Roustabout (The Traveling #3) (28 page)

“Anything you say will be completely confidential, except on the very rare occasion when we need to inform someone for their own protection.”

My mouth suddenly went very dry and getting the hell out didn’t seem like the worst idea I’d ever had.

“Results will be in about a week, and until then, we recommend that you use barrier protection, condoms, or safer sex alternatives.”

I frowned at him. “What’s safer than rubbers?”

He looked like he was trying not to laugh. “Well, condoms aren’t 100% effective, so alternatives would be manual stimulation, for example, or abstinence.”

I could guess what the expression on my face was like.

“When was your last check up?”

I tried to think back.

“When I changed my insurance—so about 18 months ago.”

“And how many sexual partners have you had since then.”

“Um . . .”
Shit! I had no idea
.

“Approximately?”

“Forty, or, um, fifty?” I hedged, sounding uncertain.

His eyebrows raised, even though he tried to hide his reaction.

And now I’m with Tera and she doesn’t deserve this shit. Last night, I didn’t use a condom.

Again, I felt a sense of unease, of shame.

“I see. And do you partake in any higher risk practices?”

Other than shoving my dick in every available hole for the last decade?

“Like what, Doc?”

“Oh, I’m not a doctor; I’m a nurse practitioner, but you can call me Alan.” He smiled again. “Higher risk practices would include having multiple partners or being with someone who has had multiple partners, not using a condom . . .”

Goddamn, I’d checked all those boxes and he was just warming up.

“ . . . intercourse with a prostitute . . .”

Clear of that one, thank fuck.

“ . . . intercourse with a person who injects drugs . . .”

God, I hope not.

“ . . . anal sex outside of a long-term relationship . . .”

Shit!

He paused and looked at me.

“Yeah, some of those,” I admitted.

“And is there anything in particular that you’re worried about?”

Yeah, dick rot
.

I shook my head.

“So, no special reason for your visit today?”

“Um, I met someone. Someone special.”

Stop fucking smiling at me!

It wasn’t the most fun way to spend a morning—or the fact it cost $800 to get the full range of tests. For the cut-price of $175, I could have gotten chlamydia and gonorrhea tests by themselves, but I figured I should get the boxed set. Luckily, my insurance covered it.

I sent up a silent vote of thanks to Zach. As the Daredevils’ manager, he’d insisted that we didn’t scrimp on insurance. Ever since Kes’s accident, we’d all paid an arm and a leg to get full coverage: no pun intended. It was definitely paying for something now.

At least the nurse didn’t bother with the lecture, which was a relief.

“If you don’t hear back from us after a week, it means your tests came back negative.”

“Okay, thanks.”

“Sure. And if I give you a bunch of leaflets on sexual health, will you read them?”

“Probably not,” I said honestly. “But like I said, I’m just with one girl now.”

“One is all it takes, honey.”

I grinned at him. “I hear you, but I’m a reformed man.”
Especially after today.

We shook hands and he sent me on my way.

I spent the rest of the day haunting the thrift stores and buying half-a-dozen button-up shirts. And then I found a tuxedo that looked like it was the right size.

I thought about Tera’s invitation to the fancy party. Common sense told me it was a bad idea—but I’d never let common sense stop me before.

Tera

“How’d it go at the clinic?” I asked.

Tucker winced and dropped his hand from my ass, which had been part of the welcome home when I walked through my front door after work.

“Um, yeah. Fine. I have to wait a week for the results.”

He stalked into the kitchen. I watched him for a moment, then followed, sitting on one of the bar stools as he pulled two beers out of the fridge and offered one to me. I shook my head, so he shoved it back inside, rattling the bottles.

“Okay, why are you acting so weird?”

I saw the tension in his shoulders, then he turned around to face me.

“We didn’t use a rubber last night.”

“I know. We talked about this. Did the doctor say something to you?”

Tucker couldn’t meet my eyes.

“The guy was a nurse, but, uh, yeah.”

