Canvas (The Program Book 1) Page 6

  “I can’t promise that,” I talk to her but I’m looking at the boys. “I’m a selfish man.”

  You’re not going anywhere near her. Not unless I say so.

  “Well, I don’t know about Summer,” the apparent leader of the mom’s club joins our conversation. “But we certainly aren’t afraid of you gentlemen.”

  Bull turns to look at her as she stands and approaches our table, all thirty-six D of her.

  “I’m mighty happy to hear that, ma’am,” he drawls.

  I’d bet my right nut he’s talking to her tits.

  “In fact,” she pulls over a chair and sits down between Bull and Gringo. It figures she’d pick those two dirty motherfuckers. “I’ve been meaning to come over and pay you a visit. It’s one of the top items on my bucket list, you know, something risqué.”

  Multiple cocks. Check!

  “We aim to please, don’t we, Gringo?” Bull asks his partner in crime.

  Can this get any more fucking uncomfortable?

  “Satisfaction is our number one priority,” Gringo responds, the answer fucking dripping sexual promise.

  “It’ll be so hard to choose,” she clenches the tip of a fingernail between her teeth and glances back and forth between the two men from beneath hooded eyes.

  “You don’t have to,” Bull replies smugly.

  Why don’t you just tell her all of you will fuck her? As many times as she wants.

  Her face flushes, her eyes widen, and her fucking headlights poke right through her push-up cups.

  “Really?” she asks breathlessly.

  “Absolutely, ma’am. We will give you more than what you ever imagined,” Gringo leans back in his chair and feeds his arm around the back of hers.

  He’s probably got a boner and he wants to show her what she’ll be getting.

  Fucking dick.

  “Do we need to make an appointment?” one of the women from Tits McKoy’s group chimes in excitedly.

  Snake answers, “It would be best, just to make sure we give you the time you deserve for what you want.”

  This cannot be happening. In here. Right now!

  I watch out of the corner of my eye as Summer studies us, her eyes scrunched together. All four of us.

  She’s taking everything in. She’s not stupid. She knows exactly what the women are asking for and what the guys are offering.

  I wonder what she’s thinking? Does the thought intrigue her? Is that what she wants too? Does she know I’ve been a part of it? We’ve all been a part of it since the beginning?

  Her gaze meets mine. I don’t move.

  I wait.

  She has to show me what she’s thinking. What she’s feeling.

  What she wants.

  Seconds pass like a gong, bong, bong, bong…

  She’s turning this all over in her mind, I can see it, rolling it over on her tongue, trying to decide if it’s real or fantasy.

  It’s very real, my sweet Summer.

  “Well, you boys certainly do take care of your customers, it’s so nice to see you working together so well,” Mrs. Merriweather comments.

  Summer looks at Snake, then Bull, then Gringo. Then her eyes return to me.

  Is that what you want, Summer? Do you want all of us to worship your body? Once. Just once.

  “A lot of our special customers prefer it that way, ma’am,” Bull answers Mrs. Merriweather.

  “Um,” Gwendolyn’s shy voice quivers. “Always?” she asks.

  Snake studies her for a second, contemplating her, and her question.

  “No, not always,” he finally gives her the answer she was waiting for.

  She nods her head slowly. “Oh…okay,” and lowers her gaze.

  Summer tilts her head to the side.

  She’s thinking.

  She nods once too, looks into my eyes, then turns away.

  What does that mean? You understand? You accept? You’re done with me? You want all of us? WHAT?

  You really are a mystery; aren’t you Summer?

  Tits McKoy hasn’t stopped squirming, she’s obviously turned on. “I’ll be over to make, um, an appointment.”

  I stand. “That’s great.” I answer her. “One of the guys will be sure to make it for you. I have to get to work.” To Mrs. Merriweather and Gwendolyn, “Take care of Summer while these barbarians are here. It was a pleasure having coffee with you.”

  “Don’t be a stranger, Rock. Your chair is always waiting for you right ‘ere,” Mrs. Merriweather beams as she pats the seat I just vacated. Gwendolyn blushes. Again.

