Beautiful Sacrifice (6 page)

Taylor crossed his arms, glowering. Dwayne didn’t put up a fight. Instead, he walked out, ashamed.

Phaedra faced the rest of the café with a bright smile. “Does anyone need anything?”

Most people shook their heads. The author and assistant sat silently, looking so gleeful that I thought they would break into applause at any moment.

I retreated to the bar.

Kirby followed me. “Whoa. Shit, that was hot,” she said, turning her back to the side of the room where Taylor was. “Are you rethinking your plan to kick him to the curb before he’s even on it?”

“Yes,” I said, making the worst Cherry Coke ever. I took the cup around the bar and marched it over to him before setting it hard onto his table.

Taylor looked amused, which only made me angrier.

“I need to cancel tonight,” I said.

“Did you forget about a prior engagement?” he asked.

I blinked. “No.”

“Family emergency that can wait until you’re off work?”

I frowned. “No.”

“Then why are you canceling?”

“Because you’re a bully.”

He touched his chest. “I’m a bully?”

“Yes,” I said through my teeth, trying to keep my voice down. “You can’t just manhandle our customers like that.”

“I just did.” He leaned back, too pleased with himself. “Didn’t you hear your boss? She told me to.”

I snarled my lip, disgusted. “And you enjoyed it. Because you’re a bully. I don’t go out with bullies.”

“Great.”

“
Great?
” My voice rose an octave.

“You heard me.” Taylor crossed his arms, the polar opposite of annoyed, offended, or angry.

I had hoped my public rejection would rob him of that smug smile. “Then why are you smiling?”

He touched his thumb to his nose, the muscles in his arm flexing as he did so. “I think you’ll change your mind.”

I took a step and kept my voice low as I said, “Not even if I wanted to, and at this point, I certainly do not.” I spun around and minded my tables.

The pace picked up as the afternoon wore on, and when it was time to check on Taylor’s table, I noticed he was gone, a twenty-dollar bill left behind. I held it up. He’d only ordered the crappy Cherry Coke, so he’d left a seventeen-dollar tip.

I swallowed back my surprise and appreciation and shoved the money into my apron before clearing his table. I took the cup to Hector and then washed my hands.

“Do you think maybe you were a little harsh?” Chuck asked.

“With who?” I asked.

“You know who.”

“He’s a jerk. I told him I had it handled. He made a huge scene.”

He waved me away. “Dwayne deserved it. Phaedra’s been wanting to kick him out of here for years. Right before you started, he turned over a table.”

My mouth fell open.

The sprayer silenced, and Hector spoke, “That’s not like Mrs. Phaedra to let someone do that and keep coming back.”

Chuck shrugged. “He hasn’t always been like that. His wife left him a few years back. He started drinking all the time. Phaedra’s put up with his tantrums because she felt sorry for him, I guess.”

Hector and I traded glances.

“And you don’t think Taylor’s a bully for throwing him out like that?” I asked.

He shook his head. “I’ve daydreamed about doing that same thing.”

“But she’s your wife. You’d just be protecting her honor. I get that,” I said.

He pressed his lips together. “You’re right, but you’re wrong.”

I furrowed my brow, confused.

“I don’t think that Taylor kid is looking for anything easy. Just the opposite. And I think he knows he’s found it.”

“What does that mean?” I asked.

“It means you’d better hold on tight. Guys like him don’t give up easily once they’ve found a girl like you.”

I laughed once. “Let him try.”

Chuck smirked, returning to the food on the stove.

“You’d better skedaddle, kiddo,” Phaedra said. “You’ve got to get ready, don’t you?”

I looked down at my clothes. “For what?”

“Are you going out with that boy in your apron?”

“No. I’m not going anywhere with
that boy
.”

Phaedra shook her head and tended to her last table of the night. Only a few chairs were still occupied. It was a few minutes past closing time. Kirby had already swept, and she was now breaking down the ice cream machine.

