Page 3 of Midnight Oil

I shook my head. "No can do. I've got to work tonight. The guy who usually rides as the Red Knight got hurt. I'm filling in for him."

"Did he fall off a horse? Broken ribs from a lame jousting opponent?" Zane asked.

"Nope, I think it was a pickle jar." We reached the plane but my last statement stopped everyone. They turned to look at me.

"Did you say a pickle jar?" Trey asked.

"Yep, the fool was trying to open the damn thing, so he tapped it against the side of the counter and it shattered." I held up my hand. "Four stitches in his right palm."

The guys had a good laugh as we climbed into the plane for an early morning jump.

Two

Suzy

“Babe, can you fix me a sandwich before you go?" Tate crowed from the living room where he had planted himself all day to watch a marathon of Spiderman flicks. The forest of empty beer bottles sprouting up from our splintery coffee table meant he'd be in a crappy mood when I got home from work.

I finished tying the lace on my corset belt, an annoying part of my work costume. "I don't have time. I'm going to be late."

"Please, babe, I haven't eaten and all this beer is making me drunk. I've got to head over to Tony's later for a card game."

I came to the end of our short hall. "You better just stay home. You've been downing those beers like water."

A chip of paint fluttered down from above and landed on my shoulder. I brushed it away. The paint on the doorjamb was peeling and the front room of our crummy rental house had tobacco stained walls. Everything about our living situation, boyfriend included, made me want to close my eyes and wish for an entirely new life.

Tate didn't pull his gaze from the television set. "I'll be fine. Just need to fill my stomach with that sandwich you were about to make me."

"I told you I'm late."

"Well, without the sandwich, I'll be driving you to work buzzed."

"What are you talking about?" I asked and searched around for my keys.

He held them up above his head, still not looking away from the screen. "I need to borrow your car. Mine is out of gas."

"You're not driving after all those beers. Just skip the card game and give me those keys."

He dangled them teasingly in the air. "Come get them from me, you wench. Flash me some tits and I might hand over the keys."

I lunged for them from behind the couch but he grabbed my wrist. It was amazing how the beer slurred his speech, but it never dulled his reflexes. When I first met Tate, he was a tall, fit, muscular guy with a good job in construction. There was always an edge of what I liked to call asshole-ery about him, but for the most part, he treated me right and we had a good time. But a year after he got fired for drinking on the job, a lame ass move considering he was working on steel beams four stories up from the street, he still hadn't found work. It seemed construction foremen frowned upon whiskey filled coffee breaks.

Tate, who somehow managed to be even stronger and stupider when drunk, yanked me hard enough that I fell over the back of the couch and halfway on his lap. His arm curled around my waist and he pulled me against him. A raging erection poked at my ass.

"I think you should skip work and I'll skip the game. You know how this damn costume turns me on." His clumsy fingers grabbed at the string on my corset. I slapped his hand away and struggled to get free of his grasp.

"I'll get fired and I'm the only one making any money." It was a reminder he hated to hear. The beer and his short, hot temper worked in unison as he shoved me off his lap. My hip landed hard on the edge of the coffee table. The impact sent the dozen empty beer bottles falling and rolling like bowling pins. At least two broke into pieces.

"Fuck you," I said through gritted teeth as I pushed myself up off the filthy threadbare rug. Pain shot through my hip and back. I badly wanted to kick his shin but knew that would only push more of his anger buttons, like the comment about money. I rubbed the hip and fought back tears that were brewing from a mix of pain and anguish. What had I gotten myself into with this man? I deserved so much better.

I stuck out my hand. "The keys to my car, please."

He stared up at me with cold blue eyes, eyes that used to make me melt with dizziness but that now only made my stomach twist into a knot. "Told you, I'm going to a poker game." His words were said with slow, sober precision. My barb about being the only one making money had hurt his ego. Not enough, I was certain, to send him out job hunting. "Get your purse and I'll drive you."

A dry laugh shot from my mouth. "I'll take my chances at the grimy bus stop over in front of the shady looking liquor store. I'm not getting in the car with you." I hurried to the stool to get my purse. A bus ride was going to make me extra late.

For a tall drunk, the man moved without a sound. A cold hand took hold of my arm, startling me enough to make me drop my purse. "Don't be mad, Suzy. I don't want you to sit at that bus stop. I'll drive you."

I jerked out of his grasp. "Are you kidding me with the don't be mad shit? You just threw me into the coffee table. I can already feel the bruise starting on my hip."

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