Punishing Me (Shaft on Tour #6) (5 page)

***

Just
before two in the afternoon, I stand in the foyer, pacing, as I wait on my
mother. By the time I woke up, they had already left, but her note on the
kitchen island told me to be ready by noon. Not wanting to keep her waiting, I
check my phone to be sure that there were no missed calls from Camaron, or
anyone from the label, then hurry to get ready.

And
she’s late…very late.

On
my thousandth pass through the foyer, I stop and grab my cell phone from my bag
on the table and scroll through my contacts for her number. It rings three
times before going to her voicemail, that is completely full, and unable to
accept messages. Confused, frustrated, and a little concerned, I search through
my contacts for the number to the lab and press send.

“Lab
eleven-thirty-two-b, Brady speaking,” my father’s voice says, his tone clear
and professional.

“Dad?”

“Ireland,”
he replies, sounding surprised. “How are you enjoying your break, dear? Do you
need something?”

“Is
mom on her way?” I ask, shaking my head. “What time is dinner tonight?”

“Oh,”
he laughs, “Don’t worry. Your mother couldn’t possibly leave the lab early
today. We have reservations for seven o’clock at Frazier’s.”

 “We’re
not cooking?” I ask, disappointed. I was going to take this dinner as a chance
to show my parents, especially my dad, the foods I eat. I stayed up late planning
out a 100% Vegan free meal that would make anyone’s mouth water.  

“Of
course not,” he replies, completely monotone. “I’ll text you the address. Do
not be late.”

“I’m
coming to dinner?” I ask, the shock clear in my voice. “I assumed…”

“Of
course you are,” he sighs into the phone. “Your mother and I put a great deal
into this dinner, Ireland. We expect you to be there; counting on it.” I hear
muffled voices and the mention of someone named Miranda. “I’ve got to run, Darling.
We’ll see you tonight,” Is all I hear before the phone disconnects.

With
more than enough time to kill before dinner, I give myself a once over in the
large mirror in the foyer. Knowing that the silence of staying in the house all
day will more than likely drive me insane, I grab my bag and keys. Digging in
my bag, I retrieve the store list and shake my head. “Who would’ve thought I’d
actually look forward to grocery shopping,” I laugh as I head for my car.
Pinning my dark brown and purple hair up in a hat I keep in the glovebox, I
cover my face with big black sunglasses in somewhat of an attempt at keeping a
low profile for the sake of everyone’s sanity before pulling out and heading
into town to shop and kill as much of the day as possible.

Super Coolest Girl

Mack

“Can
we go today? Can we? Can we puhleeeeeeeeeeease?”

“Oh
pullin’ out the big guns, huh?” I ask, looking up at her in the rearview
mirror. Leaning up in her seat, as much as the belt allows, Jazzie clamps her
tiny hands together like she is preparing to pray. Wincing, I prepare myself
for what is coming. five, four, three, two, one… Cue full on pout. She puffs
out her bottom lip, it quivers as her big brown eyes widen innocently and fill
with tears.

“Please,
Mack. Pretty, pretty, pleeeeeeeease.”

As
if I have a choice in the matter. I am helplessly wrapped around a six-year-old’s
finger and will openly admit it.

Dramatically,
I blow out a breath and check my exterior mirrors before signaling to change
lanes. “I guess so,” I sigh. Glancing up into the mirror again, I wink at her.  “But,
you aren’t allowed to have any fun. None. You feel me?”

She
giggles. That sound, I’d give damn near anything to hear that laugh every day.  In
the time I have worked with the band, I have made friends, in one way or
another, with everyone, but I’ll admit I enjoy my time with Jazz the most. She
doesn’t judge me and there are times she looks at me like I am the greatest
person on the planet. I say something funny and it’s as if I hung the damn moon
or something.

Only
one other girl has ever looked at me like that and I was quick to disappoint
her.

Flashers
on a blue car ahead catch my attention, but that’s not what causes me to pull
the car over to the shoulder. The woman beside the car has me stopping
immediately. She kicks the flat tire before throwing her hands up.

“Is
that Ireland?” Jazz says from the backseat.

“Stay
here, Squirt.” Putting the car in park, I turn and give the kid my most serious
face. “I mean it, no shenanigans outta you or we go straight home from here.
You feel me?”

