Sweet Dreams Page 5

  I was dreading the night shift and going up against one of those girls. Not only had they, so far, proved themselves bitches, but also all the men would probably move from my station and tips would likely be even less.

  I started toward the dirty tables when I heard Tate call, “Ace.”

  Considering this was obviously his nickname for me which I thought was weird since he’d known me less than twenty minutes and you didn’t give a nickname to someone you’d known less than twenty minutes (more like ten years) and I figured it was meant to be not very nice, I looked at him even though I didn’t want to. However, I couldn’t ignore him. He couldn’t be calling to anyone else, ignoring him would be rude and he was my boss.

  “Yes?” I asked when I caught his eyes.

  “I know you heard,” he said.

  I knew he knew I was just surprised he brought it up. I showed no response except to raise my brows again.

  “I was in a shit mood, babe. Shake it off,” he ordered and I stared.

  He’d called me old, sorry-ass and fat and he wanted me just to shake it off?

  “Sure,” I agreed, turned and spritzed a table with the cleaner.

  “Ace,” he called again when I’d bent to wipe. I sucked in a visibly annoyed breath and twisted only my neck so I could look at him. When my eyes hit his, he repeated, “I said, shake it off.”

  I turned fully to him. “And I said, sure.”

  “You said it but you didn’t mean it,” he returned.

  No, I didn’t.

  “I did,” I lied.

  “Babe, you didn’t,” he replied.

  “I did,” I repeated and turned back to the table and started wiping.

  “Ace, look at me,” he demanded and he sounded like he was getting impatient.

  I straightened and looked at him, again raising my brows.

  “Let it go,” he ordered.

  “I’ve let it go,” I lied again.

  “You haven’t,” he shot back.

  I inhaled deeply and on the exhale, I said. “Due respect, considering you’re my boss, but since they don’t exist, you’re not a mind reader. I’ve let it go or I would if you’d quit talking about it.”

  “You haven’t,” he repeated. “You’re stewin’ on it.”

  This was true too. If I had a dollar for every time his words in his voice popped into my head and made me flinch the last two days, I could move to the Riviera. They even woke me up in the middle of the night. Then again, I had insomnia and always did, even as a kid. I regularly thought of stuff in my life, stuff that embarrassed me or hurt me or worried me or freaked me out and I couldn’t get to sleep. Then, when I did, I’d wake up three, four times a night sometimes tossing and turning for hours before finding sleep again. This beautiful man saying those horrible words when talking about me was not only fresh, it was the worst of all my nightly demons by far and it would be in a way I knew would last the rest of my life.

  But it hit me just then that since not only did he feel free to shout those things about me when he barely knew me but also he knew I heard it and he didn’t apologize but told me to shake it off and let it go because I should somehow accept he was in a shit mood and just deal with it, that he obviously wasn’t a very nice person and maybe, even though I was a nice person, there were some people who deserved to get back what they got.

  I mean really. Why did I always have to be nice? Why did I always have to do the right thing, turn the other cheek, a blind eye? Why did I always have to be the good girl?

  So he could fire me. Whatever. I’d just see if they needed cashiers at the grocery store or move on. If I could find one Carnal, I could find another. It might take another four and a half months but I had money and I had time.

  Fuck it.

  “Yes,” I said softly, staring him straight in the eyes. “I’m stewing on it. I hear you say those words again and again. So much, I can’t get to sleep at night. So much, they come to me in my sleep and wake me up.”

  “Ace –”

  “But you said them, I heard them and those are the consequences. No taking it back, no shaking it off, no letting it go. It happened. I deal and move on and maybe you’d do me the courtesy of shutting up about it.”

  He walked from behind the bar and toward me and I watched him do it while forcing my body to stay where it was and not take a step back or, better yet, flee.

  He stopped a foot away and looked down at me. I saw, that close to him, he didn’t have dark brown eyes. They were dark brown but they had tawny flecks in them that made them even more interesting.

  Great, the lucky jerk was even luckier.

