Authors: Sue Barr
Chapter Four
Ah, yes, the tattoo. On my right hip I had a tattoo of a small ‘T’ with
a stylistic heart wrapped around it. During a wild, crazy holiday in Cancun
with Tank I’d gotten it to show how much he was in my heart. That promise of
love walked out my front door, but the tat was forever. Lucky me.
I wandered into the ensuite bathroom and perched on the edge of the
tub. I tried to have a backbone when it came to Tank but he was my Achilles
Heel. This was the twenty-first century. Tank could have sex with whomever he
wanted and, technically, so could I, except Tank had been my first and only
lover and I wouldn’t betray the bonds of marriage.
I stood and started blow drying my hair. Staring at my reflection,
I gave my ‘self’ a pep talk.
“You’re a strong woman. You don’t need Tank to validate who you
are. Get the job done and don’t let him get under your skin.” Firm with resolve
to distance myself emotionally from Tank, I wandered down to the kitchen where
I found him making coffee. Without turning he said, “That wasn’t nice, what you
did out at the Grants. You could have warned me about the guard troll.”
How quickly I’d forgotten about Hannah. I choked back a little
giggle. “What’s the matter Tank, couldn’t handle a little old lady?”
“Do you still take your coffee black?” He reached into the cupboard
and brought down sugar for his coffee.
Tank continued to move around the kitchen with ease and I watched
him. I longed to reach out and rub his back like I had in the past. To know
that with one touch, he’d turn around, gather me into his arms and kiss me
senseless. My hand rose, but then dropped back by my side.
This camaraderie in the kitchen brought back a lot of memories I
chose to forget. Tears formed and my eyes burned. My firm resolve was melting
as fast as the sugar in his coffee.
“What did the Grants want to see you for?” He took my cup and
poured coffee into it. Quickly, I dashed the tears away with the back of my
hand. I reached around and grabbed the mug.
“Nothing much. They want me to track down a cousin or something.
She has to sign some papers for their business.”
I hated lying. It went against every Sunday school lesson I’d
learned and Pastor Nolan’s preaching. Whoever said lying could be cathartic for
a bruised psyche was dead wrong. He shook his head, turned around and poured a
third spoonful of sugar into his mug.
Coffee in hand, I walked into the living room. I set the coffee
down and flopped into my easy chair before turning on the television. Tank
stayed in the kitchen and set up his lap top at the kitchen table.
It was surreal, having Tank in the next room working while I
watched television. We’d fallen right back into the routine we had before he
left. I wasn’t sure if that was a good thing, or a bad thing. After the local
news, I remembered my date with Polly. I placed my cup in the dishwasher,
headed for the front door and had just grabbed my purse when a creak echoed
down the hall.
Tank stood in the entrance of the kitchen, his large frame filling
the doorway. “Where are you going?”
“Polly’s,” My throat felt tight, “It’s our movie night.”
“That’s right. It’s Tuesday.” He turned back into the kitchen.
After this case I was getting my head examined. On my own I was a
confident, independent woman. Tank showed up and suddenly I became a
blubbering, mindless, love-starved moron. There must be workshops I could take that
addressed this kind of thing. The gym I went to always had posters advertising
self-help classes. I was going to sign up for one and take back control of my
life, right after my trip to L.A.
When I got to Polly’s my jaw ached from clenching my teeth. Soft
light from recessed pot lights pooled onto her front entrance and when she
opened the door, I smelled popcorn.
“I wondered when you’d get here, you’re late.” She wore a fluffy
pink robe and bunny slippers. I was probably the only person on earth who ever
saw Polly this way. Not her usual, sophisticated style. Most people probably
thought she reclined about her mansion in silk robes and sexy slip-on mules.
“I know. Tank’s at my place.” I pushed by her and made my way to
the theatre room, where she’d set up the DVD.
“Ah. That explains it.” Polly shut the door and followed me in. She
offered me a cola before sitting and re-wrapping herself in a homemade afghan.
I plopped down on the other end of the sofa and grabbed a bowl of
popcorn. Harley pattered in and jumped up on my lap. “So what are we watching?”
“
Casablanca
.”
My shoulders slumped. Not again. It was so...so... black and white.
And Humphrey Bogart didn’t do it for me as a leading man. Now, if Rick Blaine
was played by Henry Cavill, I’d wear the DVD out.
