New Life (23 page)

“I love having you there,” Anna said. “I get
a home-cooked meal at the end of the day
and
great sex.
You’re like a housekeeper with benefits.”

“I kinda am.” I very deliberately brought the
hand I’d been fingering her with to my nose and sniffed.

“You are so dirty. God, I love that about
you.” She laughed. “Hey, by the way, I made a plan with Cindy for a
double date next Friday night. Are you up for that?”

Time to meet the friends. It was another step
forward, but I played it cool. “Sure, why not? I’d like to meet
her.”

“Cool. And while we’re setting dates, I hate
to spring this on you, but I promised my parents I’d go home to
Michigan for the Thanksgiving holiday. It’s a pain. I’d much rather
spend it with your family. I totally love your mom and dad, and I’m
pretty sure Katie won’t poison my pumpkin pie now. But my mom
really wants me to come. She’s having the relatives, and it’s going
to be this whole big thing. Do you mind?”

“No. I’ll just go see my folks for the day. I
can take care of Baby unless you want her with you.”

“I meant do you mind coming to my parents’
house? It won’t be fun so much as excruciating, but luckily we can
leave by Saturday morning, since I have work for an excuse. I’d
like to have you there.”

She was inviting me, actually inviting me to
make the trip to officially meet her extended family.

“Shit! Work. With the holiday weekend,
there’ll be a lot of dogs boarding. I know Denise is counting on me
to help.” I paused, considering the significance of what Anna was
offering. “Let me see about trading shifts with a couple of people
and I’ll let you know as soon as I’ve worked something out.”

Her brilliant smile let me know I’d said the
right thing.

Anna guided the car off the busy highway into
a quiet residential neighborhood, where our apartment building was.
She was frowning and tapping her fingers on the steering wheel as
she drove.

“What’s the matter?” I asked.

“Don’t get mad or take this the wrong way,
but I want to make sure you’re really up for this. It’ll be a long
trip, a totally new place, and a bunch of new people. It’s not
going to be too much for you, is it? And please, don’t think I’m
asking because I don’t want you to go. I do. I just don’t want you
to be stressed out or overwhelmed,” she said in a rush.

“Fair questions. If I go into a catatonic
state after a while, I don’t want you to worry or call a doctor.
Just put me in a closet somewhere until I come out of it.”

“Don’t joke. I’m trying to be honest. I can’t
help worrying.”

Worrying about me, or that I’d embarrass her
in front of her people, or some of both? It was only natural and
simply one of the things we’d have to deal with in our
relationship.

“Seriously, then,” I said, “If I get
overwhelmed, I’ll just go to a quiet room somewhere or take a walk
outside. You really don’t need to worry about me. I can manage
myself.”

“I know you can. I’m sorry.”

“Hey, you have every right to express your
concerns. You should. Communication is key, remember?” I grinned.
“Anyway, I’ve got to go, if only to see the bedroom you grew up in.
I bet your parents kept it just the same, like a shrine. I bet it’s
full of boy-band posters and stuffed rainbow unicorns.”

“Bullshit.” Anna laughed as she pulled the
Prius into the carport. “
Slipknot
and
Korn
posters,
and a stuffed rat with a studded choker around its neck. I may have
been an overachiever academically, but I dressed Goth all the way
in high school.”

“You continue to surprise me.” I released my
seat belt and moved closer, cupping her neck and pulling her into a
kiss.

One kiss led to two, led to making out in the
parked car for about twenty minutes while the radio softly played.
When the light pattering of raindrops echoed from the roof of the
port, we broke apart at last. The car was chilly, but the windows
were steamed up.

Lost in you. I get so lost in you I can’t
find my way out again.
The singer on the radio rasped in a
smoky voice exactly what I was feeling in that moment.
And if
I’m lost forever this way, I don’t even care. The cutting edge on
the sweet blade of love.

“We should go inside,” Anna said but didn’t
open the door.

I slipped my arm around her, and she rested
her head on my shoulder. We watched the rain dripping from the edge
of the carport roof, and I remembered the night of my accident,
waking up to rain falling on my face. I remember knowing something
bad had happened and everything had changed forever. I felt the
same way watching the rain now, only the opposite—something amazing
had happened and my life was about to twist in a new direction. I
felt as if I’d been in a holding pattern for a very long time and
now I was moving again--a little scary and a lot wonderful.

