Full Force on Tammy Read online

  Full Force on Tammy

  Milana Cheers

  Copyright © 2021 by Milana Cheers

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Epilogue

  Marry the Russian Teaser

  Also by Milana Cheers

  About the Author

  Chapter 1

  Tammy

  “Suit’s order is up,” Ginger hollers from the front of the diner.

  I button up my pants, then wash my hands, trying but failing not to stare at the mirror. I take note of the bags under my eyes and the hair sticking out every which way. I’m gonna hit thirty-five in a few months, and my body feels eighty. Overworked and underpaid is the name of the game here in Winston, Wyoming, population thirteen thousand. Them sleepless nights take a toll on a girl. But that’s what it takes to raise my sister’s kids, so I’m gonna stick it out.

  “Tammy,” Ginger hollers again.

  I swing open the bathroom door and rush down the hallway to the front of the kitchen, where Ginger thrusts a plate of scrambled eggs and bacon into my chest. “Hot plate. Sat under the lights forever.” She winks.

  Ginger is my best friend, my babysitter, sometimes my mom, even a boyfriend who takes me out occasionally. Basically, my wife, just not in a sexy way. I grab a serving cloth and take the plate, heading down the packed diner toward a guy we call the Suit, a businessman who recently arrived in town. He’s staying over at Linda’s Lodgings, where I work housekeeping part-time, and he tips well. He comes in every morning, so I make an extra effort to be sweet.

  Smiling, I drop off his plate. “Here you go, dear.”

  “Blake,” he says, and lifts his gaze from his tablet where he’s reading the Business Review every morning. From the week I’ve seen him here, I’ve gathered he’s predictable. Structured. Disciplined. Uninterested in raggedy waitresses in small towns, and I can’t blame him.

  However, if I can’t bang him, I want to be him, because I could definitely use some order in my life. “Tammy,” I say, and when he doesn’t extend his hand, I clasp my hands in front of me.

  “I heard. The entire town hears your coworker.” His eyes twinkle, and I can’t tell if he’s annoyed with Ginger or if he’s trying to be funny. I opt for the latter and force myself to laugh a little, then ask, “Is there anything else I can bring you?”

  “Ketchup.” He pulls out the empty bottle from the condiment basket, and fuck, I forgot to check the condiments when I came in this morning before Mary slipped out without doing her side work on the night shift.

  “Coming right up.” Back at the front of the kitchen, we have a large counter where Ginger passes the orders, and I find half-full ketchup bottles and groan, annoyed with Mary. “Ginger,” I say. “Mary’s still not doing her side work.”

  “I’ll talk to her again.”

  Uncapping the bottle, I climb the tall stool and bend over the counter to pump the bottle full from the big container we keep under here. “How many times are you gonna just talk to her?”

  “As many as it takes.”

  Rolling my eyes, I cap the bottle and return to the Suit, who’s inhaled half the eggs already. “Here you go, Blake. More iced tea?”

  He nods, nose in the book on his tablet now. I check the time. Eight sharp, so there’s time for him to read something. Like clockwork.

  “Tammy,” Devon Washington says from the table next to the Suit. “The kids and I are done. I need to run to Marty’s. Mind if you babysit? I won’t take long.”

  I sigh, putting a hand on my hip. I want to say no because I’m working and Marty owns the only market in town, so this trip could take an hour. Mr. Washington’s kids aren’t the best behaved, but Devon lost his wife, Heather, in the same accident in which I lost my sister, so the entire town is helping out with his kids. Funny how only my mom and Ginger help me, but hey, the single-dad trope is more popular than the single-mom-or-aunt one.

  I nod, and he slides out of the booth, knowing I can’t say no. My sister and his wife were best friends. Born on the same day, died on the same day.

  The front door’s bell jingles as he exits.

  “Vanilla shakes?” I ask the kids.

  They shout a yes like a chorus.