Phaedra’s table signed their check, and she waved as the small family left together to their car parked out front. I sat on the stool at the end of the bar, counting my tips. Kirby happily took a small stack of bills—her percentage for bussing tables and for her excellent hostess skills—as she passed by on her way to meet Gunnar at the door. He bent over to hug and kiss her, wrapping his giant arms around her tiny frame.

“Good night!” Kirby said.

“Night,” I said, barely above a whisper.

Phaedra and Chuck waved to the couple before Gunnar held open the door for his girlfriend. She passed him, and then they walked together to wherever he’d parked her car. I thought about them walking alone in the alley behind the restaurant and how Kirby probably wouldn’t think twice about it.

The door chimed again, and I looked up, half-expecting to see Kirby and Gunnar. It wouldn’t be the first time she’d forgotten something. Instead, I saw Taylor standing next to the hostess podium.

“Why are you here?” I asked.

The double doors swung a few times before they stilled, a sign that Phaedra had excused herself to the kitchen.

“I came to take you to dinner.”

“I canceled,” I said, stuffing my remaining tips in the pocket of my apron.

“I know.”

I lowered my chin, already annoyed. “What is it with you civil servant types? You think that because, historically, women have somewhat romanticized your line of work that you’re automatically guaranteed a date?”

“No, I’m just hungry, and I want to hang out with you while I eat.”

“We’re closed.”

“So?” he said, genuine in his cluelessness.

“So, you have to leave.”

Taylor shoved his hands into his jeans pockets. “Trust me, I want to. I’m not oblivious to the fact that you sort of hate my guts. Inherently bitchy women don’t appeal to me.”

“Right. You prefer the easy ones who pretend to be progressive by going Dutch, and then they are all too eager to fall in line with the hotshot-groupie stereotype by the end of the night in hopes that they’ll somehow hook you with their impressive blow jobs.”

Taylor choked, stopping just short of where I sat, and he leaned his back against the bar. “You’ve got me all figured out, don’t you, Ivy League?”

“Pardon?”

“Were you a psych student? Are you trying to maybe shake me up a bit by analyzing my violent temper and then throwing in a few Freud quotes for good measure? Trying to make me feel inferior with your academic prowess? Let me guess. You went to Brown? Yale? Big fucking deal. I might not have a graduate’s degree, but I went to college. You don’t scare me.”

“Dartmouth. And community college doesn’t count.”

“I wholeheartedly disagree. I have a bachelor’s in business and a master’s in women’s studies.”

“That’s insulting. You haven’t been within a hundred yards of a women’s studies course.”

“That’s just not true.”

I blew my bangs away from my face, exasperated. “Women’s studies?”

He didn’t flinch.

“Why?” I seethed.

“Because it’s relevant.”

My lips parted, but I snapped my mouth shut again. He was serious.

“Okay, I was kidding about the master’s, but I have taken a couple of courses geared toward women’s studies. I’ve found the reading material is on the right side of history.”

I raised an eyebrow.

“I might be a civil servant type, but I’m educated. I went to Eastern State University in Illinois, and it’s a damn good school for its size.”

“Wait. Did you say Illinois?” I swallowed away the sudden tightness in my throat.

“Yes, and you’re right. I also have a doctorate in bullshit, and I saw you coming a mile away.”

“Where is Eastern State University from the town of Eakins?” I asked.

Taylor grimaced, unsure about where I was going with my line of questioning. “ESU is in Eakins. Why do you ask?”

My heart sped up, booming so hard against my chest that my head began to throb. Breathing was no longer on autopilot. I sucked in air and then blew it out, trying to remain calm. “So, do you go back there very often? Reunions maybe?”

“I’m from there, so I go back all the time. You didn’t answer my question.”

By his expression, I could tell that he knew something was up. The entire tone of our conversation—along with my attitude—had changed.

I watched him watching me. I tried to keep my face smooth and the truth from reflecting in my eyes.

