Force Page 5

  "You'll figure it out," I told him.

  He nodded grimly. "I'll figure it out," he agreed.

  "Atta boy," I murmured, trying not to sound cynical although I was definitely trending in that direction. I gave him an encouraging slap on the arm, surprised at how hard it was. I mean his arm. It was like rock solid. And I got to thinking that a hug from a guy like that could probably kill you. Not that I wasn't willing to give it a try. And not that I thought he'd ever want to hug me.

  "When will I see you again?" he barked as I turned my back on him.

  I wheeled around to face him again and questioned him with a lifted eyebrow. So he wanted to see me? What was that about?

  "I'll want my stuff back," he muttered, bringing me sharply back to reality again and making me think that I'd never learn. "And you said you'd help me find my family."

  "The restaurant closes at ten," I said, trying not to act as deflated as I felt. "I'll meet you here at ten-thirty, when you've finished cleaning the kitchen. Mama will want you to mop the floors after the cooks have left."

  "I'll see you then," he said in that commanding tone that made all other options sound non-optional.

  Smiling despite myself, I shook my head and slipped out the back door, stopping to pick up the things I'd stashed against the wall. And with Force's "weapons" tucked under my arm, I headed through the city streets for home. In my cluttered bedroom, I dumped the stuff on my bed and stared at it while I tried to remember what I was doing before I met that guy in the dumpster.

  Oh, yeah.

  My next stop had been one of the nearby thrift stores. So I put the weapons in the closet, got myself back on track and took a bus to the store on Broadway where I looked around but didn't find anything. Mostly because I wasn't really focused. Instead, I was off inside my head thinking about lions and magnets and aprons. But you don't need to hear about all that. Because it's just as silly as it sounds.

  And I wondered how Force was doing back at the restaurant. I hoped he did a good job and I hoped Mama liked him.

  And I hoped he'd still be there when I went back at ten-thirty.

  Chapter Four

  I got back to the restaurant just in time to rescue Force from Mama's waitresses. Normally, the girls would have been long gone by ten-thirty. But at the end of their shift they'd all gravitated toward the kitchen, leaning against the counters, talking to Force and watching his muscles flex beneath his damp T, as if mopping the floor was some kind of Olympic event.

  "How'd it go?" I asked when I managed to catch his eye.

  He looked relieved to see me, which might have had more to do with me being the keeper-of-his-sword than anything else. But I felt a little gratified when he plowed through the herd of pouting girls to reach me. He held out his hands. "Is this what you call dish-pan hands?"

  I looked at his hands then checked his face. "Why? What's wrong with them?"

  "They're all…soft," he muttered, sounding disgusted as he pulled his apron over his head and hung it on the wall. "If I had to lift a heavy rock right now, my hands would probably split open."

  I snickered at the look on his face. "Why would you need to lift a rock?"

  He gave me a startled look like he wasn't expecting a question like that, like lifting rocks was just a normal daily activity that everyone did all the time. "I dunno," he muttered defensively. "But you never know…"

  "You never know when you might need to lift a rock?" I teased him as his voice trailed away.

  "Never mind," he said abruptly, and took my elbow, steering me through the kitchen and out the back door, not even taking the time to say goodnight to his fangirls.

  "What's the hurry?" I exclaimed as he pushed me along.

  He flicked his head back in the direction of the restaurant. "Those girls," he growled.

  "What about them?" I asked innocently, hoping he'd say something mean about Mama's waitresses, which wasn't very nice of me. But I wouldn't have minded if he'd said something that suggested he didn't like them as much as he liked me.

  "They're just such…girls," he muttered.

  "What's wrong with that?" I asked, starting to bristle a little at the idea. "What's wrong with girls?"

  "Nothing," he growled. "They're just…"

  "Just what?"

  "Just not what I want to do," he snapped.

  "Oh," I said, not sure how to take that. Not sure it was a bad thing but pretty certain it wasn't a good thing.

  "And thanks to you, everyone thinks my name is Forrest."

  "What's wrong with Forrest?"

  "It's not my name," he answered.