  I glance back at Ginger, who’s looking a little pale. I walk over. “What is it?”

  “I forgot to tell you about the back room.”

  “There’s people in there?”

  “A few.”

  “Shit.”

  “I’m sorry. You want me to go there first?”

  “It’s fine. Make vanilla shakes for Washington’s kids. He’ll probably be an hour. Also, keep an eye on my Suit, and the Tornstens are waiting on pancakes.”

  I spin on my heel and practically run between the booths, cutting a corner to the left, passing the bathroom, and hopping over the three steps to enter the back room we use for parties larger than ten, such as weddings, birthdays, and, sadly, funerals.

  I take stock of the party and inhale the smell of leather and fresh-shaved man. Instantly, butterflies flutter in my belly because, let’s face it, I’m a single mom-aunt in her midthirties in a town where nothing ever happens, and I’m horny as fuck. These guys are hot. Clean-shaven, tightly clipped hair, jeans, leathers, and…they smell like motorcycle fumes. Are they bikers?

  The butterflies in my belly roar like lionesses in heat. With the roar comes an instant reminder of how the last time a biker gang drove through town, I got laid and panicked when the condom broke and I missed my period. Thankfully, I didn’t get pregnant and avoided having to chase the baby’s daddy all over the country just so he could remind me it was a one-night stand and an accident.

  “Hey there, cupcake,” one of them says. I realize I’m standing at the entrance like a deer caught in the headlights.

  The guys chuckle, some still reading menus, others just looking bored.

  I smile a wide one. “Hey.” The one who spoke is a redhead like Ginger, but with fewer freckles on his face and a cleft chin, which makes his smile even sexier.

  “I’m sorry to keep you waiting. Can I get you a cup of coffee?”

  They shout orders at me, talking over each other, and I start circling the table, writing down orders on my pad. These men know what they want, and they’re firing at me quickly and with certainty, so I’m hustling to write it all down as fast as they spit it out. I’m busy writing the last guy’s order, so I don’t look up as I circle to the head of the table, the last man on my list.

  Because I’m not looking, I’m unprepared.

  Even if I’d looked, I wouldn’t have been prepared for this man. And when I do lift my head, smile, and lock eyes with his blue ones, my knees almost fold. Oh my God. Black hair, blue eyes, black turtleneck, leather jacket, and a perfect nose. The nose got me. No, really, the nose makes or breaks a dude’s face.

  I know better than to stare into those dreamy eyes and believe a single word he says. Unless he was talking about eggs or pancakes. No, not eggs. Those things can be fertilized with his sperm. He’s got a lot of sperm. I’m sure he’s massive, and bam, I look down, trying to see between his legs. Briefly, but I bet he caught it, because he pushes back his chair, and spreads his legs wider.

  I open my mouth, and nothing
comes out.

  With a smirk on his face, he does a once-over of my body. I’m wearing a dirty apron over my jeans and a brown sweater I’ve worn for the past three years ever since I got it on clearance. And remember those bags under my eyes? Yeah, those. And did I mention I gained six pounds over the long winter and that I now have a lower belly bump as if I’d delivered my sister’s babies? Yeah, I’m conscious of how I look. Like a worn-out single mom who just needs to take this dude’s order. So that’s what I do.

  I take his order and leave the room, dragging my screaming pussy behind me.

  Chapter 2

  “Cap.” Dawson nudges my elbow.

  I hear him in the background as I’m currently too busy contemplating what just happened between me and the waitress. There was something there, some kind of magic I never experienced when seeing a woman before. I’m trying to break it down, figure it out.

  “You never said there were hot chicks in this town,” Dawson says.

  I grew up a few towns over. Never seen this girl before. Granted, my parents left Wyoming for California when I was about fifteen, so she might’ve been five, though she doesn’t seem a decade younger than me. Hm.

  “Captain.” Dawson puts more force into the word.

  “There aren’t any hot chicks in this town,” I say.

  “The waitress was hot.”

