Someone to Watch Over Me Read online

  “You were fucking hot out there,” Marshall exclaimed, following me off the stage. “H. O. T. Hot. You owe me children, four of them, one for each song.”

  “You have no idea what you’re asking,” I shot back. I knew he was only teasing. But seriously, Levy was a lot of work. “Most men would go for straight up sex, Marshall.”

  “Don’t sell yourself short, Coop. You’re worth more than that.” Because Marshall was, well, Marshall, he winked and smiled, keeping it light. “Marry me. I’ll keep you round and glowing. You can dance naked on the counter of my kitchen while you cook me breakfast.”

  “Wow, when you make a proposition like that, how can I refuse?”

  “You can’t. It’s all part of this awesome package.” Starting at his chest, he fanned his arm down his six foot five inch frame. “One of a kind, here, pumpkin. Someday you’ll come to your senses and realize that.”

  “What will you ever do until then?”

  “Dream, Coop, dream.” Marshall pushed through the door, his chuckle fading into the crowd.

  Running a hand through my hair, I dug for the elastic in my pocket and turned toward the mirror. My stomach curled. Tate was back stage talking with the band, but as he caught my eye, he shook the front man’s hand and started toward me, holding my gaze. God help me.

  “You were great out there.” He proffered an iced bottle of water and a fresh hand towel. I stared blankly. “It gets hot on stage. I know.”

  “Thanks.” My voice was hoarse. Raspy. I took the water first, twisted the cap off and took a deep drink. My throat soaked it up like a thirsty sponge.

  “What’re you doing waiting tables when you can sing like that?”

  “I told you. Paying the bills.” It annoyed me that he thought it was any of his business. “Look, I have to get back out there. I have tables to wait on. Thanks for the water.” Stooping in front of the mirror, I pulled my hair up into a messy bun, wrapped the elastic around and secured it off my neck.

  “What time do you get off?”

  “Closing.” When Billy asked me to sing, I used it to my advantage, bartered my hours. I was a single mom. I had a child to raise. Staying an additional hour or two after closing to clean was infeasible.

  “I’ll wait. Can I wait for you?”

  Instinctively, I wanted to warn him off. I always did when men came on to me. I unloaded my problems on them, sent them heading for the hills. Usually, once they heard what I had to say, they didn’t think twice about walking. Whether they were looking for a one-night stand or on the rare occasion, something longer, I had too much baggage.

  Therein lay the problem. I didn’t want to scare Tate off. Damn if Em wasn’t right. I wanted to live a little. It had been nearly three years since I’d gotten laid. And Tate was the perfect candidate. He was a playboy. I wouldn’t have to worry about chasing him off.

  “Two sharp.”

  Tate twitched a relieved smile. He reached toward my chest and a breath stuck in my throat. I thought—and it sounds crazy—that he was going to fasten a button on my shirt, you know, cover a little cleavage. It’s something Grant would’ve done. But Tate pinched a strand of hair from my collar and tucked it behind my ear. “Two then.”

  ♫♪♫♪

  A few hours of backbreaking manual labor later, Billy was throwing the dead bolts behind me as I went out the door. He hadn’t said anything about the songs I sang, so I supposed he didn’t mind. I stopped just outside the door and panned the parking lot. I found Tate leaning against my Mini, arms folded across his chest. My heart did a little flutter, palpitating.

  A shy smile spread across my face.

  “You look…” He paused, searching for the right word.

  “Flattery will get you everywhere.”

  Chuckling, Tate shook his head. “Well, you are all that. But I was going to say guilty.”

  “Then you’re good at reading people.” Reaching the car, I stopped in front of him, hooked my thumbs into the loops of my jean shorts. Tate took a tentative step forward.

  “You can change your mind.”

  “I could.” He smiled again, crooked like. It made my breath catch in my throat. “You act like you’ve just won the lottery. That’s strange for a man of your stature. Like you couldn’t have any girl with a crook of your finger.”

  “That’s all it usually takes. But you…you make me nervous.”

  “I make you nervous,” I repeated. I was the one with sweaty palms.