  "It's pretty close," I pointed out.

  "How would you like it if I told everyone your name was Carmen? And who names their kid after a bunch of trees, anyhow?"

  "More people than you'd think," I muttered, even though I could kinda see his point. "But who names their kid Force?"

  "Someone who understands their child's personality," he grumbled like I shouldn't have even asked.

  "How'd work go?" I asked next, steering the conversation toward a safer subject. "Were you able to keep up?"

  "Most of the time," he answered.

  "Any problems?"

  "I broke that dishwasher thing."

  "You what?" I shouted.

  He shrugged his big shoulders but looked remorseful. It was kind of a cute look on him. Like when you see a mountain lion that has just devoured the family pet and is trying to be all apologetic. Like, sorry I ate your cat but…it is what it is.

  "The tray was stuck and I just…"

  "Just powered it outta there?" I suggested.

  "I guess so," he answered. "And after that, the metal track was bent. I straightened it out again but the tray wouldn't slide anymore."

  Ugh, I thought.

  "I washed the rest of the dishes by hand, in the sink."

  "Did Mama ask you back?" I asked, holding my breath because really, it could have gone either way with Mama.

  "Tomorrow at noon," he answered.

  I let out a sigh of relief. "Did she pay you?"

  He pulled two twenties from his front pocket and gave them to me. "Does that cover what I owe you?"

  "With change," I answered, handing one back and thinking forty bucks wasn't much for nine hours of work. But maybe Mama had docked his pay for the dishwasher repair.

  "So are you going back tomorrow?" I asked cautiously, probably holding my breath again and hoping his answer didn't disappoint me.

  "Absolutely," he said.

  "Absolutely?" I echoed, pleased but curious. Elated actually. He wanted to keep his job! "Why…absolutely?"

  "Because they fed me," he said.

  I couldn't help but smile. Guys are so simple sometimes. "What did they feed you?"

  "I don't know," he answered. "But it was good and there was lots of it. My stomach is full for the first time in ages."

  "So Mama has made a friend in you?" I suggested with a sideways glance.

  His mouth twitched in one of his almost-smiles as he caught my eye. "I'd defend her to the death," he said.

  I couldn't help but grin at the idea of Force defending Mama like some kind of medieval knight. The sentiment was so sweet that it made me feel more confident about him. I mean, I was going to take him to my place anyhow because I had to give him his stuff and I promised to help him. But now I felt like I could take him home without worrying about him being an axe murderer or a serial killer.

  "Let's turn here," I said, pointing ahead as we detoured toward the grocery store. "I need to pick up a few things before we go home. We'll get online there since the family data plan is already tapped out for the month."

  "What does that mean?" he asked.

  "No internet on my phone," I answered, heading toward the store's automatic doors.

  "So this is where you buy food?" he asked when we were inside the doors, looking around with a kinda stunned expression like he'd never been in a grocery store before. But that was ridiculous so I assume
d he meant something else.

  I grabbed a basket and kept going. "Yeah, this is the store closest to my apartment."

  "Are you going to get some of that sandwich stuff?" he asked when he caught up with me.

  "You mean peanut butter and jelly?"

  "I guess so," he answered.

  "Did you like that?"

  "Aye."

  "Are you still hungry?" I asked.

  "Nay," he answered. "But I thought you could use the money I gave you to replace what I used."

  I was charmed that he remembered his promise to pay me back. "I told you there was no charge for the sandwiches."

  Strolling through the store with Force at my side, I ignored the way all the girls (young and old) were staring at him and picked up a few essentials, including some more bread.

  "Do you like tuna?" I asked.

  "That's a fish," he answered.

  "That's right," I laughed as I turned into the aisle for the canned meat. "Do you like it?"

  "I don't like fish as much as peanut butter and jelly," he answered.

  "Okay. No tuna," I said. I smiled up at him and bumped into an old guy. Looking down, I watched a twenty flutter to the linoleum floor.

  "I'm sorry," I apologized as I stooped quickly and picked up the money. "I think you dropped this."

