Rebelonging (Unbelonging, Book 2) (18 page)

I was loading the bin into my trunk when I
heard that dreaded voice somewhere behind me call out, "Up to your
usual tricks, I see?"

I glanced behind me and stifled a groan. Sure
enough, there she was, an overly thin woman with short, brown hair
– Loretta.

Today she wore tailored slacks, a
cream-colored blouse, and her usual scowl as she barreled down the
driveway toward me.

With a sigh, I turned back to the car and
slammed the trunk before leaning against it. She came closer,
holding an official-looking clipboard.

Her scowl deepened. "Well,
are
you?"
she said.

Up to my usual tricks? Honestly, I had no
idea. "What tricks?" I asked.

"Do I really have to spell everything out for
you?" She gave a dramatic sigh. "Fine. I'm referring to your
leaving without stopping by."

"I tried to stop by," I said. "No one
answered."

It was true. After the hassle Loretta gave me
last time, I had literally forced myself to knock on their front
door first, before setting one foot inside Grandma's cottage.

"Besides," I said, "aren't you supposed to be
at work?"

"Aren't you?" she said.

"No. I work nights, remember?"

She pursed her lips. "There's no need to get
snippy."

We could go around like this for hours. I
so
didn't have the time or energy. I glanced at the house.
"So, uh, you want me to stop by, now?"

Please say no, please say no, please say
no.

"Not necessary," she said. "Your father isn't
home."

If it wasn't necessary, why was she giving me
grief? Oh yeah, because she could. That's why.

"Oh," I said.

"Is that all you have to say for
yourself?"

"What am I supposed to say? That I'm
sorry?"

"Not if
that's
the best you can do."
She looked down at my clothing. "Please tell me you're not wearing
that
for Thanksgiving."

I glanced down at my jeans and turtleneck. I
looked respectable enough. "Are we dressing up?" I asked.

"Is that a rhetorical question?"

"No. It's a real question. Are we?"

She gave a little sniff. "Well,
we
certainly are. Out of respect for this house, I would think
you
would want to do the same."

What I
wanted
to do was grab her by
the hair and slam her face into my trunk. What I did do was nod.
"Alright, I'll dress up."

"And you
will
be bringing the
salad?"

"Wait a minute," I said. "I thought I was
bringing the dessert."

She gave a long, drawn-out sigh. "
Must
we do this again?"

"What again?"

With a shake of her head, she raised the
clipboard and ran a long finger down a printed spreadsheet. Halfway
down, she stopped. "Here," she said with a decisive finger-tap.
"Chloe, salad." She looked up and raised her eyebrows. "Are
you
Chloe?"

"I dunno," I said. "Is
that
a
rhetorical question?"

"Oh for Heaven's sake," she said. "Must
everything be a joke with you?"

"I wasn't joking," I said. Well, okay, I was.
But nothing about this seemed remotely funny to me. When it came to
Loretta, I'd lost my sense of humor years ago.

"So," I said, "you want me to bring a
salad?"

"Yes," she said in a tone of forced civility.
"A salad would be lovely. Thank you."

Too bad the salad wasn't only for her. I'd
have Chucky take a big crap in it. Then I'd feed it to her with a
shovel. Now,
that
would be lovely.

"And what," she said, "is so funny now?"

"Nothing," I said. "Salad. Got it."

"I'll believe it when I see it," she said,
before turning on her heels and heading back toward the house.

I was driving home when my cell phone rang.
Desperate for a return call from the Parkers, I lunged for it and
checked the display.

Lawton. Today was Friday, and he'd be home in
three days. He'd been calling me every night. I loved hearing from
him, and things would be even nicer when we could do more than just
talk.

Still, as happy as I was to hear from him in
the middle of the day, I'd be lying if I didn't admit that this
wasn't the call I'd been desperate to receive.

I pressed the button. "Hello?"

"What's wrong?" he said.

"Nothing."

"Alright." He was quiet for a beat, and then
said, "Got any plans for tonight?"

I had the night off, not that it would do any
good. He was in Vegas, and I was here. "Not really," I said.
"Why?"

