"Please, you haven't got shit. You look an even bigger mess than she does." Val reached down for a bottle, popped off the top, and placed it on the bar in front of him. She did not smile. "Sit down, shut up, and drink your beer."
Mouth open, Joe froze.
"Ouch. Told." With her black tray at the ready, Rosie waited in the service area. The look of surprise contorting her face would have been hilarious if only the drama unfolding hadn't included me. Three tables full of customers waited on the other side of the room. Well, mostly on the other side. Let's just pretend they hadn't heard. Given the way Lydia and Boyd were sneaking looks from the direction of the kitchen, I was probably well out of luck.
A moment later, the volume of the music in the room rose substantially. Thank you, baby Jesus.
"Your two vodka, lime, and sodas." Val squeezed past me, placing the drinks on the tray.
"Thank you, ma'am." Rosie smiled. "Looks like it'll be a quiet night anyway. Vaughan got all of the fridges fully stocked and everything sorted downstairs before he left. You might as well sit and relax, Joe."
A grunt. He eyed the beer as if it might be poison.
Beside me, Val's shoulders rose and fell on a deep breath. "I think you're doing the wrong thing."
"Okay," I said.
"And you." She turned to Joe with a glint in her eye. "Let her do what she wants to do for you. If you screw up that hand so she has to stay here a minute longer than necessary, I will come back and hurt you."
Saying nothing, Joe sat and started drinking his beer. Wise of him.
Val stomped off toward the ladies' bathroom.
"She doesn't share well." I grabbed a beer for myself. Necessary after the last few minutes. "You should have seen what she did to this kid in middle school when he tried to use one of her scented gel pens. Total carnage."
"She cares about you," said Joe after a moment.
"Yeah." I took a sip of beautiful cold beer. All the while, staring off at nothing.
"So do I."
My gaze darted back to him, something squirming inside my chest.
"You're determined to stay and help?" It wasn't really a question, more of a statement.
"Yes."
"All right," he said. "You take my room, I'll sleep on the couch. At least you won't have to cover a hotel room."
"Thanks. But no. I prefer having my own space."
"Then I want to pay for your room. And for your time working with me."
"Oh. No." I drew closer, giving him an awkward smile. "Look, I'm not doing it for the money."
"I know you're not. But you're still getting paid." His tone left no room for maybe.
We both drank in silence for a moment, just listening to Solomon Burke singing "Cry to Me." That man knew things about loneliness and pain, relationships and feelings. Maybe I should get all morose and listen to a bunch of sad songs. Probably an effective way of working through the clutter of emotions Joe inspired. Val was right, my knowledge in this area was crap. I could only go by feel, do what seemed right. And while Joe probably deserved a good ass kicking followed by abandonment, that wouldn't help anyone in the end.
Love or like really did suck.
Joe cleared his throat. "I'm not used to needing someone ... to needing help, I mean..."
I kept quiet.
"Sorry for being an asshole to you earlier and not warning you about Star staying with me."
Huh. "Apology accepted."
We both took another mouthful of beer, swallowed it down.
"Your friend scares the living shit out of me," he said.
I choked out a laugh, snorting beer from my nose. Very cool, very lady-like.
The edge of Joe's mouth curled upward and he passed me a napkin from farther down the bar. I'm pretty sure it was the first time I'd seen him smile, really smile, since the accident. It was almost worth publicly dribbling alcohol out of my nasal passages for. Almost.
"Hey," said a bright, bubbly voice from behind us. Star in a slinky orange dress, her hair all bundled up on her head with two chopsticks artistically sticking out. "I got to thinking after you left, and ... I'm here for you. With the bar, the building work, whatever you need, baby. I want to help too!"
CHAPTER TWENTY
When it came right down to it, getting dirty and being loud with tools didn't really mix with Star's vibes. Plus, she had experience bartending and waitressing. As much as I think she'd have liked to keep a closer eye on Joe and me, her being upstairs didn't make much sense. Especially once Val headed home. Bummer. About Val going, that is; not having Star in my space was a complete win.
