AllFreeNovel
Share Us
She hadn’t even tried to correct her brother’s assumption. No, she quantified it. I was the biggest client. The most lucrative. A checkbook with a hard cock. The end. I shouldn’t forget my place.
I kicked a rock out of the path with a muffled curse. Cameron’s steps faltered, but she didn’t turn to see what caused my muttered expletive. She had a life and a family. Like always, I was on my own. Work was the constant in my life.
Changing my zip code didn’t change human nature.
We stood in a short line to get beers and BBQ under a large, covered pavilion at the far side of the fairgrounds. While we waited, the band on stage finished tuning their instruments and started playing. They covered an old Willie Nelson song, and in my head, the chorus morphed into a chant ofjust a clientin slow-quick-quick-slow tempo.
Cameron turned and looked at me. Words balanced on the tip of her tongue, ready to tumble out. I shook my head, not yet prepared to hear anything she had to say. She promised me a beer, and I’d need it to endure this shit.
The disappointment fermented in my chest, hardening my stupid, too-excitable heart, and it must have shown on my face. She spun back around without a word. And I didn’t look at her ass; instead, I glared at her back.
She had on my favorite fishing shirt. I’d better get it back, or I’d put its return as a condition of her commission. I’d worn that shirt on some of the best fishing trips of my life. The Bahamas in 2019. Costa Rica last year. The Urals with my dad. I wouldn’t let it go.
Everything had gone wrong at an astonishing speed. Waking up with her this morning felt like a decade ago. The awkward silence now was worse than the first day of shooting at the donkey rescue bar. Then she at least wanted to kick my ass. Now a void had opened between us. A wall, one I should help to erect, not wish I could rip down.
Fuck my life. When would I learn?
When I got to the front of the line, I mumbled my order to a bearded man wearing a volunteer shirt, and he dished up a plate of smoked beef brisket, coleslaw, and beans for me. I didn’t want the food, but the big can of icy Lone Star Beer he gave me looked like salvation. I wondered if I could give him back the plate for more beers. Before I could ask about the trade, the line shuffled forward, moving me away from my potential savior.
“That’ll be twelve dollars a plate and five for each beer,” a white-haired lady with rhinestone-encrusted cat-eye glasses and an arm full of bangle bracelets told Cameron and me at the end of the food line. Reflexively, I reached for my wallet to pay.
“Hi Wanda, so good to see you. I’ve got this.” Cameron held a credit card over the chip reader. “Work expense. He’s a client of Beautiful Hills.” She jerked a thumb at me, and I tried not to wince at the reminder of my place in her world.
“He’s the one you’re going to be on TV with, right?” Wanda looked me up and down, appreciation and excitement glowing from behind her thick lenses. I felt like a ribeye laid out in the butcher’s case at the grocery store.
“Yes, ma’am,” Cameron confirmed, still not looking directly at me.
“The mayor said he was a looker. She wasn’t wrong.”
Cameron half coughed and half choked at Wanda’s comment. I tried to muster up a smile for the older lady and pulled it off, mostly. In truth, I was superfluous to the conversation, easily replaced with a cardboard cutout of myself or an image on a cell phone screen.
“Wilson Phillips.” I nodded, my hands full between the plate and unopened beer. I should have cracked my tall boy when I’d had the chance. A swig of beer would have been a welcome accompaniment to being inspected like a slab of beef by Wanda.
“Nice to meet you. And welcome to Elmer. We’re happy to have you.” Wanda, having looked her fill, gave me a finger wave, her bangles rattling enough to be heard over the music.
After saying her goodbyes, Cameron led me to a picnic table near the dance floor. I followed, trying not to think. Self-recrimination could wait until after the beer.
I plunked my plate on the scarred wood table and sat on the hard bench across from Cameron. She picked at her food. The hiss of my beer as I opened it was music to my ears. I chugged half in a long, grateful pull, wiping my lips with the back of my hand when I was done.
“We need to talk.” Putting down her plastic utensils, she folded her hands in her lap. I examined her plate instead of her face. Her food hadn’t been touched except for the coleslaw. She formed the pile of cabbage into a volcano with a deep hole in the middle.
“So you keep saying.” I pushed my plate away and put the beer front and center before me. No part of me wanted to make this easy. I raised one eyebrow and channeled my inner asshole.
She sighed.
“My brother is an ass.” Her voice was flat, her expression guarded.
I gripped the bench on either side of my legs, hiding my hands under the table edge. Half of me wanted to bolt from my seat and gather her in my arms. Keep her close until life returned to her eyes. The other half wanted to pound the table in frustration. She’d felt so good, so right in my arms this morning, I’d believed that we could have something together other than a real estate deal.
Was I a fool? No, my inner cynic reminded me with glee. I was her biggest client.
“That he is—a horse’s ass.” I saluted her with my beer before taking another sip. It took concentration not to crush the aluminum can. Losing my heart to the wrong woman once in a lifetime was plenty. Never again.
She chuckled, a sad sound without an ounce of humor. Her fingers massaged her temples, the stress rolling off her in waves. “He shouldn’t have said any of that.”
“Why? He’s right, I am just a client.” I’d offered her the chance to tell me otherwise. Instead, my words lingered, weighing down the air, making it thick and hard to breathe.
I huffed with frustration, and she jolted like I’d slapped her, her shoulders squaring and her chin jutting out.
