Naked Truth (3 page)

-3-

Wednesday. It’s usually my favorite day of the week.  Always has been, actually.  I was born on a Wednesday. I got accepted into college on a Wednesday. I even lost my virginity on a Wednesday.  And most recently, I met the man of my dreams on a Wednesday.  Okay, so he may only be the man
in
my dreams, but he definitely makes my Wednesdays brighter. My whole week, really. But today? This Wednesday? Sucks. Donkey balls.

To tell you the truth, it’s only par for the course.  This whole week has been awful. Why should I expect today to be any different? Rose hasn’t spoken to me since I dragged her from the strip club last weekend.  Granted, she was drunk, but her lap dance was over and there were no strippers on the stage, much less working the floor at the moment. I still couldn’t tell her what I saw, though.  I only told her that I was creeped out and wanted to leave. I didn’t want her to know.  I didn’t even tell my dad. I didn’t want him to know we were even there, and I didn’t want her to worry why we had to leave. In hindsight, if I would have told her why we needed to leave so urgently, maybe she wouldn’t be so upset with me almost four days later. 

“Hello…Violet?”  Susie tries to get my attention.

“Sorry.” I shake my head a little, trying to clear it. “I am totally in my own head today.”

“Girl, you’ve been draggin’ ass all week.  What’s going on?”

I know I can’t evade her questions any longer. I’ve been a complete mope, and it’s not her fault at all, so I try telling her about the situation, but leave out the whole gun thing, as I did with Rose. But she just looks at me like I’m a pathetic party pooper.  I get it, though. I was complaining the week prior that I didn’t want to go in the first place. Now, I kinda make it seem like I just wanted to leave because I was uncomfortable.  I come off like a total square and I don’t prove myself otherwise by not telling her the whole story.

The sad thing is, I really am not this ornery person that I have become.  I mean, I wouldn’t necessarily call myself an optimist, or a pessimist for that matter.  I’m kind of a realist, believing everything happens for a reason.  And I may fib once in a while, or omit facts from my explanations, but I don’t lie outright. I can’t really.  My memory would haunt me if I did. So, if you ask me a question, I will be honest.  Sometimes so honest that my mouth gets me into trouble.  My facial expressions, too, come to think of it. I remember this one time when I was in college, my roommate asked me why her boyfriend broke up with her. I didn’t have the heart to tell her that she had a smelly coochie, so I just said that I didn’t know.  But my face gave me away, which led into a whole conversation about female hygiene and proper shower techniques. Ugh! 

Now you see why I try to keep to myself and limit what my mouth and face says.  So don’t ask me a question if you don’t really want to know the truth.  Oh, and I hate confrontation, but no way will I let you walk over me.  It took me years to figure that one out.  I am pretty loyal.  Almost to a fault. And I hate secrets, but am a great secret keeper if you ask me to lock it in the vault.  I also don’t gossip or talk about people behind their backs.  I graduated high school a long time ago, and left the drama there.  I don’t tolerate pot stirrers.  Lastly, I have a pretty dry, sarcastic, twisted sense of humor.  I laugh at inappropriate times and find stupid stuff hilarious when many people don’t. 

I have absolutely no idea why I just blurted out all that mess, but it is stuff you need to know to be able to follow my trains of thought sometimes. So there you are.  Now back to what I was saying about Wednesday.

It’s 4:52 pm already and I am starting my nightly process of closing out my drawer by recounting money and balancing checks.

“What did the money do to you?” Susie asks sarcastically.

“Huh? What are you talking about?”  I am still in my own little world, apparently.

“You’re gonna tear those bills, you keep grabbing them so harshly.”

“Crap. Sorry, I am so distracted. He’s twenty-two minutes late,” I say out loud, accidentally. Darn it!

“What? Who’s late?” she asks, no clue that I was looking forward to seeing Mr. Taylor all day. All week.

“Nobody. Sorry. Just talking to myself. Just ignore me.”

“If you say so.  Why don’t you go home a few minutes early?  I’ll close up and cover if we get any last minute customers.”

“Thanks, Susie. You’re the best.”

I finish up then grab my purse and umbrella.  The weather in Florida in the summer is completely unpredictable.  It can be beautiful and sunny one minute and the skies can open the next.  Five minutes later, it’s beautiful again.  As I head toward the glass doors I can see that it is raining, so I say good night to Cliff, our security guard, and prepare my umbrella to open.

“Night, Cliff.”

“Be safe out there, Ms. Carmichael.” He nods, tipping his head toward the window.

“Cliff, how many years have we known each other?”

“Quite a few, ma’am,” he answers, like the southern gentleman that he is.

“And how many times have I asked you to call me Violet?” I ask, raising an eyebrow.

“Quite a few, ma’am…ahem…Violet.” He smiles shyly.

“That’s much better.” I smile back. “See you tomorrow, Cliff.”

“Drive safely, Violet.”

