"Well, I can help you out with half of that."
Chris wrapped his arms around her, tucked her under his chin and let her cry. Finally, he was holding Shelby Dawson against his chest– and he couldn't do a damn thing but comfort her while she crushed his Heath Bar.
J.T. creaked back in the office chair in his den, rubbed his hand along his stiff neck, stared at his computer screen offering nada, zip, zilch in the way of info. Damn it, that bumper sticker on the back of the hit-and-run van had to mean something, red circle with a black triangle inside. If only he could identify the damn thing and trace it.
The walls of the small paneled room started to close in on him. He needed progress. Action. Anything to shake the freaking inactivity.>Even now he went dry-mouthed at the thought of her honey-golden skin with a charm necklace between two perfect breasts.
He tried to swallow. Failed.
Damn, damn, damn! He loved Shelby, so why was he drooling over someone he didn't even like? Teenage hormones so sucked.
One look down Miranda's dress two weeks ago and before he knew it, he'd been on his way out the door to run an errand for her. Just a food delivery for a special client—even though they didn't normally deliver squat.
Sucker.
He didn't know why Miranda had sent along so much money with the food delivery, but the fluky look he'd gotten at a stack of hundreds left him with zero doubts.
The reason couldn't be good.
He'd reported it to his boss, only to be told he must have misunderstood. Or maybe it was all innocent, but thanks anyhow, kid, and he would definitely talk to her. And, oh by the way, if rumors started, damaging business, Chris and his family would be sued and he sure would hate for that to happen and were they on the same page here now, pal?
God. Chris chunked another plate into the dishwasher. He'd clammed up faster than his father that day.
His parents would totally wig out if they knew. His dad was rigid on the honesty thing, and Mom went ballistic if he got so much as a detention for being tardy twice in a semester. Geez. Sometimes he wondered if it might be easier to forget about meeting their expectations.
But his mom was pregnant. And his dad was a freaking zombie since Rubistan.
So he would hang tough. Not be a wuss. And try like crazy to tell himself his mom's hit-and-run accident in his car was totally a coincidence.
Chris stacked the last of the dishes and flung aside the rag. Only a few more minutes and then home free for one more day. Maybe Miranda would transfer to another college and take her flashing boobs and smile somewhere else.
At least he knew better than to let himself be sucked in by her again. Jesus, like a nineteen-year-old hot chick would really be interested in him anyhow. But those raging hormones zapped IQ points.
The doors swished again. No Miranda—thank God. No busboy, either. This time his boss raced in, loosening his tie, a laid-back dude in his thirties with only two employee mottos: Don't make waves, and treat his wife and little girl like royalty.
The boss man, Kurt Haugen, definitely always sided with the chicks. "I have to leave now before I'm any later getting home. Don't forget to lock up behind you."
"I won't, Mr. Haugen."
"Thanks, kid, and make sure Miranda and the other waitresses get in their cars safe and sound. Okay? Wouldn't want anything to happen to them."
Chris stood taller. Okay, so the guy pampered women. Bet he wouldn't get a baby-sitter Bo to stay overnight when a guy was already sixteen. "Sure. No problem, Mr. Haugen."
Of course, now he had to wait around for Miranda, but he could just sit in the car and watch until she left. Yeah. That would work. Doors locked. Eyes on her face, which was more respectful anyhow. Not to mention safer.
"I really need to haul ass, pal. I missed my daughter's gymnastics competition this afternoon. Engine went out on the shrimp trawler, which had me on the phone all day tracking down repair parts. And damn but I hated missing the little princess turn her back flips. Wife's probably pissed, too. Hey, how about pass me one of those chocolate pecan pies. Maybe if I walk into the room leading with that, it'll soften her up. And a candy bar for the princess. What do you think, pal?"
Swinging open the refrigerator, Chris stretched to get the pie off the top rack. "I think chicks dig chocolate."
Mr. Haugen winked, lifting the pie from Chris's hand. "You'll go far with the ladies, my man."
"Sure." Adults could be so lame.
Mr. Haugen snagged two candy bars from the cooking station, Heath Bars for the specialty pies. He tucked one in his sports jacket and tossed the other to Chris. "Chocolate. For the special chick in your life."
Chris snagged the candy bar midair and tucked it into his droopy shirt pocket. "Yeah, whatever. I'll make sure everyone gets out of here fine."
A half hour later, he stood in the front parking lot, locking the door, taking his time until Miranda revved her engine, the last of the crowd to go.