Sweet Dreams 1(11)

I shook this feeling off as just my inexperience of biker folk. Maybe they were a close knit group and you had to prove yourself. I could do that. I hadn’t waitressed since I was a cocktail waitress at a dinner theater during my summers in college but it couldn’t be difficult to pick it up again. I was a hard worker. As far as I could remember, my entire work life I’d called in sick once when I got the ‘flu. I hated being late and never was. In fact, usually I was early. Once they got to know me, I told myself, they’d like me.

I walked down the hall and the door was closed to the office. I nearly made it to the storeroom when I heard Tate’s raised voice.

“Jesus, Krys, maybe you wanna talk to me before you hire some sorry-ass, old, fat, suburban bitch to drag around our goddamned bar?”

I stopped and had to put a hand to the wall to hold myself up.

Sorry-ass, old, fat, suburban bitch.

That beautiful man’s words ricocheted around my head causing damage that was so excruciating I knew the way it was inflicted it would never, never heal.

Then my body jolted and I rushed to the storeroom, found the key on the fourth try and went in, flipping on the light switch and closing the door behind me.

Then I leaned in and put my forehead to it.

Okay, I was forty-two not exactly a spring chicken. Okay, I wasn’t svelte by a long shot and had a body that just couldn’t be svelte and never would even if I tried (though I could stand to take off a few pounds, or more than a few). But I wasn’t sorry-ass. And I’d lived in suburbia but I’d never liked it, I just told myself for Brad, because I loved him, that I did. But it wasn’t me and the minute I got my chance, I left.

And forty-two wasn’t eighty-five. I was over twenty years away from retirement. That was hardly old.

Not everyone could be gorgeous, like him. Not everyone could have fantastic bone structure, like him. Not everyone could have thick, gorgeous hair, like him. Not everyone could have a beautiful body, like him. Most of that (maybe not the body, because that would take work) he inherited from his parents! He was just lucky! Not everyone was that lucky, especially not me.

What a jerk!

“Fuck him,” I whispered and then pressed my lips together because I didn’t like to swear. Then, out of my control, I whispered, “Fuck Krystal too.”

I turned and stared at the shelves filled with bottles of liquor, crates of beer and wine, kegs lined up the walls, boxes of potato chips and huge plastic wrapped rolls of toilet paper and I realized that I didn’t take stock of what I needed before I went in there.

Whatever.

Whatever!

This was my life as I wanted to lead it. This was the place I wanted to live it. I’d been on the road driving through towns and cities looking for what I needed and after four and a half months, this was the only place that felt right. And Bubba’s felt right too, even though it wasn’t much and the people weren’t nice, it still felt right.

And I didn’t care if they didn’t like me. I didn’t care if they didn’t think I was one of them. I didn’t care that my jeans cost twice as much as theirs and my t-shirt was designer and they saw it, knew it and didn’t like it.

Fuck them. Both of them.

I walked out of the storeroom and back into the bar. I found a sheet of paper, took stock of what was needed and went back to the storeroom to search through the shelves and find it. I was on trip three and squatted down rotating bottles of Bud and Coors Light when I heard them come back.

I sucked in breath and looked up and when I did I looked right at Tate. When my eyes caught his, I watched his face change sharply and it did this with a small head jerk and wince.

He knew I’d heard him and at least that jerk had the good grace to react.

I put in the last bottles, stood, pushed the fridge door to and walked toward them both, saying, “One more trip and re-stock should be done. I made notes of what I took and I’ll mark it on your clipboard. Then I’ll wipe down the tables.”

Then I walked by them, down the hall and into the storeroom.

Fuck them.

Both of them.

I had a job to do.





Chapter Three

Shake It Off



I walked out of my hotel room and the door closed behind me.

“Hey hon,” Betty called. “That’s a pretty top.”

I turned to Betty to see she had a hose and was doing her morning watering of the flowers. She had on a sundress, a light cardigan and hot pink Crocs. Her hair was dyed a very flaming red and was pulled back in a ponytail. Her legs had a hint of tan I guessed because she was often out watering her flowers or cleaning the pool or sweeping the walkways or cleaning the cool deck around the pool with a blast from the hose and I noticed she was always in a sundress.