  “You could walk away right now, and you wouldn’t think twice about it. The notion leaves me uneasy. If you walked away from me tonight, I don’t think I’d ever get you out of my veins. You’d be the one that lingered in my memory, the one that got away.”

  I dropped my gaze. Pulled the keys from my pocket. I didn’t want to consider the implications of a statement like that. He was a flirt. He wrote love ballads and brought girls on stage to serenade them. He was a pro at working their emotions. “We should go.”

  “Can I drive?”

  In a mercurial swing, my lips pulled into a frown. “I can drive, you know.”

  “Cooper, I just want to drive your car. I’ve always wanted to drive one of these things ever since I saw the Italian Job.”

  Before I could apologize, he plucked the keys from my hand and slid behind the wheel. I couldn’t even get angry or indignant that he didn’t open the door for me, because he was like a little kid, pouring over a new toy. Rounding the car, I slid into the passenger’s seat.

  “The ignition’s a push start. Next to the steering column.”

  Pushing the button, he grinned widely when the engine purred to life. “Ah, Coop, best hold on tight.” Shifting into reverse, he punched the gas, sending me flying forward. I caught myself on the dashboard, only to be thrown back against the seat when he shifted into first. The tires squealed. My nose twitched over the smell of burned rubber. Grabbing the handholds, I closed my eyes and silently apologized to my car.

  A few life-threatening minutes later, we pulled off the main road and coasted into the dark of night. “You might want to slow down back here,” I cautioned, thinking only of my car and the carnage a two hundred pound projectile could inflict. “There’re a lot of deer back here.”

  “Boo.”

  “Yeah, well, I love my car.”

  “It’s great.”

  “What can I say; I have good taste.”

  “Kudos on your sense of worth. I like that.”

  “I was joking.”

  “Doesn’t make it less true.” He paused in thought, biting the inside of his cheek. “What you said earlier. You’re above my stature.”

  I laughed. “What?”

  “You are. You were wearing a dress suit the first time I saw you, and tonight you were waiting tables and singing. That’s quite a diverse repertoire.”

  “It’s called making a living.” I had bills to pay. He might call me diverse, but I called it desperate. Coming to the same conclusion, I assumed, Tate fell quiet. It was a few minutes before he spoke again.

  “I watched you in the car yesterday. You were zoning. Not many people can lose themselves like that. I turned down the radio to see what you were playing, but I couldn’t hear. Who was it?”

  “The Black Keys.”

  “That’s what I thought. You like the blues. You’ve a great voice for it. But that’s off the point. All I saw was this mane of strawberry hair whipping in the wind and little glimpses of those lips and eyes in your rearview. You had my curiosity going.”

  “Your curiosity? Is that what you’re calling it?”

  “Funny, ha. Carter was all pissy because—”

  “So you were honking at me.”

  “No, we weren’t. I swear.” Tate held his hand up, crossed his heart. “Anyhow, you’re right. All I could think of was getting my hands on you, but then you climbed out of the car in that skirt and blouse—”

  “Blouse? I’ve only ever heard my grandma say blouse.”

  “I’m trying to
make a point here.” His tone was curt, but the sparkle in his eye told me that he was teasing. I had to bite back a smile.

  “Sorry.”

  “Can I go on now?”

  “Please, go right ahead.”

  “You looked smart. Respectable. Out of my league.”

  “Turn right here. At the stop sign. I’m a mile up on the right. You’ll see a beat up mailbox painted like a trout.”

  “You have a mailbox painted like a trout?”

  “I rent. It’s my landlord’s mailbox.”

  “What do you do at the office job?”

  “I source products. Manage them. Costume jewelry mostly.”

  “Sounds boring.”

  “It is, but the benefits are good.”

  “Why do you do it? You have a great voice. You could have so much more. And you wouldn’t have to work your ass off to do it. Well, you would, but you’d enjoy it.”

  “I’d rather not talk about the whys tonight, Tate. Here,” I said, pointing out the driveway. “You’re going to miss it.”

