Page 102 of Toxic Wishes

I don’t want you to change.

“It’s just a corset and a skirt, Colt.” She says through a weighted sigh as if she’s exhausted, not from me but from this life.

“Ya, and then it will just be a wet t-shirt contest. And a job next door at the strip club.” I fire back. She rolls her eyes and turns around, grabbing a case of Bud Light and pushing it into my arms. I grab it just in time. Then she reaches for a case of Budweiser and leads the way out of the room. Ending our conversation. But I follow, hefting the case up onto my shoulder. She plops the case down on the bar and turns around, taking the case I have as well.

“If you’re going to be a hawk, why don’t you make yourself useful and fly to the back again? I need another case of Bud Light.” I open my mouth to try and say something to try and smooth over any damage I’ve done, but this is the only woman who can leave me speechless and frustrated at the same time. Maybe it’s a Scorpio thing, but I make a mental note to look it up on Google.

I turn around and walk to the liquor cabinet, grabbing another case of beer. After I drop it on the bar, I head to the booth where the guys are congregating and taking out the bush light I had before.

“Did you drink your drink already?” Troy says with a sly smirk on his face.

“Ya, it was a shot, and that bar is packed, so no use in going up there to get your drinks quicker,” I say, hoping my bullshit response will cover up how long I was gone without a drink. I down the beer bottle and put it back in the ice bucket within a minute.

“You staying?” Troy asks with a raised eyebrow. A server approaches our table with a round of shots. She’s cute in her pink miniskirt and black vest. She doesn’t look any older than Abigail.

“Hey guys,” she said, unloading her tray and setting a round of shots before us.

They are pink or orange on the bottom with some yellow liquid on top.

“What the heck is this?” Jake Bryant, one of our old-time friends, asks. He no longer plays for the team since he got a horrible concussion back a couple of years ago. He was a great running back and defensive lineman, too, but he’s happy now that he gets to stay home with his family. He still brings in money from his pension and disability that he’ll get for a little longer.

“It’s a buttery nipple,” she says. “It’s on the house. Abigail says they are this big-time football player's favorite.” She looks at me with a wink. A round of laughter explodes at the table with the chic shot everyone thinks I drink, and I shoot Abigail a look at the bar. She grins her biggest, proudest smile, and now we aren’t mad at each other.

Taking the shot, I down it. After about an hour and another beer, I’m pretty tapped out on eighties music. Abigail seems fine, and I’m unsure why I needed to protect her earlier. Just then, a polished finger lands on the table. I look up and see Namoi standing there.

“Hey, I heard you boys were out, so I thought I would come and play.” Naomi and her friend are standing in front of the table of guys, and my eyes dart to Troy. He shrugs, letting me know he had nothing to do with this and this was all Jenna’s doing.

“Naomi, it’s great to see you,” I say. I am being polite.

She smiles and brushes my arm with her shoulder.

“I was heading out,” I tell her.

“Oh, come on, I just got here. Stay a little longer, and have a drink with me. That is, if it’s okay we join you, gentleman." She turns to face the table of guys, and they all nod, drooling at Naomi. She’s a gorgeous woman; I know that, but the only one I’ve got eyes for, is Abigail. The crowd has thinned out since I got here, so it’s not hard to spot her in the back, and when I do. Our eyes lock, and she’s staring right at me.

33

Abigail

“Life is one grand, sweet song so start the music.” — Ronald Reagan

I pull into the driveway, my body jostling from side to side as the headlights beam on the closed garage ahead. Pressing the clutch, I hit the brake and turned off the engine. The bar cleared out a little earlier than expected, so I got off by 12:30. It was five past one in the morning. Too late to make a wish since it’s well past 11:11, but it looks like my wish may have already come true. I don’t see Naomi’s car here, but that doesn’t mean Colt didn’t take her home with him. He’s a guy with needs; I shouldn’t expect him never to have a woman around. The first day coming here proved that. But tonight, when I saw Naomi touch his arm and whisper in his ear, making him laugh, it brought up all sorts of emotions inside me. The pain in my jaw reminded me of how I felt for one full hour, the length of time Colt and Naomi stuck around until they decided to leave.

When I exit my car, I realize I don’t see Colt’s car here either, unless it’s in the garage. I did see another car I had never seen before. Being the curious creature I am, I decided to go inside the main house first to see if the dread in my stomach matched the assumptions in my head.

I grab my bag with the corset in it. I changed into a T-shirt before I left the bar. While I felt pretty exposed, more than I’m used to with a few pairs of eyes on me all night, I quirk a smile to myself, thinking of the wad of cash in my pocket right now. It’s not nearly what I could make bartending at the strip club next door, but it’s more than I usually earn in a week. And I can't lie. I kind of liked the attention. I see why some girls got addicted to it.

I knew the moment his eyes were on me tonight when he walked in, and I was at the jukebox. I could see him in the corner of my eye when I walked to the bar, too. And I know that look, possessive. I lock the truck door. My heart fluttered against my chest as I headed for the house.

I hate the idea of leaving. This house has become familiar and warm, like a home. Something I’m not used to, and even though I knew Colt can be blunt and come off rude sometimes, I do like him.

He cares.

Of course, he doesn’t express his concern very eloquently, but I know his intentions are in the right place. And if Blake stuck around longer, maybe he could have seen that about Colt, too. It’s nice having someone look after me and give a damn about what I do. I would never admit that, of course.

I unlock the front door, apprehension settling in between me. Entering the house, I scan around. The TV was still on, and the sound was turned down almost all the way. I looked at the couch and saw Colt’s mom asleep. She had a blanket wrapped over her, lying on her side with a pillow propped underneath her head. She looked so peaceful, and I must admit, I hope I look half as good as her at her age.

She had a few faint wrinkles around her crow's feet, but other than that, she had smooth skin. The TV screen lit up her face each time a new scene played. I quietly reached over, grabbed the remote, and turned off the television.

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