  “I’m a silent partner,” he declared.

  “Sorry?” I asked.

  “Me. I’m a silent partner,” he repeated.

  I tipped my head to the side and felt my brows draw together. “So?”

  Tate threw a hand out to indicate the bar. “I look silent to you?”

  Considering he was clearly my bartender that day and he was changing kegs, the answer to that would be no.

  Instead I said, “And?”

  “Deal was, I put in the money because Krys and Bubba didn’t have the cake to take this on but I wasn’t involved. I just get my piece and I do my own thing. Five years, Ace, I find more often than not I usually gotta wade in. Bubba’s off fishin’ and Krystal’s always hirin’ folk who suck. Tonia and Jonelle both make an art outta being the worst waitresses in history. They’re here to socialize, when they drag there asses in that is. I got shit to do and I ain’t doin’ it ‘cause I’m here, ‘cause I gotta keep an eye on my investment, ‘cause Bubba’s a moron and Krystal’s tryin’ her best but she can’t do it on her own. That pisses me off. Bubba’s gone again and I got pissed again and you bore the brunt of that. It was an asshole remark; I said it and didn’t mean it. I get pissed I say a lotta shit I don’t mean. Now you know that, you need to shake it off.”

  Maybe for him it could be that easy. For me, it was not.

  “I appreciate that but you’re old enough to know better. You’re old enough to know words have power and to use them wisely. You’re angry at Bubba, take potshots at him, not some woman you don’t know.”

  “Like I said, when I get pissed I say a lotta shit I don’t mean and what I said about you I didn’t mean,” he repeated, beginning to look as impatient as he sounded.

  “And like I said, you’re old enough to learn you shouldn’t do that,” I repeated too, probably also looking impatient.

  “That isn’t me,” he replied.

  “Well, then, this obviously is eating you and that’s your consequence because I have feelings and you walked all over them and you can’t order me to shake it off so you can feel better. It’s there, burned in my brain and I can’t just forget it because you tell me to. So you have to live with that. You can’t and want me gone, say it now because I’m beginning to like Betty and I met Shambles and Sunny and I’m having dinner with them tomorrow night and I’d rather not make ties when I’m going to need to hit the road because my boss is going to get rid of me.”

  “Shambles and Sunny?” he asked.

  “Shambles and Sunny,” I answered but didn’t share more. “Now, can we just move on and do our best to work together and all other times avoid each other or do you want me to go?”

  He moved forward an inch and I again fought the urge to retreat.

  “Forgiveness is divine,” he said softly and I’d never heard him talk soft. He had a very nice voice but when it went soft, it was beautiful.

  This also sucked.

  “I’m not divine,” I returned. “I’m also not Ace and I’m not Babe. I’m Lauren. You don’t like my name, don’t call me anything at all. Now can I clean the danged table?”

  I had my head tipped back to look him in the eye but I could tell he was expending effort to hold his whole body still.

  Then he said in that soft voice, “I’m sorry, Ace.”

  “Me too,” I replied instantly being clear I didn’t
accept his apology which wasn’t a nice thing to do but then again, I was trying out this not being nice thing and I found that what he said hurt so much I could do it so I was going to go with it. “Now can I get back to work?”

  He moved so he was far less than foot away and edging into my space.

  “Krys told me your story,” he said quietly and I sighed but didn’t speak. “You bust your husband’s balls like this?”

  I felt my innards seize and it didn’t feel very nice.

  Then I asked, “Are you pissed now? Is that the reason for the latest asshole remark?”

  “Nope, just curious.”

  “Then no,” I replied and went on to share with brutal honesty, “I loved him. He meant everything to me. I thought we were happy, mostly. We had our crap times but most of the time I thought we were happy. Or at least I was. So I didn’t need to bust his balls because I loved him, we were good together and we had a good life. That is, until I found out it was all a lie, every last nuance of it, and I still didn’t bust his balls. I granted him a divorce, sold our house and stepped aside. I could have wrung him dry but it would only prolong my sorrow and maybe build bitterness so what’s the point of that?”

