Someone to Watch Over Me (4 page)

“CCooooppperrrr!”

One of our regulars. We had a
few that showed up every weekend, no matter what band played.
Another shout came from the left
, a
nd my
anxiety dissolved. I could do this. I could soooo do this.
Fortifying my smile, I strolled further on stage. I received a few
appeals to show them my tits. I ignored them
,
gyrated
my hips in a wide circle as the first few beats
blasted from the speakers. The song had a short introduction, and I
thrust my hips forward, arching my back as I belted out the first
few words. The crowd roared. Tears stung my eyes. Taking the stage
was like an emotional orgasm. Everyone knew the experience was more
enjoyable when both parties were engaged. And Christ, these guys
were primed and ready to go.

The song was a throaty blend of
first loves and bad breaks. The lyrics were boisterous, but the
instrumentals and the vocals really had the crowd crowing. I
propelled them forward with a little visual aid, following the edge
of the stage with a swagger, making eye contact as I moved to the
beat of the drums. The little hip wiggles didn’t hurt either. They
ate it up like fried chicken and I was finger lickin’ good. Hell,
why be modest? They’d come back for seconds.

As I rolled into the second
song, Marshall had joined me, tossing out the occasional bacchanal
who dared to scale the stage. They rather reminded me of Levy going
through his toddler phase. He’d make a run for something breakable
and I’d head him off, pick him up and turn him around. At times, he
was impossible to dissuade and I’d have to give him a whop on his
butt. At which point
,
he’d finally
understand that
that
special b
au
ble was off limits.

By the
fourth
and last song, I had worked up a
decent
sweat. Damp strands of hair clung to my face
and neck. The spotlights were scorching. I normally performed
three
short songs, but since these were
mine, the tracks were full length and Marshall had butted them
together to fit in the allotted slot of intermission, permitting no
time to steal a sip of water or wipe my face. So when I belted out
the last line, I felt like I had just ran the mile in under
ten.

“You were fucking hot out
there,” Marshall exclaimed, following me off the stage. “H. O. T.
Hot
. You owe me children
, four
of them
, o
ne for
each song.”

“You
have no
idea
what you’re asking,” I shot back. I knew he was only
teasing. But seriously, Levy was a lot of work. “Most men would go
for straight up sex, Marshall.”

“Don’t sell yourself short,
Coop. You’re worth more than that.” Because Marshall was, well,
Marshall, he winked and smiled, keeping it light. “Marry me. I’ll
keep you round and glowing. You can dance naked on the counter of
my kitchen while you cook me breakfast.”

“Wow, when you make a
proposition like that, how can I refuse?”

“You can’t. It’s all part of
this awesome package.” Starting at his chest, he fanned his arm
down his six foot five inch frame. “One of a kind, here, pumpkin.
Someday you’ll come to your senses and realize that.”

“What will you ever do until
then?”

“Dream, Coop, dream.” Marshall
pushed through the door, his chuckle fading into the crowd.

Running a hand through my hair,
I dug for the elastic in my pocket and turned toward the mirror. My
stomach curled. Tate was back stage talking with the band, but as
he caught my eye, he shook the
front
man’s
hand and started toward me, holding my gaze. God help
me.

“You were great out there.” He
proffered an iced
bottle of
water and a
fresh hand towel. I stared blankly. “It gets hot on stage. I
know.”

“Thanks.” My voice was hoarse.
Raspy. I took the water first, twisted the cap off and took a deep
drink. My throat soaked it up like a thirsty sponge.

“What’re you doing waiting
tables when you can sing like that?”

“I told you. Paying the bills.”
It annoyed me that he thought it was any of his business. “Look, I
have to get back out there. I have tables to wait
on
. Thanks for the water.” Stooping in front of the
mirror, I pulled my hair up into a messy bun, wrapped the elastic
around and secured it off my neck.

“What time do you get off?”

