Chaos and Control(28)

“How much did you see?” I ask.

“One minute, seventeen seconds.”

I smile and make my way across the room. My face is burning, and I can’t believe this man can make me blush like a little girl.

“Was it a good minute and seventeen seconds?”

“The best.”

“Maybe one day I’ll give you another private dance. But for now I’ve got to get ready for work.”

Preston swallows and checks his watch. “I’ll just tell Bennie you’re fine. I mean hot—good. I mean you’re okay.” He walks through the kitchen and closes the door behind him.

“I am now.”

…

Friday nights at The Haystack are busy. It seems like the whole town is here. Some order their drinks and leave, some want to make small talk. They come to see for themselves that Wren Hart has returned to Crowley. I’m on display tonight, but that’s fine with me. My tips are providing motivation to return their smiles and fake that enthusiasm.

By closing time, I’m exhausted. Running around in these silver metallic wedges doesn’t hurt my tips, but they’re killing my feet. The only thing keeping them on is my fear of the filth on the barroom floor. I wipe down tables and flip over chairs while Coach counts the till. He splits our tips, and I throw the cash into my bag without counting it. It’ll be a nice addition to my growing stash.

“Love having you here, Wren. I’m getting too old to wait on all these drunks.”

“Glad to be here, Coach. It gives me money, keeps me occupied and out of trouble.”

He smiles. It’s a fatherly smile, comforting and genuine. It’s more than my own father has ever given me.

“All done. You can head out, kiddo.”

“Thanks,” I say, giving him a wave. I grab my bag and hobble to the front door. “See you tomorrow.”

This time when I turn toward the lot, I’m not surprised to find Preston here. Again, he’s scribbling in his notebook, the pencil making quick scratches across the page. I hate to interrupt.

“Almost done,” he says without looking up.

I nod even though he can’t see me. A minute later, he folds the notebook closed—pencil inside—and slides it into his back pocket. His tired eyes connect with mine. He looks defeated.

I tiptoe over to him and raise my hand so that he knows my intentions. I run my fingers through his hair, down his neck, and rest them on his shoulder. Preston closes his eyes and lets out a heavy sigh.

“Are you okay?” I ask.

“Just had a rough day.” His eyes are still closed. Like it’s easier to confess things when he can’t see me. “My mom called. It’s the same questions every time. ‘How are you?’ ‘How’s the job?’ ‘Are you still taking your meds?’ I know she loves me, but every call feels robotic, like she’s trying to keep her distance.”

“Maybe she thinks it’s what you need?”

“Maybe,” he says. “And then, some days my anxiety gets the best of me. Some days I see fungus growing in my laundry basket. I worry that the locking mechanism on my deadbolt is faulty. I see myself tripping over a curb and tumbling into traffic.” He runs a hand through his hair and stretches his neck. “We don’t even have traffic here.”

“What can I do?” I ask. My hand runs down his tense arm, and I squeeze his fingers.

Preston opens his eyes and looks down. His silvery gaze drills through me, down to my center.

“You’re already doing it.” Heat races to my cheeks and I smile. “Ready to go?” he asks.

“Yeah.” I take a few steps and wince from the damn shoes.

“What’s wrong?”

“These weren’t the best choice for footwear tonight.”

Preston trails his gaze over my body, past my black shorts and down my legs, finally landing on my shoes.

“I thought you looked taller tonight,” he says, giving me a light smile.

“Yeah, well, I may be taller, but now I have to walk like a newborn giraffe.”

He stares at me for a bit, until I start to fidget beneath his gaze. The muscles in his jaw twitch before he gives me a slight nod. Preston turns around and bends lower.

“Hop on. I’ll give you a ride.”

“Really?”

“Sure.”

I step out of my shoes and throw them in my bag. Then I place my hands on his strong shoulders and hop up, wrapping my legs around his waist. I hear him groan as he hooks his arms beneath my knees to hold me up.

“What’s wrong? Am I too heavy?”

“Not even close. It’s just having you pressed against me is…”

He walks for a few minutes and never finishes his thought, though I’m sure I know where it was going. I love being wrapped around him. The feel of his hard muscles moving and flexing against me fills my mind with dirty thoughts. To distract myself, I point out houses of people he might know and order him through the park for a shortcut.

“Oh! I know what will make you feel better. It always works for me,” I say. “Climb up the water tower with me.” Preston stops moving. I hug myself closer to his back and direct his attention upward. “That’s where I go to get away, to think.”

“Uh, no thanks. I’m good on the ground.”