  Mason raises his hand. “I’m in with you, Dawson.”

  These two have shared women. I shake my head. “Tammy’s off-limits.” I lifted the name off the badge. It sounds cute. I could say it for a while, a year, two, till I die maybe? Hm. My brain is computing, and the fuckers are still yapping at me.

  “Oh, come on, Cap,” Dawson says.

  “I’m serious.”

  “Why?”

  “My ex,” I lie. “Went to same high school.”

  “You haven’t been here since then.”

  “So?”

  “That was twenty years ago.”

  “Again, so?” I bark a bit, agitated that he wants to bang the waitress. Not that I blame him. She’s the prettiest girl I’ve ever seen, even when she looks beat for the day. While she took our orders, I didn’t check her hands for a ring, but I’m fairly certain she’s married. Women her age generally are, and that’s also another reason my team should stay away from her. We’re not here for drama, not when we bought homes in the new developments in the same zip code.

  The girl takes a while to come back. The guys and I shoot the shit, and I yawn, barely keeping my eyes open. Nonstop for days, we rode in U-Hauls and drag-along trailers from California to here and rested only when we got into town, which was, oh, about four hours ago, two hours before Dawson woke everyone up and got us into the diner for breakfast.

  I’m fucking starving, haven’t even had coffee yet, and I’m growing a little irritated that Tammy kept us waiting over twenty minutes before she even checked in. Now it’s been at least fifteen since she took the order. I have a feeling because the diner is full and we’re a large party, this is gonna take forever. I hate waiting or sitting still in one place for too long without having things to do.

  But I’m gonna behave. I really am.

  I check my watch and take stock of my men, who are also growing grumpier by the minute. Twenty minutes pass, and Tammy’s not back yet. I tap my fingers on the table. She’s busy. Even if she were married, I’m sure she wouldn’t ignore the magic moment we had and avoid the table on purpose.

  Intent on grabbing a pot of coffee and some cups, I leave the room. It feels like a bunker, with only a tiny window overlooking the mountain region that reminds me of some of the landscapes in countries I never wanna visit again. I walk into the main diner and see my waitress chatting up a single dude in a suit sitting at the second table to the left of the door.

  She’s smiling as she talks. I walk by her, straight to the counter where another waitress is talking to the chef in the kitchen. On the counter is a tray with two coffeepots and seven cups, one full, with a narrow orange straw sticking out of it. “This for me?” I ask the rhetorical question and take the tray, then move back toward our room, eyes on the man my waitress is talking to. He looks like a dude I’d call a Suit. Behind her, I stop and lean in, then whisper in her ear, “Kitten, did you forget about me?”

  Ah fuck, she smells like small-town Christmas, vanilla sex and sweet orange-blossom shampoo, laughter, and every dream I held on to but never experienced while overseas hiding behind the dirt and rocks of Afghanistan executing missions for my country.

  She freezes, and I linger far longer than appropriate for a man who might be hitting on a married woman. I take my eyes off her ear, which I wanna bite, and glare at the pretty boy in the suit. He catches my glare and lifts an eyebrow. Bitch, please, I eat suits for breakfast.

  “I got my own coffee, Kitten,” I throw over my shoulder as I walk away. I never quite grew out of that fifteen-year-old asshole with the hots for small-town girls with big tits. She’s mine, even if I have to kill the Suit and her husband.

  “Looks like I’ll be shooting people soon,” I announce as I put the tray of coffee at the end of the table. I pour a cup for myself, then look up at six pairs of eyes all staring at something behind me. I turn to see Tammy there, arms crossed.

  “I was on my way,” she says.

  “You seem to have made a rest stop before you executed your coffee mission. There’s no rest while the mission is incomplete. Isn’t that right, boys?”

  “Aye, Captain,” my boys answer, then laugh.