"Because I've gotta be honest. I couldn't
wait to see you."

"You came back early?" I said.

"You might say that."

I laughed. "What does that mean?"

"It means," he said, "that I'll be landing in
a couple hours. I've got to be back in Vegas tomorrow morning, but
I remembered you had tonight off, so—"

My trouble with the Parkers suddenly faded
into the background. "So you want to get together?" I said.

"Yeah. But listen, no more hiding out in
secret. You're my girl, and from now on, I'm doing things right.
How about I'll pick you up at seven?"

I smiled into the phone. "Sounds good. But
hey, what should I wear?"

"What kind of night are you in the mood for?"
he said. "Casual, formal?"

As far as clothing, I preferred nothing. Just
the thought of his naked body gyrating against mine was enough to
make my mouth water. But he was right. Hiding out in secret hadn't
gotten us very far.

"How about casual?" I said.

"Casual, it is." His voice lowered. "And
Chloe?"

"Hmm?"

"I don't care what you wear. I'm dying to see
you."

I spent most of that afternoon trying to
reach Mrs. Parker. Even with them out of the country, this had
never been a problem before.

At least once a week, she'd been checking in
from Costa Rica, just to see how things were going. And every once
in a while, I called her too, always on her cell phone, and usually
with mundane, but time-sensitive questions about home
maintenance.

Now, every single call was going straight to
her voicemail. I told myself this was a good sign. It was better
than hearing a disconnection notice, right?

Out of desperation, I pulled out our original
paperwork and scoured the documents for emergency contacts. I ran
my finger down the long list and came up with nothing useful. If I
needed to reach Chucky's vet, I was home-free. But if I wanted to
reach Chucky's owners, I was totally screwed.

If I didn't hear back from them soon, I'd
have to come up with some sort of plan.

Until then, I vowed to push it out of my
mind. I had a guy who loved me flying halfway across the country
just to take me out on a date. If that wasn't a better thing to
think about, I didn't know what was.

Lawton picked me up right on time, driving
some exotic sports car that I didn't recognize.

First, we hit an authentic Greek restaurant
owned by a friend of his. What they brought us, I had no idea, at
least not by their official names. But there was something
delicious made with spicy chicken and homemade bread, and an
amazing dessert with nuts and honey.

We talked about plays and politics, and local
landmarks that we both had visited, even if not with each other. He
talked about his sister, his Grandma, and a little about Bishop,
who I was relieved to hear was out of town.

As for me, I told him a little more about
Grandma and a lot more about Josh, trying not to brag, as much as I
wanted to.

I didn't talk about the Parkers. And this
time, it wasn't because I was ashamed, and it wasn't because of
that agreement. Mostly, it was because when it came to
house-sitting, things weren't exactly going so well.

Tonight, I only wanted to only think about
good things. And that didn't include bounced checks or missing
home-owners.

By the time we hit dessert, I'd pushed the
Parkers completely out of my mind. They were gone, and Lawton was
here. Being with him, even after all that had happened, was like a
dream.

Sometimes people recognized him. Sometimes
they didn't. But no matter who was around us, he only had eyes for
me. We left the restaurant a little after nine and hit a comedy
show at one of the downtown casinos.

In the car afterward, Lawton was navigating
the city streets when he turned to me and said, "Want to hit a club
or something?"

I looked down at my jeans and simple blouse.
"I'm not really dressed for it."

He laughed and glanced down at his own
clothing. "Like I am."

I gave him a good, long look. His left hand
rested loosely on the steering wheel while his right elbow rested
on the center console. Even in relaxation, the tattoo-covered
muscles shifted with the smallest movement of the vehicle, showing
off the lines and ridges of his amazing physique.

His clothes were simple, just dark jeans and
a black T-shirt, but his appearance was anything but.

His clothes didn't have to be satin, silk, or
some designer brand. His mere presence spoke for itself, making
Lawton look like a million bucks in what could've been a ten-dollar
shirt for all I knew.

