Road Rage (8 page)

Leaving the office, she forayed down the hall into a spacious, sparsely-furnished living room strewn with plastic shopping bags and colorful fabric. A simple ceiling-fan chandelier lit the space, and a framed doorway with unused hinges offered a glimpse into a craftsman kitchen with butter-cream-yellow tile countertops and mismatched appliances. The maroon front door had a thumb latch instead of a doorknob. Beside the door, a three-paneled window dressed with blinds looked out onto a front porch lit up against the night. At the base of the radiator below the window lay a long pewter rod with decoratively-pitted glass bulbs on either end. The strips of fabric all over the place must be curtains. The thought of the man and Haley hanging curtains together warmed her heart.

As she headed to the kitchen to continue her exploration, the jingle of keys in the front door made her freeze. Her body tensed to flee back to the familiar shelter of the bedroom, but she held her ground. No more being timid. No more reason for regret. If her instincts could be trusted, it would be the man at the door, and he would be alone, likely having returned Haley to her mother’s house. And he probably wouldn’t see her, anyway, since she wasn’t on the bed.

He shouldered through the door, and a flutter of desire tightened her tummy. But something felt off. He lumbered forward and missed the peg with his keys. They crashed to the floor. He cursed and wiped a hand down a face that looked even more serious than usual. His army green t-shirt was rumpled, his eyes were bloodshot and his hair stood up in all directions like he’d just finished vacuuming it. When he walked past her to the kitchen, Jim Beam fumes stung her nose.

Her joy at seeing him morphed into outrage. What was he thinking, getting drunk as a skunk? He was a father. He had responsibilities. Oh, no, he hadn’t just driven drunk, had he? She dashed to the window and peeked out to see an empty driveway.

Well, that was something. A cab must have dropped him at the curb. And Haley wasn’t around to witness him like this. Still, disappointment flattened her earlier enthusiasm. Who wanted to be dream girl to a drunk?

“Fucking idiot,” he muttered.

She cautiously stepped into the kitchen to find him leaning with one hand on the counter, guzzling a glass of water.

“Shit,” he said when he’d drained the glass. He wiped a hand over his face again. “I’m shitfaced.”

At least he had no delusions.

He weaved toward her and she sidestepped to let him into the living room. He stood with his hands on his hips surveying the mess of curtains. He made a strangled noise.

She came up beside him, shocked to see his eyes moist and his lips pinched in distress.

“I’m so sorry, Haley-girl.”

Her heart broke. Something bad had happened tonight, and drinking had been his way of handling it. For a second, she worried something had happened to Haley, but the look on the man’s face wasn’t grief. It was regret, an emotion she knew all too well.

He scrubbed a hand over his face again and a look of determination replaced his sadness. He walked deliberately down the hall, only needing to brace himself on the wall once, disappeared into the laundry room, and returned a few minutes later with an orange extension cord coiled around one shoulder and a power drill dangling from his hand.

She watched in anxious helplessness as he spent the next hour hanging curtains in the living room, office and his bedroom. Using power tools didn’t strike her as a healthy activity for the inebriated, but he operated the drill like it was an extension of his hand. The task seemed to sober him. By the time he had a set of silver blinds hung over his bedroom window and elegantly-masculine sheer navy curtains draped to the floor, he seemed almost back to his usual self.

She suspected at any time she could climb up on the bed and let him know she was there, but she didn’t. She simply stood in her usual corner right next to the window and watched him work. He said things under his breath that made her think he’d had a fight with his ex-wife. He’d muttered “judgmental bitch” a few times, but each time, the words held less venom and more thoughtfulness. Sometimes he paused in his work and shook his head as if angry with himself.

“I hear ya, buddy,” she said. “Sucks to want a do-over, doesn’t it? Well, life doesn’t give do-overs. Trust me. I know. You just have to make it right going forward.”

She would take her own advice. As soon as he started dreaming, she’d live up to her name and give him something to smile about.

* * * *

Derek was a shithead.

He’d messed up his marriage. He’d upset Haley. He’d pissed off Deidre. And now, he’d stayed up so late he was going to be worthless at work tomorrow. It was almost one in the morning, and he’d have to get up at five instead of his usual five-thirty so he could walk back to Brick and Mortar and get his truck. He couldn’t believe he’d made it the whole mile and half from the neighborhood bar back to his place on foot last night. He didn’t remember a single step of the walk. Oh, wait. He remembered pissing in a shrub. Jesus, he hoped nobody saw him.
Shithead
was too mild a word. He was a disgusting drunk.

He’d turned out just like his father.

He ought to crawl into bed and never get out. The world would be better off without him. Haley would be better off without him.

The thought made his jaw clench with anger. No, she wouldn’t. She was his Haley-girl. He loved her, and he made sure she knew it. He told her all the time, and that by itself made him a better father than Dan Summers.

But Haley deserved even more from him. He didn’t want to be merely better. He wanted to be the best. The best protector. The best provider. The best supporter. The best dad.

Good dads need sleep.

He wiped a hand over his face for the fiftieth time that night. If Deidre were here, she’d scold him for it.
Stop doing that. You’re going to give yourself wrinkles.

“Judgmental bitch,” he grumbled, but he’d lost his angry steam. Yeah, Deidre was a piece of work, but she was a good mom, and that was all that mattered to him these days.

Shit. He needed to apologize to her. And to Haley.

“Too late now,” he said as he glanced at his bedside clock. Seeing the rumpled bed reminded him of the comforter Haley had picked out. It was still in the kitchen. He went to get it, dropping the drill and extra wall anchors in the laundry room on the way.