I waited with a growing sense of unease.

“What did he say?”

Tucker took a deep breath and stood up straight. “That my sex life is pretty fucked up.”

I blinked a couple of times. “You’re going to have to explain that.”

He blew out a breath. “I’ve had a lot of, um, partners. They class that as risky behavior. I mean, I
always
used a rubber, TC, I promise! You’re the only girl I’ve ever . . .
fuck it!”

He paced back into the living room.

I followed again, pulling him into a hug, and he buried his face in my hair.

“I’m sorry, sugar.”

“Listen to me, Tucker: you’ve done the sensible thing—you’ve gotten tested. I know I’m clean and you’ve always used a condom before. The chances are you’re fine. Quit worrying about what you can’t change. In a week, you’ll know one way or another.”

His good hand tightened around my waist.

“Yeah, okay.”

I hesitated. “Tucker?”

“Yeah, sugar?”

“Uh, I was wondering . . . what’s
a lot
of partners?”

He groaned.

“TC, you’re killing me!”

I let it go. And maybe it was double standards or being a hypocrite, but I made a mental note to get myself tested, too.

Welcome to the wonderful world of relationships
.

He stood up straight so he could look at me. “Still want to be my girl?”

His voice was subdued.

“Tucker McCoy—are you asking me to go steady?” I teased him.

He laughed quietly. “Yeah, I guess I am?”

“Then yes. The answer is yes.

He smiled with relief. “Good.”

“So, I was thinking?”

“Yeah?” he said, looking wary again.

“I know we were going to drive up to the cabin tonight, but now we’re . . . well . . . together, why don’t you stay here until your shoulder is better.”

“Ten seconds ago we started going steady, now you want me to move in? Hey, you’re one of those ‘fast’ girls that I heard about, aren’t you?”

I punched him in the arm—his good one, although if he kept annoying me . . .

“You’re the one with the sick dick,” I pointed out.

His expression changed and his eyes narrowed.

Then he chased me across the living room, and I let out a loud shriek as he threw me onto the couch where we made out for the next 30 minutes. When we’d had as much foreplay as either of us could take, our clothes disheveled, our lips bruised, we went to my bed.

And yes, he wore a condom.

Tera

I got used to having Tucker around. I loved coming home to him after a long day at work. I loved how he took me places that he’d discovered in the city, places I’d never explored before, quirky cafes, strange shops in hard-to-find corners, thrift stores with weird and wonderful collections that he’d found. He chatted to shop keepers, homeless people, café workers—always a smile, always a joke. He didn’t moan about what he didn’t have—which was money, mostly—he found ways to enjoy himself regardless, and always made me smile, always knew how to make me laugh. He had a way of engaging with life.

When we went grocery shopping together, it was like having a barely domesticated wolf at my heels; his intense energy, his charisma obvious as he loped down the aisles, standing out from the men in suits and women in office-wear. I swear the woman at the deli counter looked as if she wanted to rip his clothes off every time she saw him. I knew how she felt.

After another week, he discarded his sling and started doing exercises for his shoulder. I made him find a therapist who could help with rehab as his insurance would pay for it, but mostly he exercised in the apartment or went for long runs.

In the evenings, he’d ice his shoulder, and then we’d have fun with ice cubes. Turned out I wasn’t the only one who had a bit of a kinky streak.

We were both relieved when his STD tests were all negative. I think he knew he’d dodged a bullet there. But I couldn’t persuade him to give up condoms either, even though the wistful look on his face told me that he’d really like to.

I knew that he’d texted Renee several times and even tried calling her, but she hadn’t replied except to say that they were in Richmond and they were okay. Nothing else, no address. Not even her home phone number, or an update on the basketball program. Tucker didn’t even know if she’d told Scotty about him. It must have hurt, but he didn’t say much.

But each day that he grew stronger was a day closer to him leaving. The carnival was calling, louder every moment.

