Burn It Up(9)

Abilene, on the other hand, felt lost most of the time, and more insecure than ever now, with Mercy to worry about.

“We’re not taking my car,” Casey said as she met him downstairs.

“Whose, then?”

“It’s your last night of freedom until this all blows over. Thought we might brave the cold and ride into town in style.”

“What, on your bike?” Jeez, she’d never ridden on a motorcycle before. “I dunno.”

“Bundle up. Bring gloves, too—it’ll be real cold by the time we close up.”

She weighed her anxiety against Casey’s confidence. Maybe he was right. Maybe she ought to relish the wind in her hair one more time, icy though it undoubtedly would be.

“Fine.” She grabbed her winter coat off its hook in the front hall and pulled on her mittens. “What about a helmet?”

“Got you covered.” Casey led the way outside, down the porch steps to the big front lot. As she eyed his Harley, the last of her hesitance waned. This machine no longer looked like a frigid threat to her life, but rather a perfect excuse to wrap her arms around the man she was otherwise in no position to embrace. Twenty socially acceptable minutes, each way, to spend with her body hugged close to his . . .

Sign me up.

Casey handed her a black helmet and clipped his own silver one on.

“I’ve never seen you bother with one of these before,” she said, fiddling with the strap.

He helped her tighten it, seeming tall and exciting. “Got to start setting a better example, if you’re gonna keep letting me hang around your kid.”

Her goofy smile went blessedly unseen as he swung his leg over the seat.

“Thank goodness I didn’t wear a skirt.” And thank goodness Casey was busy digging in his pockets for his keys and didn’t see her graceless first attempt at getting her leg up and over the back.

“Little help?”

Without a word, he hooked out his arm and she used it to haul herself into position.

“Thanks.”

“Hold on tight.”

She did, looping her arms around him. He was wearing a hoodie, and a sweater underneath, she could tell. And under that, she could just make out the shapes of his trunk. Man, you smell nice. Probably just his soap, she guessed, but sexy all the same.

The engine rumbled to life, puttering loudly as he cruised them toward the road.

“I’ve never done this before,” she shouted.

“Bit more fun in the summer,” he called back, once they were on the pavement.

“I’ll bet.” And would she still be in Fortuity come the summer, she wondered? She hoped so. It was tough, though. Once everything calmed down, she’d have to find her own place and pay for some kind of childcare so she could work more hours. In all honesty, the math just didn’t add up, not without any family nearby to lean on . . .

I won’t go back to Bloomville. Even if her pride somehow let her, even if things got that desperate, there was absolutely no guarantee her parents would talk to her, baby or no baby. She felt tears well as she imagined the worst—what they might say about Mercy, if they found out who her father was. You haven’t changed a bit, have you, Allison? You and these older men. When are you going to learn to keep your goddamned legs closed? That’s what they’d say—what her father would say—and her mother would flinch at the cuss and start praying. Crying and praying.

So, no. No way in the darkest, hottest corner of heck was she ever going back.

She locked her arms up tight around Casey, shut her eyes, and tried to forget.

? ? ?

It wound up being a busy night at Benji’s, and Abilene counted up two hundred and eleven dollars in the tip jar. “Wow, good haul for a Monday.”

Casey was loading the washer with the final few last-call glasses and tumblers, and he shot a smile over his shoulder. “How much?”

“Over two hundred.”

“Shit, that is a good haul. And it’s all yours.”

She frowned, clutching the bills in a fat, messy stack to her middle. “No way.”

“Fuck yes way.” He straightened and switched the washer on. “You think I earned even a quarter of those tips, anyhow? You’re actually polite to people. Plus you’re a girl. You keep it all. I’m your boss; I’m telling you to.”

“Gosh. If you insist.” She could certainly use it. “Thanks.”

She eyed Casey as he went around the now-empty barroom, wiping tables down with a wet towel. They’d been busy, and the place had grown warm. He was down to his T-shirt, and she bit her lip as she watched his circling arm.

It wasn’t merely a blush of lust she was feeling for her boss. There was that, but also more, something almost fiercer than sex—appreciation. He signed her paychecks and babysat for her, had been giving her rides for the past week, and got creepy customers to back off when necessary. He did so much, and she took so much.

Not forever. Someday she’d know security. Someday she’d be with a man who treated her as good as Casey did, for all the right reasons—go to bed with him for all the right reasons—and be the one contributing now and then, instead of the one always in need of bailing out.

She followed in his wake, stacking barstools on the wiped tables, trying not to look at his butt. Failing. She could have had him, last summer. He’d wanted her, and she’d wanted him right back. But she’d been so mixed-up from the pregnancy and all the ugliness that had preceded it, she’d kept him at a distance. Now, though, a selfish bit of her wished she’d gone there. To know what he’d have been like in bed, if nothing else. For the memories.