“I tear ‘em, I’ll buy you new ones,” he said, his mouth coming toward mine.
“Tate –” I started when his lips hit mine.
“Shut it, Laurie,” he growled.
“Oh all right,” I mumbled but I didn’t shut it since he kissed me, with tongue, so I couldn’t.
Then he fucked me and Tate could do just about anything for me, but he couldn’t figure out how to fuck me wearing the panties.
But he did manage to do it without tearing them when he whipped them off.
Chapter Twenty-Six
Birthday
After my shift at the bar, I went to the office, opened it with my new key, stepped inside, turned on the light, walked to the couch and sat down. Then I pulled my cell phone out of my jeans.
I scrolled down my contacts, hit the button, put the phone to my ear and listened to it ring.
“Derriford,” I heard my college boyfriend answer.
“Hey Matt,” I said softly.
“Laurie?” Matt asked.
“Yeah,” I answered.
“Shit, Laurie, been callin’ all day. Your number was disconnected, your cell, at home and they said you quit work over a year ago. I’ve been fuckin’ worried sick. What’s up?”
“I’ve got a new phone,” I told him, “moved from Phoenix, living in Colorado now.”
“Brad moved you guys from Phoenix?” His voice was incredulous, he knew Brad liked his golf. “What? He get a better job?”
I had not shared anything with Matt during our birthday calls, not on my last birthday, when I was in the throes of a post-divorce wander, his birthday or the ones the year before when I knew in my soul it was going bad. My calls with Matt on our birthdays were about laughing and reminiscing about good times, not getting into anything heavy.
That day was my birthday and the time had come to tell him.
So I did. I told him everything.
When I was done, he was silent.
“Matt?” I called.
“I’m here,” he said quietly.
I misread his quiet mood. “I’m okay, honey. I’m… well,” I smiled to myself, “I’m really good.”
“Yeah, I can hear,” he replied but he didn’t sound happy for me.
“Are you okay?” I asked.
“Left Ellen,” he announced, I pulled in breath and he went on, “‘bout a year ago, now.”
This shocked me. I thought he and Ellen were solid.
“Matt,” I whispered, “what hap –?”
He cut me off. “Shoulda called me, Laurie.”
“What?”
“Shoulda called me.”
“Why?”
“Wished you’d’ve called me,” he stated softly.
It was my turn to go quiet because I knew what he was saying.
Then I whispered, “Matt.”
No answer.
Then, “His name’s Tate?”
I swallowed then nodded even though he couldn’t see me. “Yes, Tate Jackson.”
“And he’s a bounty hunter?”
“Yeah.”
Nothing.
I waited.
Then, “Jesus, Laurie, only you could go from a pansy-assed dickhead to a badass bounty hunter in the space of a year.”
He was teasing me and I knew it was going to be okay. So, he’d just rocked my world, letting on he’d been carrying a torch for me for decades and making me feel a hint of regret that I hadn’t told him about Brad because he’d been a great boyfriend and I knew he was a good man. A year ago, I wouldn’t have minded exploring that.
Now, no way in hell.
“So,” I returned, “you knew I had an inner biker babe all these years?”
“Biker babe?”
“Tate’s a Harley man,” I explained.
“Goody Two Shoes Lauren Grahame on the back of a bike,” he hooted. “Fuck me.”
“Tate’s bike is hot,” I retorted.
“Honey,” he replied, a thread of amusement in his voice.
“He part owns a biker bar. I’m a waitress there. I wear high heels, tight jeans and Harley shirts and break up fights, when I’m not running checks on the skips he’s tracking down. I’m the woman behind the info, Matt. He’s got bounty hunter databases on his computer. He needs it, I run the checks and feed him the data. You should be nice to me, I can find out anything about you.”
“Then I better stay on your good side.”
“You got that right.”
We slid into our comfortable banter after that, laughing and reminiscing and only going serious when he told me about Ellen, who he spent the last three years falling out of love with because she sounded kind of like a nagging bitch. Suffice it to say, Matt definitely couldn’t drink grape Kool-Aid on his couch because Ellen would have a conniption and Matt was not down with that, at least not fifteen years of it with Ellen growing more and more uptight rather than less and less.