“But Krystal –”
“Bubba’s back, he never liked you, Krystal never liked you and I sure as fuck never liked you. You’re always late and when you’re here you act like you’re in a singles club. Don’t need that shit. Go.”
“But –”
Tate leaned in and clipped, “Bitch, go.”
She stared at him frozen like a deer in headlights for a second then she turned and hurried out the door.
Tate’s eyes sliced to me and I braced.
“You’re off. I’ll delay my shit a-fuckin’-gain and stay on.”
“I’m fine to stay on, help Wendy,” I offered.
He leaned in and he looked beyond his usual angry, so far beyond it I had to force my body to stay where it was rather than take a step back.
“Babe –” he started.
I threw up my hands. “Right, Captain, I’m off.”
He extended a hand to me. “Give me your apron, I’ll cash you out.”
“I can get it on Wednesday,” I offered and his eyes hit mine again and my hands immediately went behind my back to pull at the apron strings. “I’ll let you cash me out.”
“Good thinkin’,” he muttered.
I gave him my apron, he moved to the back of the bar and I turned to Wendy who gave me wide eyes but those eyes were dancing and she was biting her lips.
“Don’t laugh, that wasn’t funny,” I whispered.
“Sistah, you haven’t worked with Tonia enough,” she whispered back. “Trust me, that was hi… larry… us.”
“Definitely,” Dalton muttered and Wendy let a giggle escape, Tate turned to us, Wendy scampered and Dalton sauntered down the bar.
I waited and when Tate handed me my tips, I didn’t even count them, I just mumbled, “Thanks, see you later,” shoved my tips in my purse and got the heck out of there.
*
I’d had another moonlight swim that night which, right then, lying facedown on my bed, I realized was a really stupid idea. I should have conserved my energy or maybe broke into the Italian restaurant, fixed myself a mess of spaghetti and carbed up.
I dragged myself out of the bed, took a shower, did the most minimal toilette preparations I would allow (blow dried hair, face powder, swipe of blush and mascara), put on a pair of white shorts (that were strangely hanging way loose on me) and a spaghetti-strapped top made out of gauzy material that was a random pattern of muted pastels, had a thin ruffle at the material that crossed at the bodice and another tiny ruffle adorned the hem. I slid on flip-flops, grabbed my sunglasses (because it wasn’t only warm, it was super sunny as only Colorado seemed to be able to be), made myself a huge coffee in one of Betty’s big mugs and shuffled out to the lounge chairs by the pool.
I waved to Betty as I went, she waved back, I hit the closest lounge chair and collapsed in it.
I took two sips of coffee while staring at the twinkling water of the pool, set my mug on the cool deck and promptly passed out.
*
“Ace,” I heard.
I thought that was weird. When I was asleep I heard a lot of things that Tate had said to me (though, lately, it wasn’t the first comment about me being old and fat, it was the stuff he’d said since, about Brad throwing away a good thing, about Tate giving me sweet dreams, about him calling me his, and the like). But I never heard him calling me Ace.
“Babe,” I heard.
There it was again. Strange.
I shifted slightly, doing a little arched back stretch and then settled back into sleep.
“Laurie, baby, wake up.” I heard Tate say gently as I felt fingers close around mine and squeeze. “You’re gonna fry out here.”
I opened my eyes to see Tate leaning over me and my body lurched.
“Holy crap,” I breathed, “what on…” I stopped talking, looked around and saw I was lying on a lounge chair by Betty and Ned’s pool. “Darn,” I whispered, “I fell asleep.”
“Yeah,” Tate said and my eyes went to him to see he was moving and I watched in shock as he slid a hip onto the side of the lounge chair, pushing my hips out of the way to accommodate his. “You got sunscreen on?” he asked.
I was staring at his hip pressed to mine so I wasn’t following.
“Sorry?”
“Sunscreen, babe, you’re closer to the sun up here, there aren’t any clouds and, you don’t have sunscreen, you’re gonna fry.”
My eyes went to his face. “I don’t have sunscreen.”
“Then you’re gonna fry. Let’s go to your room.”
My body froze.
“My room?”
He stood and stretched his hand to me. “Up, Ace.”
“What?”
He didn’t repeat himself. He bent, grabbed hold of my hand and hauled me out of the lounge. Then he bent again and nabbed my nearly full coffee mug. Then, his hand still in mine, he dragged me across the parking lot.