Page 89 of Roses Are Dead
I fought the urge to scowl. Instead, I pressed a little against his dick, warning him that he shouldn’t call me that.
The bastard smiled.
Then we had to pretend again while the waiter fussed over our glasses and let Mr. Bossy pick my food.
No foot for you. I tucked both bare feet around the chair legs so he’d have to stretch all the way under the table to find my knees. He tried, but coming up short, he decided on a different strategy to drive me nuts.
“So, Fish says Carl’s cutting back. No one’s been able to score for a week.”
The buzz of the restaurant around us drowned his casual discussion of drug dealing with its banality.
“Ask me if I care?” I smiled, pretending we were flirting instead of talking about the Devil Incarnate.
His finger tapped on the table, a sure sign he was agitated. “I have to wonder, where has he been?”
That was worrisome. I’d kept up with regular calls to John. Beth’s blood counts still hadn’t reacted to the donation. And he had his hands full with the kids and his parents. “Has he been to the church?” During my brief stint with him, he’d made noise about going back. The whole prodigal son thing had been a heady delusion he regularly fantasized about.
“Some. But not nearly enough to account for all his absences. Or the string of false alarms we’ve been having.” He reached across and took my hand, fondling my fingers as he continued to talk about the one topic guaranteed to ruin my night. “I’m going to put up more trail cams and motion sensors. Skinner’s coming by tomorrow to reset the alarm zones. You’re going to have to stick around to get the new codes.”
Great. I’d planned on going to a placement agency to apply.
He tugged my hand to his lips, forcing me to lean forward. “Where’s the money, Rose? Maybe he’ll back off if you hand it over.”
That was my leverage. I couldn’t just hand it over.
I pulled my hand away too quickly and his fist thunked on the table. The couple next to us noticed and their whispers increased.
Bear hadn’t changed from his usual uniform of dark jeans and motorcycle vest and jacket. With his tattoos and piercings, I was shocked they even let us in the door. But apparently, flashing money around made those dirty looks quiet and the ripple of hastily whispered distrust less noticeable.
Except, like cancer, it spread.
Table after table began to shoot guarded glances our direction. I fiddled with my napkin to disguise the anger that made me drop his hand like a hot pan. Then I leaned in to caress his arm. Convincingly willing, in public. My vow was biting me in the ass. I couldn’t even get angry with him. Maybe that’s why he’d waited to spring the accusations and his follow up questions on me until now.
“When you’re the underdog, how would you posture yourself to make people believe you’re winning?”
He sipped wine and thought my question through. “Personally? I’ve never been the underdog.”
“Not even when you prospected?” KC regaled me with stories of his torture during that phase. He was drunk, of course. And Bear wasn’t too pleased with him but I found it enlightening.
Bear’s beard shifted. “It’s been a bit since I was that asshole.”
His cursing attracted more attention. And he noticed this time.
“Fuck off and mind your own business.”
One of the groups whispered louder, their heads clustered together as they plotted Bear’s demise. He shifted in his seat to address them directly. “Listen up, Buttercup, I own half this town. Me and everyone who puts on this vest.” He tugged at it, emphasizing the name tag that proudly announced him as “Bear.” “Gape all you want, but I can buy you, your place of employment, and even the fucking church you attend every third Sunday. You might wanna think about that before you talk anymore shit about me and my woman here.”
Great. He looped me into the circus. I rolled my head on my neck to work the tension free, then plastered on a sappy smile to grace him with. I even mouthed a perfidious, “I love you” at him.
He winked at me and mouthed back an exaggerated lie. Then he tacked on “witch” into his beard.
That was more like it. I didn’t have to pretend the blush or the grin I tried to hide. He did like me, but not in the stupidly normal way that would drive me into insanity someday. Nope, this was unwholesome and wicked. Luckily, our food arrived and people stopped staring so blatantly.
And for all his bossiness, he got the order right. The food was amazing. The wine bottle ran dry about the same time I straightened my utensils in a cluster and placed my napkin to the side. The waiter fussed a bit then let us be in that short window between meal and check.
“I was upstairs figuring out how to untie that damn cilice. And you bellowed at me about tampons.”
His eyebrow went up. He set his napkin down and mirrored my arrangement of utensils. The waiter came and fussed some more, suggesting dessert or coffees. Bear asked for the check. As soon as the server was out of earshot, he nodded to me to continue.