Anna pulled away to look up into my face.
“What ya thinking about?”

“Just counting raindrops and wondering what
number I’ll get to before I kiss you again.”

A slow smile curved her lips as she slid her
hand around the back of my neck and pulled me so close we shared a
single breath.

“One,” she whispered.

The End

About the author: Bonnie Dee began telling
stories as a child. Whenever there was a sleepover, she was the
designated ghost-tale teller, guaranteed to frighten and thrill
with macabre stories. She still has a story printed in second grade
on yellow legal paper about a ghost, a witch, and a talking cat.
Writing childish stories later led to majoring in English at
college. Like most English majors, she dreamed of writing a novel,
but didn't have the necessary focus and follow-through at that time
in her life. It was only in 2000 that she began writing again and
became a multipublished erotic romance author. You may see her
backlist of books at
http://bonniedee.com
.
Join her Yahoo group for updates on new releases at
http://groups.yahoo.com/group/bonniedee/
. Bonnie Dee
is also on Facebook and Twitter.

* * * * *

Blurb from
Serious Play
, co-written
with Summer Devon. Available from Carina Press and at most
e-bookstores:
Luke Bailey has dreams of building homes and putting down roots.
But for a man with a rough past, finding any job isn't easy. When
Mary Scott offers him a job—and a place to stay—mixing drinks and
tapping beer at her theme bar, My Parents' Basement, Luke accepts.
Customers flock to the cozy pub, designed to evoke memories of lost
childhood, to meet and mingle and play games.

For Mary, her gorgeous new employee should
be off-limits. She's his boss. And they're very different—something
her interfering family constantly points out. But Mary's done
playing the good girl. And Luke isn't the bad boy everyone thinks
he is. Their attraction simmers until Mary seduces Luke into
playing some deliciously adult games. Then a shocking betrayal
threatens everything...

First Chapter Excerpt:

“Truth or Dare, Mr. Bailey.”

It seemed to be a question, but the blonde
woman with the intent blue eyes said it like a statement. Luke had
no idea how he was supposed to respond, so he kept his mouth shut
and waited for his prospective employer to explain.

“Spin the Bottle. Seven Minutes in Heaven.
Sneaking beer from the garage fridge and hoping tonight you might
finally get a chance for some time alone with that girl or boy of
your dreams. A chance to relive those middle-school days when
everything was new and unexplored. You remember what that felt
like?”

She seemed to expect a response so Luke
nodded. Better not to speak yet. Eyes and ears open. Mouth shut.
That was the main lesson he’d learned during his five years in
prison.

“That experience is what my bar offers.” Mary
Scott was so full of energy and excitement she made Luke nervous.
“My Parents’ Basement gives customers a taste of innocence, an
opportunity to meet and flirt like they did at parties when they
were young. But with alcohol.” She smiled, a flash of white teeth
that was dazzling. “And trust me, Mr. Bailey. People drink here
like they would in any other bar. But they also play games, dance,
listen to music from their past and remember what it felt like to
be young and uncertain and full of hope.”

She spoke with the enthusiasm of a
televangelist and looked at him with bright eyes that demanded a
response, so he nodded again even though the kind of party she’d
described hadn’t been any part of his youth. Drinking malt liquor,
huffing aerosol spray and screwing girls on an old mattress in an
abandoned house was the kind of party he remembered from when he
was thirteen.

“The ambiance of the club creates a level of
intimacy with strangers right away, a focus for conversation as
they start sharing memories. Basement is a great pickup place.”

Why was she trying to sell him on the bar?
All he wanted was a damn job anywhere at all. He’d gotten a special
exemption from the terms of his parole so he could be employed in a
bar. She didn’t need to convince him this was a great place to
work.

Ms. Scott was looking at him, and this time
it seemed something more was required than a nod, so Luke spoke.
“Sounds good. I’d be happy to work here.”

“About that. Joann told me a little about
your history. I know how hard it can be for, um, ex-cons to find
employment, and I’d be happy to hire you, but do you have any
experience tending bar?”