I didn’t know what to do or what this would mean for our relationship.

Neither of us had said the ‘L’ word or dared to look too far into the future.

My parents were subtle in their attempts to break us up—certainly more subtle than the thuggish attack on Tucker back in Tennessee. Mom bombed my phone with texts about ‘suitable’ guys to date. I deleted them all. Dad used the company I worked for to send me out of town on projects. As soon as I realized what he was doing, I put a stop to it.

But separation was coming, whether I wanted it or not.

Four short weeks had flown by when Tucker told me he was leaving.

“You’re going?”

I sat down on the couch, my knees weak.

“I gotta get back to work, sugar.”

“But it’s too soon! The doctor said no stunts for three months—at least!”

“I know, and I won’t—probably. But there’s more to it than showtime. Setting up the ramps, driving the rig and the RV, it’s a lot of work. And I’ve been leaving it all to the guys. I’ve got to do my share.”

I shook my head. “It’s too soon,” I whispered again.

“I need to start earning money.”

“But the doctor said . . .”

Tucker pulled me into his arms and kissed my forehead.

“I can’t stay here and live off you forever.”

I wanted to ask,
Why not?
But I didn’t: he wasn’t that kind of man and it wouldn’t do any good.

“I was getting sick of you leaving your wet towels on the floor anyway,” I huffed.

Tucker raised his eyebrows and smirked at me.

“That happened one time! And you severely chastised me for that, Miss Hawkins.”

“Oh, that’s right,” I said, a reluctant smile creeping over my face.

I’d snapped the wet towel against his bare butt which made him yelp. That turned into a tickling match which turned into Tucker bending me over the kitchen table and making my knees shake.

And I was late for work.

My smile faded.

“You’re really leaving me?”

An exasperated sigh rattled out of him. “I’m not leaving
you!
I have to work, TC. If I don’t, I’m . . . nothing.”

“You’re not nothing!” I grunted angrily.
You’re everything.

And then I had to wipe away a pathetic tear.

He rocked me gently, as if we were dancing to an unheard tune.

“Don’t cry, sugar. We’ll figure something out. And December through February the carnival goes to winter quarters. If you want me, I’ll come and stay here. You’ll be sick of me.”

I wrapped my arms around him more tightly. I wanted to beg him to stay, but I couldn’t do that.

“Maybe . . .” he said tentatively. “Maybe you could fly out some weekends to wherever we’ve got a gig?”

I sniffed and wiped my eyes on my sleeve.

“I’ll check my schedule—I think I’m having a manicure. I
might
be able to manage it.”
I’ll hate it. I want you here.

He looked relieved.

“For a minute there, Tera, I thought you were going to tell me . . .” He shook his head.

“Will you miss me?” I asked, my voice plaintive.

“Well, damn! Is a frog’s ass watertight?”

I snorted unattractively, hiccupping and laughing at the same time. “Is that a yes?”

He nodded and kissed my trembling lips. This kiss was soft and it broke me wide open.

“Yes, sugar. I’ll miss you so fucking much.”

And this time there was no joking.

Tucker

Leaving Tera was the right thing to do—so why did it feel so wrong?

I’d been waiting in the departure lounge at San Francisco Airport for an hour before I figured it out: it hurt. Something that had been fun and sexy as hell had turned into a sharp ache. It was like repeating the decade old pain to a different tune. But what else could I do? All the time I’d spent in San Francisco, I was checking my options, finding out what sort of jobs a guy like me could get. I talked to everyone, asked everywhere. Turned out there aren’t too many opportunities for a high school dropout.

Half the servers were in college or had degrees—I might have gotten work bussing tables, and one of the fast food joints was hiring for $7.75 an hour. Either way, it was a lot less than the thirty grand I earned last year, or the sixty-five thousand the year before. I wanted to kick my own ass for not saving any of it—and now I really needed it. The twenty grand I’d given Renee wouldn’t last forever. Kids grew and needed new clothes; even I knew that.