  When I get to the door and have it pulled open, I turn to Summer. “Tell Joe to come see me when he finishes here.”

  She looks surprised. At what?

  Because I’m not going to her? I’m not throwing sexual innuendos at her? There’s no invitation to make an ‘appointment’?

  What I want to do to you doesn’t require an appointment.

  “Sure, yeah, I’ll tell him. Thank you again, Rock,” she says quietly.

  When I leave, I’m frustrated.

  That whole thing could have fucked everything up.

  Or it could have done me a huge favor.

  Summer

  CHAPTER 7

  “Steve, I have no idea what you’re referring to.”

  “Summer, you’re better than that…type,” all he needs to do is pick the invisible lint off his lapel.

  His smug, condescending attitude makes me so mad. It also strikes a very raw, very painful nerve inside of me. And gets all of my defenses on alert.

  I’ve lived with these types of men all my life, my father was this kind of man, he was the king of superiority complex. I hate them. Ever since the incident between him and Rock, Steve’s been acting like he owns me.

  No one owns me. Not anymore.

  “Steve,” I give him my most polite and demure voice. I’m an expert at it, it’s who I’ve had to be for the past almost ten years. “Rock is just a customer who was kind of enough to call someone to repair my refrigerator the other day.” Fifty-six hours and thirty-eight minutes, actually.

  But I don’t need to give you any explanations.

  “Now why would he do something like that?” he asks absently as he glances at his two-thousand-dollar watch.

  I also know a thing or two about luxury items, my father, the whole Club wouldn’t be caught dead with anything else.

  Oh, I don’t know. Maybe because he’s nice, thoughtful, considerate, a gentleman, even in all of his black and with all those tattoos? Obviously things you’d have no clue about.

  “Maybe he was just being a good neighbor.” I mean it sarcastically.

  Steve is testing my last strand of patience. Which surprises me. I’d be able to go for hours, days, months, I’ve gone years bouncing comments like this off me. I had to. If I hadn’t, I’d have strung myself up from the nearest beam and hung myself. But Steve? Right now he’s pushing all of my buttons, some of them I thought I’d finally disconnected. Apparently I didn’t.

  “Neighborly, him? Don’t be absurd! I’m quite certain he hasn’t a clue about being a ‘good neighbor’. People like that aren’t neighbors. They’re the kind you lock your doors to when you see them coming into town,” he sniffs haughtily.

  Ooooooooh! What a snob!

  I grit my teeth and count to ten to calm my temper.

  He’s a customer, be nice, he’s a customer, be nice, he’s a customer, BE NICE, I repeat this over and over and don’t reply until I’m certain I’m not going to tell him to get out and never come back.

  Finally, when I think I can behave myself, I let out a slow breath.

  “Thank you for your concern,” I give him the comment he expects just to shut him up. It’s something I’ve been programmed to do.

  Tell them what they want to hear, do what’s expected of you. Be what you’re supposed to be. Don’t argue, don’t complain. Do. Not. Fight.

  The insincerity burns my tongue.

  It’s hypocritical.<
br />
  It’s not what I feel.

  When he looks me in the eye with smug satisfaction like he’s won, bile rises to my throat.

  Still, I bite my tongue.

  “You’re welcome, Summer,” he smiles arrogantly. “It’s understandable how you could be so easily influenced by a man like that. He’s intimidating to a woman like you. I forgive you.” he pulls his jacket sleeves down by the edges. I want to pull every perfectly combed hair out of his pompous head. Forgive me?! “It’s so cute that you’re playing at this,” he waves his hand through the air motioning to his surroundings, to MY coffee shop, as a look of disgust crosses his face, “but surely you can’t be serious about all of it. About,” he looks around at MY customers, “being that,” his voice drops as he flicks his hand at me.

  Oh, no he didn’t!

  I plaster another perfect smile on my face. “You’re right, Steve.”

  He smiles confidently at me. “Excellent, I knew you were bright.”

  Surely steam must be coming out of my ears by now, I’m so furious.

  Why am I listening to this? I don’t have to anymore.