Luke felt his shot at a decent-paying,
legitimate job slipping like sand through his fingers. Of course it
had been too much good luck to expect. His first impulse was to
lie, tell this woman anything she wanted to hear in order to get
the damn job, then learn fast. But she’d figure out his ignorance
soon enough and know he was a liar. Maybe it was better to start
with the truth. See how that worked for a change.

“I can pour whiskey or mix it with Coke.
Nothing too complicated. But I’ll learn. Ms. Horton suggested I
pick up a guide and I’ve been studying it, and if you want me to,
I’ll take a bartending course or something.” He swallowed any shred
of pride and prepared to beg. “If you give me a chance, I swear I
won’t blow it.”

The bartending gig was golden. When his
parole officer, Joann Horton, had arranged this interview, she’d
said Ms. Scott would include room rental as part of his payment.
She’d even done the standard home inspection already—no contraband,
no guns. Ms. Horton had done a lot for him, and he was grateful. No
struggling to make rent on some rattrap apartment three times as
expensive as it was worth. Here Luke would have honest work and a
bed at night, both provided in one fell swoop.

There was only one potential obstacle—the
bar’s owner changing her mind about the offer after she’d
interviewed him. Luke gripped his hands tight in his lap and willed
with all his might for Mary Scott to hire him.

She looked down at the folder in her
hands—his life reduced to a handful of facts, all of them bad—and
he was certain he’d lost her. Why would she hire him? He wouldn’t
if it was his bar. Then she lifted her gaze to meet his and for a
second his heart stuttered. Her eyes were beautiful, wide and
framed by dark lashes that enhanced the blue.

“I know what’s it’s like to be at a point in
your life when no one has faith in you and maybe you’ve lost faith
in yourself.” Her voice was kind but not condescending. “I’m not
suggesting I know what it feels like to be fresh out of prison, but
I’ve had my own hurdles.”

She gestured at the room around them. “I
didn’t come by this easily. I couldn’t get backing. No bank would
take my business plan seriously and my family thought I was naive
to try such a venture. I got no support from them. But here it
is—real at last, and successful.”

Luke looked around at the décor, the
comfortable mismatched furniture grouped around squares of
carpeting on a concrete floor, local band posters on the walls,
tables and chairs with shelves of board games placed nearby. The
place really did look like somebody’s basement rec room, casual,
unpretentious and inviting.

“It seems really nice,” he said. “A good
place to unwind.”

Mary smiled again and sunshine flooded the
dimly lit bar. “Thank you. I love it.”

Once more she glanced at Luke’s file, which
he’d shared in place of his nonexistent resume. He’d figured it was
best she know all about his arrest record and conviction so she’d
know he wasn’t trying to hide anything. He didn’t translate the
details. He wasn’t that much of a masochist. Let her ask what
750.529 Sec. 529 really meant in his case.

She tapped the manila folder then handed it
to him. “Joann is a friend of mine and her recommendation means a
lot to me. She promises you’ll be a hard worker and the rest you
can learn from Manuel. I’ll start you on days when we’re not so
busy and he can teach you. He’s a master mixologist.”

He was nodding before she’d even finished
speaking. “Yes, ma’am.” Should he have said Miss or Ms.? What was
the correct address to show respect to a woman in a business
situation? It wasn’t as if he’d been on a lot of interviews in his
life. “Yes, Ms. Scott. That’d be great. When do you want me to
start?”

In his mind he was already removing his few
possessions from the halfway house. He hated that limbo between
lockdown and real life.

“How about in two days? Wednesdays are
usually pretty quiet.”

“Thank you. I really appreciate this
opportunity.” He paused, wondering how to bring up the living
arrangement. “Ms. Horton said you might be willing to rent me space
here. A room…?”

Mary Scott’s face was transparent. He saw the
doubt chase across her eyes like clouds over the sun. She was
regretting her rash offer of having a convicted felon live in her
place of business. But she blinked and smiled. “I did say that.
It’s only a spare storeroom but there’s space enough for a single
bed and dresser. You can use the microwave and fridge in the bar’s
kitchen and clean up in the restroom. I live in the apartment above
the bar so I have no better rooms to offer you. I can show the
storeroom to you. It’s really small so I don’t know if it will
do…”