Page 17 of Love That Sass

Mr. Jacobs was about sixty years old, if she had to guess, and he had on the same dirty coverall he seemed to wear every single day as he slithered past her. He was dragging two large trash bags towards the dumpster in the back, or so she assumed, and though Gwen had heard him, she had no idea what he was talking about.

“Pets?” she asked dumbly.

“Yeah. No pets. That monster dog you got has to go. Got three complaints this morning, folks scared walking by here last night,” he grunted, not bothering to look at her.

“Monster dog? And why were people walking here if this is the last unit and you are the only one who has the key to the dumpster gate?” she called back, not at all surprised he ignored her.

She tucked her still damp curls behind her ears. Crap. She was gonna be late. Gwen had no time for the strange man’s delusions. Pop was getting the results back on his latest round of tests, and she needed to be there with him. She grabbed her phone, checking the app to see how long before her car would arrive.

Another two minutes. Ooh. Maybe she would have time to run to the vending machine. Gwen had forgotten to run to the all night dollar store on 3rd Street last night. They had all sorts of snack bars and things real cheap, which was basically all she could afford, and she’d eaten her last granola bar last night.

Thank goodness for Lucy’s kindness yesterday. That burger had been the best thing she’d eaten all month. Who knew brie and fig jam were amazing when paired with applewood smoked bacon, and two grilled ground brisket patties with caramelized onions on top? Yep, that Brock was a certified genius in the kitchen.

Living with little to no budget meant she’d been surviving on twenty-five cent packages of instant ramen noodles and granola bars from that same dollar store for the last two months. A girl could live on less, she supposed.

Ever since, she had gotten Pop into the assisted care facility. She’d gotten kicked out of the apartment they had leased and sold off every single thing they had worth anything to pay for his treatment, care, and residence. Pop didn’t have very long. Another six months or so, the doctors had said, and Gwen was determined to work her fingers to the bone to ensure he had the best care for every single minute of those six months.

Her heart squeezed in her chest as she pictured life without her Pop, and a tear came tumbling down her cheek. Stupid tears. She hated crybabies, but this was hard, and she was left all alone to deal with it.

Gwendolyn loved her Pop more than anyone on earth and she was so sad to think of him being gone, let alone to have to face the big bad world alone without him in it. The wind rustled the yellow and red leaves on the scraggly looking trees behind the motel and Gwen pulled the old cardigan she had on tighter around her body.

She wore black jeans and sneakers, and a plain charcoal t-shirt with Pop’s soft gray sweater on top. Fall was unpredictable in Blue Valley, but that was typical of all New Jersey. Hot one day, frigid the next. Today promised to be temperate with a high of sixty-nine degrees.

She snorted at that and rolled her eyes at her lameness. Somewhere inside of Gwendolyn lived a 12-year-old boy, she was sure of it. Her sense of humor certainly supported the theory.

The blast of a horn had her looking up to see a red SUV with the license plate DWM394W. Yep. It was her ride. She clicked the little checkmark on the U-drive app that told whoever needed to know she’d been picked up, and Gwendolyn walked to the passenger seat.

“Morning, Gwendolyn,” a familiar voice said as a big hand beat her to the door handle.

Gwendolyn startled, a hand on her chest as she turned to find bright, familiar green eyes locked on hers. It was him. Weylin. The sexy hot bartender from last night. What was he doing here?

“Sorry. Didn’t mean to scare you,” he murmured, opening the door.

“No, it’s my fault. Um, I’m just naturally jumpy. What are you doing here?” she blurted, hating to sound ungrateful.

“Picking you up. You ordered a car from U-drive, right?”

“Um, yeah.”

“Then that’s why I am here. I drive for them sometimes,” he said.

But that was odd, right? Didn’t he co-own Serious Moonlight? She was almost certain Kelly had mentioned all the sexy members of the DWMC all had a piece of the pie.

“Oh, I see. Sorry, I just thought you were part owner in the bar—”

“I am that, too, but anyway,er, what are you doing here?” he asked as he seated himself in the driver’s side, waiting until she buckled her seat belt before pulling out into traffic.

Gwen didn’t want anyone to know her living situation. Shame and pride warred within her, but maybe she could play it off like she’d spent the night there with someone.

Like who? A man! Sure. She could just tell Hottie McHotterson that she’d shacked up with some rando on her way home. As if doing that was better than admitting to being poor, somehow.

Yeah. Right. Soooo believable. Ugh.

She looked down at herself and snorted. So sexy. Ugh. Gwendolyn was hardly a femme fatale and certainly not a girl who rented motel rooms with strange men. She mulled it over for a minute before settling on the truth.

“I’m, well, actually, I am staying here for a while just until I can afford someplace else,” she said, pride stinging her eyes.

She waited for him to judge her or criticize, but he didn’t. Weylin just nodded and drove, his glittering emerald eyes on the road. My oh my, but he was handsome.

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