  “Men like Rock are intimidating,” I inch closer as I lay a hand on the counter, my counter, the counter of the business that I built, that I worked my fingers to the bone eighteen hours a day alone. “Do you want to know why he’s intimidating?” Steve opens his mouth to answer. I don’t give him an opportunity. “It’s because they’re honest. They’re genuine. They’re not full of shit like you.” The look of shock and horror on Steve’s face is priceless, if I weren’t so damn angry, I’d laugh. “And this,” I mimic the wave he’d done with his hand, “is MY business. MINE. I built it, and I’m damn proud of it. I would appreciate it if you attempted to understand the concept of work, which might be virtually impossible for a man like you. I know that’s extremely difficult for your type, as you so eloquently put it, but I do suspect you are somewhat intelligent, therefore, I will give you the benefit of the doubt.” I glare at him, his mouth hanging open like a gaping fish. “Once. I will give you only one opportunity to understand that.” I gather myself to my full five foot three height. “If you ever insult me or my business again, I’ll kick you out so fast, your head will spin. As for Rock, and all of MY customers, they are so much better than you and your type. I am completely sure you will never understand that. Do you know why?” I narrow my eyes at him.

  “Summer,” he tries to answer me.

  “No, you don’t know why,” I stop him. “You can’t begin to know why because you’re so self-centered, so selfish, so full of yourself, you could never grasp the concept of kindness and selflessness, of being a ‘good neighbor’.”

  “You’re angry,” he finally cuts off my tirade.

  “No, Steve, I’m beyond angry. I’m furious. How dare you come in here presuming to know me, to know anything about me, about my customers. You’ve not only insulted me, but everyone in here.” My eyes widen when I think about everything he’s said. It doesn’t shock me. People like him are exactly the type of people I grew up with, the society that I ran away from. People just like him. “What really and truly amazes me is that you believe all of that.” He snorts. Fucking snorts in contempt.

  “I’ve angered you,” he repeats, not acknowledging a thing I’ve said.

  I shake my head at him in amazement.

  “Just forget it. But if you ever come in here talking like that again, I WILL ask you to leave and not return. I assume you understand that, correct?” I glare at him.

  He has no clue, absolutely no clue whatsoever!

  “Summer, don’t be difficult. I understand you’re angry, but there is no need to behave that way. It doesn’t suit a woman like you.”

  I raise my hand, palm facing him. “Stop! Just stop.”

  His mouth flattens to a thin line. “Fine.”

  “What can I get you?” I ask tightly, acting as if nothing has just happened.

  It wouldn’t do any good. Nothing penetrates that conceited thick head of his, not unless it’s something he wants to hear.

  “You know what I like, Summer, why do you ask me that every day?” he asks in a tone of voice he’d use if he were speaking to a child.

  “Ughhhhhh!” I groan and turn away from him to make his stupid skinny double shot hazelnut latte.

  Pussy!

  I giggle to myself with the name.

  When I finish, I want to slam it down on the counter, but I don’t. I merely place it politely. Like I’m supposed to.

  You’re better than he is. Everyone in this room is better than he is. I glance at the book club table with her highness herself reigning over them, Queen Wifezilla. Well, maybe not everyone.

  “Four fifty-nine, please.”

  Steve takes out his expensive wallet and removes his black Centurion American Express card. I cringe at it. It stands for everything I hate. I take it quickly and swipe it. Although I told Steve the first couple of times he came in that I don’t take American Express, he acted as if he didn’t hear me, like I didn’t say anything at all. I finally just gave up and took his stupid card. He isn’t worth the aggravation. The machine spits out his receipt and I pass it to him along with a pen, he apparently couldn’t find that either on his own. He signs it and hands it back.

  Still no tip. After all that. He’s never given me one. What a total ass!

  “Thank you, have a nice day,” I say robotically.

  He doesn’t move.

  There’s no one behind him, at this point I can’t force him to leave.

  Finally, after waiting for him to say something, dreading he’ll say something else horrible, I ask, “What?”

  “I’ll pick you up when you’re all finished here,” he says coolly.

  Are you out of your mind?!

  That’s what I think, but I say, “No, thank you. I’m busy.”

  “What time should I come back?” he ignores me, of course.