  Tate watched me while I spoke, his eyes riveted to mine in a strange way that made it seem like the words I spoke etched themselves on his soul the instant I said them and when I was done he asked, “So you forgive him for bein’ a cheatin’ asshole and a liar and a dickhead who’s so fuckin’ dumb he throws away a good thing but you can’t forgive me for sayin’ somethin’ stupid?”

  “I didn’t forgive him. I just didn’t bust his balls. That was your question and that was my answer. Now can I wipe down the table?”

  He was silent for several long moments before he said, “Yeah, Ace, you can wipe the table and we can find a way to work together but I’ll tell you straight, I ain’t puttin’ the effort in to avoid you just because you’re holdin’ tight to somethin’ that didn’t mean shit. You can try to avoid me but it ain’t a big bar, it ain’t a big town – you got attitude and you’re stubborn as all hell but you ain’t gonna be able to avoid me. Our paths will cross.”

  I looked to the ceiling. “Great, more reasons to lose sleep.”

  “Babe,” he called and I rolled my eyes back to him.

  “Stop calling me babe,” I demanded.

  Tate ignored me. “You want sweet dreams, lose the attitude and you might find I’ll give you reason to have them.”

  I felt my body seize at his words but he was done. I knew this because he turned and walked away, going straight down the hall until the murky darkness enveloped him and I lost sight of him.

  My body stayed frozen while new words in Tate’s deep, rough voice ricocheted around in my brain.

  And a dickhead who’s so fuckin’ dumb he throws away a good thing...

  And if that wasn’t enough…

  You want sweet dreams, lose the attitude and you might find I’ll give you reason to have them.

  The first one was undeniably nice. The second one I didn’t get at all.

  “Hey there, Lauren,” I heard, jumped at the sound and whirled to see Jim-Billy entering. “I’m early but could I have a draft?”

  I looked at my watch then at Jim-Billy. “It’s just past eleven thirty.”

  “I had a tough mornin’,” Jim-Billy replied, heading to his stool.

  “What happened?” I asked, abandoning the still dirty table and going to Jim-Billy.

  “I woke up,” Jim-Billy answered and then stopped talking.

  “You woke up…” I prompted.

  “Yep,” he said. “Now can I have a draft?”

  I couldn’t help it, after that scene with Tate, what he said, what it might mean, the fact that I really didn’t like him and not only had to work with him but he was my boss, what Jim-Billy said made me laugh so hard I had to throw my head back to do it. Maybe it wasn’t that funny but I really needed the release of a laugh so I took it.

  I put down my cloth and the spray and headed behind the bar.

  “Don’t know if I’m allowed but seeing as you had to wake up and all, you deserve a draft.” I grabbed a mug and went to the taps. “And anyway, maybe me serving you will get me fired.”

  “You wanna get fired?” Jim-Billy asked.

  “Right now I do,” I replied.

  “You been here two days, woman,” Jim-Billy reminded me. “And three days ago you practically begged Krystal to take you on.”

  “Yes, but I got to work with Krystal those two days, Tate’s in today,” I told him, filling the mug with beer.

  “Darlin’, every other waitress in this bar and most the women in this town would think it the other way around,” Jim-Billy returned.

  “I’m not them,” I retorted, pushed back the tap and took the beer to Jim-Billy seeing his eyebrows up and his forehead scrunched together in long lines.

  “You got a problem with Tate?” he asked in disbelief.

  Seeing that even though Tate wasn’t nice enough to know better but I was, I didn’t share by saying words I shouldn’t say.

  I threw a beer mat in front of Jim-Billy and put his mug on it. “We just don’t see eye-to-eye.”

  “Shit,” Jim-Billy muttered and I saw he looked like he was fighting a smile.

  “Shit what?” I asked.

  “Nothin’,” Jim-Billy mumbled into the beer mug that was at his lips.

  “Shit what?” I repeated and Jim-Billy took a sip then grinned at me.