We both chuckle as I make my way out into the rain. I step out the door but stay under the overhang, trying to stay dry until I can get myself situated.  I am looking down at my hands trying to get my umbrella open but the freaking thing refuses to open.  I am pressing the button, shaking it, and pulling on the metal rods, but nothing.  Crap, I really don’t want to get soaked, but it is windy and my shirt is already starting to get wet, and I’m getting cold.  Screw it, I am going to make a run for it. Keeping my head down, shielding my face from the wind whipping the cold, sharp raindrops toward me, I step down off the one step into the parking lot, and BAM, I slam into a solid wall of…

“Ouch!” I complain. My face is still downturned, so all I can see is a pair of men’s black dress shoes. Soaking wet dress shoes. I groan. 
Really? Like my day hasn’t been bad enough?
I ask myself.

“I’m sorry you’ve had a rough day,” the sexy wet shoes say.

“Excuse me?”  Shit on a freaking stick! Did I say that out loud?

“Yep, you did. And you just did it again.” Just then, the sexiest laugh rumbles through my body and my already cold, wet nipples harden.

No, no, no.  This can’t be.  I’ve heard that laugh once before, and as we all know, it has never left my mind.  In fact, it replays often. I lift my head, my eyes slowly appraising the sexiest body they’ve ever had the pleasure of seeing, until they meet two glorious hazel eyes sparkling in humor.  His usually perfectly coiffed hair is wet and unruly, and I am itching to run my shaking hand through it.

“Are you okay, Violet?” he asks gently. His hands reach out to hold my upper arms, and my skin burns with desire where his fingers touch.

“Yeah, sorry, Mr. Taylor,” I answer, my teeth chattering.

“You’re freezing.” He observes.  Not sure it’s my chattering teeth or pert nipples giving me away, but my self consciousness kicks in and I fold my arms across my chest in defense mode.  When I look back at him, he is in the process of taking his suit jacket off and wrapping it around my shoulders. “Here, let’s get you warmed up.  And don’t cover your beautiful body on my account.” He smirks.

“Thank you.”  I whisper, my good manners kick in even though I am not sure if I am offended or flattered. His coat is so large that I am swimming in it, but it smells like him and heaven, and I want to be buried in it.

“And it’s Jordan. But you can call me Pike. That’s what everyone calls me,” he starts to babble.

I wonder if he is as nervous as I am. I just nod my assent.

“Can I walk you to your car?”

“Yes, thank you.” I am such a nerd.

He reaches down and grabs my umbrella, opening it with a quick flick of his wrist. Of course. I point to where my car is parked and he leads me with one arm wrapped round my shoulder, as he shelters me from the rain with my umbrella. And even though I am already soaked to the bone, I feel warm and safe and taken care of.

As we reach my car, I feel like we are at the awkward end of a first date. Will he kiss me?  Does he want to kiss me?  With my keys already in hand, I press the remote to unlock the door and look back at him.  I take in a deep breath trying to calm myself, but I get another wave of his cologne and a surge of need throbs between my legs.

“Thank you again,” I squeak out. I turn toward my car to leave, embarrassed to make eye contact.

Before I get the chance to escape into my car, his arm snakes out and turns me around. He lifts a finger to my chin, guiding my face to look at him.  “Drive safely, Violet,” he says sweetly, then leans down and places the gentlest of kisses on my temple.

My temple.  I am officially in the friend zone. “Here, let me give you back your jacket.” I start to take it off.

As I scramble to get one arm out, I catch his eyes drift down to my breasts, which are now on full display through my soaking shirt.  I clear my throat to get his attention.

He subtly shakes his head then meets my eyes, a naughty smirk on his face. “No keep it.  I’ll come next week to get it.”

“Wednesday?” I ask, doing the happy dance inside.

“Wednesday,” he answers, looking a little confused.  Did I just show my hand by letting him know that I know that he always comes in on Wednesdays?

“Unless you’d like to grab some coffee?” he asks.

I feel like my eyes are bugging out of my head, but I force myself to remain calm. “Like, now?”

His eyes smile at me and I am mesmerized. “Now’s good,” he answers nonchalantly while I feel anything but calm.

I pause. Probably too long.  “I’m kinda soaked, and tired after a full day, and…” I let my sentence trail off unprompted because I realize that I’m babbling.

He nods. “I understand. Another time,” he promises.  I nod in agreement just as he secures a loose strand of hair behind my ear.  I need to get out of here before I say or do something stupid.

“Good night, Jordan,” I say with a shy smile then slide into the driver’s seat. As sexy as the name Pike is, I don’t want to sound like “everyone” who calls him that. I want his brain to file me in a different category.

He laughs as I close the door.  I may have been a little awkward and caught off guard initially, but I recovered, keeping him on his toes.  Proud of myself and a little giddy from the interaction, I take a third whiff of his jacket and head home.  I watch him in my rear view mirror, standing there in the rain, with my umbrella. He doesn’t move an inch until I am completely out of sight.