Authors: Jennifer Zane
“If not panties, what should they be then?”
He was facing all of us, but his gaze was on me. “On the floor.”
CHAPTER SEVEN
Two hours later, JT and I sat across from each other—still—and questioned our sanity. I was forming a little ass groove in the cushion beneath me. Goldie and Velma had gone to sleep, the two of them sharing the small bedroom in the back. The cat had hissed loudly hissed at them for taking over the bed. How they fit in that bed was beyond me, but that was their problem. What
was
my problem was that I could hear them snoring through the closed door. Esther had made it one drink longer than the other two and conked out in the recliner, her head tilted back, mouth open, cat asleep in lap. She, too, snored and sounded like a buzz saw.
“I’ve never heard anything like it,” JT said, wincing when Esther’s snore turned into a snort.
I put my hands up to my ears. “I’m not drunk enough to survive this.”
JT stood, held out his hand. “Let’s get out of here.”
I stared at him for a moment, long enough to suffer through a canon of commingled snores. I reached out, took his hand and we fled the RV.
Once we’d walked far enough away to have the buzz saw silenced, we paused. His hand was big, engulfing mine, but his touch was gentle. Warm. Very reassuring for someone who’d Tased me. Oh yeah, the guy was a jerk. It was just hard to remember that when his hand felt good. And that was just his hand. So I tugged it from his grip and stepped back.
The night was cool, but I didn’t need a jacket. The parking lot was deserted, the bright halide lights set JT in harsh shadows. He ran a hand over his face. “How do you handle that?” He tilted his head toward the RV.
“Thailand.”
“And when you were younger?”
A slight breeze swept my hair into my face and I tucked it behind my ear. “Boarding school, college, career.”
“The only way I’m going back in there is if I get more to drink first.” He thumbed over his shoulder toward the RV.
“All right, then where?”
JT glanced around. “Bowling alley?”
I turned to where he looked, saw the flickering neon sign in the squat building next to the Walmart. Chippers Lanes’ lot was full. It appeared the place to be in Hardin. I shrugged. “You want to bowl, Detective?”
He grinned, ran his hand over the back of his neck. “Bowling’s best when you’re not sober, so why the hell not?”
“It’s not my sport, but I’m up for it.” Anything was better than the snoring Three Stooges.
We were lucky to get a spare lane, the place hopping with league games. The sound of pins being knocked down and heavy metal rock music filled the air along with a large cloud of cigarette smoke. The place was total vintage. The only thing that had been updated since 1965 was the game computers that did the game math for you. Young and old wore ridiculously bad shirts with team names like Holy Rollers and Dolls with Balls across the front. I sat and put on my rental shoes as JT got us some beers from the bar.
“I hope you like light beer,” he said as he placed two plastic cups filled with beer and foam on the table above our lane. “We might need a few more to make it through the night.”
Thinking of the snoring, I had to agree. I was definitely buzzed by Esther’s liberal helpings of mystery drinks and had to remember the stupid rhyme from college, so I wouldn’t be hungover:
Beer before liquor, never felt sicker. Liquor before beer, you’re in the clear.
“Great idea.”
I watched as JT traded his shoes for the rentals, ogled his broad shoulders and back muscles flexing beneath his T-shirt as he bent down to put them on.
“Want to tell me what Goldie’s got on you?”
He glanced up from his crouch as he tied a shoelace, eyes devoid of emotion. “What do you mean?”
I went over and picked out a ball from the rack, tested the weight, the space of the finger holes. “Come on, she’s got something about you at Sturgis. You wouldn’t be here otherwise.”
He gave his shoulders a little shrug. “So?”
“So I want to know what it is.”
“Nosy, are we?” His mouth quirked up at the corner. Somehow, he didn’t seem as tense as a moment ago.
I found the ball I wanted to use; a bright blue covered in silver sparkles. I placed it in the ball return. “What happens in Hardin, stays in Hardin.”