  “’Nother time, Lauren, when you aren’t on and you and me are shootin’ the shit, drinkin’ a brew, I’ll tell you shit what.”

  “Jesus, Billy, we aren’t open for twenty minutes.” I heard Tate say and I jumped a mile as he walked up behind me and then stopped at my back, just to the side but then leaned a hand into the bar so he was totally in my space. So totally in my space, I felt the heat from his body and if I moved, I knew my shoulder would brush his chest.

  I was forcing my body to stay still again while Jim-Billy was surveying Tate and me and continuing to fight his smile.

  “You know how it is, Jackson,” Jim-Billy replied and that was the second time I heard someone refer to Tate as Jackson and I wondered why. Was that his last name?

  “I know how it is, Billy,” Tate said in that soft voice of his. Then he said, “Ace, you gonna wipe down those tables or what?”

  I twisted my neck to look at him to see he was staring down at me and he was closer than I expected and I expected him to be pretty danged close. He was also back to looking impatient and I resisted the urge to give him a sharp elbow to the ribs.

  “Right away, oh Captain, my Captain,” I mumbled and moved away, nabbing the spray and cloth.

  * * * * *

  “Two Miller Lites, a vodka rocks and a Jack and Coke,” I ordered from Tate, my eyes bent to my pad of paper where I kept my notes as to what I ordered.

  I learned about two hours into my shift that this was a perfect way of avoiding eye contact and pretending he didn’t exist at all. If I tried hard enough, I could almost believe my drinks appeared by magic.

  Now it was ten minutes from the end of my shift and I was nearly home free.

  This tactic had worked beautifully and I’d been able to do it nearly my entire shift seeing as we were busy nearly all day. Ten bikers roared in at one thirty and hadn’t left and with the drifters and the regulars I’d been pretty much on the go which was an excuse to be away from Tate.

  I was also attempting to ignore Tate’s very existence by sliding into research mode, trying out strategies in an effort to up my tips. I was keeping track and I figured what I was doing was working.

  My first strategy was to be a little more friendly and talkative, take a little more time and hang out and it appeared the boys liked that. So, since that worked, my next strategy was to find out names, memorize them and use them. Even if you weren’t at your regular bar, anyone liked to be made to feel at home, and nothing felt like home more than someone knowing y
ou, or acting like they did, or at least that’s what I guessed and, from keeping tabs on by my escalating tips, I was right.

  In no time at all, I found when I was in my approach to see if anyone needed a fresh one, eyes slid to me, smiles lit faces and the witty rapport would ensue, sometimes even before I made it to them they’d call out a joke or a silly compliment I knew they didn’t mean.

  And sometimes they’d order drinks even though their last ones weren’t close to empty.

  And my tips went up and up.

  Because of this, I was pretty pleased with myself and my efforts for the day even though they came on a day I had to share with Tate.

  “Babe,” Tate called, taking me from my end of shift pleasant thoughts.

  “Yeah?” I answered, pulling a pencil from behind my ear to make my additions to my pad.

  “Ace,” he called.

  “Yeah?” I answered again, scratching on my pad.

  “For fuck’s sake, Lauren, look at me,” Tate demanded and my head came up because he used my name for the first time ever and also because he sounded slightly angry.

  “Yes?” I asked.

  He was leaning into the bar with both fists on the top but out to his sides. This could be a casual stance for some but for him it seemed both aggressive and dominant.

  “What’s your game here?” he asked.

  “Sorry?” I asked back, confused at his question and his apparent irritation.

  “Your game,” he repeated then went on, shaking his head. “Fuck it, I don’t care. Just stop playin’ it.”

  My head tipped a bit to the side when I asked, “What are you talking about?”

  “Don’t be stupid,” he answered and at his words, I edged closer to the bar as I felt my temper snag.

  “Stupid?” I whispered.

  “Gettin’ friendly with those guys to make your point.” He jerked his head to the pool tables to his right where my most generous customers, and my new best buds, the bikers from one thirty had been camped out.