“Closing.” When Billy asked me
to sing, I used it
to
my
advantage
,
bartered my hours. I was a
single mom. I had a child to raise. Staying an additional hour or
two after closing to clean was infeasible.

“I’ll wait. Can I wait for
you?”

Instinctively, I wanted to warn
him off. I always did when men came on to me. I unloaded my
problems on them
, sent
them heading for
the hills. Usually, once they heard what I had to say, they didn’t
think twice about walking.
Whether they were
looking for a one-night stand or on the rare occasion, something
longer, I had too much baggage.

Therein lay the problem. I
didn’t want to scare Tate off. Damn if Em wasn’t right. I wanted to
live a little.
I
t had been nearly three
years since I’d gotten laid.
And Tate was the
perfect candidate. He was a playboy. I wouldn’t have to worry about
chasing him off.

“Two sharp.”

Tate twitched a relieved smile.
He reached toward my chest and a breath stuck in my throat. I
thought—and it sounds crazy—that he was going to fasten a button on
my shirt
, you know, cover
a little
cleavage. It’s something Grant would’ve done. But Tate pinched a
strand of hair from my collar and tucked it behind my ear. “Two
then.”

♫♪♫♪

A few hours of backbreaking
manual labor later, Billy was throwing the dead bolts behind me as
I went out the door. He hadn’t said anything about the songs I
sang, so I supposed he didn’t mind. I stopped just outside the door
and
panned the parking lot
.
I
found Tate leaning
against my Mini, arms folded across his chest. My heart did a
little flutter, palpitating.

A shy smile spread across my
face.

“You look…” He paused,
searching for the right word.

“Flattery will get you
everywhere.”

Chuckling, Tate shook his head.
“Well, you are all that. But I was going to say guilty.”

“Then you’re good at reading
people.” Reaching the car, I stopped in front of him, hooked my
thumbs into the loops of my jean
shorts
.
Tate took a tentative step forward.

“You can change your mind.”

“I could.” He smiled again,
crooked like. It made my breath catch in my throat. “You act like
you’ve just won the lottery. That’s strange for a man of your
stature. Like you couldn’t have any girl with a crook of your
finger.”

“That’s all it usually takes.
But you…you make me nervous.
”

“
I make you
nervous,” I repeated.
I
was the one with sweaty
palms.

“You could walk away right now,
and you wouldn’t think twice about it. The notion leaves
me uneasy.
If you walked away from me
tonight, I don’t think I’d ever get you out of my veins.
You’d be the one that lingered in my memory, the
one that got away.
”

I dropped my
gaze
. Pulled the keys from my pocket. I didn’t want
to consider the implications of a statement like that.
He was a flirt. He wrote love ballads and brought girls on
stage to serenade them. He was a pro at working their
emotions.
“We should go.”

“Can I drive?”

In a mercurial swing, my lips
pulled into a frown. “I
can
drive, you know.”

“Cooper, I just want to drive
your car. I’ve always wanted to drive one of these things ever
since I saw the Italian Job.”

Before
I could apologize
,
h
e plucked the keys from my hand and slid
behind the wheel. I couldn’t even get angry or indignant that he
didn’t open the door for me, because he was like a little kid,
pouring over a new toy. Rounding the car, I slid into the
passenger’s seat.

“The ignition
’
s a push start. Next to the steering column.”

Pushing the button, he grinned
widely when the engine purred to life. “Ah, Coop, best hold on
tight
.” Shifting into reverse, he
punched
the gas, sending me flying
forward. I caught myself on the dashboard, only to be thrown back
against the seat when he shifted into first. The tires squealed. My
nose twitched over the smell of burned rubber. Grabbing the
handholds, I closed my eyes and silently apologized to my car.

A few life-threatening minutes
later, we pulled off the main road and coasted into the dark of
night. “You might want to slow down back here,” I cautioned,
thinking only of my car and the carnage a two hundred pound
projectile could inflict. “There’re a lot of deer back here.”

“Boo.”