  “It’s dark as shit. I can’t—” Hitting the breaks, we skidded to a stop. We watched one doe and another cross the lawn. They ambled, unrushed. Their large cupped ears swiveling back and forth as they passed through the headlights. “Jesus Christ. Look at that. That’s fucking amazing. I’ve never seen one that close. Well, except the zoo. But wow, just look at that.”

  They were beautiful. Svelte in shape and manor. Their legs lifted in sharp yet soft strides, picking their way through the dew-covered grass. One lifted her head high in the air, her large, dark eyes flashing against the headlights. She sniffed, her nose working the air. And in a flash, she took one nimble leap over the asphalt and vanished into the trees.

  We sat for a few seconds, or maybe minutes, absorbing the magic of it.

  “Wait,” I said, placing my hand over his as he let off the brake. Sure enough, materializing from the dark came a large buck, his antlers covered in a layer of rich velvet. He paused for only a fleeting moment before bolting across the lawn and following the doe.

  Mr. Craig was right. Rutting season was starting. “Horny bastard.”

  Tate barked out a laugh. “You’re a true romantic.”

  “I’m a realist.” Realizing I was still holding his hand, I moved my hand from his, but he grasped it, pulled it to his lips and pressed a kiss against my knuckles. “I didn’t think you’d do the romantic thing.”

  “There’re firsts for everything.”

  Releasing my hand, he coasted up the long driveway and parked along the row of pines, nestled the Mini between Mr. Craig’s large pickup and Em’s beat up Camry.

  “Can you give me a minute? I’m not sure what condition I left the place in.” I didn’t have much to put away. In fact, I kept my apartment nearly spotless, but I didn’t want to ruin the mood by tripping over a Speak ‘n Say or stepping on a Mega Block. Total moodicide.

  “You want me to wait out here—in the dark? Jesus, it’s like the Mountain Family Robinson. I might get eaten.”

  “City boy scared?”

  “Absofuckinlutely.”

  “Just honk the horn if you see a bear. They don’t like noise.”

  “Great. You want me to piss it off.”

  “They’re supposed to run from noise.”

  “Supposed to. You’re running on theory.”

  “One minute. That’s all I need. Nothing’s going to eat you. Swear.”

  “Go.”

  Sliding from the car, I bent and peered in, holding up my index finger. My heart did that flutter thing again, like it was awakening after an extended hibernation. “One minute.”

  “If Jason Voorhees shows up…” He jangled the keys in his hand. “I’m driving off without you. You’re on your own, sweetheart. Every man for himself.”

  Pressing out a dry smile, I said, “I see the romance ends at chivalry.” I pushed the door closed and trotted up the stairs, ignoring the ache in my knees and feet.

  There weren’t too many toys lying around. I picked them up, gathered them in my arms and dumped them in the Rubbermaid bin in the closet. Fixing the bed, I smoothed the sheets out and fluffed the pillows, then ran to the bathroom and removed the toys from the tub.

  God, should I have felt guilty wiping all traces of Levy from the house?

  One night. That’s all I wanted. I ran to the door and tugged it open. Tate was at the bottom of the stairs, peering up, his hand cupped over his eyes. “Yo, can I come up now? It’s really dark out here. I think I just got dive-bombed by a bat or a really big moth.”

  Snickering, I waved him up. He wasted no time, taking the stairs two at a time. I promptly shushed him, placing my finger to my lips. “I have neighbors.”

  “They’re in REM stage now. They won’t hear a thing. You pick up these things when you’re on the road with the band.”

  Grasping my waist, he pulled me against him and began shuffling us into my apartment, kicking the door closed with his foot. He hadn’t kissed me yet, but I could feel his breath on my lips. We were stuck in each other’s eyes, studying each other’s reactions.

  “Do you mind if I take a minute to shower? It was a long night. I’m filthy.”

  “Nothing wrong with filthy, but I’ll wait. Do you have anything to drink?”

  “I don’t have any beer. But I have a bottle of red.” He stopped me before I could reach for anything.

  “I can get it. Go take your shower.”

