d said that out loud.

She sat back in her chair, and I wasn’t sure if she was fixing to bawl me out or if she was fighting down a smile.

“Hey! I can be charming—when I want to be!”

And then she laughed. God it was a wonderful sound. People didn’t laugh much around me, and I certainly hadn’t heard my folks laugh lately. It stirred something deep inside me. I didn’t know what it was, but I liked it.

Her amusement finally ended in an unladylike snort, and I could feel my lips turning up in an awkward smile.

“I can be charming,” she said, again.

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah!”

“Prove it!” I taunted her.

She blinked in surprise, and then her smile turned devilish. I wondered what wicked thoughts were hiding behind that pretty face.

“Oh, baby,” she said, her voice all soft and sweet. “I can be charming! Now let me look at those cuts on your poor lil’ arms. Poor you; poor baby.”

And she leaned forward, giving me an eyeful straight down her tank top. She wasn’t wearing a bra and I could see soft, golden mounds of flesh. I closed my eyes and bit back a moan.

I don’t know what she saw in my eyes when I opened them, but her flirty words came to a sudden stop.

“Sorry,” she said, quietly. “I didn’t mean to tease. I was just playing.”

I nodded, uncomfortably aware that if I stood up now it would be obvious just how much her words—and lack of clothing—affected me.

“Okay, you’re good to go,” she said, slapping my knee and standing up. “I’ll just put some more coffee on first.”

She stood at the coffee maker with her back to me, allowing me to slide out of my chair. Perhaps she knew exactly what my problem was. It was humiliating, but I’d had worse things happen.

The only sound in the room was the soft burble of the coffee maker. In the end I couldn’t stand it anymore.

“I’ll wait outside, ma… Torrey,” I mumbled.

“You don’t have to, Jordan. I’m the prick here.”

“I … um … I think it would be better. If your momma … if the Reverend saw me…”

She sighed.

“Sure, okay, if you feel more comfortable. I’ll bring it out to you.”

I nodded my thanks and walked out carrying the pink dish gloves. I studied them, appreciating the gesture more than she could imagine, but there was no way I’d be able to get my hands in those teeny tiny things.

I heard the screen door close softly and when I turned around, a mug of coffee was sitting on the porch step.

But Torrey was gone.

I picked up the mug, inhaling the delicious aroma and felt my eyes sting. The loneliness hit me hard. In prison I’d kept to myself; out here, I didn’t know what the boundaries were anymore. It was a game of life where I didn’t know the rules and couldn’t work them out—and I was losing. Big time.

Torrey

I felt like the worst kind of cock-tease after I left Jordan. I’d been messing with his head and hadn’t even realized it. When I saw the look on his face, his desire black in those expressive eyes, I knew I’d crossed a line.

I hadn’t meant to. I swear I hadn’t meant to. But he was so easy to talk to, and I hadn’t made any other friends since I’d moved here.

Was Jordan my friend? I know I’d said we could be friends and I would try. Because I’d never met a person who needed a friend more. It was almost a shame he was so goddamn hot. It made the friendship boundary hard for me to respect objectively. Especially when all I wanted to do was jump his bones.

I shook my head. Mom had been right about one thing—Jordan was vulnerable, and he didn’t need me making his life harder.

But after that scorching look of lust, his expression had turned icy—a cold, hard prison stare. For the first time, I could almost believe what Mom said about him.

Returning to my room, I decided that there still wasn’t any harm in making him a coffee in the mornings and having a short conversation. That was safe territory. I kicked off my shorts and tank top, leaving them in a heap on the floor before walking down the hallway to the shower.

My priority was still to find a job, and yesterday had been a washout. Apart from anything else, I hadn’t heard back from Dad, so there’d been no happy stork delivering a couple of grand to my account. Looked like I was on my own after all.

I dried myself on a random towel that was hanging in the bathroom and hurried back to my room. I ignored my tangle of hair—I definitely didn’t have time to spend 20 minutes trying to drag a brush through it. So I just pulled on my best jeans and one of the dressy shirts I used to wear to the office, and applied a small amount of mascara and lipstick. It was so darn hot, that just walking to my car melted makeup.

I remembered Mom had left the local paper on the coffee table so I swiped that on my way out the door.

From the backyard I could hear the sound of some power tool, so I knew Jordan was still working. I hoped those dumb dish gloves were helping him. I decided to buy him a pair of work-gloves with long, protective cuffs. Mom could pay me back.

I got lucky when I looked at the want ads in the back of the paper. A new Starbucks was opening in the mall, a few miles out of town. I’d worked in a couple of their rival cafés when I was a student, so I was confident I had the kind of experience they were looking for.

As I spun the wheels leaving the driveway, I saw Jordan in my rearview mirror. He was watching me, a look of longing and disappointment on his lovely face.

I couldn’t think about that now. I needed to get my head in the game and find a damn job.

A couple of hours later, I had a stack of applications under my arm and one interview scheduled for the next day.

Okay, so it wasn’t as well paid as the paralegal job I’d walked away from in Boston, and no, it didn’t exactly require a college degree to make great coffee, but it was a start.

I allowed myself to celebrate by buying a really cute skirt that whispered my name as I’d walked past from the small boutique.

Not the smartest thing I’d ever done, spending $75 that I didn’t have, but it made my legs look great. And after the last few days, I really needed a pick-me-up.

When I got back to the house, Jordan had already left for the day.

Yeah, I admit I was avoiding him.

I had one other job to do: I needed to empty out the U-haul trailer. Mom had been on my case about it already.

When it came down to it, there wasn’t much I wanted to keep. Somehow it all seemed tainted with bad memories. Everything could go: Goodwill, e-Bay—I didn’t want any of it.

Jordan 

I heard her before I saw her.

She was swearing up and down, cussing worse than I’d heard in prison half the time.

“You useless piece of shit! You worn out worthless hunk o’ junk! I’m going to send you to a scrap yard! Start, you motherfucker!”

Holy cow! That girl had a mouth on her.

She was sitting in her Pontiac Firebird, wrenching the ignition key and pounding on the dash. I could tell straight away that the engine was cranking but not turning over. Only two reasons why a car won’t start: it’s not getting gas, or it’s not getting power.

“Um, Miss Torrey?”

Her cute face was red and angry when she looked at me.

“What?”

“I reckon you got a problem with your spark plugs.”

“How the hell do you know that? Did you do something to them?”

I was stung by her accusation. She must really think I was a piece of crap if she thought I’d mess with her car like that.

“No, ma’am,” I said, quietly. “I just know engines.”

Her face relaxed.

“Ignore me and my big mouth, Jordan. I’m just pissed because I have to be somewhere and the Princess has let me down. Now I’ll have to reschedule.”

I couldn’t help a small smile escaping.

“You call your car Princess?”

She grinned up at me. “Sure, she acts like a total bitch most of the time. I only put up with her because she’s pretty. That’s a princess, right?”