Sweet Dreams by Kristen Ashley
I interrupted her. “We’ll cope.”
She held my gaze a long moment.
Then I said, “Better serve these.”
She turned away, muttering, “Yeah.”
* * * * *
I was in the bathroom studying myself in the mirror.
I was still in research mode in order to find ways to be the best waitress I could be in an effort to make a living when the time came when I actually had to make a living. Day tips weren’t great, as Krystal had warned. On Saturday and Sunday, when the bar was busy, tips were fantastic. Even fantastic, they didn’t make up for the weekdays. It would be good to work nights.
In my efforts at research, I was experimenting with makeup. Today, it was slightly heavier. Not Krystal, Jonelle and, rest her, Tonia heavy but not my normal subtle either.
I was also experimenting with footwear.
I’d dug into my clothes and pulled out a top that I bought a few years ago but it hadn’t fit in awhile. Seeing as I was constantly missing meals, on my feet and swimming regularly, my clothes were fitting loose. So I’d tried it and found it fit though it was just a smidge snug at the cleavage. A cream blouse, a bit see-through (so I wore an off white, stretchy camisole under it), it also fit snug up my midriff but it was supposed to because it had two darts at both sides under my breasts and the same at both sides in the back. It had a collar and such short sleeves they couldn’t really be called sleeves as they were just an inch of material. I’d also added a layering of a bunch of silver necklaces that I usually only wore one at a time, all of them having daisies or flowers dangling from them or pendants with daisies and flowers stamped on them. I’d put on my daisy stud earrings and my flower-dangling bracelets. I’d paired this with jeans, a tan belt and, the new tactic of the day, high-stiletto-heeled sandals. They were tan leather that almost matched the belt and they had five thin straps that led into a big rose at the toe and a wraparound ankle strap you couldn’t see under the bootcut of my jeans (which was too bad because I always thought it was sassy and Brad had agreed, he’d loved those sandals and he especially loved the sassy ankle strap).
Being on them all day, my feet were killing me which I decided to take Bubba’s advice about and look on the bright side. Focusing on my feet, I could stop thinking about my whole body aching. Also, when I walked up to a patron, I found they were giving me a head-to-toe and an easy smile, even if I didn’t know them.
I couldn’t be sure as I hadn’t counted them but I thought my tips might have taken a turn for the better. Maybe not a massive one that would allow me to add a manicure to my schedule every week once I settled in, bought a house and furnished it but I could at least maybe buy groceries.
At that moment, however, I was wondering about wearing high-heeled sandals on the back of a bike.
Was that okay?
I was also wondering if I should put on lip gloss.
I was wondering this because it was passed seven and I was waiting for Tate to come and get me.
And I was wondering all of this while wondering about me wearing a little cream blouse, jeans that were not tight but a bit loose and a pair of sandals that cost over two hundred dollars. Neeta’s whole outfit probably cost half that and Tate had carried her into a hotel room, kissing her.
I was not Neeta by any stretch of the imagination. I was not the kind of woman who was bad news, who made a man change careers because of whatever, who met him at a hotel at night.
I was the kind of woman who wore cream blouses, not tank tops, and needed a ride home because her boss, who might be a jerk on occasion but he’d certainly demonstrated a fair degree of assuming responsibility, knew she was a woman alone with no one to look after her.
So he was looking after me. That was it.
Thus, I decided, no lip gloss.
But that didn’t stop me from being incredibly nervous but I was nervous in a belly-fluttering, excited way – like I’d just made it to the top of a roller coaster and was about to take the plunge.
This, I told myself, was not because Tate informed me the way he’d cure my insomnia was by fucking me until I couldn’t move – a comment, I decided, he made because he was upset about Tonia and was trying to put his mind to other things.
This, I told myself, was because I was going to ride on his bike.
The door opened and one of the female clientele walked in, dressed and made up a lot like Krystal. I hadn’t seen her before so I just smiled and moved to the door.
The minute I hit the bar, I saw Tate standing at the other end by Jim-Billy. That belly flutter escalated and I thought I might either pass out or vomit.
Then I was rocked back on a foot when a strong force hit me.
I looked down to see Wendy had her arms wrapped around me.
“Oh Lauren,” she whispered.
I put one arm around her and I slid my other hand along her short hair as I tipped my head so my mouth was at her ear.
“Baby,” I whispered.
“I didn’t like her but this sucks,” she whispered back, not letting go of me.
“I know.”
She released me, stepped back and looked up. “Feel like a bitch, laughed when she got fired.”
“Take your mind off that, Wendy,” I advised.
“Right, how?” she asked.
“I don’t know, honey, just… if your mind wanders there, visualize a stop sign and don’t go down that path. You didn’t know what would happen to her.”
Her eyes slid slightly to the side before coming back to me. “I bet Tate’s feelin’ like an asshole.”
She would win that bet.
“He’ll be okay,” I assured her with more confidence than I actually felt.
“Yeah, he’s a tough guy. They shoulda fired her ages ago. Only could do it, really, if they had you… which they did so he did it. Still, shit timing.”
