Thursday Nights (The Charistown Series) Read online

  “Sorry guys. I should’ve handled that better. Can we just forget that any of this happened?” I look at them with pleading eyes. I watch a sly smile slowly spread across Nycole’s face.

  “I don’t know, Mom. I think you should have to buy us something. You know, to keep us quiet.” She throws in an exaggerated wink to make sure I get her point.

  “Nyc, have you lost your ever livin’ mind? You know I don’t do things like that!” I look at all of them with my serious mom face and then I can’t help but let out a chuckle, pain long forgotten. I roll my eyes in defeat. “Oh, alright…One thing at the gas station and that’s it! Got it?”

  They all squeal at once. “Yay! Love you, Mommy!”

  I sigh. “I love you too, girls. More than you know.”

  Sitting behind the steering wheel, I let out a long, deep breath. Gas or no gas…that is the question. I was just at the freakin’ gas station! I can’t believe I didn’t notice this sooner. Actually, now that I think about it, the low fuel level warning has been chirping at me for a couple of days now.

  Looking at the needle, I contemplate whether or not I can make the twelve mile drive from Rylie’s daycare to my office without stopping for gas. 7:58 AM. It’s not like I’m actually worried that Harlow will be pissed that I’m late…again. It just makes it easier to rationalize my decision to not get gas. I’m pretty sure there’s a reserve gas tank built into these things, right? For procrastinators like me? Unless I’m already dipping into the reserve tank, which would prove to be rather unfortunate.

  Shifting into drive, I inhale deeply and turn right to jump onto the interstate. I lose myself in my thoughts, thinking about this morning and how the chaos continued full force. After the gas station, where none of my children picked anything remotely healthy as their replacement breakfast, Nycole and Kyndall found themselves in a very heated discussion about whether or not one of Nycole’s friends actually had Justin Bieber’s phone number. A discussion that ended with high pitched screaming that I swear could have broken the sound barrier, and quite possibly my windows, but I had to side with Kyndall on this one.

  Finally ridding my car of the feminine theatrics, I drove Rylie to her daycare. A bad habit I’ve developed is brushing her teeth while in the car at the parking lot of her school. A bad habit she’s developed is literally aiming her sneezes at people. Both habits rolled into one? Well, that equaled another ill-fated incident involving toothpaste. Rylie laughed heartily at my expense after she aimed her toothpaste filled sneeze spray at my black shirt. I think my girls have decided to gang up on me using toothpaste as their ‘modus operandi’. Seriously. With a toothpaste-splattered poplin top, I carried my four year old baby girl (who was still laughing by the way) into her classroom, quickly kissed her goodbye, and jetted out of there before she could use me as her latest show and tell demonstration.

  I noticed the familiar warning regarding my gas level when I got back into my car. I guess I didn’t hear it earlier this morning over my lovely children yelling and screaming at each other. Days like this, I really miss Derek. He always made sure I had enough gas to make the morning rounds. He absolutely hated when I had to get gas by myself and made every effort to make sure I never had to. After three years, you’d think I would have managed to not depend on my husband to still do certain things for me. Yet, three years later, here I am, once again on empty.

  And now I find myself driving down I-35, becoming increasingly nervous that I made the wrong decision. I push my foot down on the gas pedal to pass some poor old couple that evidently started driving when the Model T came out, when…nothing. My car starts slowing and as I push down on the pedal, I realize that I have indeed made the wrong decision. My car has stalled. I pull over to the side of the interstate and throw my car into park.

  “Seriously? Can anything go right today? Harlow’s going to freakin’ kill me!” Ten minutes late is still within Harlow’s “not going to kick ass” window, but I have a sneaking suspicion that this is going to throw me into some unknown realm of Harlow fury.

  I pull out my cell phone and punch in the number to our office.

  “Prestige Staffing, Harlow Reed speaking.” She sounds flustered already, so I’m definitely not looking forward to this conversation.

  “Um, Harlow…it’s Alex.”

  “What’s up love? Are you on your way? We have that interview with the potential candidate for Synergy Accounting in, like, twenty minutes. So please, tell me you’re on your way.”

  Not really sure how to break this to her, I opt to remain quiet while she figures it out herself.

  Three…two…one…

  “Tell me you’re on your way, Alex! I can’t do this one on my own. We both need to be here to make the decision. This one’s too big for only my opinion. It’s a freaking senior executive potential hire, Alex!”

  Okay, Harlow’s usually a little high strung, but this is a little out of the norm…even for her. Odd. Maybe the pressure has finally gotten to her.

  You see, Harlow and I started our own staffing firm right out of college – Prestige Staffing. We started our own business so that we could smoke in our office all day long, consume adult beverages during work hours, and do nothing but giggle and gossip all day. However, we both eventually quit smoking, quickly figured out that we were no good at anything while drinking and, since we couldn’t get any business while intoxicated, we had absolutely nothing to giggle or gossip about. So, we decided to start taking our business seriously.

  Currently, we’re responsible for recruiting and interviewing potential hiring candidates for almost every company in Waco. Together, we can usually tell whether or not the person will be a good fit for the position before recommending them to the company for their own interviews. We have a proven track record, with over 95% of our referrals being placed with the companies. The commission on this potential candidate is HUGE. Yeah, Harlow’s definitely pissed.

  “Listen, I know you’re upset–”

  “Upset? Are you fucking kidding me? I. Am. Pissed!” Yes, just as I’d figured.