So instead, Star took to interrupting us every chance she got. First came coffees. Or coffee. Star accidentally forgot to make one for me. Oops! Next came cake and whipped cream, which she spoon-fed to Joe, apparently so he could work and eat at the same time.
Whatever.
He blushed pretty beneath his beard, but let Star do her thing complete with cooing and Marilyn Monroe smiles. The temptation to barf was huge, let me tell you.
"All finished," she finally (thank God) said.
"Thanks," grunted Joe, rubbing at the back of his neck.
"Are you in pain?" Much eyelash batting on her part. "Do you want me to give you another massage like last night?"
I froze. Then went back to painting the wall because it was neither my business nor my problem. Joe and I were just friends. The fucker.
"We don't have to do it lying down on your bed, you could just sit there for me," she said. "You'd have to take your shirt off, of course. But I don't think Alex would mind."
"Nooo. I don't mind." My smile was all sharp teeth.
"Star's a masseuse," said Joe.
Of course she fucking is. "Great."
"Uh, yeah."
"Why don't you just pop off your shirt for me?" Star stretched her fingers, warming up her hands. "You know it'll make you feel good."
"That's okay," said Joe, going back to sealing the kitchen countertop. "We're pretty busy. Thanks."
"Later at home, then. I look forward to it." And with a wink, she was gone. For now.
The main problem with painting aggressively to unleash pent-up emotions is that the bulk of the paint wound up flicking off the brush and onto the painter. I wiped a particularly large dollop off the side of my nose, trying to calm my shit down.
"Nothing's going on," said Joe.
"None of my business."
"Alex--"
"I'm just here to help out until your cast is off." Because I was an idiot. Also, because I'd said I would and I simply had been born that stubborn. No hippie-handy-hipster would be running me out of town anytime soon. I'd leave when I was good and ready. Like it or not, my hiding days were behind me. At least when it came to Joe Collins.
Still, no wonder Joe suggested I paint, as opposed to letting me near a hammer, screwdriver, or anything else that could easily be used as a weapon. To think, I was normally such a calm and mild-mannered creature. Well, mostly. But turning serial killer on anybody's ass wasn't something you'd immediately associate me with. Until Star.
Sighing and pained looks from the man with the beard.
"Really, Joe. It's fine."
"Are you fucking kidding me?" he asked with a touch of anger.
"What?"
He walked over to where I stood, looking down at me with a cranky face. "Do you honestly believe I'm that clueless when it comes to you?"
I just shrugged.
"Just because I'm in no shape or position to sort shit out with us right now does not mean I'm completely ignorant of your feelings, Alex," he said in a stern voice. "Okay?"
"All right."
"I know this isn't easy for you."
Yeah, no. It might be the only thing on my mind. But it was not the conversation I was interested in. In the aching body/aching heart stakes, things weren't well with me. And bursting into tears or yelling abusive things at him wouldn't help. "You're right, Joe. But I think that's also a conversation fo
r another time."
"I need you to trust me."
"About what? You said we were over." Just repeating it hurt. "And you told Star nothing about us whatsoever. What exactly is it I'm meant to be trusting you about?"
He did some more of the looming and staring.
"You can't have it both ways, Joe," I said. "You can't distance yourself from me emotionally and then demand that I be open with you. That I trust you."
"Alex--"
"I know you're hurting and that there's nothing I can do about it. I accept that." I took a deep breath. "But you need to accept that I'm hurting too, and there's nothing you can do about that right now."
He swore under his breath.
"So I say we make the best of this situation and get this done, okay? Let's just work. I'd really like to get this part finished today." With the brush dripping on the drop sheet, I indicated the outer bathroom wall. Things were coming together fast. At least I could feel a little satisfaction from achieving something.
"Hey," he said, his gaze softening. "You mean a lot to me. Hell, it'd probably be easier if you didn't. But I appreciate you having my back through this. I do."
What the ever-loving fuck was that supposed to mean? That it'd be easier if I was shit on his shoe, something he could scrape off when times got hard? Give me strength. I could have screamed.
After a final unhappy huff, he headed back over to the kitchen counter.
"You're welcome," I said. Then with gritted teeth added, "Baby."