“We’ve seen it a gazillion times. Isn’t there anything else? Something
that’s been produced in this century? In color? I’ll even watch
Steel
Magnolias
again.”
“Nope, Casablanca. I love when Rick says to Isla, I remember
everything. The Germans wore gray. You wore blue.”
“All right, but you’ll be sorry next month. For my choice I’m
thinking
Space Ship Troopers
...
Part II
.” It was Polly’s turn to
groan.
“Oh, shush. You love this movie as much as me. I’ve seen you cry
when she has to leave Rick.” She pointed the remote control at the TV and
started the movie.
I grabbed another handful of popcorn and settled in, allowing
Harley to eat out of my hand while the credits rolled.
“At least Isla left Rick, not the other way around.” I whispered to
Harley.
I forgot how good Polly’s hearing was. One of the things that made
her a good secretary.
“Hon, you have
got
to stop looking back. Keep doing that and
you’ll never see the good things ahead of you.” She grabbed some popcorn out of
my bowl. “Take the bull by the horns. Talk to Tank about why he left. Get it
out in the open.”
“He didn’t leave, I kicked him out.” I pulled my bowl away from
her.
“That’s horse puckey and you know it. This is me you’re talking to.
He walked out and you fell apart. You need to find out why or every time he comes
around, you’ll keep spinning your wheels.”
I knew she was right, but I was glad the movie started so she
wouldn’t see the tears trickle down my face. Tears Harley softly licked off my
cheek. Even if she had, she wouldn’t have commented. Polly never betrayed
confidences. Not even when I snuck out with Ben Grady after I’d been grounded.
****
Later that night, as I lay in bed, my mind scampered in a million
directions. I had to devise a plan to side track Tank and keep him from
discovering I was going to L.A. Ideally he’d leave again – my heart cramped –
and I wouldn’t have to worry, but I had a feeling he was here for a while. And
because he was my roommate-du-jour, he’d figure out pretty fast I was up to
something.
Tank had Spidey senses, like Peter Parker’s Spiderman, when it came
to me, so I needed him deaf and blind. Call it self-preservation or just plain
pride, but I didn’t want him in my business. He lost that privilege when he
moved out.
The next day at work I hatched and discarded idea after idea. Tank
knew me too well. It was on the drive home, when I saw an ad for ‘Don’t Drink
and Drive,’ that it hit me. Get him drunk. Then he’d pass out and sleep like a
baby while I packed my bags and took off.
All I had to do was figure out how much it would take to knock him
out. Tank could put back a few beers, but I’d never seen him drunk and the
whole operation had to be subtle or his internal radar would start pinging. I
decided to start with something small, like drinks with dinner. That would
work. My drink would be sipped and I’d top his up on a regular basis.
After I’d been home for about an hour I heard keys hitting the hall
table. There was a time when I’d drop everything, run down the hall and jump
into his arms. I continued to grate parmesan.
“Mmm, smells good. What are we having?” Tank came into the kitchen
and sat at the island. He placed his laptop bag on the floor beside his stool.
“Lasagna and salad. Want a drink?”
“Nah. I’m good. Can I help?”
He came around and started ripping apart the romaine. Plan A shot
down before it even started. On to Plan B—wine with dinner.
Supper was quiet. There were too many emotional landmines we both
were dancing around. Also, my thoughts were focused on creating a Plan C. He’d
refused the offer of wine with his meal. This was proving more difficult than I
imagined.
While I cleared the table, he settled on the couch. Even though we
were no longer a couple I admit to being miffed when he brought out his laptop.
Soon he was texting, checking messages and generally ignoring me. Fine by me, I
had my own stuff to do.
I sat and twirled my hair.
Last night Polly suggested we go shopping and now I wished I hadn’t
blown her off. She would have helped me think of devious ways to get Tank drunk.
Through my eyelashes, I observed Tank. Totally immersed in his work,
his rugged face illuminated by the artificial light from his laptop screen, he
had no idea I watched him. Every line, every angle of his face was familiar. I
knew if he smiled, one lone dimple would appear. His face would be rough to my
touch from the five o-clock shadow dusting the lower half of his face. His
breath warm on my palm as he turned to kiss it.
A familiar ache tightened my chest. He was no longer mine and the
sooner I solved this case and he waved good-bye, the better.