  The man appeared flustered. "I don't think so," he said uncertainly.

  "Yes, you did," I insisted and pressed the money into his hand. "I saw it fall from your pocket when I bumped into you."

  He checked his pockets and pulled out a ten along with a handful of coins. He looked at the ten and puzzled over the twenty. "Well," he agreed reluctantly. "If you're sure."

  "I'm positive," I told him and backed away toward the front of the store.

  Up at the checkout stand, I started pulling things from my basket and placing them on the black conveyor belt. I could feel Force's gaze on me so I returned it. He was staring quietly back at me, his eyes narrow, a shrewd slant to his mouth.

  "What?" I asked.

  He tilted his head toward the tuna aisle. "Friend of yours?" he asked.

  "Never seen him before," I answered lightly and continued to empty my basket.

  "Do you take care of everyone in this town?" he asked out of nowhere.

  "What do you mean?" I countered without looking at him.

  "That old man didn't drop that money. It came from your pocket."

  "You're mistaken," I scoffed.

  "No, I'm not," he said quite definitely.

  "You probably weren't paying attention," I insisted and flicked my gaze up at him.

  "You don't think so?" he murmured, looking mildly insulted. "Well, let's see. I turned into the aisle with you beside me. I saw an old man with white hair wearing a light-colored jacket over a darker coat, and a baggy pair of black pants. His brown leather shoes were old and worn and one of them was split at the sole. The other had a hole in the toe. At the end of the aisle was a mother with a little boy. Shall I tell you what the woman was wearing?"

  "No," I answered tightly.

  "Shall I describe what the child was wearing? What he was doing?"

  "No," I repeated.

  But that didn't stop Force. "The old man's hand was shaking as he lifted a small tin from the shelf. He looked at it, then put it back."

  "So what's your point?"

  "So I was paying attention," he growled. "And you owe me an apology."

  "Okay, I'm sorry," I snapped.

  But Force wasn't done. "You saw the man look at the tin and put it back. And you assumed he didn't have enough money to buy what he wanted. So you bumped into him and dropped the paper money at his feet."

  "Who do you think you are?" I huffed, exasperated. "Sherlock Holmes?"

  "You don't have to be Sherlock Holmes to pay attention to your surroundings," he murmured. "It's the habit of any successful warrior."

  "Warrior?" I questioned him with a snort, wondering why he would use a word like that and what the heck was going on underneath all that gold hair of his.

  "A good warrior pays attention to his surroundings at all times. He knows the direction from which attack will most likely come, knows where he can find cover, knows his best path of retreat." He lifted a can of corn from the conveyor belt and hefted its weight in his hand before putting it back. "A good warrior knows how to defend himself with everyday items."

  As I stared up at him trying to figure him out, he lifted his chin and I followed his gaze to the old man who was checking out at the next stand…with three cans of tuna. I couldn't help but smile. "So you caught me doing someone a favor," I snickered quietly. "What's wrong with that?"

  "Nothing," he answered softly and held my gaze for several seconds. "Nothing at all."

  And I was still staring back at him when the cashier asked me how I wanted to pay…for the second time. Uh-huh, my brain took a detour. Oh Man. What was it about the way he looked at me? It literally put chills down my spine. Warm chills. Is that even possible?

  We were both quiet during the walk home, each of us carrying a paper bag full of groceries. I was wondering about Force and how he'd noticed all that stuff at the store and wondering if he was still noticing stuff as we made our way to Castle Block.

  Obviously, I didn't share his talent for noticing things or I'd have seen Eli and LeShawn slouching down the sidewalk toward us. Okay, the sidewalk wasn't exactly empty but still I should have noticed. And I should have been ready for what happened next. Because I went to school with those guys (before they dropped out) and I know what they're like.

  But all of a sudden they were alongside us. And Eli had this mean grin on his face when he said, "Hey Camie, girl. Who's your new pimp?"

  Pimp. He actually called Force a pimp. What a jerkoff.

