Page 4 of Betting Blind
Thanks to Bruce’s family inheritance, he practically owns half of Mackville. He has more land than he knows what to do with, and it hasn’t passed my notice how many people come here to talk trading with him. I passed his office when a peculiar gentleman came to visit him once, and I remember how appalled I was to hear how much money Bruce makes off buying, selling, and trading—but I suppose there isn’t much else to do in our small East Texas town.
With about 150,000 folks living here, there are definite perks to being in the good graces of some of the big guys like Bruce. Like having a boss who understands when I need time off for different appointments for Momma, no questions asked. Or when he brought pizza by our house after her last surgery to give me a break from cooking so we could both rest. Even better, when Jules got her wallet stolen at a 7-Eleven on our way back from a short girls’ trip to San Antonio, Bruce gave her a thousand dollars to pay her rent that was due the next day, and he insisted she use the rest to get herself some groceries.
They say it’s the little things, but in my years of experience, I can promise it’s the big things that count twice.
We bust our butts through our nine-hour shift and by the time six o’clock rolls around, my dogs are barking. I prop my sore, tired feet up on one of the padded stools next to me at the counter and watch them sink into the blue plastic cover. Ray, our head cook, serves me and Jules each a heaping plate of chicken fried steak with buttered green beans and mashed potatoes. The smell alone causes my tummy to cramp and grumble, reminding me that I forgot to eat lunch… again.
“What a day!” Jules throws her head back, letting loose a groan toward the ceiling. Most of the folks from the early dinner rush have cleared out of the diner, which gives us a chance to grab some grub and take a load off before we head home for the evening. I can hear dishes clinking together behind the serving window, and the low murmurs of a young couple talking floats across the room from their booth behind us.
I tie my thick blonde hair back and dig in, not bothering to take my bright pink apron off. I usually change after my shift but being the glutton that I am, it can double as a bib for now. After swallowing the last bite of my fried steak, I moan. “How is it that we have worked here for years, and Istillhave mini orgasms over this amazing food?”
Ray nods at my compliment as Juliana leans back to unbutton the front of her shorts. She pats her full belly with a smirk. “Maybe we should wash it down with a few beers over at The Pound?” She wiggles her eyebrows playfully. “Don’t think I didn’t see you talking to McHottness last weekend. What gives?”
Oh yes, how could I forget McDickwad? “Um, yeah. That’s because you were too busy getting drunk on light beers to notice he was a total ass. Him and that other blond guy.” I scoff. “If we never go back, it’ll be too soon.”
Shifting the conversation from the blue-eyed bartender, I ask, “I never asked you; where did you go when that big brawl broke out? It was nuts. I saw a woman body slam some guy onto one of the pool tables!” I thrash my arms around, recreating the scene for her. Ray raises his brows at me from behind the open line window where he’s preparing to-go orders, and I shrug.
Jules rolls her brown eyes. “I am truly sad I missed the She-Hulk WWE moment, but come on! That’s gotta be the most excitement you’ve had in well, probably ever.”
Taking a sip of my water, I pin her with a pointed stare and let her down easy. “It’s gonna be a no from me,señoríta.”
She laughs at my lazy drawl as I gather my things to leave and toss a thank you over my shoulder to Ray. She follows suit, looping her arm through mine, and we escort each other to our cars like we do after every shift we work together.
It’s June, which means even at this point in the evening, it’s still around ninety degrees outside, and I’m dying to get in my car and in front of the A/C. The air is thick with humidity, causing a light sheen of sweat to bead across my brow, and I ask myself why I choose to live in a state that refuses to have four mildly enjoyable seasons.
Jules waves to me once she shuts the door to her cherry-red Firebird, and as soon as I see her turn onto the main road and veer left out of sight, I get my old car going in the direction of home. The sky welcomes the sun to bed as pinks and purples begin to spread, and I take a few moments to enjoy the silence of the evening before turning on some music.
The second I reach for the knob to turn up the radio, I hear a loud crunch come from the rear passenger side. A loud bang and a sudden jolt sends me flying into the steering wheel, and reflexively, I slam on the brake, frantically trying to regain composure so I can figure out what’s going on.
Turning off the road, the vehicle sways unnaturally with each rotation of its tires. I slowly steer it over to the gravel shoulder and hear a grinding sound followed by loud whining.Well, that can’t be good. “No, no, no,” I groan, throwing the gearshift into park, and smack the leather-covered steering wheel that I was holding onto for dear life.
I fill my lungs with a deep breath before getting out to inspect the damage. Turning my gaze down to my apron, short shorts, and white collared shirt, I’m horrified at the thought of someone seeing me stranded like this.
The humid night air caresses my bare, pale legs, and my shoes crunch against the gravel as I squat next to my rear back tire and sigh deeply at the sight before me. The tire is gnarled and shredded to shit, leaving scraps of rubber in its wake. The flashlight on my cell phone does little to show me the extent of the damage under the car, but I decide to start with changing the tire out for the spare in the trunk.
Running a hand down my face, I make a quick call to Deborah to see if she’ll head over and check on Momma for me. I let her know I’m fine and assure her it will be an easy tire change, though it looks to be anything but easy. Thanking her at least ten separate times, I finally hang up.
I pop the trunk of the DeVille and reach under the bottom covering to collect the spare and tire jack. Growing up without a father figure, there were many things I had to learn for myself—one of which was how to change a tire. As for the efficiency of doing so… I’m still working on that part. Can I get it done? Absolutely. Will it take me three hours to do it? Most definitely.
“Ugh, why me?” I moan.
Chapter 3
Cassidy
I’m deep in the middle of this tire-changing shindig when I see a truck veer off the road in my periphery, and I watch in horror as it pulls up behind me. The sun has almost set, and the lights coming from the obnoxiously large black truck highlight every inch of my work getup, bringing to life my nightmare of being seen.
We don’t leave people stranded and helpless on the side of the road here in Texas, so why I’m shocked to see someone pull over to help me remains a mystery. I crawl up off the gravel, wincing as a few pebbles unstick themselves from my rear, ticking against the ground as they fall.
I’m covered in sweat, I’ve got dirt in places I know I’ll never fully get it out of, and I’m not in the mood to chase off whomever this is. I’m a grown woman who has done well enough surviving on her own. I’ve got this.
I squint through the blinding headlights that are blocking me from seeing whomever is approaching. As my eyes slowly adjust, I’m able to make out a tall male silhouette, and I dust my hands off on my dirty pink apron. I address him in my firmest, most confident voice. “It’s okay, sir. All’s well here. Got a busted tire, but I’m just about finished,” I lie, trying to make out the features of the stranger approaching me.
I mutter a thousand curses when I recognize the figure as the blond from The Pound, and the sound of a second set of footsteps following him has my body seizing with horror.
Joy of joys, this must be my lucky day.
“Well, looky here! It’s the Pound Puppy,” Blondie says. His accent is light and warm, unlike the night we first met.
