Defying the Odds (7 page)

The hum of sexual energy pulsed under his skin, making him feel wild and hungry. He used to think of sex as a necessary evil, something he was forced to indulge in when his body became a little too demanding to be denied. But most days his hand was a perfectly fine companion, and he rarely if ever sought out something more than that. Now he couldn’t stop thinking about it. It was making him aggravated and itchy in a way he found decidedly unappealing.

“I usually mop the kitchen.” Hal interrupted Clay’s internal musings. “You don’t
gotta
do that.”

“I
do
gotta
do it,” Clay assured him as he attacked the kitchen floor with manic vengeance.

It was either mop the floor or drag Melody into a corner and
find
a more carnal release for his tension, which was something he wasn’t sure either of them were ready for. She had issues with men. He had issues with women. Sex could end up ruining something that had become beautiful and perfect to him.

But that simple fact didn’t stop his body from throbbing for it or his mind from replaying images of how willing Melody had seemed a few minutes before. God, he was going to have to stop by the Cellar on the way home and kick the shit out of a few punching bags just to get her out of his system.

“Well, dang, boy, you do a mighty fine job, I’ll give
ya
that,” Hal said with a laugh as he finished the dishes and started working on the flattop. “I’d hire you if
ya
didn’t already have a job.”

Clay grunted, knowing anything he said would come out surly and intimidating. He had a hard time talking to people when he
wasn’t
pent up with blinding sexual frustration. Now he knew it was best to just keep his mouth closed.

Someone walked into the kitchen and Hal asked, “Why are you doing the silverware?”

“’Cause I like doing ’
em
,” Melody explained.
“Judy’s marrying the ketchups and filling all the shakers and sugar trays.”

Clay turned, hungry just to look at her,
which
was sort of pathetic, but he couldn’t seem to help himself. He watched Melody reaching into the blue water, pulling out handfuls of silverware and dropping it into a white strainer.

Clay leaned against the mop as he admired the way Melody looked bent over the sink, still elbow-deep in the steaming water. He couldn’t help but ask, “How do you marry ketchup?”

“You perform a little condiment marriage ceremony and then fill out
a
buncha
paperwork in triplicate,” Melody said without missing a beat.

Clay laughed, his gaze running over her, hot and hungry, and he didn’t give a shit if Hal was watching.
“Sounds exciting.”

“Oh it is,” Melody assured him, dropping another fistful of silverware into the strainer. “You haven’t lived till you’ve seen ketchups marry. Hang around long enough and you’ll see a few mustards and barbecue sauces get hitched too. It’s a party here every night after y’all leave.”

“I
gotta
stay after close more often,” Clay agreed.

“You keep mopping like you’re doing and you’re more than welcome,” Melody said with a laugh. “Hal, did you see what he did with the front? I can see my reflection in those tiles.”

“I don’t doubt it.” Hal laughed, his big arms straining from the effort of scraping the flattop in hard, fast movements. “You ever get tired of the UFC, you got a job ready and waiting for
ya
.”

“I’d be a horrible waiter. People piss me off more often than not,” Clay assured both of them. “And I sure as hell can’t cook. All we got to eat back at the house are a
buncha
microwave meals and protein drinks.”

“How come you live with Wyatt and Jules?” Melody asked.

Clay started mopping as he thought about the answer. “I guess I just never bothered to move out. The house was real lonely after Big Fred died, just weird feeling without him. I didn’t have the heart to leave ’
em
like that even if I could afford my own place. Now I suppose I stick around to keep the two of ’
em
from killing each other. Habit mostly. Not so bad. They’re both workaholics. Neither one of ’
em
are round much. I see ’
em
more at the Cellar than at home.”

“Huh?” Hal said, sounding surprised. “I suppose that’s mighty friendly of you, Powerhouse.”

Clay paused in his mopping, realizing that was probably the most Hal had heard out of him—ever.

He’d just made a decision not to speak, but Melody pulled down the walls he’d been putting up for as long as he could remember just by being around him. He wasn’t sure if he was happy about it or not, but it was hard to be mad at her for it. Rather than dwell on it, he focused on mopping, his arms straining from the force of his enthusiasm, because thus far he hadn’t managed to work off one bit of the sexual frustration.

* * * *

“Drive carefully.”

Melody nodded. Her stomach fluttered with a million emotions, and she wanted to stand there with Clay in the snow forever. She looked up at him, trying to memorize his handsome face framed in golden light from the streetlamp over the parking lot while snowflakes danced down from the heavens. Scruffy whiskers, black hair sticking out from underneath his black UFC hat still on backward, he was sinfully beautiful with his soulful eyes studying her just as closely.

She reached up and brushed at his forehead, which was still shiny with sweat. Her touch lingered and then slid down to feel the prickle of a day’s worth of whiskers on his cheek. “Thank you for helping me.”

“Sure.” He smiled, showing off even white teeth that were almost too perfect.
“Anytime.”

“You have a pretty smile,” she blurted out before she could stop herself, because she noticed it often. “It makes you real handsome.”

“It’s fake.” Clay clicked his teeth together, showing them off. “Most of ’
em
are
fake
. I spend a small fortune on dental work ’cause having a buddy like Wyatt is hard on my smile. I’m always showing up in Clara’s office with some
sorta
emergency.”

