“Calm down, everyone.” Joel’s voice carried over her shoulder, and she debated digging her elbow into his ribs for stepping in when she hadn’t asked him to interfere.
“Should we call the police?” One of the jerks accompanying Eric had his cell phone out. Vicki glared daggers at Eric, daring him to make one wrong move.
“No police.” Eric waved his friends off. “Sit, it’s okay. It was an accident. The waitress tripped.”
Goddamn bastard. Vicki opened her mouth to lambast him, but all the air in her lungs emptied as Joel snuck a hand around her waist and squeezed in warning.
“Everything fine, then?” Joel asked.
“So sorry.” The café manager stepped in, passing over an extra towel before wiping up the mess on the table. Sherry spoke soothingly. “Accidents happen. The meal is on the house. Let me replace anything you gentlemen need.”
Eric settled back in his chair, still eyeing Vicki as if she might burst from Joel’s clasp and resume swinging. She wiggled in an attempt to get free, because that was exactly what she wanted to do, but Joel only tucked her against his body.
A distant part of her brain noted this was about the closest she’d ever been to a guy, with Joel’s thigh shoved between her legs to give him something to brace her against. His bulky biceps pressed the side of her breast. All of that registered in a flash before being ignored for the more important craving to knock Eric’s head off. Yet, even the dim awareness of Joel was another reason to hate Eric’s guts. She wasn’t able to appreciate the intimacy of her contained position, as twisted as that enjoyment might be.
Vicki focused on the asshole who’d started this mess.
He’d stopped the bleeding and had the audacity to smirk. A benevolent type of smile, forgiving and oh-so-condescending. “Don’t fuss, Sherry. Your waitress had a bit of a balance problem. Everything is forgotten. In fact…”
He took out a dollar coin and flipped it at Vicki. Almost as if he were giving her a tip. Only at the last second he pulled his toss and allowed the coin to fall at her feet.
It was a good thing Joel still had her in a tight grip because at that moment she really might have killed Eric without thinking. Her heart raced, adrenaline and fury whipping through her icy cold like a winter’s storm.
He’d as good as called her a hooker.
The others at the table found new places to look. At the floor, out the window, anywhere but at Eric and Vicki.
Air brushed her cheek as Joel whispered, “He’s a fuckwad. Prove you’re better than him and let it go.”
The iron grip on her arms eased, as if he expected her to listen and not leap across the space between her and Eric to throttle him with her bare fingers. Vicki took a deep breath and released it slowly. For a moment she allowed herself to lean against the firm bulk of Joel’s torso as a reward for behaving.
Then the rush of anger turned, now directed inward, and she fled to the back of the café. She worked to calm her breathing as she stood in the middle of the staff room and stared into space.
She wasn’t supposed to let him get to her. Every time it happened and she lost her temper, she thought she’d learned her lesson. He’d say and do anything to get her goat. This time she’d even spotted him ahead of time and hauled herself aside, vowing to not take whatever bait he offered. Yet once again, she’d simply walked into his trap and allowed him to be the one in charge of her behavior, instead of herself.
It was going to cost her. It
always
cost her, and not him, and that’s why a change had to happen. She knew it, but damn if controlling her temper was getting any easier.
The door opened. Sherry entered and sat, waiting in silence.
Vicki turned toward her supervisor. “I’m sorry. I should have pretended I didn’t hear him.”
Sherry shook her head. “Honey, you had a good reason. Only, you always have a good reason for losing your temper. I can’t afford to have you taking it out on the customers.”
Oh shit.
“I’ll keep it under control. It’s just…”
Sad regret filled her supervisor’s expression. “I can’t keep someone on staff I can’t trust. And I can’t keep covering your butt, no matter how justified you feel you are in hating Eric’s guts. He lives in Rocky. He comes into the café a couple times a week. You seeing him around town is inevitable, so you’ve got to give up this vendetta.”
Far easier said than done. “I’m trying.”
Sherry paused. “I know you are. But you’ll have to try while working somewhere other than at the café.”
Vicki waited for yet another flash of anger to hit, but this time there was nothing but resignation. “I understand. It’s not a great idea to be anywhere near knives until I get this under control, right?”
Sherry chuckled. “Probably not. But when you’re not taking potshots at the customers, you’re a good worker. I’ll give you a letter of reference, if you want one.”
“Thanks.” She was going to need every bit of help she could get. “You want me to finish my shift?”
Sherry rose to her feet. “It’s slow enough Carrie and I can deal with the customers until Tina comes in.”
Sherry patted her on the shoulder and headed into the main lobby. Vicki grabbed her backpack and cleaned the few things out of her locker. Not much there. In a few minutes only empty space mocked her.
Behind her the door clicked shut with a hollow echo. Another door shutting on her future. Another possibility turned from positive to negative.
Vicki paused as she examined the alley. Graffiti marred the brickwork in a few places, but mostly there were orderly dumpsters and a few cars parked outside shop rear-exits. The alley wasn’t a dirty mess, but it wasn’t a place of beauty either, and Vicki’s breath caught in her throat.
This was her. Trapped between two things. She wasn’t a foul mess, but she wasn’t doing what she needed to get the hell out of the hole she’d fallen in.
Fallen, or been shoved?
No, she wouldn’t play the blame game. No matter how she’d been treated while growing up, no matter what her family’s reputation, she was an adult and responsible for her own actions.
Right now? There was no one to blame for being unemployed but herself. She’d love to say it was Eric’s fault, but he wasn’t the one who’d moved his fat head into her fists.
She shouldered her backpack and headed down the alley, thankful he hadn’t pressed assault charges. He could have, and it would have been nothing more than another round of he said, she said… The town bad girl acting out against the star valedictorian.
Another round with another loss for her.