  I pour the coffee for all my guys when she rounds me. I feel her glare on my face, but I ignore it and walk around the table to sit back in my place. Elbows on the table, I sip my black coffee. It’s excellent, and I moan as if she’s already sucking my dick. “Mmmmm.”

  Tammy stands at the end of the table looking like she has something to say.

  “Yes?” I quirk an eyebrow like the Suit. Maybe she likes that kind of stuff. Does he get his eyebrows plucked? Does she like pretty boys in suits? Too bad for her, because she’s gonna be stuck with me, and I don’t wear suits.

  “Tammy!” rings from the main diner, and my waitress pinches her lips and leaves.

  “Damn, that ginger girl is a screamer,” I say.

  “Cap, is the ginger girl an ex too?” Dawson asks.

  “Hell no. I like ’em sweet. Speaking of sweet…” I leave the rest hanging as Tammy walks back, the screaming ginger girl and the cook in tow to deliver the massive amounts of food we ordered. As she leaves, I order iced tea. Briefly, she nods, then gets on with her business, but not before I check out her ring finger. No gold band. “Got a mission,” I say and start eating.

  The guys eat, glancing at me, waiting for me to lay out the specs. Years after getting sent home, we stuck together, got obsessed with Harleys, and now, it seems, I’m the captain for life. The military stayed with us even out here in the Land of the Free. Old habits and the things we’ve gone through aren’t leaving us, and we aren’t leaving each other, not after we lost three men to suicide after we initially split up. Sticking together seemed to lessen our PTSD symptoms, and we stopped taking the meds that made us slow and muddied our brains. Dawson also laid off alcohol. Senator still smokes weed, but that seems to chase away the night terrors, so that’s fine by me.

  Dawson nudges my elbow, and I look up from my plate, mouth full of omelet and French toast. I chew, and my eyes roll into the back of my head. Swallowing, I say, “Fuck, it’s still the best omelet in the world.”

  “The one we had in that one place in Beirut was pretty memorable,” Senator says.

  “With a more memorable cook,” Mason pitches in, and we laugh as Senator throws a roll of bread at Mason’s head.

  “What’s the mission?” Dawson asks.

  “It’s personal.”

  Some guys nod, others snicker.

  I scoop up more eggs. “What’s so funny?”

  “Cap, you’re an asshole, and no woman in her thirties is gonna sleep with
you.”

  “What’s her age got to do with it?”

  “Women that age know better.”

  “What the fuck does that mean?”

  “It means,” Tammy says as she steps back into the room, “calling me Kitten isn’t gonna cut it. And your friend is right. We do know better.” She places my iced tea on the table. “Anything else?”

  “More coffee.”

  Her eyes narrow.

  “Kitten,” I add, just to play with her some more. She’s annoyed I’m running her back and forth. Well, I have to keep her away from the Suit so I don’t have to kill him, which is healthy for all of us.

  Except my coffee doesn’t come, and Tammy doesn’t either. The ginger girl shows up to check on us, and I ask for more shit I don’t need to see if the girls decided to tag-team our party of seven, but no, Tammy’s staying in the main diner. When the check arrives, I see Ginger’s name on it, meaning Tammy lost the table and the fat tip I was gonna give her. People in this town don’t come from money. This is working-class America, and life is tough out here.

  My team files out, and I stay in the back room just to see if she’ll fucking come back and see me again. I sit for an hour, out here in the back with dirty dishes in front of me, doing what I hate most. Waiting. No busboys come. No waitress comes to clean the table. Finally, I stand and stretch, cracking my neck before heading out to the main diner.

  Tammy’s still working, all right.

  When she sees me, she turns and practically bolts into the small hallway in the back. I walk after her, grab her wrist, and spin her around. I pin her against the wall. Her face lifts, and she’s staring right at me, almost daring me to kiss her.

  “Meet me at Bee’s tonight,” I say and wait for her answer. This would be the time where a woman says she’s taken, if not married, and I walk away. Or shoot the competition. I’ll decide after she answers.