Page 16 of Roses for Rosie

The look is fleeting though, like the one he gave me when he first arrived. I thought he was going to march right up to me and demand that we talk. I wouldn’t have been surprised if he had taken me by the arm and guided me right back to the storeroom to finish what we started. His eyes were full of heat and desire.

The ice queen prevailed though. My calm, cool and collected approach has held up so far, at least on the outside. Inside, I’m melting with need for his lips to touch mine again. Nobody but me needs to know that though. As long as he keeps his hands and his roaming eyes off of me, we will make it through tonight with no one the wiser.

Either he isn’t as interested as I thought he was or he’s toying with me. If he thinks he can string me along like one of his arm candy floozies, he has another think coming. I have too much self-respect for that and besides, I don’t date. I don’t kiss strange men. I don’t have my picture put on the front of magazines.

He continues reading to the end of the scene in the book while I attempt to make myself invisible. If he can’t see me, he can’t look at me with those ice blue eyes. He won’t be able to penetrate my defenses and see how much I want him to pull me away from this crowd and kiss me again. If he can’t find me, I won’t have to find the resolve to say no to him.

Vivian directs everyone to the signing table while Adam takes his place in the chair and picks up his pen. The furthest point in the store from him is at the back of the line so that is where I position myself, making small talk with the customers and keeping them entertained while they wait. The line moves slowly with Adam personalizing each book and sharing a few words of conversation with each woman in line.

I tap my toe and check my watch. The sooner this line winds down, the sooner I can get out of here. It’s getting late and my father hates it when I’m home later than he is. He is never capable of conversation when he gets home from the bar, but he likes it when I’m there anyway.

The line crawls forward as the minute hand winds its way toward ten o’clock. The crowd is finally starting to dwindle. I shift my position from the end of the line, which is getting perilously close to the signing table, to the front door so I can thank the customers for coming as they leave.

Three customers left in line, two customers…and then the front door flies open, hitting the wall behind it with a resounding crash, sending the bell swinging wildly from its chain. My father is here and he is not happy.

He staggers through the doorway, bleary eyed and reeking of bourbon. His gaze rakes the room.

“Roshie,” he slurs. “Where you at, girl?”

I rush up to him, eager to steer him back out the door before he can cause a bigger disturbance than he already has. “I’m right here, Dad. Let’s just talk on the sidewalk.”

Suddenly, his eyes focus and his anger explodes. He grabs my arm and squeezes, pulling me roughly toward him. The customers nearby shrink away, frightened by his outburst.

“You think you can walk the streets all night like a hussy? You know you supposed to be home.”

“I know, Dad. I’m so sorry.”

“Sorry don’t cut it, girl.” He tightens his grip on my arm, his fingers digging into me. There will be a bruise there tomorrow.

He raises his other arm to hit me. I close my eyes and turn my head away to avoid the full impact, but the impact doesn’t come at all. When I open my eyes, I see nothing but Adam standing between me and my father. He caught my father’s arm before it could strike me and he’s not letting go.

“Adam, it’s OK,” I start.

“It’s not OK. He was going to hit you,” he interrupts.

“He doesn’t mean it though. He doesn’t know what he’s doing.”

“A man doesn’t hit a woman. Ever,” he grinds out, turning away from me and staring my father down.

My father is taller and stronger than I am, but he is no match for Adam. He looks positively puny beside Adam’s strength and height. All the fight leaks out of him as he looks up into Adam’s furious face.

“Apologize. Now,” Adam demands, giving my father little choice but to comply.

“I don’t apologize to nobody, ‘specially not her,” he replies, spitting on the floor at Adam’s feet. “Who’s this? Your boyfriend? You know I don’t want you dating no man, Rosie. There’ll be hell to pay if I find out you’re screwing some guy.”

“Excuse us, ladies,” Adam requests, as he practically drags my father out the door.

“I’m so sorry everyone,” I mutter as I follow them. I know my father shouldn’t hit me, but that doesn’t mean I’m going to let Adam beat him up. The look of pure rage on his face was enough to freeze my blood in my veins. I don’t think he took my father outside for a pleasant little chat about how to be a gentleman.

“Adam, please. Stop,” I call when I spot them in front of the next store front. My father is limp, practically hanging from Adam’s grasp by the time I reach them. “Dad! Dad, are you OK?”

When he doesn’t respond, I turn on Adam. “What did you do to him? Did you hurt him?”

I don’t see any blood or bruises.

“His only injuries are self-inflicted. He passed out. The real question is, are you OK?” He lets go of my father allowing him to crumple on the sidewalk and cups my cheek in his hand, running his fingers over my jaw.

“Fine. I’m fine. Of course. He’s harmless.”

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