The end of the alley was mere steps away, the sunshine on the sidewalk her goal, when someone stepped around the corner and she jerked to a stop.
Images of vindictive mob-crews sent by Eric vanished as Joel Coleman blocked her path. She paused, making sure she was in position to run if needed. Not that Joel had ever done anything to threaten her, but being cautious was only smart.
“What?” If the word came out sharp and defensive, so be it.
Joel examined her carefully. “You okay?”
“Just peachy,” she lied, the sarcasm in her voice tinny and bright.
“Don’t fuck around,” he growled.
The words rumbled over her, dark and rough, and for once she allowed herself to look him over. To take in the broad width of his shoulders stretching his T-shirt. Massive biceps pushing the sleeves. Narrow waist and well-worn jeans, with a lighter patch right
there
where her gaze shouldn’t dwell. He shifted his weight, and the impulse to stare a little longer was hard to fight when his thighs and his…
Vicki dragged her gaze up to the relative safety of his face. Only it wasn’t safe, not by a long shot. Bright blue eyes twinkled at her, a lazy love-em-and-leave-em smirk on his firm lips. His hair long enough she wished she could step in closer and thread her fingers through it to see if it was as soft as it looked.
Yeah, if it wasn’t the stupidest idea ever, she would love to get a taste of Joel Coleman. Always had wanted one, never would take herself up on the craving.
She took a deep breath and stared over his shoulder. “Sorry. I’m still riled up.”
“I figured.” Joel stepped to the side, his body swaying back into her line of vision, and the concern on his face nearly killed her. “I really did want to make sure you were okay.”
“I’m fine.” Vicki paused. The words stuck in her throat, but he had helped. “And…thanks. I mean, earlier, at the restaurant.”
“No problem.” He glanced at his watch. “You finish your shift already?”
No use in lying. He’d find out soon enough she’d been canned. “I’m going to look for a different job. One more suited to my personality. Sorry, no peach pies tomorrow.”
He nodded. “Sorry to see you go.”
Vicki needed to get home. Needed to hide, and not have to think for a few minutes. “See you around.”
She shouldered past him, ignoring his hand that brushed her arm as she walked by. She was at the edge of the alley, stepping into the sunlight, when he spoke again.
“I heard Orson’s Hardware is hiring stockers.”
Vicki paused. Glanced over her shoulder. “Thanks. That might be a better place for me. I’ll look into it.”
“Vicki, if…” His words trickled to a stop, and the strangeness in that alone was enough to pin her feet to the ground.
She turned to face him, waiting for him to finish. “What?”
Joel was looking at her. Really looking, as if seeing beyond the tough-girl façade she wore like armor. She tugged her backpack a little closer, hiding behind it.
“If you ever need, well, someone to talk to. Or a hand. Let me know, okay?”
She should have responded. Should have blurted out a noncommittal
thanks
, but his offer knocked all logic from her brain and left her with nothing but emotional turmoil.
They stood for a moment, nothing said, just a growing sense of disaster looming as Vicki fought the urge to give in. Because giving in would be a bad idea—she was sure of it.
It seemed like an earnest offer. Maybe. Or maybe more of the same of what she’d been handed over the years. People who appeared to be one way, while only wanting to take advantage of the trusting and the naïve.
A bad girl desperate to change her spots couldn’t allow the lure of attraction to lead her astray. She lifted her chin and turned without a backward glance, walking away from temptation in the form of one Joel Coleman.
Because the last thing this rebel needed was to get involved with another rebel.
Chapter Two
Vicki spent all Friday dropping off resumes around town, managing—barely—to ignore the snarky comments at a few places. She collapsed onto the couch and stared at the ceiling, flipping through the nasty comebacks she hadn’t voiced.
Fuck them for being small-minded, small-town bigots.
From flat on her back, not only the ceiling but the kitchen and the door to the bathroom were visible. Her couch was a daybed she turned into her real bed for the night. The tiny bachelor suite had everything she needed to be independent, but at times, man, did the walls close in.
It was the best she’d been able to manage when she escaped the family home. Hadn’t been easy. None of it. Which made her current lack of job situation even more annoying. She knew better. She knew she needed to keep her cool.
The wind rustled the curtains, bringing fall air to swirl around her. The moment’s refreshment helped her refocus, and her breathing calmed.
Okay. She’d blown it. But it wasn’t the end of the world—not yet. She’d planned and saved and scrimped. She had a couple months’ rent squirreled away, and hopefully Joel’s job lead would play out in her favour.
Joel.
She shouldn’t think about him. Shouldn’t imagine his gorgeous eyes focused on her for real. In a time and place she could give in and take a little pleasure.
Vicki scrambled to her feet. Nope. The option was totally out of the question. Even if the Coleman twins weren’t known as sexual whirlwinds, Joel was in a whole different camp. The kind of kids who back in school wandered the hallways taking up more than their share of space and attention. It wasn’t as if the better-off folks in Rocky wore a lot of designer jeans or fancy duds, but the Colemans and the Hansols were not in the same pecking order, and she knew it.
Joel might have worn hand-me-downs from his big brothers, but they were always clean and well mended. Vicki had made sure her and her sister Lynn’s stuff was always washed, although it meant learning how to do their own laundry at ten years old, but there were no hand-me-downs she wanted to wear.
The phone rang, and she grabbed it. “Hello?”
“Vicki Hansol?”
“Yes.”
“Mark Orson at Orson’s Hardware. You put in an application for the position in the stockroom.”
Vicki straightened, even though the instinctive move was invisible. “Yes, sir. I’m looking for full-time hours. I have a recommendation from my—”
“Skip it. My manager was in the café yesterday right before you got your walking papers.”
Shit
. Bubbles burst even before the job offer was on the table. “I see. Well, thank you for calling.”