  In my head, I was inventorying everything in my kitchen. Levy wasn’t on a bottle anymore, but I had plenty of sippy cups and Thomas the Train dishes floating around the cabinets. He was going to tuck tail and run while I was in the shower. I just knew it.

  If he did, so be it. His loss.

  “Wine’s next to the fridge on the wine rack. And the corkscrew is in the last drawer on the right. You might have to dig for it.”

  “Last drawer on the right. I think I can find it.”

  One last look and I turned, walked into the bathroom. The shower started with a hiss, sputtering as the air bled from the pipes. By the time I undressed, the water was running hot and moisture fogged the mirror. I stepped into the tub and pulled the curtain closed. Letting the hot water envelop me, I worked the kinks from my neck and shoulders.

  Squeezing a dollop of shampoo into my palm, I lathered my hair, wondering if he left yet. Surely he was snooping, browsing my cabinets. There were only so many places to hide things in an apartment. I couldn’t hold it against him. Hell, it’s what I would do. Run like the devil.

  Rinsing the last of the conditioner from my hair, I shut the water off, reached past the curtain and grabbed a towel. The first went in a turban atop my head, the second I swept over my skin, then wrapped it around my body and tucked the corner between my breasts.

  Taking a deep breath, I pulled the door open. Tate was leaning against the jamb, swirling the wine in his glass. I never told him where the glasses were. I didn’t know what to make of that. Surely he saw stuff. So why was he still here? Who cared? I decided. He was still here.

  “I was going to come in after you.”

  “Did I take too long?”

  “Not long enough. I like showers. You smell like peaches.”

  “I can get back in.”

  “No. No.” He clutched a tuft of towel, lured me toward the sofa. “I want you to sit. Have a drink. Maybe two.” He sipped at the wine, passed me the glass. I guess we were sharing. I sat, took a sip.

  “Are you trying to get me drunk?”

  “No, just comfortable. Drink.” I sipped again. Almost choked as he dropped onto the coffee table and lifted one of my feet. He began massaging it, his thumbs rubbing firm circles into my soles.

  “What’re you doing?”

  “I think that’s fairly obvious. Drink.”

  “Are you always this bossy?”

  “Not bossy, per se, but I have standards.”

  “Oh?” Standards? “Like what?”

  “I like my d
ates loose and spontaneous. Right now, you’re taut as a bowstring.”

  Alarms went off in my head, but I bit my tongue. This was what I wanted. One night of no strings attached sex. He would get me out of his veins, then he’d move on. I’d simply be another nameless face from his long list of conquests. It was the perfect scenario. Touching the glass to my lips, I emptied it on one long draw, drowning out any remaining apprehensions.

  Chapter 3

  Lifting the bottle of wine from the floor, Tate refilled my glass, pouring it generously. The bottle gurgled as it spilled out, splashing against the rim as I tried to pull my glass away. “Geez. Enough. Do I really look that uptight?”

  “No. Nervous. I can tell you don’t do this often.”

  “No. I don’t.”

  He placed the wine back down, keeping it close at hand. Working from the sole to the ball of my foot, he pressed on. “Tell me about yourself.”

  “There’s not much to tell.”

  “That can’t possibly be true. How did you get started singing?”

  “The shower. Yes, it’s true. I used to sing in the shower.” I held up three fingers. Scouts honor. “On occasion, I still do. Anyhow, I didn’t think anyone could hear me, but I caught my mom humming a tune one day that I had been singing, and the truth came out. She confessed everything. When I entered junior high, she pushed me to sign up for chorus. It progressed to musicals in high school, and I did a year of music at Santa Fe.”

  “Only one year? What happened there?”

  “I injured my eye. Came home for surgery. The recovery took longer than expected.” I shrugged, hoping to pass for blasé. “Then life happened.”

  “Car accident?”

  “No.” I stole another deep drink of wine. My face grew warm and rosy, a mixture of the alcohol, exhaustion, conversation, and physical contact. The alcohol, exhaustion, and physical contact I could handle, but the conversation had to go. My goal was to forget myself tonight.

  Forget Grant and his quick fists.

  “…you go, Cooper?”

  I looked up from my glass. Found Tate staring. “Hmm?”