“Ladies, that wasn’t even my favorite part,” EmmaLeigh said. “I was all aflutter at the end when he met her out on that balcony. There were all those people down below, but they just…”
A chorus of oohs and ahhs went around the circle.
“For me, it’s not so much about the way the scenes play out,” Cassidy said. “Because let’s be honest, a lot of it is more than any of us would really indulge in.”
Heads nodded in agreement.
“But there’s a freedom in it,” she continued. “I think that’s what I’m enjoying the most.”
I leaned down, reaching into my bag to dig out my Kindle.
“You know what I really appreciate,” Dixie said, glancing up from her knitting. “I feel like I’ve been able to connect with Clyde in ways we haven’t in years.”
“That’s so beautiful,” EmmaLeigh said.
“It is,” Dixie said, her expression going wistful. “Here I thought my lady parts had all but dried up. They just needed a little spark to wake ’em up again.”
“Good for you,” Cassidy said.
“Get it, girl,” Scarlett said with a grin.
“You’re never too old to rev up your engine,” Dixie said, pointing around the circle with one of her knitting needles. “Don’t forget that.”
“I won’t,” Scarlett said, leaning back in her chair. “I plan on having orgasms until the day I die.”
“Use it or lose it,” Dixie said. “Although take it from me, if you lose it, you can still bring her back to life. Clyde and I ain’t what we used to be, but some old-fashioned horizontal refreshment is still plum good. Even at our age.”
I blinked a few times, still bent over with my arm in my bottomless bag. What on earth were they talking about? I sat up and leaned closer to Shelby.
“I thought this was a book club,” I whispered.
“It is,” she whispered back.
“Then why does it sound like Dixie Miller is talking about sex?”
“Because she is,” Shelby said, as if that was what all seventy-plus-year-old women talked about at book clubs.
“Why?”
“Haven’t you read the book?” she asked.
“Just the beginning. Everyone said I should come anyway, but I’m lost.”
“Oh,” Shelby said, like it all made sense to her now. “Skip to chapter six.”
I dug around in my bag again until I found my Kindle, then swiped through the pages to chapter six. The rest of the women continued their conversation—EmmaLeigh started in on a list of ten ways to get in a quickie when you’re pressed for time—and I started reading.
My eyes slid across the page, a scene that began with the two main characters chatting over dinner in a fancy restaurant. Their conversation quickly turned seductive, then became downright dirty. He leaned over the table and described a long list of things he planned on doing to her as soon as he had the chance. Just reading the dialogue made my heart pump.
The female character got up and made her way to the ladies’ room. A minute later, her date joined her. I tracked the words faster now, the scene getting intense. Clothes being taken off, piece by piece, each article exposing new areas of skin to be touched and kissed. Low murmurs and sexy growls, neither of them seeming to care that they could be caught at any moment.
I kept reading, feeling my cheeks flush and everything below the waist tingle. The couple in the book started having sex. Their positioning seemed unlikely, if not impossible, but it was written so convincingly, I was transported to that posh bathroom with marble tile and wide mirrors. I could see it all. The way he maneuvered her body into previously unknown positions that allowed him to drive his abnormally large penis deep inside her. Her blissful pleasure as he gave her the most amazing, intense, and all-encompassing orgasm of her life.
And it didn’t end there. A waitress opened the door, but the salacious couple didn’t stop. Despite being seen, and the startled waitress staying to watch, they continued their breathtaking foray into sexual exploration.
In real life, I had no desire for someone to watch me have sex. But I was captivated by this riveting scene in which two people overcome with sexual desire threw off their inhibitions and participated in a symphony of dirty talk, and even dirtier actions, resulting in multiple orgasms—including a masturbatory climax for the watching waitress.
I’d spent my adult life working in the music industry. I’d toured with rock stars. I’d walked in on more than my fair share of people having sex. Sometimes in odd places, or with more than two participants. But I’d never seen—or done—anything like what I’d just read.
Letting out a long breath, I closed the book. I was warm, the pressure between my legs making me want to squirm in my chair.
The discussion continued, and it turned out the book had a lot more than vibrantly-written erotic sex. The plot sounded engaging, and everyone talked about how much they swooned over the romantic ending. The epilogue was a favorite, apparently including some extremely arousing sexual exploits on a couch, which the ladies in my circle agreed were worth trying at least once. Except Dixie—she and Clyde preferred to keep it basic so neither of them broke a hip.
Nadine stood and called for everyone’s attention again. “Ladies, we’re almost out of time. Before y’all go, don’t forget we have a recipe-sharing circle online with plenty of libido-enhancing meals and ingredients. EmmaLeigh was kind enough to add her write-up on five ways to get your man aroused when he’s tired. And I think we can all agree that Scarlett’s contribution last week on the topic of oral activities was enlightening, so we’ve put a short summary there for you as well.”
June rose from her seat. “The next book is already posted on the website, and is available in both ebook and paperback formats. Piper has once again ordered extra copies from neighboring libraries to meet the demand. And if you’d like to read similar books by comparable authors, there’s a list for your reference. Any questions?”
Dolores, an elderly woman with a wispy gray bun, raised her hand.
“No, Dolores, you cannot spike Murray’s food with extra Viagra,” Nadine said before the woman could speak.
Dolores lowered her arm with a scowl.
“Thank you for attending,” June said.
“And enjoy those orgasms,” someone said from the back.
Her exclamation was met with whoops and hollers around the room.
“It’s hot, right?” Shelby asked, pointing at my Kindle.
I nodded, still feeling a little shell-shocked. “I had no idea.”