Nodding,
she crosses her pink painted fingers over her heart. “Promise.”

Opening
the door, I climb from the car, instantly met with one of Ireland’s profanity
tirades. “Motherfuckin’ piece of shit car. Good for fuckin’ nothin’ roadside
and their two shittin’ hour wait. Brand new tires my happy ass. Shit piss and
sonuvabitch!” she screams, kicking the tire again.

“With
all that hot air, you’d think you could just air it right back up and drive
off.”

“This
can’t be happening,” she mutters, before turning to face me. Her eyes narrow
the second she sees me. “Of course it is. Nothing could top my day more than having
the only person stop, in the last half hour, be
you.
” Turning to face
her car, she buries her face in her arms on the roof. “I need a vacation from
my vacation,” she mutters, her words muffled so much I can barely make them
out.

“Does
that toy even come with a spare?” I ask, amused with the situation. “If not, I
think the kid has a balloon in the car we could use.”

“Ha,”
she huffs, sarcastically. Pushing off the car, she glares at me. Her hair is
pulled up in an old St. Louis Cardinals baseball cap, giving me a rare glimpse
of her face without the veil of hair she usually hides behind. I can’t help
eyeing up the rest of her. Her gray t-shirt and worn dark wash jeans hug every curve
of her body all the way down to the brown combat boots she has left loosely
laced and untied. Her make-up is subtle today, not the flashy emo-look she
usually goes for lately. She looks like the girl I knew her to be. Except the
smartass grin on her face, that’s new, but I can’t say it doesn’t suit her. It
does, and it looks good on her. “I called road side assistance, not a comedian,
asshole. Move on.”

“You
were never taught how to change a tire, Ireland?” I ask in disbelief.

“No,”
she snaps. “That’s why I have roadside, Dominick.”

“Those
roadside clowns will keep you waitin until dark,” I tell her, knowing she
probably has better luck winning the Powerball jackpot than having anyone show
up in a tow truck around rush hour. Besides, Big Man would have my sack mounted
on the grill of the bus if I left her here alone on the side of the road
waiting for God knows how long on some stranger to come along and help her. “Pop
the trunk. I’ll get you fixed up.”

Her
brows furrow as she worries her bottom lip between her teeth, studying me,
skeptically. “I don’t remember you being nice,” she says, opening the driver’s
side door and hitting the release latch on the trunk.

“Do
you want your car fixed, or not?”

“Ireland!”
Jazzie screams from behind me.

Whipping
around, my heart leaps up into my chest at the thought of her on the road with
cars whipping past us. Her pigtails whip in the wind as she stands, poking
through the now opened sunroof. “Sit down, Squirt. This will only take a minute.”

“Hi,
Ireland!” she waves, ignoring me. “Did your car break?”

“Just
my tire,” Ireland says, brushing by me and making her way around the passenger
side of my car. “What did you do at school today?” she asks, leaning against
the passenger side of the car and smiling at Jazz. “Drag racing? Trip to the
moon? Win a Grammy?”

Looking
at her, Jazzie scrunches her nose. “I’m only six ya big buncha crazy. Sheesh!”

Ireland
throws her head back and laughs, the sound going straight to my cock. Fuck me.
I haven’t heard that sound in years and, as if it was just yesterday, it has me
by the throat.

“Excuses,
excuses,” Ireland replies, her eyes glancing over at me before going back to
the pint sized diva. “Why do they even send you to school all day if you’re not
learning something useful?” she asks, causing both of them to giggle.

Reminding
myself that I actually have a reason to be standing here on the side of the
road, I dig through the trunk of Ireland’s car for the spare tire and jack. I
keep myself amused with jokes about how I could probably tuck the whole car in
the trunk of mine and haul it to a garage, or how the jack is a waste of time
when a strong gust of wind could possibly flip it on its side for me.

Over
the sound of the occasional car passing by, I can hear pieces of the girl’s
conversation and the sound of their laughter while I remove the flat tire and
swap it out with the spare. I make a mental note to make sure all the girls
know how to change a tire when I get home tonight, even though they rarely, if
ever, go anywhere alone.

Better
safe than sorry, in my book.