“Yes,” I agreed then my eyes moved to him to see he was openly watching Wendy and me. I looked back at Wendy. “I have to go, honey, he’s here now because he’s my ride.”
Wendy blinked what could only be called a Kapow! blink. Her eyes squeezed together tight and quick, taking her eyebrows with them, then opening wide.
“He’s your ride?”
“I walked in today and he doesn’t want me walking back by myself,” I explained.
“Jim-Billy, Dalton or Bubba could take you home. Hell, half the guys here would do it,” she replied.
“Um… well, tonight Tate’s doing it.”
She grinned. “He likes you.”
“He doesn’t like me.”
“He likes you,” she repeated.
“I’m a good waitress,” I stated.
She shook her head. “Un-unh, that isn’t why he likes you.” She leaned forward. “He likes you, likes you.”
“I’m not his type,” I replied and she burst out laughing so hard she had to lean forward and shove her hands between her knees.
“What’s so funny?” I asked when she straightened and swiped under her eye.
“Sistah, you need to hang around bikers more,” she told me.
“Sorry?”
“They like ass,” she stated and I stared at her. “And tits. Real bikers, born and bred, like their women to look like women. They go for curves, for hair, for attitude. You are the queen of all of that. That’s why all the guys in here can’t tear their eyes off you.”
“All the guys in here can tear their eyes off me,” I retorted.
“Girlfriend, wake up. We can get busy but we been a heckuva lot more busy weeknights and it isn’t because Jonelle’s testing the boundaries of indecent exposure and Tonia…” she trailed off.
“Wendy, it’s coming on summer. People come out of hibernation when –”
“They like your ass.”
“They don’t.”
“And your tits.”
“Wendy.”
“And your long-ass legs. Your legs go on for-eh-ver. Even Tyler said you had great pegs, the best.”
She smiled. “Yeah. And he’s not a tits and ass man, he likes lean and cut but he sure likes your legs.”
“Shut up.”
“He does!”
“Shut up!”
“Ace!” Tate shouted, both Wendy and I jumped and twisted our necks to look his way. “You cashed out or what?” Tate asked still in a shout.
“I’m cashed out,” I shouted back.
“You wanna socialize for the next hour or are we gonna go?” He was still shouting and I was acutely aware, due to the fact that the noise level declined significantly, that the entire bar was listening.
“Keep your pants on!” I yelled.
The noise level disappeared.
“Babe, get your ass over here,” Tate ordered.
“Patience, Captain, I’m talking to Wendy,” I shot back.
“Ass. Over. Here!” Tate commanded.
I looked at Wendy and snapped loudly, “He’s so darned bossy!”
Two men and a woman sitting at the bar close to us burst out laughing.
“You better get your ass over there,” Wendy advised, I rolled my eyes and stomped across the bar.
Tate watched me stomp and turned his body to face me as I rounded the corner.
“I need to get my purse,” I told him irritably.
“Don’t take a year,” he returned.
“I won’t take a year!” I snapped and stomped down the hall, stopped and stomped back to Tate. I lifted a hand and demanded, “Keys.”
He dug into his pocket muttering, “Shit you’re a pain in my ass.”
“I will repeat, Jim-Billy can walk me home,” I informed him and looked over at Jim-Billy while I jerked a thumb at him.
Jim-Billy’s neck sunk into his shoulders, his eyes stayed fixed to the back of the bar and he took a sip of his draft.
“Get your purse, Ace,” was all Tate said, depositing his keys in my hand.
“Whatever,” I muttered, stomped down the hall and got my purse.
When I arrived back in the bar I ignored the avid eyes of an audience that included nearly all of the patrons and I could do this because Tate snatched his keys away, grabbed my hand and dragged me to the door so I had to concentrate on walking.
“Later guys!” I shouted over my shoulder, waving at the crew.
“See ya, Lauren!” Wendy shouted back.
“Later, gorgeous!” Bubba boomed.
Dalton lifted his chin and Krystal didn’t utter a peep.
Then we were outside and Tate was dragging me toward his bike where he pulled me to a halt but didn’t drop my hand.
“You know, Ace, I could do without havin’ a scene with you every time I enter that fuckin’ bar,” he stated.
Well, at least this was familiar territory and not the confusing territory we’d been camped out in the last couple of times we were together. I’d pissed him off.
“You started it,” I returned.
His brows went up. “Seriously?”
“Seriously what?”
“That’s all you got?” he asked.
“Well you did!”
“Christ,” he muttered, pushed me slightly away from the bike using my hand then he swung his leg over and started fiddling with the console. The bike roared to life and I could swear I felt wetness surge between my legs.
I was concentrating on this and biting my lip in an effort to stop a moan from escaping my throat when Tate looked at me.
“Climb on,” he ordered.
I looked behind him. Then I looked at him.
“How?” I asked.
“What?” he asked back.
“How do I get on?”
He stared at me. Then he asked, “You never been on a bike?”
I shook my head.
He stared at me some more.
Then it was my turn to stare at him because a slow, sexy smile spread across his face and that wetness between my legs wasn’t uncertain anymore.
“Don’t got a lotta time but you’re gonna get a ride,” he stated.
“I know, you’re taking me home.”
