Page 15 of Operator
She’s practically licking her lips and I swear I can hear the church bells ringing. “Do you think he likes older women?”
The honest truth is, I think he likes anything with tits and ass. I don't say that. It sounds like something a jealous ex-girlfriend would say. And I feel mean-spirited just thinking it. Instead, I tell her, “It's worth trying.”
I have to stop thinking like a bitter old woman. I owe it to our baby to move on from the past. If it were Ian, he would forgive and forget. Or maybe that's me lying to myself. Callum is his brother. Some things are unforgivable. If Callum really is here to get in my pants a second time, I’m not sure even someone as saintlike as Ian could have forgiven him.
But Ian's not here and I'm the one who has to live with this mess.
The flash of anger is white-hot, making me swallow back furious tears.
Except I’m not angry at myself or even at Callum…I’m angry with Ian and that’s almost worse.
Phyllis doesn’t seem to notice, her magenta lips spreading into a teasing grin. “Maybe I will. That is, as long as you don't mind.”
Clearing my throat, I say, “Why would I mind?”
She gives me a shrug and threads a vibrantly tipped hand into her artfully dyed blonde hair. I press a hand into my own, which I’d thrown into a bun. I hadn’t gone to the salon since Ian died. “Well, I don't know. I've seen the way he looks at you.”
My eyebrows lift, my hand falling lifelessly to my side. “The way he looks at me?” I ask, my tone heavy with incredulity.
“Yeah, like you're good enough to eat.” She punctuates this with a bawdy giggle and a smack of her lips. My stomach dips with a familiar nausea, only it’s at the thought of Cal with someone else instead of morning sickness. I have no right to think about such things. No right at all.
“He's probably looking at me, wondering why I'm not doing my job.”
With a shrug at Phyllis, I retrieve another order from Johnny and deliver it to the waiting table. Phyllis is still giving Callum a considering once over. I'd been ignoring him as best I could, but he was shirtless and underneath the sink behind the counter...right in my way. Every time I refilled coffee or retrieved an order from Johnny, there he was. Phyllis catches me staring and I flush, turning blindly away.
The image of him is searing into my brain, though. Not looking at him does nothing to dull the memory. The years separating us are written on his skin, a map of injuries and muscle.
“Are you sure you're not interested?” Phyllis asks, startling me from my reverie. “I know he’s your brother-in-law and everything. We could be family.” She giggles conspiratorially.
Pretending like I’m reaching for a rag and ignoring Callum peeking out, I murmur so he can’t hear, “I'm sure. Go for it.”
The only thing I need to focus on is the baby. My hands rub over my stomach without thought. A little kick greets my attention and I smile. Turning away, I wet the rag and spray cleanser on the counters begin wiping down the counters. It's the end of my shift and as soon as I'm done cleaning up, it'll be time to go home.
Out of the corner of my eye, I see Phyllis leaning against the counter with Callum at her feet. At that angle, I'd imagine he'd have a pretty good view of her voluptuous breasts. She may be older, but she never seems to want for company. I mean, she does have two ex-husbands, and they both would be at the altar a second time around if she came calling. I can't hear what they're saying, but he laughs, and she’s giggling. There's a strange tightening in my chest. I scrub the counters harder, ignoring it. Probably just heartburn.
When I'm finished, I clock out and get my bag and keys. As I'm walking out the door after saying goodbye to everyone, Callum’s hand catches the door. Where the hell did he come from? “I'll go with you.”
“Go with me where?” He’s too close to me and it doesn’t escape my notice that he’s still shirtless for some damn reason. There are long lines of raised flesh across his pecs. With him in front of me, those rippling muscles are hard to ignore.
“Home.”
His one-word, blunt responses make me want to tear my hair out and at least serve to distract me from his chest. I drag my eyes back to his, meeting his unflinching gaze head on, even though all I want to do is back away. “Is something wrong with your truck?”
“No.” Muscles ripple underneath his skin as he moves closer. Prowling. Caging me against the wall. His close proximity sends a shock wave of awareness through me. I shouldn’t want him to be this close to me, nearly touching from chest to thighs. But my traitorous body begs for him to move a little bit closer.
“The heck do you mean no? Cal, stop. I have to go.” But my protests are weak, even to my ears.
He’s close enough I can feel his heat. If he gets any closer with my belly between us, he’d feel the baby kicking up a storm and the thundering of my heart. “I was going to drive in with you this morning, but you were already gone when I woke up,” he says. “You shouldn’t be alone all the time. What if something happens to you?”
I squeeze out before he gets any closer, and he follows me out to my car. I'm too tired to argue with him. Before I can argue more, he takes the keys and folds his bulk into the driver’s seat. “I wasn't aware that I was waiting on you,” I say as I get in the passenger side, resigned. He’s like a slow, steady bulldozer. Once he makes his mind up, there’s no stopping him. “Nothing is going to happen to me.”
“I just feel better if you stick close to me until my parents are back from the hospital and someone can keep an eye on you.” Finally, he takes the shirt that had been hanging from his back pocket and shrugs into it.
I glance at him—who am I kidding? I haven’t been able to look away. “You do realize I’m a grown adult, right? I don’t need a babysitter.
He cranks the car with a glance at me. “Better safe than sorry.”
I don't want to tell him he's being paranoid, so I say nothing. Or maybe I'm just overwhelmed by the familiarity of having him in the driver’s seat. There are times when I was in college where we would just drive for hours it seemed. I would chatter on excitedly about what was happening in my classes, and he would listen, stoic and attentive. Country music would play low in the background. Red clay dust would kick up around us and there would be nothing around but us in the stars.