Back in his room, the sight of the new blinds and drapes made him smile despite his exhaustion. His little girl had picked out the perfect colors. The blue looked sharp against the off-white walls. The tight muscles in his neck began to unwind as he stared at the sheer fabric.

Beautiful blue eyes swam in his memory, eyes so deep and calm they reminded him of the ocean when he chartered with the guys and went way out, looking for marlin.

“Frigging ghosts,” he muttered, pulling the old, tan comforter from his bed and replacing it with the puffy dark gray one with navy blue patterns on it. “Kid’s got some imagination.” So did he, apparently, because he could picture those eyes with the kind of crystal clarity he’d never known from any dream.

He snorted. Just the bourbon talking. He’d worked off most of his buzz, but there must be some fumes lingering, making him remember things that didn’t make sense, like the scent of melon on his pillow this morning after he’d scared his dream girl away.

He looked down to find the comforter bag crushed in his fist. He made himself relax his grip and noticed the pillow covers still inside. They didn’t go on the pillows he slept on. They were decorative. He remembered that much from living with Deidre. Since he only had two pillows, not the sea of puffy, frilly things he used to have to toss on the floor before getting in bed, he shoved the bag, pillow covers and all, in the closet. He didn’t want a million pillows on his bed again, but maybe after he made up with Haley, she could help him pick out some new sheets to match the comforter. He wanted some in that soothing blue color, like the curtains.

Beyond exhausted, he hit the lights, stripped to his briefs, and fell into bed. The nightmare seemed to start immediately. He couldn’t catch a break. His subconscious should have moved on a long time ago, but he was still reliving that frigging accident.

So he’d witnessed a bad car accident. He hadn’t been involved in it or anything. He should be over it by now, definitely not letting meaningless dreams reduce him to unmanly hysterics.

He whimpered as the airbag punched his face and pain lanced his head. Fear crashed over him like breakers on the shore, pummeling. He couldn’t catch a breath. Until the pain and terror surrendered to darts of pleasure.

His dick filled to throbbing. Someone was caressing it. Gentle for a few strokes, then rough and tight for a few strokes. A warm body straddled his, thighs cradling his hips. A slender arm brushed his stomach as a determined hand worked its magic. His whimpers of fear turned to moans of delight. Warm lips nipped along the side of his neck and jaw before seeking permission for more at the corner of his mouth.

Oh, fuck, yes. Now
this
was a dream.

He turned his head enough to capture those tentative lips. They instantly parted and he tasted his first kiss since his pathetic attempt to date a few months after the divorce. The one-night stand had left him feeling dirty. Responsible fathers didn’t have one-night stands. He hadn’t made a move on anyone since. And his poor dick hadn’t seen any action since, except occasionally by his own hand. Embarrassment warred with euphoria as climax zoomed up on him.

Fight it. Make it last. You don’t know when you’re going to feel this good again. Might be never.

The woman broke the kiss. Her breath fanned over his cheek as her breathing sped. She dug what she was doing to him. Damn, he’d imagined up the perfect woman, part innocent shy girl, part wildcat.

He ground his molars in an effort to prolong the fire of her touch, but when her tongue traced his ear, he was lost. Lost to pleasure and comfort. Lost to a fantasy that felt so fucking real. The scent of melon hit him as her hair fell across his face, and he erupted in his dream girl’s hand.

His eyes squeezed shut and stars burst behind his lids. A groan ripped past his clenched teeth. It was a primal reaction he tried to temper, but his control was gone, zapped by the perfect dream, the perfect woman.

“You came back,” he panted as his body came down from the best climax he’d ever had from a hand job. He reached for the tissue box by his clock. He’d probably just soiled his briefs in real life, but here, his dream girl had taken most of his spent passion on her hand. He cleaned her by touch in the darkness, gently wiping her fingers one by one.

He couldn’t believe his luck he hadn’t woken up yet. “I thought I scared you away.”

“I regretted running away.” Her voice was sweet and smoky, like honey barbeque. “I was a coward. I wanted to make it up to you. I hope you don’t mind.” Again with the blend of innocence and seduction. The combination had his dick twitching again already.

He liked his new window coverings, but damn if he didn’t miss the streetlight. What he wouldn’t give to see those imaginary blue eyes and that gorgeous, thick auburn hair. Was his imagination good enough to create a face with the same mix of sex and innocence as her voice? He wanted to turn on the lamp. Would she disappear in the light? Not willing to take that chance, he let his hands learn her, running them up her smooth thighs to the hem of her shorts, up her bare arms until he felt the edges of a sleeveless shirt. Her shoulders were slender but strong. Her neck was graceful. As he cupped one hand around the warm column, her pulse thundered under his thumb and her hair tickled his fingers.

“Hell no, sweetheart. You can do that to me anytime. But you don’t have anything to make up for.” His thumb inched up to caress her jaw. When he touched her full lower lip, she sucked in a breath. Her tongue touched the pad of his thumb and she nipped his skin. He found his voice with difficulty. “I’m just glad I didn’t scare you away for good.”

“I don’t think I could stay away from you if I tried.”

She was just saying that because she was a figment of his imagination. He wanted someone who wanted him back, so that’s what his dream girl did. But damn if it didn’t feel amazing having a woman on his lap enjoying his touch, even if she wasn’t real.

“What’s your name?” she said.

He blinked. His dream girl didn’t know him? Strange. “Derek,” he told her as he let his hands wander down her arms again and linked his fingers with hers. He loved touch. Deidre had called him
grabby
, but his dream girl didn’t seem to mind. She let him touch all he wanted.

“Derek,” she repeated, and it sounded like she smiled. “Good name.”

“Glad you approve. What’s yours?”