I recalled what was under that shirt. I'd
pressed my face against his naked chest how many times now? However
many times it had been, it didn't feel like enough.

As if feeling the heat of my gaze, he turned
his head in my direction. His gaze was electric, and he gave me a
grin so heart-stopping that I felt my lips part as if waiting for a
kiss.

"Baby," he said. "It doesn't matter what you
wear. You'll be the most beautiful girl in that place." He turned
his attention back to the road. "And you know what? If anyone gives
you shit about what you're wearing, they'll have me to answer
to."

I couldn’t help but laugh. "What are you
gonna do?" I said. "Beat 'em up if they tell me no jeans
allowed?"

In profile, I saw him smile. "Depends."

"On what?"

"How nicely they tell you."

I rolled my eyes. "Yeah, well the fashion
police can be really brutal."

I was only half kidding. It was part of the
reason I shopped at consignment stores. The clothes might've been
secondhand, but they were almost always the right cut and
label.

"There's this new place off Six Mile," he
said. "A friend of mine's a bouncer there." He gave me a sideways
glance. "And I'll tell you what, if he doesn't agree that what
you're wearing is the sweetest stuff he's ever seen, I'll
personally kick his ass."

I pretended to give it some thought. "I
dunno," I said through laughter I couldn't quite contain. "He's not
a big guy, is he? Because I sure don't want you getting hurt on my
account."

As we pulled up to a red light, Lawton put a
hand to his heart. "
Now
I'm hurt." He made a strangled,
choking sound as the car came to a stop. "Might. Be. Fatal." He
groaned. "Need. Mouth. To. Mouth." He flopped his head back onto
the headrest and closed his eyes.

I glanced at the light. It was still red, but
for how long. "Very funny," I said.

He didn't move.

"C'mon," I said with another nervous glance
ahead, "the light's gonna turn."

He gave a low groan. "Almost. Gone."

"You are such a –" I laughed as I tore off my
seatbelt and moved toward him. "Damn it, I don't know what you
are." When our lips met, he came magically to life, moving his lips
against mine in a way that sent a bolt of heat straight to my
core.

I felt his hand in my hair and his tongue
against mine. The next strangled moan was my own, as I felt my
insides combust and my knees tremble.

A car horn sounded behind us, and I nearly
jumped out of my skin. I pulled away and looked toward the light,
now green. There were several cars behind us. The horn sounded
again, followed by another, probably from the vehicle behind
them.

I jumped back into my seat. "Go!" I said.

"Not 'til you buckle up."

I fumbled for my seatbelt, listening to the
cacophony of horns behind us. When the seatbelt snapped shut,
Lawton floored it, leaving the other vehicles in the dust. I
glanced behind us. The light was red again, and the horns were
still blaring.

The driver of the car behind us was giving us
the middle-finger salute. Lawton rolled down the window and gave
the driver a casual wave.

"Oh my God," I said through choked laughter.
"You're trying to get us killed."

He turned to give me a grin. "Never," he
said. "The club's up here on the left. What do you think?"

I thought of how it would feel to have Lawton
pressed up against me, our bodies grinding to the beat of whatever
– slow song, fast song, hell, a damn polka. I wanted to feel him
against me. And I didn't want to wait until we got back.

"Count me in," I said.

The club was jam-packed with a line out the
door – not that we waited in it. Whether it was because Lawton knew
the bouncer or simply because of who he was, we bypassed the line
and were ushered straight inside.

Behind us, I heard a few muttered grumbles of
those left waiting, but Lawton took my hand, and we just kept
going. A flash of cash and a few words from Lawton netted us a
newly placed table right near the dance floor.

We ordered a couple of drinks from a
harried-looking waitress, and Lawton turned to me. "Wanna
dance?"

I looked around. "Shouldn't we wait until we
have our drinks?"

"Why?" he said.

"So no one steals our table."

He laughed. "Baby, no one's gonna steal our
table."

"How do you know?"

"Because I paid 'em an extra fifty to keep it
free."

"Who's them?" I asked.

He pointed toward a beefy guy standing with
arms crossed a few feet away. "Him."