That thought is fleeting when my stomach grumbles, reminding me I’m still hungry. I stride back to the restaurant, deliberately looking away from Riggs. Subtlety isn’t my strong suit, and I’m sure the move screams avoidance, but what else am I supposed to do? We said our goodbyes, and now it’s over. Not that there was anything to end in the firstplace, but I need whatever it was to be done with so I can enjoy the rest of my weekend in peace.
Sitting back at my table, I love how the around-the-world menu has a little bit of everything, from Italian to Mexican, to a dish called borscht. It says it’s Russian. Interesting. But Indian is my favorite, so I order the tikka masala. It doesn’t disappoint.
After dinner, I decide to make my way to the gift shop, but as I exit the restaurant, I’m keenly aware of my situation. It’s unavoidable. With a deep breath, I march forward, passing by Riggs yet again. Only this time I can’t help noticing how he’s explaining to the vet and two forest rangers what happened in the forest. He’s standing there, still holding the animal, and the way he’s all animated and excited is so darn adorable. But that’s not all I notice. One of the rangers is female. She’s young and cute with a full head of luscious red hair that’s accentuated by her forest-green blazer that’s practically bursting at the bust line. Is he flirting with her? And the bigger question is, why would that bother me? Picking up my pace, I shake my head as if that will rid me of these irrational thoughts that I have no business having in the first place. He can flirt with whomever he wants. It’s not like there’s anything between us.
The gift shop is well stocked, and I decide to treat myself. I set a six-dollar bottle of wine from the bottom shelf onto the cashier’s counter, then add a huge six-dollar chocolate bar, because, well, do I need a reason?
Back in my room, I change into my bikini and cover-up. Then, armed with wine, chocolate, and my phone, I head downstairs. The hot tubs are calling, and when I step into the dimly lit pool area, I’m relieved to find two of the tubs areempty. Maybe some of Ash’s luck rubbed off on me.
“Told you Mama would be back,” I whisper to the nearest jacuzzi. I set my things on the wood deck before sinking into the bubbling water. The heat envelops me, loosening the tension in my shoulders, and for a moment, everything is forgotten, leaving nothing but pure bliss.
But of course peace never lasts as thoughts of my mother creep in. I hope she’s doing okay. At times like this, I wish more than ever that my brothers would look in on her, but I know they won’t. They act like they don’t care, but they must, right? Deep down, they’d have to. But if they do, they certainly don’t act like it.
Does Dad care? Sometimes I think so, but most of the time, I know he’d rather be at the casino.
A woman who hired me to make a dress for her told me her husband plays poker, too. When we were talking, she happened to mention that the regulars in the poker room have a nickname for my dad. A knot formed in the pit of my stomach when she revealed what it was. Apparently, they all call him “The ATM.”
I wonder if he knows. Regardless, I can barely cover the bills with my paychecks, and knowing dad could help if he would just stop gambling is a bitter pill that I’m forced to swallow month after month. It’s like he doesn’t care about any of us.
Sometimes it feels like it’s all too much, like I’m going to break. I’m just so tired all the time. On weekdays, I’m up by five to get some work done on the dresses before I have to go to my real job. I usually have two or three clients at a time. Word of mouth is my only advertising, and it keeps me busy, too busy at times, except for the slow season from November through the end of January, which is why I still work for Ms. Southerby. I don’t know what I would have done without a steadyincome, even if it is a bit meager.
After sewing for a few hours in the morning, I get ready and head to the shop, praying my car will get me there one more time. After eight hours on my feet taking care of customers, I’m exhausted by the time I get home, but I have to keep going. The dresses won’t make themselves. Most nights I get four or five hours of sleep before doing it all over again the next day. Even on my days off, I set my alarm clock for 4 a.m. and sew all day until I go to bed around midnight.
I do this day after day trying to keep us from being homeless, and on top of it all, I take care of Mom the best I can. Needless to say, it takes everything I have just to get through a week, which means even if I were open to having a boyfriend again, it wouldn’t be possible. I can barely find time to take a shower, let alone take care of a guy.
That was part of the problem with Jake. After I moved back home, I hardly had time for him. He certainly didn’t take it well. Why couldn’t he understand? But looking back, I don’t think that was the problem. I think he understood perfectly well what I was going through, he just didn’t care. Somehow, he felt that he should still come first. But why did it have to be a choice? Why did he need me to choose him over my dying mother? Why couldn’t he have been supportive, or at least pretended to have the smallest amount of sympathy for everything I was going through? Instead, he was just angry all the time, always accusing me of neglecting him and his needs. I didn’t realize it back then, but I do now. He was so selfish, wanting me to abandon my mother to move back in with him, and not because he loved me. No, he wanted me back so I’d pay half the bills. And that wasn’t the only problem. He was like a teenage boy who couldn’t bebothered to pick up after himself. He needed someone to clean up after him and do his laundry, not to mention cooking for him, and I don’t think the man has ever washed a dish. Now that I’ve had time to really reflect on my life, I can see it so clearly. He was an abusive asshole, and I’m glad we’re not together. Still, my heart aches for how things could have been had his mother raised him to be a decent man. She was part of the problem too, her perfect little angel. Don’t even get me started. The woman hated me from day one making it well known that I wasn’t good enough for her sweet little boy. Give me a break!
I lose track of time, sipping wine while lost in my head, lamenting the years I wasted on my ex. The chocolate bar is a distant memory, entirely devoured, and my thoughts wander to my new king-size bed with soft sheets that I have all to myself. It’s up there waiting for me with big fluffy pillows that I can enjoy for as long as I want with no need to get up early. The full body massage from the water jets is making me sleepy, or maybe it’s the wine. Either way, with my head laid back and my eyes blissfully closed, I’m relishing the mere thought of being able to sleep in again.
Or at least I was—until a voice cuts through my haze.
“What a day! This hot tub has been calling my name for hours.”
He steps to where I can see him. Damn. What I imagined last night in my bubble bath doesn’t come close to the real thing. Is that an eight-pack? My stomach does a somersault as I take in the whole package, the defined muscles, the teasing V-lines running from his ripped abs, traveling down into the waistline of his trunks, the veins in his forearms, and how every part of him is accentuated by flawless, bronze skin.
Suddenly my king-size bed seems awfully lonely with only me in it.
No, that can’t happen. I need to leave. I need to leave now, before I do something I’ll regret.
“You should see what your friend is doing.” He’s in up to his crotch and stops to adjust to the temperature.
Really? Right at the babymaker? I try not to look at his bulge. I try. At least his trunks fit him. But that doesn't help much as my pulse quickens.
I quickly force my gaze to his tempting shoulders—better than staring at his bulge.
I should leave, I really should, but not before I find out what he meant about Rhonda.
“What is she doing?”
He sits across from me and clasps his hands behind his head. For heaven’s sake, it looks like he’s posing for Panty Dropper magazine, if there were such a magazine. Elsie should start one featuring her brothers. She’d sell a bazillion copies.
“She and some other girls are dancing on the bar," he explains casually, as if describing a typical night out with his brother. "From what I could tell, the girls tossed their bras and panties to the crowd of guys who were cheering them on." A scowl suddenly forms as he shakes his head with a sigh. "I'm sure Ash instigated the whole thing. He's buying rounds for everyone, and knowing him, they'll all drink for free tonight.”
I gasp. “Tell me she's still wearing her dress.”
He laughs. “Yeah, the girls still have their clothes on, but they’re teasing those boys something fierce. Looks like your friend is really enjoying it too.”
He’s not wrong. Rhonda definitely has a wild side, and I suspect her new bang-boy does as well. I wonder if Riggs does.
