Page 13 of Brutal for It
I swallow hard, blinking back the sting in my eyes. “I don’t even know how to wear half this stuff without looking like an idiot.”
“You’ll look like heaven,” he states simply. “Now, quit arguing and get ready. Reservation’s in an hour.”
By the time I’m dressed, I hardly recognize myself in the mirror.
The satin clings in all the right places. The heels make my legs look a mile long. My hair—usually thrown into a messy knot—is curled and loose around my shoulders. For once, I don’t look like “the girl cleaning the job site.” I look like a woman who belongs anywhere she wants to be.
Tommy whistles low when I walk into the living room. He’s in dark jeans and a crisp white button-down, sleeves rolled up, tattoos peeking. He cleaned up, but still looks like him—danger and comfort all in one.
“Damn,” he mutters, eyes running over me like a slow caress. “If I wasn’t taking you out, I’d be dragging you back to bed right now.”
Heat floods my cheeks. “You’re ridiculous.”
“Yeah,” he retorts, grinning as he takes my hand. “Ridiculous over you all day, every day, Tiny.”
The restaurant is nothing like I expect. It’s not some stuffy five-star joint with linen napkins folded into swans. It’s a rooftop place on the beach, with string lights crisscrossing above and live music playing soft in the corner. The tables are mismatched wood, the air smells like garlic and seared steak, and the view of the water steals my breath.
“This is perfect,” I whisper as we’re led to our table.
“Told you.” Tommy pulls my chair out for me, like some old-fashioned gentleman, then settles across from me with that same proud smile.
Dinner is easy. We eat too much bread, laugh at the couple dancing awkwardly near the band, and talk about nothing specific and yet everything—his crews, my latest battle with a particularly stubborn paint spill, the ridiculous show Red got hooked on that none of us admit we watch too.
Halfway through dessert—a slice of chocolate cake big enough for four people—I set my fork down and look at him. Really look at him. The lights glow on his face, shadows catching the lines near his eyes from too much sun and too many miles. The way his freckles kiss his face perfectly.
“How do you do it?” I ask softly.
He raises a brow. “Do what?”
“Take care of everything. Me. The house. The bills. Dinner. My car. You never complain. You never… stop.” My throat tightens. “Aren’t you tired?”
He leans forward, eyes steady. “Jami. Taking care of you isn’t work. It’s the only thing that has ever made sense. You think I’m carrying you, but Tiny, you’re what keeps me steady. You’re the reason I wake up wanting to try again. That’s not heavy—that’s a damn gift.”
Tears prick my eyes, but this time I don’t fight them. I let them fall, right there in front of God and the waitress and the whole restaurant.
Tommy reaches across the table, takes my hand, squeezes. “Life’s hard, yeah. Brutal even. But it’s beautiful too. And you’re the damn proof of that I’ve ever seen.”
I laugh through the tears, shaking my head. “You and your speeches.”
He grins. “What can I say? You inspire me.”
Later, when we’re back home, heels kicked off and dress puddled on the floor, I curl against him naked in bed, still tasting chocolate and body satiated from the orgasms, still hearing the music from the rooftop play in my head.
And for once, I don’t worry if it’s too good.
For once, I let myself believe it’s exactly what I deserve.
Five
Tommy Boy
Jenni laughs at me as we step into the jewelry store.
“Never thought I’d see the day Tommy Boy Oleander walked into a place with velvet counters and twinkly lights.”
“Don’t start,” I mutter, shoving my hands in my pockets. The place smells like lemon polish and money, both things that make me itch. “I need your help. Don’t make me regret dragging you out of the house. I already had to tell Crunch what I was planning so he wouldn’t stalk us.”
She smirks, all too proud of herself. “Relax. I’m not gonna let you screw this up. Besides, Jami’s my baby sister. I’m not letting you buy her some gaudy rock that looks like it belongs on a reality TV star.”