All the cash in my shoebox upstairs was to pay for a plane ticket to Chicago, a rental car, and a hotel room in Eakins, Illinois. It couldn’t just be a coincidence that this guy had breezed into my café and taken an interest in me.

“Just curious.”

His shoulders relaxed, but a spark still smoldered in his eyes. “I’ll tell you all about it. Let’s go.”

“I’m not going anywhere with you tonight,” I said. “You’re trying too hard. You could be a serial killer for all I know.”

“The Forest Service doesn’t employ serial killers.”

“How do I know you really even work for them?”

Taylor sighed, reached into his back pocket, and produced his wallet. He picked out his driver’s license and Alpine Hotshot Crew ID. “Is that good enough?” he asked.

I tried not to take the cards too quickly or look too interested before glancing over his ID card and then his license. His driver’s license was Illinois issued. He really was from Eakins.

“You never changed your license over?”

“It expires next month. I’ll get a Colorado one then. My boss has been on me about it, too.”

I held my breath as I poured over his address. He was telling the truth.

“Holy shit,” I whispered.

His address was on North Birch. I held out the cards, slowly returning them.

“What?” he asked, taking them from my fingers.

“Your driver’s license picture is atrocious. You look as bad as a hatful of assholes.”

Taylor laughed. “Whatever. I’m a fucking ace.”

I clicked my tongue. “Whoever told you that needs to get out more.”

His eyebrows pulled together, and he tucked his chin. “You’re either a liar or a lesbian. Which is it?”

Taylor was my way to Eakins. Quelling the urge to scream, laugh, cry, or jump up and down felt like holding on to a wild animal covered in grease.

I cleared my throat. “I need to lock up.”

“Okay. I’ll wait for you outside.”

I had to play it just right. Taylor was only chasing me because I was running. I couldn’t appear too eager.

I sighed. “You’re not just going to go away, are you?”

One corner of his mouth curled up, a dimple sinking into his left cheek.

Taylor was unquestionably attractive. The butterflies I felt in my stomach when he looked at me were undeniable, and I wanted to hate the way I felt, even more than I wanted to hate men. His delicious full lips, a needless decoration for his already perfect features, only added to how ridiculously good-looking he was. The symmetry of his face was flawless. His chin and jaw had just the right amount of stubble—not clean-shaven and not yet the beginning of a beard. His warm chocolate eyes were intermittently hidden behind a thick line of lashes. Taylor had all the makings of an underwear model, and he knew it.

“You’re enjoying this, aren’t you? You like watching me assess your looks to decide if I’m going to let that overshadow the fact that you’re a cunt rag.”

“I’m not that bad,” he said, trying to suppress the odd amusement the words brought him.

“What is the name of the last girl you slept with? Just the first name.”

He mulled over my question, and then his shoulders sagged. “Okay, I’m kind of a cunt rag.”

I glanced down at his arms. They were both covered in neo-traditionalist tattoos. Bright colors and thick black lines displayed an eight ball, a fanned-out hand of aces and eights, a dragon, a skull, and a woman’s name.

“I’ll go away, but I don’t want to.” He glanced up at me from under his brow, turning his charm on full throttle.

Any other girl might have melted, but all I could think about was how hard fate had just slapped me in the face.

“Who’s Diane?” I asked.

He looked down at his feet. “Why do you ask?”

I nodded toward his arm. “Is she an ex-girlfriend? Are you a scorned man, sleeping your way through debilitating heartbreak?”

“Diane is my mother.”

My mouth immediately felt dry, my throat like I’d swallowed hot sand. I blinked. “Shit.”

“I prefer shit to sorry.”

“I don’t apologize … anymore.”

He grinned. “I believe that. Listen, we got off on the wrong foot. I’m a little overprotective when it comes to men getting aggressive with women. I can’t promise you that it won’t happen again, but I can promise that it won’t happen tonight. So”—he looked at me from under his lashes, exuding the full force of his magnetic charm—“let’s go.”

I pressed my lips together. Now that I needed him, the game had become particularly risky. I had to be stubborn but not impossible. “Nope.”