He was still smiling when he instructed, “See that foot hold?” and he jerked his head toward the back of the bike.
I looked, saw it and nodded.
“Put your right foot on it, grab onto me and swing your left leg over.”
“Okay,” I said and did as he instructed.
It was easy and I did it without incident, something I was proud of. I didn’t want to topple over or make him topple over or the bike topple over. None of that happened and I settled in behind him.
“A natural,” he muttered as he started walking the bike backward out of the spot.
“Sorry?” I called over the pipes.
He didn’t answer. Instead he said, “Hold on.”
“To what?”
He twisted his neck to catch my eyes, “To me, babe.”
“Oh,” I whispered, feeling like an idiot, and put my hands to his waist.
“Ace,” he called and I looked to see his neck was still twisted, “hold on.”
“I am.” And I was!
He leaned up, I reared back a bit but he grabbed my wrists and pulled them around in such a firm way that I had no choice but to plaster my front against his back. He let my wrists go when he had them wrapped around his flat stomach and before I could utter a noise we rocketed through the parking lot.
I was lucky his bike was so loud because I was pretty sure the moan I felt in my throat was audible.
He pulled into the street and he didn’t take me to my hotel.
He drove out of Carnal.
“Where are we going?” I shouted over the wind and the pipes.
“Ride,” was his response.
“Sorry?” I shouted.
“Relax, Ace, just feel it,” he shouted back.
I didn’t relax and just feel it. Not until he turned into the hills and then I couldn’t help but relax and just feel it.
And “it” was beautiful. The bike, the wind, the noise, the dark vistas, Tate’s solid body, my hair whipping around my face and neck.
It was phenomenal.
So phenomenal, I forgot everything but what I could see, what I could feel, and I relaxed into his back, putting my cheek to his shoulder and watching the world roar by.
I’d never been so out of mind but rooted to my body. I’d never let go that much and just let myself feel. There was something freeing about it, peaceful yet exciting. A weird combination that shouldn’t work together but it really, fucking did.
And I loved every second of it, so much, my mind so clear, I didn’t notice we were back until Tate pulled into Carnal Hotel’s parking lot. He drove straight to reception, parked out front and turned off the bike.
I sat behind him, still holding on like we were riding and I was staring at Ned who was staring at us.
“Babe,” Tate called and my body jolted.
I swung my leg off and had both feet on the ground when Tate swung off behind me.
“I’ll get your new key,” he said and started to reception.
I followed him.
“Jackson, hey son, Laurie,” Ned greeted as we walked in.
“Ned,” Tate returned.
“Hey Ned,” I smiled.
“You’re in three,” Ned told me, opening a drawer and taking out a key attached to a ring that also had a big, red triangular piece of plastic connected to it. Ned slid the key across the counter, Tate nabbed it and Ned’s eyes came to me. “We moved your stuff, hon, hope you don’t mind. Betty used your suitcases and did the personal stuff. I just lugged suitcases and did the dresser and fridge,” he said.
“Thanks, Ned, that’s sweet of you both,” I replied.
“Didn’t figure you’d wanna work all day and then schlep your stuff to a new room,” he explained.
“I owe you a bottle of champagne and another round of Clue,” I told him.
“Lookin’ forward to that, Laurie,” Ned said
“Later, Ned,” Tate murmured as he pulled me to the door.
“’Night, Ned,” I called as the door swung closed behind us.
Tate kept my hand in his as we walked to room three which was way closer to Ned and Betty’s. I had to walk double time to keep up with his long strides. He didn’t release my hand when he made it to the door; he just unlocked it, opened it and pushed me inside.
I walked four steps in while Tate flipped the light switch.
It as an exact copy of my other room, to the letter.
I threw my purse on the bed, turned to Tate and remarked, “Weird, it’s like I didn’t even move. It’s the same room.”
“Enjoy the ride?” Tate asked and I blinked at him.
“Sorry?”
“Did you enjoy the ride, Lauren?” he repeated and I smiled.
“Yes, Tate it was –”
I didn’t finish but I made another sound. It was a gasp because one second he was standing inside the closed door, the next he was standing right in front of me, one of his hands was sliding up my neck into my hair, the other arm was wrapped around my waist pulling my body into his.
“What are you –?” I got out before his fingers in my hair fisted, pulled down just a tad less than gentle and his mouth was on mine.
And he kissed me.
No. He kissed me.
Brad was a good kisser and he was great in bed. He wasn’t my first kiss though, or my first lover. I’d had a better kisser than Brad, but not a better lover.
But Tate’s kiss…
There was no describing it.
It didn’t start slow, it started hard and wet and so demanding I had no choice but to give back what I got. And I did. Our tongues sparred then our teeth bit at each other’s lips and our heads twisted this way and that, all of it a mindless, sexy dance that was all-consuming. There was nothing but his mouth and my mouth, what they were doing and what they were making me feel. Nothing. Not in the whole universe.
When he lifted his head a fraction of an inch I found one of my hands was up his shirt in the back and one of them was cupping the back of his head. His hand was still fisted in my hair but his other arm had moved up to curve tight just under my shoulder blades, the pads of his fingers pressed into the side of my breast.