Probable
scenarios rack my brain. Who knows how long she could have been stranded out
here if I hadn’t come along. Honestly, being who she is, she shouldn’t have
been alone in the first place. Besides, what father puts a kid behind the wheel
of a car without teaching them the basics of how to keep it up and running.

Gas
goes here.

Oil
goes there.

Oh!
By the way, if you ever have a blow out, this is how you use the jack.

Lefty
loosey, righty tighty and all that bullshit. Simple enough, right?

Once
I’m certain al the lugs are tight on the tiny spare, I push to my feet. Glancing
in the back window, I see some of her bags still in the backseat. I start to
ask her about them, but don’t, figuring all she will give me is some smart ass
remark about how it is none of my business. Which it isn’t; so there ya go,
Mack. “You’re all set,” I say, dusting my hands off on the front of my jeans.
“Although, I’d get it fixed as soon as possible. I’ve eaten Krispy Kremes
bigger than that donut.”

Ireland’s
eyes snap to mine, all the lightheartedness, gone. “Do you really wanna play
mine is bigger than yours, Nicky?” she teases. “I know how much of a sore loser
you can be.”

“Nicky?”
Jazzie giggles, looking at me. “There’s a girl named Nicky in my class. She
smells like cheese and picks her nose. Ugh, she’s so irrelevant it makes me
heavey. Can we go to the Happy Hut now? Ooooo!” Clapping her hands, her eyes
widen. Turning, she grips Ireland’s face with both hands. “You have to come
with us. Happy Hut is the bestest ever!”

“What
is a Happy Hut?” Ireland asks through smooshed lips. “And why do I want to go
there?”

“Because,”
Jazz huffs, releasing her grip on Ireland’s face to cross her arms over her
chest and scowl. “Rae is a Preggersaurus Rex.”

“A
what?” Ireland laughs. Leaning into the side of the car, her eyes fall on me
when I nearly choke on air.

“A
Preggersaurus Rex,” Jazz says again, louder this time. “That’s what Mack and me
call her when—“

“Okay,
Kiddo, I’d say you’ve dug my hole deep enough for one day. Buckle up, I’m ready
to go.” Bending down, I lower the car and start to pack everything up into the
trunk.

“Bossasaurus,”
Jazzie mutters under her breath, making me chuckle.

“You
just broke my heart so much, I don’t know if I can bring my Bossasaurus self to
drive all the way to Happy Hut,” I fire back, winking at her over my shoulder. Packing
the jack back into the case, I slip it back where it belongs and put the bad
tire in before shutting the trunk.

“Borrrrrring,”
she says before disappearing back into the car.

“She’s
cute. Bonus points because she totally puts you in your place,” Ireland says,
leaning her hip against the tail light. Glancing back at my car, she smirks.
“Thanks for helping me out.”

“Whoa,”
I gasp, gripping onto the back of the car. “Am I hallucinating, or was that an
expression of gratitude?”

Her
eyes narrow, but a smile plays on her lips. “Shut up, you ass,” she deadpans,
slapping me in the chest. “Are we going to this Happy Hut place, or not?” she
asks, shocking me.

“Just
because the kid asked, and I demonstrated major white knight and mechanic
skills here, doesn’t mean you have to feel obligated to come with us,” I assure
her. “I can tell her you’re busy or whatever. It’s no big deal.”

“I
don’t feel obligated,” she replies, almost sounding angry. “Besides,” she
shrugs, her eyes glancing back at Jazzie through the windshield. “I’m not busy;
why should we lie to her? Unless you have an issue with me tagging along,
Nicky?”

“I
don’t know if you can handle all that is Happy Hut,” I challenge. “That’s all.”

She
smiles, her entire face brightening. “I’ll follow you there.”

Skirting
by me, Ireland makes her way around the car and climbs inside. Without another
word, she starts the engine and pulls the door closed.

“Is
she coming too?” Jazzie asks the second I get in the car.

“Yeah.”
Releasing the brake, I shift into gear before pulling onto the street. “You
talked her into it.”

“Yay!”
Jazzie cheers, fist pumping the air. “She’s the super coolest girl ever!”

“Yeah,”
I nod, checking for Ireland’s car in the rearview mirror. “She’s somethin’
alright.”