Melody laughed. “Well, she does a good job. They’re like movie star teeth. I need me some of those.”

“I like your smile. It’s beautiful. You’re beautiful.”

His low voice caused a zing of pleasure to dance across Melody’s skin. His dark eyes ran over her once more. He was getting bolder, because his gaze lingered on her chest, exposed to the cold from her open jacket. Then he stepped into her personal space and reached for the zipper of her worn jacket, working on getting it closed for her.

“You need a new jacket.”

“I know,” she whispered, because she was suddenly breathless.
Having him zip up her jacket felt so very intimate.
Letting him
do
it caused a low heat to build in her stomach and spread into her arms and legs despite the cold. She closed her eyes, trying desperately to ignore the pulse of need between her legs. “I need a lot of things.”

“I
sorta
wanna
give you those things, Melody,” Clay whispered, his tone husky and compelling. He slowly pulled the zipper up, letting it run over the curve of her breasts, making her feel as if she could sense the warmth of his touch through her uniform. “I wish you’d let me.”

Melody took a shuddering breath, knowing they were talking about more than jackets and big tips. Why did this have to happen now? She’d never expected to find a man who affected her as Clay did. It felt like her life was a jigsaw puzzle, and Clay was the missing pieces. They just fit together so well. She felt safe and happy and whole when she was with him.

God, she wanted him.

Her body literally ached with need, and she didn’t know what to do about it. Giving in to everything he was offering would be effortless if she’d allow herself the luxury of letting down her guard, but she couldn’t. She hated her ex-husband for damaging her to the point that she didn’t recognize hope and happiness even when it was looking her dead in the eye.

“I’m sorry,” was all she could manage to whisper. Her heart hurt, and tears stung her eyes, forcing her to blink against breaking down. “I’m sorry for being me.”

“Don’t ever be sorry for that,” Clay said with a vehemence that made Melody look up at him in surprise. He responded by reaching out to brush at the stray wisps of hair framing her face, tucking them behind her ears gently. “I think you’re wonderful exactly how you are. The rest
ain’t
that important, okay?”

A dark, cynical laugh slipped out of Melody. “Most men would say it’s pretty darn important. Justin used to force me if he went more than two or three days without.”

“Christ.” Clay sucked in a sharp breath, his eyes wide and horrified. “Mel—”

“You
coming,
darling?” Judy interrupted him as she leaned against the front door of the diner. “We’re done in here, and we’re beat.”

“Yeah,” Melody called out, her cheeks hot with embarrassment and wet from tears she hadn’t realized she’d lost the battle against. She wiped them hastily and reached
down,
squeezing Clay’s big hand in hers. “Thanks for the help.”

“Sure,” he said, squeezing her hand back.

It showed how amazing Clay was that he didn’t try to stop her and he didn’t expect more of an explanation. He let her turn away and run back into the diner, and there was a huge comfort in that. He just let Melody be
herself
, the good and the bad, and he appeared to like every side of her. If she weren’t about to break down from the pain walking away from him caused, she’d have to admit he would be very easy to fall in love with.

She dashed up the steps to the diner, forcing herself not to look back. If she did, she’d likely run back into Clay’s arms, all her issues be damned.

Melody jumped past the front door Judy held open, shivering from the cold because the first week of December brought a cold front chilly enough to freeze hell. She pushed her hands tighter into her pockets, thinking she needed to bite the bullet and pay for a good pair of gloves.

“You okay?” Judy asked, frowning at Melody in concern. “You look upset.”

“Oh no,” Melody lied.
“Just tired.”

Judy gave her a dubious look but didn’t say anything as she locked the front door. When they left the dining room, they met Hal, who was doing a few last-minute cleanups in the kitchen. He seemed surprised to see Melody walking out back with them.

“You’re not
gonna
spend time with Powerhouse?” he asked.

Melody shook her head. She couldn’t speak even if she wanted to, because she was fighting tears again. She looked to her feet, seeing the black skid marks on her white sneakers, and knew she needed to take a cup of bleach to them.

“Come on,” Hal said, putting a big arm over her shoulder, ushering her out the back door. “What you need is a morning off.”

“Oh no,” Melody argued as the cold slapped her in the face once more. “I need the money.”

“You need a morning off,” Hal reiterated. “I’ll call Fran to fill in for the early shift. Sleep in. It’ll make all the difference in the world.”

Feeling a little too heartsick to argue, Melody just nodded as she walked with Hal, letting his big body offer her warmth. Maybe she did need a morning to herself, and sleeping in was too tempting to pass up. She’d get some extra rest and come in for the night shift feeling like a new woman.

“Okay.” Melody gave Hal a genuine smile when they stopped in front of her old truck. “So I’ll sleep in ’cause the boss told me to.”

“That’s right.” He squeezed her shoulder once more. “Now get in that truck and get home before you catch your death.”

Melody couldn’t argue with that, not when the cold was stinging her face and burning her ears. She needed to buy a hat to go with the gloves, and she focused on that thought rather than the heartache over Clay welling up in her chest.

Problem was
,
her hands were so frozen she dropped her keys into the snow as she tried opening the truck. She officially needed a morning to herself; there was no denying it as she bent down and fished for her keys in the snow. Her hands burned. It would be a miracle if she didn’t sit there and start crying.