“Yeah, well, I love my
car.”

“It’s great.”

“
What can I
say; I have good taste
.”

“Kudos on your sense of worth.
I like that.”

“I
was
joking
.”

“
Doesn’t
make it less true
.” He paused in thought, biting the inside
of his cheek. “What you said earlier. You’re above my stature.”

I laughed. “What?”

“You are.
You were wearing a dress suit the first time I saw you, and
tonight you were waiting tables and singing. That’s quite a diverse
repertoire.”

“
It’s called
making a living.” I had bills to pay. He might call me diverse, but
I called it desperate. Coming to the same conclusion, I assumed,
Tate fell quiet. It was a few minutes before he spoke
again.

“I watched you in the car
yesterday. You were zoning. Not many people can lose themselves
like that. I turn
ed
down the radio to see
what you were playing
, but I couldn’t
hear
. Who was it?”

“
The
Black
K
eys.”

“That’s what I thought. You
like the blues. You’ve a great voice for it. But that’s off the
point. All I saw was this mane of
strawberry
hair whipping in the wind and little
glimpses of those lips and eyes in your rearview. You had my
curiosity going.”

“Your curiosity? Is that what
you’re calling it?”

“Funny, ha. Carter was all
pissy because—”

“
So
you
were
honking at me.
”

“
No, we
weren’t. I swear.” Tate held his hand up, crossed his heart.
“
Anyhow, you’re right. All I could think of was getting my
hands on you, but then you climbed out of the car in that skirt and
blouse—”

“Blouse? I’ve only ever heard
my grandma say blouse.”

“I’m trying to make a point
here.”
His tone was curt, but the sparkle in his
eye told me that he was teasing.
I had to bite back a
smile.

“Sorry.”

“Can I go on now?”

“Please
,
go right ahead.”

“You looked smart. Respectable.
Out of my league.”

“Turn right here. At the stop
sign. I’m a mile up on the right. You’ll see a beat up mailbox
painted like a trout.”

“You have a mailbox painted
like a trout
?
”

“I rent. It’s my landlord’s
mailbox.”

“What do you do at the office
job?”

“I source products. Manage
them. Costume jewelry mostly.”

“Sounds boring.”

“It is, but the benefits are
good.”

“Why do you do it? You have a
great voice. You could have so much more. And you wouldn’t have to
work you
r
ass off to do it.
Well, you would, but you’d enjoy it.
”

“I’d rather not talk about the
whys tonight, Tate. Here,” I said, pointing out the driveway.
“You’re going to miss it.”

“It’s dark as shit. I can’t—”
Hitting the breaks, we skidded to a stop.
We
watched
one doe and another cross the lawn. They ambled,
unrushed. Their large cupped ears swiveling back and forth as they
passed through the headlights. “Jesus Christ. Look at that. That’s
fucking amazing. I’ve never seen one that close. Well, except the
zoo. But wow, just look at that.”

They were beautiful. Svelte in
shape and manor. Their legs lifted in sharp yet soft strides,
picking their way through the dew
-
covered
grass. One lifted her head high in the air, her large, dark eyes
flashing against the headlights. She sniffed, her nose working the
air. And in a flash, she took one nimble leap over the
asphalt
and
vanished
into
the trees.

We sat for a few seconds, or
maybe minutes, absorbing the magic of it.

“Wait,” I said, placing my hand
over his as he
let off the brake
. Sure
enough, materializing from the dark came a large buck, his antlers
covered in a layer of rich velvet. He paused for only a fleeting
moment before bolting across the lawn and following the doe.

Mr. Craig was right. Rutting
season was starting. “Horny bastard.”

Tate barked out a laugh.
“You’re a true romantic.”

“I’m a realist.”
Realizing I was still holding his hand,
I moved my
hand from his, but he
grasped
it, pulled
it to his lips and pressed a kiss against my knuckles. “I didn’t
think you’d do the romantic thing.”

“There’re firsts for
everything.”