Love in Bloom (16 page)

“Oh, yeah. It's just that . . .”

“What?”

“Well, I have to be somewhere to night and  . . .”

Where did she have to be to night, and with whom? It was still too early to be asking those kind of questions. They hadn't slept together. They hadn't talked about being exclusive. Right now he didn't have a right to ask. But that didn't mean he wasn't dying to know who his competition was. “To night is a long ways away,” he said.

“You're right.” She stood up like a woman who had made a decision and was ready to act on it. “Let's do it.”

It wasn't quite as good a response as “Cool” or “Sounds like fun,” but it was still a yes, so Jason decided he was good with that. He couldn't help wondering why she hadn't jumped at the chance to go hiking with him. They were having fun, she was interested in him, so what was the problem? And what did she have going on to night?

Never mind. It didn't matter. He hated to think he had competition, but it shouldn't surprise him if he did. He'd just have to outdo the competition, that was all.

As they meandered along various trails under tall firs and cedars, she plied him with questions about the different hikes he'd done and where. Had he ever seen a bear? Had he ever gotten stung by bees? Did he ever worry about getting mugged? Not exactly the conversation of a seasoned hiker.

“Don't tell me you've gotten mugged hiking?” he teased.

“Does getting groped count?”

That wasn't surprising to hear. He could hardly keep his hands off her.

“It can be dangerous for a woman in the woods,” Bobbi continued.

“Not in these woods,” he scoffed. Suddenly, a vision of his encounter with her sister came to mind. Hope had been flushed and smiling, walking along the trail, lost in the experience. She sure hadn't been afraid.

“And bees. You can get stung.”

“Yeah, I got stung once,” Jason admitted.

“It's not fun,” Bobbi said, her mouth turning down. She started chewing her lip as if working on a big decision. “I should tell you, I haven't gone hiking since I got stung by bees.”

Jason scratched the back of his head. Hmmm. She'd led him to believe she was into this kind of thing. Well, maybe she had been
before she got stung. A bad experience could turn a woman off. “You can get stung by bees in the garden, too,” he pointed out.

“Not a whole nest of them.” She shuddered. “But this is nice,” she added in a small voice. “I'm having a good time.”

He smiled down at her. “I'm glad.” He gently pulled her to him and kissed her.

She came willingly enough, but the kiss got cut short by other approaching hikers. Just as well, he decided. He didn't want to be numbered with those other gropers she'd encountered in the woods in the past. He reminded himself that he wasn't in a hurry.
Don't let your brains go south this time around. The big head tells the little head what to do, not the other way around
.

Half an hour later they had reached the end of the trail. “I think you helped me conquer my fear of bees,” Bobbi told him, giving him a dimpled smile.

“Good. What do you say we go out to dinner to night and celebrate?” The answer was going to be no. He could see it in her eyes.

She shook her head. “I'm sorry. I've got a commitment I can't get out of.”

“Every Saturday?”

“For a while. But I'm free on Sunday. Want to try your hand at line dancing again?”

Not really, but for her he would. “Why not?” he said, trying to sound excited about the prospect of making a fool of himself in public again.

He was about as excited over that as he was over having nothing to do on a Saturday night. Maybe he should have just come right out and asked Bobbi if he had competition. Much more of this settling for a date on Sundays and he was going to feel like a second-string player.

“Still can't make the A-list, huh?” teased Duke when Jason called to see if he wanted to go out for a beer.

“You're funny,” said Jason. “Maybe I should take that smart lip of yours and wrap it over your head.”

“You can try,” Duke said amiably. “Meanwhile, why dontcha come check out the action at the Last Resort? The scenery over there beats the Sticks and Balls to hell. Those cocktail waitresses are hot.”

Jason wasn't interested in hot cocktail waitresses, not when he'd found the perfect woman. But he wasn't interested in sitting around watching the tube on a Saturday night, either. And he was ready to branch out beyond the tavern at the edge of town they often haunted after work. “I'm down with that.”

So, nine o'clock found him threading his way through a sea of tables that looked like they'd been stolen from the set of some old fifties flick to where Duke sat, dredging handfuls of beer nuts out of one of the biggest, ugliest old ashtrays Jason had ever seen.

“Hey, man,” Duke greeted him.

They bumped fists and Jason sat down and looked around, checking the place out. The point of entry had a huge fish tank running all along the wall, dividing the lobby area from the rest of the lounge. The bar took up the entire far end of the room. The dance floor wasn't big, and to night the little stage above it was set up with a podium and microphone—trivia night, Duke had said. The place was dim, and packed with a mix of mostly twenty-something couples and singles looking to end up as a couple before the evening was over. A Blake Lewis song blasted out of the speakers, wrapping the hip hangout in an audio blanket of cool. Two women sat at a table nearby nursing drinks and pretending to visit as they checked out the neighboring tables. One of them winked at him.

“Yeah, they're here for the trivia contest,” Duke cracked.

“I'm surprised you haven't offered to team up with them,” said Jason.

Duke smirked. “I might give 'em a thrill. After I get this chick's phone number.” He nodded at the approaching waitress, all decked
out in a short, black skirt and a plunging black halter top. “Now there's some hot cheese. Don't be getting any ideas about this one. She's got Duke written all over her.”

Jason stared at the waitress and felt his lower jaw dropping. “What the hell?”

 

 

 

 

 

 

B
OBBI HAD BEEN
approaching the table at a good clip. Jason watched as she put on the brakes and stared at him like he was a cross between the grim reaper and the taxman.

She made a fast recovery though, smiling at him and closing the distance. “Fancy meeting you here.”