  “Listen, I ran out of gas on I-35. See if you can stall him for half an hour. I’ll flag down an 18-wheeler if I have to. I will be there. I’ve never let you down and I’m not going to start now. Just hold him there as long as you can, okay?”

  “Okay, Alex. But hurry the hell up! I have no idea what to stall him with. We only have enough coffee for one pot and no breakfast because you were supposed to pick that stuff up this morning, remember? I can’t stall him forever with my witty banter and mile long legs; there’s only so long that the poor man can ogle me. Your ass better be here in thirty minutes. Get. Here. ASAP.” I’m pretty sure I hear about three more F-bombs before catching dead air.

  Oops. Maybe it’s a good thing I ran out of gas because neither the coffee nor the donuts made it into my possession today. I knew there was an actual reason I went to that gas station this morning!

  “I’ll be there soon.” I say to absolutely no one but myself.

  I step out onto the interstate...well, the side of the interstate, and attempt to flag the first few motorists I see. No luck. Obviously I’m not the only person running extremely late for work this morning. Sighing out loud, I resign myself to the fact that I’m probably going to have to walk to the nearest station, which will definitely put me outside Harlow’s thirty minute time requirement. Turning on my heel to start the trek, I hear the rumble of a motorcycle slowing down behind me.

  I hesitantly turn around, using my hand to shield the sun from my eyes, to catch a glimpse of whatever scary biker man has decided to be my hero this morning. I fully expect to see an old man with a beer belly and bandana covered head; complete with B.O., missing teeth, and a sweat stained wife beater. Like the hook-handed truck driver from Adventures in Babysitting! I am, however, pleasantly surprised by the delicious mirage that appears before me.

  I watch the man lift his right leg over the bike and place it on the ground. Wow. This guy is huge and frea
kin’ tall. But anything would be tall to me, considering my five foot frame.

  I hear the slow clanking of the buckles on his boots as he starts to walk toward me. Man, those are some freakin’ masculine boots. My eyes slowly graze upwards and I notice the worn look of his jeans; frayed a bit at the bottom, holes at the knee and snug at the hips. Do I dare keep going? Seriously, the temperature just raised 20°C out here. And this is Texas…in late August…

  Not easily deterred, I do, in fact, keep going. His white v-neck t-shirt is stretched as far as it can go across his chest and biceps, falling a little more loosely over his stomach, while still managing to hug his hips. OMG. I’m totally not going to look any further; I can sense disappointment on the horizon.

  Damn it. My eyes have a mind of their own as they keep wandering upward. I catch a glimpse of his light brown hair. It falls to his neck, with shorter layers everywhere, making the ends turn up slightly all over his head. It’s a hot mess. I never knew what that term meant until this moment right now. It’s perfectly messy. I wish my hair looked that good. I reach up and attempt to push down the bubbly toothpaste section of my hair. Okay, I’m actually starting to find this guy annoying.

  I figure it’s better to just look at his face and get it over with. Like ripping off a band aid, the quicker the better, right? Either it will be horrendous, which at this point I’d prefer because no one should be this perfect, or he’ll be completely gorgeous and then I’ll keel over and die right here of embarrassment. Either way, I’d like to just get this part over with.

  I quickly glance to his face. I privately note his sculpted jaw, perfect nose, and his beautiful mouth, his perfectly kissable mouth. And his perfect teeth, all of which I can now see because as he’s getting closer to me he’s…laughing at me? What the hell?

  I’m about to give this random man a piece of my mind when I happen to catch a glimpse of his eyes. I find them a vaguely familiar shade of green, a light olive green. I narrow my eyes, allowing myself to really look at him. I look at his eyes, then his face, then his hair, then his shirt, jeans and boots. Oh. My. God.

  “Well, Blake Morgan. What the hell are you doing back in town?”

  * * * *

  Available now at Amazon

  Table of Contents

  Prologue

  Chapter One – Words, Janie, I Need Words

  Chapter Two – A Details Kind of Girl

  Chapter Three – Get Un-Angry

  Chapter Four – Expecting Someone Else?

  Chapter Five – Are you Sure You Can Spare It?

  Chapter Six – That Went Well . . . No?

  Chapter Seven – Stoopid Girls

  Chapter Eight – Those Two

  Chapter Nine – Greek Yogurt

  Chapter Ten – You’d Better Be

  Chapter Eleven – More Than One Step

  Chapter Twelve – She Was My Wife

  Chapter Thirteen – Is This A Bribe?

  Chapter Fourteen – Circus Peanuts

  Chapter Fifteen – I’m Done Pretending

  Epilogue

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  Preview of Running on Empty by L. B. Simmons

  Table of Contents

  Prologue

  Chapter One – Words, Janie, I Need Words

  Chapter Two – A Details Kind of Girl

  Chapter Three – Get Un-Angry

  Chapter Four – Expecting Someone Else?

  Chapter Five – Are you Sure You Can Spare It?

  Chapter Six – That Went Well . . . No?

  Chapter Seven – Stoopid Girls

  Chapter Eight – Those Two

  Chapter Nine – Greek Yogurt

  Chapter Ten – You’d Better Be

  Chapter Eleven – More Than One Step

  Chapter Twelve – She Was My Wife

  Chapter Thirteen – Is This A Bribe?

  Chapter Fourteen – Circus Peanuts

  Chapter Fifteen – I’m Done Pretending

  Epilogue

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  Preview of Running on Empty by L. B. Simmons