  But before I had time to call him any of the names he deserved to be called, Force's fist flew out and nailed Eli, crushing half his face because his hand is so large. Eli flew backwards a few feet and landed on his ass in the middle of the sidewalk. He looked surprised to be there. At six-four, he's not used to anyone standing up to him.

  LeShawn isn't quite as tall but he's just as solid. He started trashing Force and acting like he was going to do something more than just talk dirty but Force just backed him into the wall of the building behind him.

  Force was still carrying the grocery bag in one arm and I don't know why LeShawn didn't throw a fist. I mean, it's not like these guys are all talk. They get into fights all the time. Maybe it was the amount of blood pouring from Eli's nose. Or maybe it was the cold gleam in Force's charcoal-rimmed eyes. It's one thing to talk bad. It's another thing to look bad. And ohmygod, Force looked like he would happily rip LeShawn apart if he didn't shut the hell up.

  Anyhow, LeShawn threw up his hands and said, "Sorry, dog. We didn't know you was tappin' her."

  Charming, huh? Now to be fair, this was probably LeShawn's way of backing down. But if it was, it went right over Force's head. His free fist knotted in LeShawn's T and lifted him several inches off the ground. And Force proceeded to shake him like he was some kinda rag doll. "Apologize," he hissed.

  "Already said I was sorry," LeShawn insisted in a squeaky voice that I'd never heard on him before.

  "To her," Force growled and jerked his head in my direction.

  LeShawn looked at Force then he looked at Eli, still sprawled on the ground, trying to stop the rush of blood that shot from his nose and splattered all over the sidewalk. Truthfully, it didn't look like LeShawn had many good options. And I might have felt sorry for him except for the hateful look he gave me. "Sorry," he snarled like he didn't mean it.

  Force gave him a sharp shove, and the back of LeShawn's head cracked against the stone wall. "Nicely," he growled.

  "Sorry," LeShawn shouted, beginning to look a little desperate. "I'm sorry. Okay?"

  "Okay," Force muttered and let him go.

  I don't know for sure but I'm guessing my eyes were huge as Force sauntered to my side. I'd never seen anyt
hing like it. Oh, I'd seen some pretty ugly fights before but I'd never seen anyone fight over a girl. And the fact that the girl was me made it all the more surreal.

  But Force probably didn't know what sort of trouble he was wading into. Eli and LeShawn had lots of friends and not one of them was what you'd call a nice guy. So, I quickly picked up the pace to get us the hell out of there.

  I slanted a look up at him. "Do you even know what pimp means?" I asked, following a hunch.

  "What?" he murmured, his jaw still tight.

  "Pimp. Do you know what it means?"

  "Not really," he answered with a tense shrug. "But I didn't like the sound of it."

  "You didn't like the sound of it?" I asked on a soft burst of laughter.

  "Maybe it was the way he looked at you. Maybe it was the sneer on his face," he said. "Why are you asking? Was I wrong about him?"

  "No, you weren't wrong," I answered slowly, and thinking it was strange that he didn't really know what pimp meant. But maybe he'd lived a sheltered life in some kind of religious commune on the Isle of Man. Or the Orkney Islands. Or the Shetland Islands.

  On the way up the stairs to the apartment, I stopped at Mrs. J's to drop off the milk and butter I'd picked up for her, and asked her if I could use her Internet connection for an hour. We don't have cable in our apartment. That's what happens when you don't pay your cable bill. I don't mind too much because I read a lot more than I watch TV. And when I need the Internet, I can usually find someone else's connection to ride on.

  Light flooded from her door when she opened it, making her apartment seem bright and cheery compared to the grubby corridor, which needed a full set of replacement light bulbs.

  "Of course you can borrow my internet," Mrs. J answered right away, smiling from beneath her frizz of white hair. Her eyes perked up at the sight of Force and I was pretty sure she'd be teasing me about him the next time she saw me. "You know you don't have to ask. Do you remember the password?"

  I answered with the name of the calico cat rubbing his furry head into her slippers.

  "Help yourself," she insisted warmly.

  "Thanks," I answered and headed down the corridor with Force in tow.

  "She was nice," he murmured.