He stood to his full height, went to find his own ball. “All right. You heard about Bob, the guy who’s going to fix my bike.”
I looked down at the linoleum tiles at my feet. “Yeah, about that—”
“I’ve had too much to drink to be pissed at the moment about the bike.”
“Oh.”
“Bob, the mechanic, fixed me up and I was going to miss out.”
The liquor I’d drank felt sour in my stomach. I took a step back, realizing I was out of my element. Of course he had a girl lined up. He wasn’t hard on the eyes—even the older ladies in the lane beside ours couldn’t keep from ogling him. If he broke bowling etiquette and veered into their lane, I might never see him again.
“That’s
all
Goldie has on you? A blind date?”
He didn’t say anything, just placed a red ball next to mine. The group in the lane next to ours broke out in shouts of “Turkey, turkey!” I had no idea what it meant, but it did to them and it appeared to be a good thing.
“All I’m going to share,” he responded. There was a story there, the journalist in me could see it, but it didn’t seem like I was going to get it out of him, even with liquor.
“You should feel lucky then, a blind date’s nothing. My friend Violet wrote a romance book and Goldie knew about it and published it behind her back.”
He frowned. “So? Sounds like she was helping.”
“Goldie gave her the pen name Cherry Bottoms.”
His mouth fell open. “Oh shit.”
“When her daughter-in-law started dating again—her husband died—Goldie sent the man a box of sex toys and condoms.”
The corner of his mouth ticked up. “What’s she got on you?”
“Nothing. I’m not in town enough.”
“That’s right, Silky. Your job keeps you away.”
“At least I don’t have to be fixed up on a blind date,” I countered, bitterness lacing every word. I couldn’t even keep Roger, the philandering computer guy. He never once said I looked like Silky Tangles.
“The blind date’s name is Sarah. She’s a dentist from Denver looking to settle down, not some guy named Benny from the Trekker Truck Stop with a DVD player.”
My mouth fell open at his insult, spun on my rental shoes and went over to the computer game display and sat down. I couldn’t compare to a dentist from Denver. I had no real home, I traveled fifty weeks out of the year and lived out of a suitcase. I pasted on a fake smile. “Ah, you’re looking for the whole picket fence, are you?”
“Girls like you are gorgeous on-screen, gorgeous in person, but only good for a quick tumble.”
“What do you have against porn stars anyway? It sounds like you know all about Silky Tangles and have seen all her movies since you know about the whole
Stuffed and Cuffed
thing. You can’t hate porn that much.”
“It suits its purpose, but I’m not interested in a woman like you.”
I shifted in my seat. He either believed I really was Silky Tangles or he was completely delusional. “Right, a woman just like me fucked up your life from a DVD?” I shook my head. “Whatever.” I typed his name into the computer keyboard so I didn’t punch him once again. My only advantage was that he probably didn’t have his stun gun on him.
“McHottie?” He came around to lean over my shoulder. His arm came around to type one handed. His body heat radiated, his clean scent circled around and I felt his breath next to my ear. He was very…close. Was it hot in here? “Okay, Silky, let’s play.”
I tilted my head up to the scoresheet. Sure enough, my bowling name was Silky.
Since his name was entered first, he bowled first, knocking down eight, then waited for the lane to reset the two remaining pins.
He clearly had a delineation in his mind between good girls and bad girls. One was fine for the night, the other for a lifetime.
“Do you really think this Sarah woman is interested in finding a husband at the Sturgis Motorcycle Rally? Seriously?” I leaned back in the plastic swivel chair, my legs tucked under the table, my arms over my chest. “She’s looking for the guy version of Silky Tangles.”
The ball popped out of the return. He picked it up, chucked the ball down the lane, knocking over the remaining pins.
“Spare,” he said. “What about you? You looking for Mr. Right?”
The lane reset and it was my turn. I stood. “Don’t you mean Mr. Right Now?”
I picked up my blue ball and lined up to go.