Her recovery was quicker than his. All he could do was gawk at her, his brain frozen. What was Bobbi Walker the florist doing working as a cocktail waitress? He turned to Duke as if his friend somehow had an explanation for why his perfect woman was slinging drinks in the local pickup place instead of  . . . what? What should she be doing? Sitting home reading poetry? At least he now knew there wasn't somebody else.

“You guys know each other?” Duke asked, looking from one to the other.

“Yeah,” Jason said slowly. “Why didn't you just tell me you
worked on Saturday nights?” he asked Bobbi. “I was beginning to think I had competition.”

“This is the Sunday-night chick?” Duke asked, dismayed.

“I thought you wouldn't be real impressed if you knew I was a cocktail waitress.” She lifted one shoulder in an embarrassed shrug. “But . . . I've got bills.”

Jason remembered the book on cancer he'd seen at her apartment. Of course, that explained what she was doing here dressed up like a fifties pin-up girl. The poor kid was moonlighting to pay off medical bills. “How do you manage to do this and work at the shop every day?” She was going to jeopardize her health with all that nonstop work. This woman needed someone to step in and take care of her.

She smiled her dimpled smile. “Working at the shop's not working. That's fun.” And then she turned the thousand-watt charm on Duke, too. “So is working here. What can I get you?”

“Heineken,” said Duke. He sounded like a man who wanted a Harley and had to settle for a Honda.

“I'll have a Hale's Pale Amber,” said Jason.

“Coming right up,” she said and hurried off.

Jason frowned as Duke watched her retreating posterior. “Hey.”

Now Duke was frowning, too. “I can't believe that's the woman you've been seeing. I thought she owned a flower shop. What's she doing working here?”

“You heard her. She's got bills.”

“What, she's got a shopping addiction?”

“She's got medical bills.”

Duke's eyebrows shot up. “Medical bills?”

“I was helping her set up her bookcase today. She had a book on cancer.”

Duke let out a soft whistle and shook his head. “I can't believe it.”

“Me, either,” said Jason. “She's got so much energy.”

They both watched as Bobbi stopped at other tables, collecting
empty glasses and fresh orders. Neither one said anything, not until after she'd returned with their beers and started their tab.

“I don't know,” Duke said as she walked away. “It can't have been breast cancer. I'd stake my life on it. Those are real.”

“Hey, keep your eyes off the boobs,” Jason snapped.

“Sorry,” Duke muttered, and took a swig of his beer. “I just can't believe my cocktail babe is your flower chick. Man, that sucks.”

 

SHE
'
D KNOWN THIS
was coming. Sooner or later, Jason had to come here. But why, oh why, couldn't he have come after she'd moved on to something else, something better, brainier, more impressive? This was so embarrassing. Of course, he'd been too polite to say anything rude, but he hadn't had to. She'd known what he thought of her when she saw that shocked expression on his face. Everyone thought cocktail waitresses were dumb. It wasn't fair. A girl could do this to put herself through school, but if it was her real job, well then, all people saw when they looked at her was a bod with no brain. But she had a brain and she'd prove it to him. She was going to read that Jane Austen book first thing when she got home to night.

For now, she needed to pay attention to what she was doing. She went to turn in her orders to Don, the owner, who was tending bar. “I need a Scotch rocks, two Red Hooks, a Sex on the Beach, a Heineken, and a Hale's Pale Amber.”

Anna Lane, another one of the waitresses, was frowning as she loaded up her cocktail tray. Like Bobbi, she spent a lot of time dodging gropers. Unlike Bobbi, she wasn't very good at it.

“If that creep puts his hands on my butt one more time  . . .” She left the sentence unfinished.

“Is he drunk?” asked Bobbi.

“If he's had too much we can refuse to serve him,” said Don.

“No, he's had just enough to make him a jerk,” Anna said.

“After this, I'm cutting him off,” Don said. “We don't need a problem.”

Bobbi turned to look at Anna's section. It wasn't difficult to locate the creep. He was sitting with a couple of other guys and a woman who looked like she needed the table to hold her up. He had chin-length hair tucked behind his ears and was wearing jeans and a white shirt unbuttoned low enough to show off his spray-tanned and freshly waxed chest, and he was tipped back in his chair, ogling the women a couple of tables over.

“God's gift to the cocktail waitress,” Bobbi said in disgust.

“Sometimes I hate this job,” Anna said, her voice wobbly. “Everyone thinks we're sluts.”

“Well, we're not,” Bobbi said firmly, but she couldn't help sneaking a look in Jason's direction. Now that he saw what she did for a living, would he think in ste reo types and decide she was a slut? “Why don't you let me take that table?” she offered.

“He'd grope you, too,” Anna predicted. “No, I can handle him.”

Bobbi wasn't so sure about that, so she kept an eye out as she served her tables. If that slimeball made one false move  . . .

And there it was. Anna leaned over to lay a drink in front of his friend and got her butt patted in the process.

Anna straightened and looked down at Slimeball and said something. He held up both hands and shook his head, feigning innocence.

Somebody needed to clue this guy in. Bobbi sailed off across the lounge, riding to the rescue as Jerry, who ran the trivia contest, took his place up at the mike and said, “Okay, people, how smart do you all think you are to night?”

She arrived at the table just in time to hear Anna say to the slimeball, “You did, too, touch me.”

“If I did it must have been an accident,” Slimeball said, and winked at his buddy.

“You apologize to her right now,” Bobbi demanded.

“Whoa, it's Wonder Babe.” Chuckling, he picked up his drink and raised it to his lips.

“Yeah. Wonder Babe meets Slimeball,” Bobbi growled. She still had a drink on her cocktail tray. Perfect. She dumped it into his lap. “Oh, my bad.”