Wingman Warriors - Joint Forces Part 10

"Wounds need to heal by degrees. Just take care of yourself and rest up. The new kid will have you running soon enough." He backed into the hall. "'Night, Rena."

Once his footsteps faded, she flopped into the fluff of pillows.

The baby. The reason he'd returned.

Funny, but apparently her heart didn't heal as fast as the rest of her.

Chris's stomach clenched as tight as the rag twisted in his grip while he washed dishes over the

restaurant's industrial-size sink. An ocean breeze rolled in through the open back door. Not that it did much good sweeping out the fish stink. Heat popped salty sweat down his face, into his s.h.i.+rt.

Great for the acne. Not.

If zits were his only worry.

Chris glanced over his shoulder, checked, found the kitchen empty. He resumed dragging dishes under the spraying water to rinse away fried seafood and hush puppies before stacking each plate in the dishwasher.

h.e.l.l no, he wasn't a wuss. He could work out his problems. Face them like a man. He might not look like his dad, but he would be like him when it counted. He would finish up his s.h.i.+ft at the restaurant. No big deal. And under no circ.u.mstances would he make any more deliveries.

He just wished he'd never answered the ad in the base paper about this job. But his mom and dad were

always fighting about money. He'd taken the job to help out as much as to get away from the arguing.

The double doors from the dining area swished open. Sweat iced, then itched along his back. He snapped around to find ... the busboy who'd recommended he take this lame job. The fellow military brat dropped off his tub of plates and left.

At least it wasn't her. But the swinging door still offered sporadic glimpses of her anyway. The hostess,Miranda Casale, smiling her million-dollar smile for the final departing customers. Miranda sure knewhow to flash that smile along with a view down her silk s.h.i.+rts to get guys to do anything she wanted.

Even now he went dry-mouthed at the thought of her honey-golden skin with a charm necklace between two perfect b.r.e.a.s.t.s.

He tried to swallow. Failed.

d.a.m.n, d.a.m.n, d.a.m.n! 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?

G.o.d. 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. .h.i.t-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 flas.h.i.+ng b.o.o.bs 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 G.o.d. 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 a.s.s, pal. I missed my daughter's gymnastics compet.i.tion this afternoon. Engine went out on the shrimp trawler, which had me on the phone all day tracking down repair parts. And d.a.m.n but I hated missing the little princess turn her back flips. Wife's probably p.i.s.sed, too. Hey, how about pa.s.s 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 s.h.i.+rt 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.

Finally, Miranda spewed gravel on her way out of the lot. He exhaled long. Off the hook. Alone, just him and waves pounding the dock, sailboat lines snapping and pinging.

He rounded the corner to where he'd parked away from the sh.o.r.eline and salt.w.a.ter so his dad wouldn't blow a gasket about rust.

And pulled up short. A lone street lamp backlit a person sitting on the trunk of his mother's car. Shelby.

She perched cross-legged, flip-flops off and beside her as if she'd gotten comfortable for a long wait. She hugged her knees to her chest, her jet-black hair lifting in the wind.

d.a.m.n. How could he have ever even looked at Miranda?

He tried not to think about the chocolate bar in his pocket. "You shouldn't be out here alone. It's not safe."

She turned at his voice, then rested her chin on her knees without answering. Did chicks practice this silent-treatment stuff to confuse guys? He didn't have much practice on how to handle it since the women in his family weren't ever afraid to speak their minds.

He strode closer, faster, until he could see her clearly. Ah man, her eyes stared back, all red and swollen, puffy from crying. He tried to think of something to say and only came up with, "Want a Heath Bar? Mom says chocolate cures everything."

Her bottom lip quivered.

Way to go, hotshot. "Okay, no chocolate."

Foot on the b.u.mper, he propelled himself up to sit on the trunk beside her. Maybe quiet was good after all, kinda like his dad did. When his dad clammed up, Mom usually spilled her guts. Then a guy didn't have to guess what was going on and risk botching it by actually getting involved in the discussion.

Besides, sitting with Shelby, the ocean breeze puffing by, he could smell her. Be close to her. Why rush ending that? He stared up at the inky sky dotted with stars and just breathed salty air and Shelby.

She s.h.i.+fted beside him, slid her flip-flops back on. "You probably need to get home."

"Nah, my folks know I'm working." He would take the a.s.s-ripping from his dad for being late. Time alone with Shelby was rare since Shelby and Murdoch were so tight.

Or were they?

Another tear glistened in the corner of her eye. From a breakup? He couldn't stop the hope.

Which made him feel like a disloyal sc.u.mbag. "Where's Murdoch?"

"Away for the weekend." She sniffled, blinked fast. "Some family-reunion thing."

Okay, not breaking up. "b.u.mmer. Tough luck him being gone right now. You don't have too many

weekends left before the moving truck pulls out. Then college."

"Uh-huh."

She chewed off her glitter lip gloss while more waves crashed. He waited and reminded himself he was

her friend. Murdoch's friend. And friends didn't take advantage. He was cool with them as a couple.

"I think I'm pregnant."

Her simple sentence hung there and man it hurt. Bad. He wasn't okay with c.r.a.p.

He'd known in his head that Shelby and Murdoch were probably doing it. They'd been dating for about

two years, after all. But it wasn't something he let himself think about too much because it would drive him kinda crazy.

Not much choice but to think about it now. "Are you sure?"

"No." She swiped hair from her face. "Just, uh, late. Scared. I needed to talk to somebody before I totally lost it in front of my folks."

Honor forced him to say, "Shouldn't you be talking to Murdoch about this instead of me?"

She didn't answer, just kept brus.h.i.+ng hair out of her face while wind streaked it right back again.

"It is, uh, his, right?"

She jerked toward him, shock, anger, hurt all glittering in her eye like the sparkles in her lip gloss. "G.o.d,

yes. What kind of person do you think I am?" She started inching down the hood. "I shouldn't have even come here. This isn't your problem, anyway."

"Hold on." He gripped her arm to stop her from sliding off to leave. "Chill. It's just weird that you're

talking to me first. But I'm totally cool with it."

The fight crumpled out of her spine. Tears flooded, dripped over. What kind of guy would he be if he didn't comfort her? No big deal. A friend thing. He patted her back. Safe. Still friend stuff.

A really soft curvy friend.