“You have what, three or four Mr. Right Nows while filming. It’s not like Mr. Right’s going to want to come home to you.”
Wow. That was…cruel and I wasn’t even a porn star. “That’s such a double standard.” I faced the lane, lined up and swung. The ball slid down the lane smoothly then took out all the pins.
“Strike,” I replied. “I’m going to get a pitcher.” I didn’t look back, just headed for the bar. It was snoring in the RV or jackass JT. I chose neither.
***
“You’ve got some pretty hot moves,” a man to my right said. I turned. Twenties, Wrangler jeans, snug T-shirt, cowboy hat. Not half bad.
Not interested.
“Um, thanks.” I turned back to watch the bartender fill the pitcher. “Bowling’s fun.”
“I don’t mean bowling.” He moved in a smidgen closer, which put him definitely in my space. He had quite the roving eye, which seemed to stop squarely on my breasts.
Another guy approached, leered. He wasn’t half-bad looking either, but he gave me the creeps. “I’m Jared. My idiot friend here is Paul.”
I nodded vaguely, eyed the bartender who was at the tap. “Hi.”
“What brings you to Montana?” Jared asked.
“I live here.” No way was I giving more information than that.
“In Hardin? Not a chance.” He shook his head and chuckled. “We would’ve known.” Anyone moving to a town the size of Hardin would be big news. Hardin made Bozeman look like New York City.
“Nope. Not Hardin.”
“Here with that guy?” Paul asked, tilting his chin toward the lanes.
“Yup.” I leaned forward on the glossy wood bar and focused on the bartender, willing him to work his way back to me.
“That’s okay. We don’t mind sharing.” He moved in closer. “We know you like it.” His words had me whipping my head around to look at him. The guy actually waggled his eyebrows. Jared just grinned.
Oh great. They thought I was Silky Tangles.
“Look, guys, I’m not who you think I am.”
Jared’s gaze raked down my body, grinned. “Right. Incognito.” He looked left and right, leaned close and lowered his voice. “We won’t tell anyone. We promise, don’t we, Paul?”
Jared’s leer matched Paul’s sleazy look. They were certainly not thinking pure thoughts at the moment. “Yeah, we promise.”
“Look, guys, I’m flattered and all, but I’m not into sharing.”
An arm came around my shoulder from behind. “Neither am I.”
I tensed before realizing it was JT, relaxed into his hold, his hand warm on my upper arm. Even through the smoke and the spilled beer aroma, I picked up JT’s clean scent. I could handle brushing off a guy because I never really considered myself much of a catch, but two guys who thought I was a sexual acrobat and into ménage on film, was something else entirely. Silky Tangles seemed to have a lot of followers and they were all in Montana. Actually, because of me, she was probably stalker free. Wherever she was.
“Right, baby?” He leaned in and whispered close to my ear. I felt his breath fan my nape. The possessiveness I heard in JT’s voice was not only a relief, but a total turn-on. He was a complete asshat, but it felt good to have a guy watch out for me. Even if it was a complete act.
“You’re going to play hard to get? Seriously? Is this how you treat your fans?” Paul asked.
“Is this how you treat women?” I countered, hand on hip.
“You’re not a woman, you’re a porn star. At least show us your tits.” Jared reached out to tuck a finger under the hem of my T-shirt.
That’s when I grabbed his wrist and twisted it sideways with my left hand while I punched him in the nose with my right.
After that, all hell broke loose.
Paul said something nasty, JT tackled him to the floor, breaking a table in the process. Jared covered his bleeding nose and called me a really nasty name not even used in porn flicks. By the time I kneed him in the groin, the bartender had come around the bar to grab my arm.
Of course, it would have just been a bar brawl and we wouldn’t have been arrested if the Hardin police department wasn’t in lane four and cranky from losing to the volunteer fire department the next lane over. Team Bowl Movement took us to jail while team Ebowla dealt with Jared’s broken nose.