Killing Me Softly(A Broken Souls Series)

“Just two more curls and we’re done. You’re giving him your virginity!” Bethany’s boobs are in my face as she leans forward to grab a strand of my hair.

“Hello, boobs!” I say before they’re smashed into my nose. She laughs it off and keeps on curling. “You think I’m a virgin?”

“Well yeah, I figure that’s why you’re so uptight, you need to get laid.”

“Is that what Sam tells you?”

“You’re a goody goody, sorry, it’s true.” Bethany steps back to admire her work.

“If you must know, I’m not a virgin. That ship sailed a while back.” I pick up the handheld mirror and take it to the bathroom to see the back of my hair. “I’m really a bad girl that lives like a good girl,” I tease.

“One day, I hope to meet the bad girl. You’re pretty cool as a goody, but I can’t keep up.” She gives my hair a final spray and steps back to admire us in the mirror. “In all seriousness, if you ever need to talk, I’m a good listener.”

“Thank you, I’m happy we met. You’re fun to be with. Before we get mushy, let’s go!”

***

Tate is at the door dressed in a pair of jeans and a crisp blood red button down polo. He’s looking down at his cell phone, not paying attention. I grab his arm and shout, “BOO!” He doesn’t as much as flinch, instead he spins around and grabs me by the waist and kisses me.

I touch my lips with my fingers. “Do you kiss all of your assailants’?”

“Only when they smell like you. You look delicious,” he whispers in my ear.

“Thank you, birthday boy. How’s your visit with your grandma?” I take his hand and walk with him to the door.

“So far the visit is going good. She’s been mostly business, telling me what’s been going on at the farm. Doing the same old shaming that I don’t come home often enough. I was just there at Christmas.”

“Oh, is everything okay?”

“Yeah, everything’s great. If she asks you about that hickey, just tell her you burned yourself.”

My hand goes straight to my neck. “I don’t have a hickey! Do I? How?” I frantically search in my purse for a mirror.

“You’re so gullible, I love it. You don’t have a hickey.” He takes my hand and leads me to our table.

The restaurant is decorated with lit candles and fresh roses everywhere. Across the room, looking out over a water garden sits a middle aged woman dressed to the nines. She stands up and gives me an approving glance.

“Grandma, this is Holland, Holland this is my grandma, Florence,” Tate says and pulls out a chair for me.

“Nice to meet you Holland, you are as pretty as Tate has been saying. Not that I’d doubt anything from him. We ordered an appetizer, it should be here soon.”

“Hi Miss Florence, it’s so nice to finally meet you. Tate speaks so highly of you.”

“Just Florence, love.” She sits down and we all place our napkin in our lap.

Florence is lively with a glint in her eye as she talks about life on the farm. Her near-black hair is styled in one of the bobs that angles along the jawline, it accentuates her round cheeks. If he hadn’t told me she was his grandma, I would have guessed she was his mother.

Dinner is filled with stories about Tate and his grandfather fishing at the pond. She talks with her hands, and I spend too much time being dazzled by the sparkle in her jewelry. The waiter was called sug every time he came over and refilled one of our drinks. It took me a while to realize it was short for sugar. Florence told me about growing up in Alabama until she met Craig, Tate’s grandfather. His family owned the farm and he was told he’d inherited it one day, which he did. The farm will be handed down to Tate when she passes away and he’ll carry on the farmer’s life.

Tate fidgeted awkwardly whenever she talked about him moving back to the farm. I know from our long talks on the phone at night that he doesn’t want to be a farmer until he’s older. He originally told her thirty, but with every birthday he feels as if his time will come before he’s done everything he wants. She doesn’t ask any questions about my family, so I guess Tate told her how screwed up I am.

A fancy cupcake with one lit candle is set in front of Tate. No singing or clapping, not even a soft Happy Birthday from the waiter.

Tate blushes as he blows out his candle. Florence smiles and hands him a small box. He opens the gift and pulls out a fancy sports watch. He was telling me the other day about wanting to know if anyone in the mall sells runners watches. I told him he would have to go to the other mall to get good running gear.

After he takes it out, he fiddles with a button but I stop him before he puts it on. “Can I see it?” I almost took a credit card out to buy him one similar to it, but it was a hundred dollars cheaper than this model. I turn it over and on the back it’s inscribed. “Tater? You’re Tater?” I smile at him.

“Hand that to me,” he holds out his hand and I give it back. “Grandma, you’re a silly woman, I haven’t been called that in years.”

“I know, but when I think of you running around the farm and the farm-hands would yell out, Tater, it seemed appropriate. You ran around like a crazed child sometimes, and that’s when we would say, later Tater.”

Tate reaches over and pats her hand. “Thank you grandma, I love it.”

You know you’re a country boy if they call you Tater.

***

The club is packed when we arrived. Thankfully a table with a reserved sign was up front. I’m sitting with Florence until the second set, then I’ll get up and sing.

“Excuse me, I need to tell the DJ something.” I reach in my purse and grab the jump drive with the track on it.

I glance around the room for the girls who were such bitches when we were here last time. The DJ smiled and took the track from me without freaking out. We work out a hand signal and decide it will be the third song. If I had my way, it would be the last song, but he convinced me to make it the third one.

Florence is sipping on a glass of wine and there’s one at my seat.

“I hope you like white wine, they had a horrible selection in their reds.”

Tate must not have told her I’m underage, at the moment, I’m not telling on myself. My fake ID is in my purse in case I get carded. It might take more than one drink before I get up and sing in front of everyone.

The same guy came out and told some jokes and announced the drink specials with a friendly reminder to tip the wait staff.

Tate starts out with a Lenny Kravitz song and the crowd goes wild. He sings a few more songs before taking his fifteen minute break. I take my second glass of wine with me to the green room.

“There you are. Are we going sing tonight? I can make it our first song, or our last song, your choice.” He eyes my glass and smiles at me. “Liquid courage?”

“Yeah, just a little. Your grandma ordered it before I told her I’m underage. As for singing, I want to do it as the last song.”

“She knows how old you are, she’s against the drinking age. She figures if you’re old enough to go to work every day and pay taxes, you’re old enough to drink. My mom didn’t agree with that rule. I know, because I came home loaded a few times. Young and dumb is what she would call me.”

“Sounds like you were.”

We sit down on the oversized couch and run through Bad Romance.