  “No thank you, I’m busy,” I repeat tightly.

  “Summer, you’re being petulant,” his nostrils flare.

  I gasp a laugh. “No, Steve, I’m being absolutely certain. I. Am. Busy.” Forever.

  He puckers his lips.

  What a spoiled rotten brat.

  “Fine. Not tonight. But soon.”

  He gives me a look, a very peculiar look, like he wants to say something else. Something inside me nags at me, old feelings, feelings I haven’t felt in months. I feel the familiar reactions to things, things I ran from. But just as quickly, his perfect mask slides across his cold handsome features.

  “Then, I’ll see you tomorrow, Summer.”

  He picks up his coffee, gives me one last look, then turns to leave.

  I watch him go, not moving, disturbed by the conflict of emotions inside me.

  “That ornery little twat,” Mrs. Merriweather chirps from her seat.

  Oh, no! I hope no one heard everything he said!

  “’e was giving you a ‘ard time, wasn’t ‘e, love? I can see it all over your face,” she continues. “It seems ‘e can’t take no for answer, it does.”

  I shake off the funk of Steve’s encounter, I’m not going to let it get to me. It was nothing. Whatever I felt was only my paranoia, old ghosts trying to resurrect themselves. He is just an anonymous snob in a small town, this small town. This is where I am now. The past is where I left it.

  I’m making something of nothing.

  I grab my towel and head on to the floor to clean tables.

  “It’s fine, Mrs. Merriweather. He’s harmless, just a boy who wants a new toy,” I reply, attempting to sound unbothered. Really trying to.

  “Hrrrmmph, a spoiled child is more like it. ‘e ‘ad a right ‘issy fit, didn’t ‘e, lass?” the older woman asks. “Pouted and carried on like Richie Rich, ‘e did.”

  I laugh. She’s right.

  “I suppose you could think that,” I say.

  “’e did, didn’t ‘e, Gwen?” she asks her granddaughter.

  “Ye
s, he did, grandmother. He was a bit of a jackass,” Gwen answers.

  Gwen’s looking out the front window watching Steve get into his BMW 5 Series, her mouth twisted in a scowl.

  “He’s just a customer,” I say, trying to blow off the whole encounter.

  “That ‘e is. And I find it peculiar ‘e’s started coming round later, seems ‘e wants to avoid our Rock.”

  That makes me smile. I don’t doubt it.

  “Mrs. Merriweather, it wouldn’t have mattered if Rock was here or not. I don’t need anyone…”

  “I know, I know,” Mrs. Merriweather stops me. “But never the less, our Rock would ‘ave put ‘im in ‘is place again, ‘e would. For good this time to be sure.”

  I grin. She’s probably right.

  “No he wouldn’t have because I wouldn’t have allowed it,” I try to sound stern. Failing, but trying. “The customer is always right, Mrs. Merriweather, and this is a business.”

  I vowed when I decided to open a business that there would never be any negativity. I wanted to create a place where people always felt comfortable and welcome. That’s the reason I hadn’t asked Steve to leave. Although he was being rude and demanding, where he had absolutely no place or right to, he is a customer, a good customer at that, I couldn’t bring myself to cross that line. Because once I did, I would have regretted it.

  “You said that the last time ‘e acted like a…”

  “Mrs. Merriweather, now hush,” I give her a look.

  “You are too nice for your own good, Summer. Just because ‘e frequents your establishment does not give ‘im the right to act like a dictator,” she responds, rather sternly at that.

  They’re right. The truth hurts. What Mrs. Merriweather doesn’t know, no one here will ever know, it wasn’t too long ago that I would never have stuck up for myself, and all of them, like I had just now. So, the sting from her comment doesn’t hurt as bad as it could. Because I had stuck up for myself, but more importantly, I stuck up for all of them. Because I genuinely care for them, for Mrs. Merriweather. I do because I know she cares about me too. If she didn’t, she wouldn’t be reprimanding me.

  “I dealt with him. He won’t be crossing the line again,” I reply confidently.

  “Maybe not dear, but there’s no way you can change an ass into a thoroughbred,” she comments.