I was not ready for this.
Tate had told me before he left that morning that he’d bring Jonas by the bar to meet me then they’d go off and do their thing then they’d pick me up and we’d all go to dinner. I’d wanted to make Jonas a welcome home dinner and maybe buy my way into his heart through his ten-year-old boy’s stomach because I didn’t figure Neeta was a master chef. Though, if I waited until after my shift, they wouldn’t eat until late so going out it was. The diner could cook faster than what I had planned.
I bought all the stuff for dinner anyway because I had Saturday off so I decided to make it then. I didn’t find out until I got in the bar that day that Krystal and Wendy had conspired against me. It was Wendy’s day off but she was coming in to take over for me at three thirty and Krystal had made last minute schedule changes so I had the whole weekend off.
I didn’t want the whole weekend off. I just wanted Saturday. I told myself that this was so I could give Tate and Jonas time together. It was really because Jonas scared me half to death.
The dinner I picked was a specialty of mine, my family loved it but Brad hated it, said it was over the top, said it was so many calories and fat it was impossible to count, so I only made it when I went home to Indiana. Pork chops stuffed with Rice-A-Roni accompanied by real bread stuffing like you make for Thanksgiving and green bean casserole (the gooey kind with the crispy onions in it and on top). This would be followed by red cake with that creamy, white frosting that took a powerful hold on my willpower not to eat it all before I frosted the cake.
I made the cake the night before using nervous energy to do it. Tate had been gone, called away for a few days to round up a bad guy. Luckily, this only lasted a few days. Unfortunately, we’d fought when he’d returned which was the night before, approximately three minutes after I put the final flourishes on the frosting on the cake.
We fought because, until that day, I’d worked nights so I spent the days while he was gone painting his room as a surprise.
It wasn’t me painting the room that pissed Tate off. When Tate came home and saw it, he liked it, a lot if the kiss he gave me was any indication.
It was the invoice for the blinds that Tate saw on the counter after we’d walked out of the bedroom and into the kitchen that pissed him off. I’d had a local man come in, measure and I ordered new venetian blinds. Really cool ones made of a rich, dark wood. They cost a fortune but they would be awesome with the curtains.
Tate picked up the invoice, gave it a glance, looked at me and asked, “What’s this?”
“Um… surprise part two?” I answered in a question because the look on his face was a little scary.
“Lauren, fuck, did you not hear me when I said the blinds were gonna have to wait?” He spoke at the same time he agitatedly threw the invoice down on the counter.
“Yes, I heard you. You said that you couldn’t afford them. So, really, you kind of need them… um… in a way…” I was talking stiltedly because his face wasn’t getting any less scary and because he actually didn’t need them in any way. “So… um… I bought them.”
“Yeah, you bought them and I can’t afford them.”
I didn’t understand so I asked, “You can’t afford them?”
“Gonna be another hit to pay you back, Ace. Don’t need any more hits. My balance needs to start goin’ up, not sinkin’ down.”
“No, I mean, I bought them, for you.”
I thought this would go over well, since no one ever took care of him and Neeta had never given him anything but an orgasm. I’d given him those too and I was on a mission to suck him in as deep as I could get him so I had to pull ahead of all his history with Neeta and any other woman for that matter.
This, however, did not go over well.
“You bought them for me,” he repeated quietly but his voice was hard.
“Yes, I thought –”
He interrupted me. “No, babe, you didn’t.”
“Sorry?”
“You didn’t think,” he explained.
“I –”
“Got money,” he cut me off again, leaning a bit toward me. “Yeah, I know. It wasn’t in my face every time you put on clothes or spray on your fancy-ass perfume in my goddamned bedroom, I’d still know after you told me about your life with that fuckwad.”
“Yes, I have money, but –”
He broke in again. “No woman takes care of me.”
“I’m not taking care of you, I’m –”
“Takin’ care of me.”
I lost a bit of hold on my temper and therefore snapped, “Would you let me finish?”
“No,” he answered.
“No?”
“Actually, fuck no,” he amended.
“Sorry?” I whispered and he leaned forward further.
“I got a dick, babe,” he clipped.
“I know that, babe,” I snapped back.
“No woman takes care of me,” he repeated. “I make a home for me and my kid.”