Page 15 of Ridin' Free
She jerked her chin, causing him to lose his grip, but his reflexes were quicker than she anticipated. He adjusted his hold then pressed his lips against hers for a short, hard kiss. Thistime, he pulled away before she could, freeing her face as he muttered, “You sure are somethin’ else.”
She said nothing in reply, her glare expressing all she wouldn’t say. For reasons he couldn’t quite understand, this made him chuckle. He was still smiling when he finally opened the door, stepped out into the night, and headed for his bed at the clubhouse.
I woke latethenext morning, still sore between my legs. Rather than think on the reason why, I got out of bed and headed to the bathroom. After I emptied my bladder and washed my hands, I grabbed hold of my hand towel and paused. We were still a week or so away from summer solstice, but the weather had been warm for a while, and my garden was nearly in full bloom for this time of year. It was time to swap out my linens.
I knew I didn’t look like it, with my rock-n-roll vibe, but I was the kind of woman who embraced every season in my home. It was my way of hitting the refresh button; a reminder to myself ofthe passage of time and the significance of another year gone by—and me still alive to experience it.
For the next forty minutes, I busied myself swapping out the pale, spring-toned bathroom linens, kitchen towels, living room throw pillows and blankets with the warmer, bolder décor of my summer collection.
It was a subtle change. While my garden was beautiful chaos, my home’s interior was cottage cozy. In all my living spaces, I’d painted the walls a muted sage green. My two bathrooms were pale gray, and my kitchen was dusty blue with stained wood cabinetry I upgraded a year ago. My bed linens and couches were off-white—a blank palate for me to dress up anyway I liked; and the area rugs I had scattered about were patterned in such a way that I could pull the colors I wanted into each room in every season.
I knew this wasn’t my forever home. There was a ticking clock on my freedom I couldn’t forget; but so long as I was here, I had every intention of decorating the hell out of it.
After I stowed away my spring décor in my unfinished basement for another year, I was past due for a mug of coffee. I returned to my bedroom and shimmied a pair of jean shorts underneath my sleep shirt. I grabbed my phone and my wireless handphones, slipping them on before starting my latest audiobook. As I tucked my phone into my back pocket, I returned to the kitchen in order to brew myself a cup. When it was finished, I headed for the back door, slid into my sandals, and stepped outside.
The mid-day sun was high in the sky, and I knew it wasn’t an ideal time to water anything, but I did it anyway, my book keeping my thoughts from wandering where I didn’t want them to go. I was only halfway across the yard when my phone began to ring, interrupting the narrator in my ear.
I loosened my grip on the spray handle attached to the hose and set it at my feet before reaching for the device. When I sawGeorgiacalling, I filled my lungs with a breath and contemplated ignoring her. It only took me a second to remind myself she would keep calling if I did.
With a heavy sigh, I tapped the little green circle.
“Hello?” I answered, stowing my device in my back pocket once more.
“Hey, there, honey,” greeted Georgia.
I was getting ready to pick up the hose and continue my task, but her use of the termhoneymade me pause. I frowned, already regretting having answered.
“What do you need, mom?”
“Who says I need anything? Can’t a mother just want to hear the sound of her daughter’s voice?”
I wrapped both hands around my coffee mug and willed myself not to lose my shit.
“Sure. We can talk. You can pretend you give a fuck about what I’ve got goin’ on, then you can ask me for whatever it is you called for—orwe could skip to the end.”
“Well, damn. Who pissed in your Cheerios?”
“Georgia—”
“You know I hate it when you call me that.”
“And you know I hate it when you beat around the bush.”
“Fine,” she clipped. “Things aren’t so great down here. We’re hurting for money.”
I nodded, my grip tightening around my mug as I pulled in another deep breath. It wasn’t news that she and Tommy were barely getting by. The club where they both worked had gone out of business five years ago. Seeing as Georgia had been dancing on a pole for as long as I could remember, the only work she could find since was waitressing—which didn’t tip nearly aswell. Tommy, on the other hand, was a lazy son-of-a-bitch who couldn’t hold down a job to save his life.
“Sorry to hear that,” I muttered.
“Ali-Mae, they’re takin’ the house.”
I shrugged, even though she couldn’t see me do it. I couldn’t understand why she was burdening me with this news. We weren’t close—not by a long shot. I wouldn’t help her, and I sure asfuckwas not going to bankroll Tommy.
“Sorry to hear that,” I repeated.
“Well—we were thinkin’, maybe we might be able to come stay with you for a little while.”
I sealed my eyes closed, my body practically curling in on itself at the mere thought of living under the same roof as either of them ever again.