Reigning in my thoughts, I re-focused on my plan. I chewed my lip
and twirled my hair some more. Then it hit me. Why didn’t I think of this
sooner? Polly had given me some sleeping pills after Tank left and there was
almost a full bottle left.
I needed to get him into the hard stuff, so I could mask it. He’d
never know I slipped a little something ‘extra’ into his beverage. And, with
any luck, he’d be gone to la la land in no time. Great plan in theory, but how
would I get him to drink? He’d refused every offer so far tonight. Mentally I
slapped my palm against my forehead. I’d been making the wrong offer.
I would utilize the time-honored method of diversion, a game of
strip pool. No way would I play strip poker; Tank would have me naked in two
straight hands. But at pool—I could take the guy. We played this a lot and I’d
beaten him regularly.
Time to put Plan C in motion.
“Tank, I’m bored.” I maneuvered myself so I lay draped over the big
easy chair, letting my leg swing back and forth over the arm. “Wanna play strip
pool?”
His head rose, like a buck scenting a doe in heat. He’s not stupid,
he had to know I was up to something, but he was willing to play along. After
putting away his laptop, he leaned back and stretched his arms across the back
of the couch, all smug and cocky. “Rack ‘em up, darlin’. Call me when you’re
ready to break.”
“I’ll mix some drinks, you rack and break. I’ll be right down.”
As always, I loved it when a plan worked.
Chapter Five
The sound of balls being racked floated up the stairs while I
prepared the drinks. Tank had gone for it. Tomorrow morning he’d be pretty
embarrassed about falling for my ruse. In a small way, I felt bad for him.
How could I even hint at having sexual relations with Tank when we
hadn’t worked out our problems? Deceit had an insidious way of making a person
do unethical things. On the verge of backing down, I mentally pictured him
kissing another woman and twisted open the bottle.
I estimated an ounce for each drink and poured the amber liquid
over ice cubes, followed by some cola. For extra insurance, and because I was
still mad at him, I threw another splash of rum into Tank’s glass.
I rummaged through my medicine cabinet, found the sleeping pills
Polly gave me and shook out two little blue capsules. They were kind of small
and Tank was pretty big, so I added one more. Three should keep him out of the
way until I was safely in the air, enjoying my complimentary in-flight package
of peanuts. After breaking them open, I poured the powder into his glass and
threw the tiny casings in the garbage.
It took only a few seconds to stir the drink before heading
downstairs and hand Tank his before placing mine on the bar behind him. I
walked over to the wall-mounted rack and grabbed my cue stick. Confidence
surged through me as I returned to where he stood, drink in hand. I reached
around and picked up mine.
“Here’s to me kicking your butt.” I tapped my glass against his and
watched him take a nice long swallow. I hid a smile against my glass and
enjoyed a sip too. It tasted good. Tasted like victory.
“Best two out of three?” I asked.
Tank nodded the affirmative, placed his drink on the bar and walked
over to the table. He lined up his shot and with a quick, powerful hit, sank
two balls.
Lucky break.
He moved around the table, analyzing all angles and then sank one,
two, three balls in a row. Impressed, I sipped my rum. Two of his balls were left
on the table when he missed the fourth shot. With a slight shrug, he turned to
face me. “Let’s see what you got, darlin’.”
“Ha. What I
got
is a perfectly executed game about to happen.
Stand aside.”
I chalked my cue stick while I walked around, checking out the lay
of the table. I was pretty good at pool, I had to be. In my line of work, you
hung out at bars and pool halls, talking to people and I’d picked up a few
tricks. I made some fancy bank shots, double backs, and sank four in a row.
My fifth shot was impossible to execute, so as a nasty treat, I
tapped my ball and left the white cue ball tucked behind it. The only way he
could make the shot was by hitting the cue ball down the length of the table,
strike a precise, exact location and roll back, just kissing his ball so it
would slide into the pocket.
Laughing outright I said, “Let’s see you get out of this one, big
boy.” I toasted him with my drink again.
“I’ve got moves you’ve never seen, babe.” A wolfish grin crossed
his lips.
Normal Tank was dangerous, but playful Tank was lethal and a
familiar energy sizzled through my system. He threw back about half his rum,
put down the glass and lined up his shot. Slow and deliberate he pulled the cue
stick back—paused and winked at me—and made the shot.
I levelled a narrow glance at him. How long would it take for those
pills to kick in? He was making some pretty impressive shots and if he won, I’d
have to remove a piece of clothing.
Standing rules between Tank and I are this: in strip pool, we
played best of three. When one person lost two matches, the game was called and
the winner got
whatever
he, or she, wanted. I took a quick mental inventory
of what I had on. Jeans, sweater, tee shirt and not much more. Maybe he’d let
me take off my watch.
He dropped his seventh ball no problem and my eyes widened when he
called and pocketed the eight ball, back left corner.
There were still three of my balls on the table.
I went to remove my sweater, but a tap on my arm stopped me. Tank’s
cue stick rested on my forearm and I followed the smooth line of the glossy
stick until my gaze reached his face. Amusement shone out of his eyes as he
shook his head and with the cue stick, pointed to my jeans.
“You don’t get to choose. I’ll take off my sweater.” No way would I
parade around in my underwear. Not anymore.
I slid my sweater off and draped it over the bar. So far, Plan C
was not working the way I envisioned and there was no Plan D. Maintaining
composure as best I could under the circumstances, I tugged my tee shirt back
into place.
Because Tank won, I had to break. While I gathered the balls and
arranged them in the triangle brace, Tank leaned against the bar, crossing his
long muscular legs at the ankles.
Easy for him to be all relaxed, he didn’t have to win two games in
a row. Stifling a big yawn, I took a firm grip on the cue stick.
“I love that tee shirt,” I heard him say. “We bought it in Cancun.
Do you remember? That was the best two weeks ever.”
Oh, I remembered all right. We went to Cancun for our honeymoon.
Gritting my teeth, I concentrated hard and hit the white cue ball
dead center. When I’d finished with the follow-through, only one ball dropped.
The hit had been too hard.
Tank was distracting
me
, not the other way around. Another
yawn stretched through me as I chalked my cue stick and walked around, checking
my options. He nursed his drink, looking like a guy who didn’t have a care in
the world. Looking like a guy who only had to win one more game. Those stupid
pills had better start working soon since I’d just delivered a lousy break.
No matter which angle I tried, the balls were crowded too close
together and there was no way to get a clean shot. As much as I hated playing ‘dirty
pool’, I’d have to try and hook him without
looking
like I hooked him.
Tank continued reminiscing. “Yup, Cancun was a good time, but
Connecticut… Now that’s a holiday I’ll never forget.”
Whew, was it hot in here?
“I loved roughing it in Connecticut.”
I gulped a big mouthful of my drink, and sucked in some ice to cool
down. The heat intensified as I remembered how we ‘roughed it.’ After a long
day hiking Tank said I’d walked through poison oak and insisted on checking me
out, most thoroughly. While it turned out there had been no poison oak, not one
spot on my body had been left untouched, kissed, or caressed.
“Tune him out,” I muttered. “He’s trying to side track you.” And
doing a good job.
I rolled my shoulders in a vain attempt to loosen the muscles. We
both knew it was a stall tactic. Finally, I had the shot lined up, but my hand
was damp and the cue stick slipped, breaking the balls wide open. Not a single
ball dropped. Defeated, I stared at the brightly scattered balls like Napoleon
must have done with his troops at Waterloo.
Tank pushed away from the bar and slid behind me, a solid package
of heated testosterone and muscle. One large hand was placed on either side of
my body, effectively boxing me in against the pool table.
“Loosen your shirt babe, I think you’re time has come,” he drawled
against my heated cheek and dropped a kiss behind my ear.
Ripples of anticipation careened through my midsection and there
wasn’t much I could do except watch in dumb horror while Tank moved around the
table, making impossible shots like he’d done this all his life. Complete and
utter silence followed the thunk of the eight ball landing on another ball in
the side pocket.
What went wrong? I have
always
played better pool than Tank
and now because he won, he’d get whatever he wanted. He plucked the cue stick from
my nerveless fingers and leaned it against the wall.
“Come here,” he said and pulled me against his chest.
Head lowered, my forehead touching his chest, I whispered. “How did
this happen? I’ve always won at pool.”
“Yes, because I let you. It was more fun that way,” he whispered
against my neck as his fingers blazed a trail down my back. Warm hands pulled
me close, branding me through the thin cotton. Pushing one leg between mine,
there was no mistaking his intentions.
“Do you want it hard and fast, or soft and slow?” His deep voice,
thick and heavy with desire, flowed over me.
“Yes,” I whispered.
God help me. I wanted it all.