“Read the rest and you’ll be hooked,” she said with a little grin. “Just plan on Gibson being overwhelmed by your enthusiasm at first. It happens to all of them. Jonah adjusted and now…” She sighed heavily, fanning herself. “So amazing. You’ll both be very happy. Trust me.”
I helped the women clean up and, at Nadine’s urging, packed a plate full of food to bring back to Gibson. George put away chairs and tables, casting adoring looks at June. They sure seemed happy. In fact, all the women in attendance had smiles on their faces.
They looked good. Vibrant and alive, even the older ladies. I wondered if it was the female bonding over a naughty book, or the extra sex they were having with the men in their lives. Maybe it was a bit of both.
Regardless, I needed to get back to Gibson’s. The throbbing between my legs had only grown, and I couldn’t stop thinking about the scene in that book. The things he’d done to her. I wasn’t sure half of them were possible, but I was going to make Gibson a very happy man tonight while we gave a few of them a try.
31
GIBSON
A bunch of trucks were parked around the perimeter of the softball field, bathing it in light. Necessary for a night game when your field didn’t have fancy lighting. It did mean there were about a dozen places where the light blinded the players if they glanced in the wrong direction. But they’d also be guzzling moonshine in between innings, so a few blind spots weren’t going to make m
uch difference.
The school buses were already lined up, waiting to take people—players and spectators alike—home after the game. Here in Bootleg, we took our drinking seriously, but we weren’t stupid. Cars and trucks stayed parked at the field overnight, and by the end of Wasted Wednesday—when everyone tried to recover from the town-wide hangover—the now-sober townsfolk would wander back to get their vehicles and drive them home.
The moonshine concession stands were doing big business and the bleachers were full of Bootleg residents. They scarfed down hot dogs and baskets of greasy fries, and just about everyone of age had a cup of moonshine in their hand.
Except me, of course. I didn’t drink.
Mostly that was because of my dad. He drank, so I didn’t. Although it wasn’t as simple as a stubborn attempt to turn myself in the opposite direction of everything he’d ever done. I worked with my hands, much like he had. He’d been more handyman than craftsman, but there was a similarity to our trades. That hadn’t swayed me from my profession. I sang and played guitar. I’d gotten that from him, too.
I didn’t drink because it felt like too big a risk to take. I’d had alcohol before. I’d been everything from tipsy to shit-faced, out-cold, drunk off my ass. The problem was, I liked it too much. It was a guaranteed escape. Felt good to check out and stumble around without a care in the world, my head swimming in liquor. I knew what I’d find at the end of that road, and I’d made a conscious choice to take a different one.
We were playing the Gableton Miners tonight. Their shirts featured a cartoon man covered in coal dust, holding a shovel like a baseball bat. They wore headlamps over their caps, adding to the light show on the field.
Opal warmed up with a few practice swings while Buck and Nash stretched their shoulders. Bowie looked right at home with a mitt dangling from his hand. Baseball had always been his game. The guy was good, even when he was three sheets to the wind in the seventh.
Jameson was nearby, being all kissyface with Leah Mae. I thought about barking at him to get his head in the game—it’s what I usually did—but kept my mouth shut. It was weird, but I didn’t mind seeing my brother loving on his girl so much these days.
Scarlett walked toward the dugout, a half-empty mason jar of moonshine in her hand, her long ponytail sticking out the back of her Cock Spurs hat. Someone in the stands shouted her name, and she raised her moonshine in greeting, a big-ass smile on her face.
I took a deep breath, a sense of resignation stealing over me. I wanted to have this conversation with her like I wanted a kick to the teeth. But it needed to happen. And although my sister could hold her alcohol like nobody’s business, it’d be better if she was completely sober. That was probably her first drink, so now was the time.
I flexed my busted hand, feeling the scabs pull. I hadn’t broken anything when I’d punched the beam, but I’d bloodied my knuckles a bit. With a sigh, I walked over to stand beside her—faced the field, rather than looking at her straight on. “Hey.”
“Hey, yourself,” she said. “Where’s Maya?”
Her question poked at the big knot of feelings in my chest. Not because there was anything wrong with Callie. She was over by the concession stands with Cash. But it was an in-my-face reminder of who Scarlett really was. She had my back. Always. Even when I didn’t deserve it.
“She’s getting a hot dog.”
“Okay.”
She didn’t say anything else. Just stood next to me. She knew I was fixin’ to say something. I could tell by the way she waited, doing me the courtesy of not forcing me to make eye contact with her.
“You might have been right about some things,” I said, finally. “I’m not going to say he was a good dad, because he wasn’t. But you weren’t totally wrong about him.”
“No shit, Sherlock.”
“And maybe…” I paused, clearing my throat. We Bodines were terrible at apologies, especially me and Scarlett. “Maybe I shouldn’t have been so hard on you about it. Loyalty is one of your best qualities.”
“Aw, Gibson.” She threw herself at me, sloshing moonshine all over, and wrapped her arms around me.
I grumbled and squeezed her back.
“You’re a good man, Gibson Bodine,” she said. “I’m glad you’re my brother.”
“Yeah, you’re all right too.” I pried her arms off me and pushed her back a step. “Go get warmed up. We have a game to win.”
“Sure thing, Coach.” She punched me in the arm before walking away, her ponytail swinging.
Huh. I felt lighter. Like a bit of the weight I’d carried for so long had just lifted.
I went back to the dugout to get my team ready for the game and spotted Darren in the stands. The bribe-taking lab tech hadn’t bolted on us. It helped that he was staying free of charge in one of Scarlett’s rentals. Sheriff Tucker had interviewed him—twice—and he’d been true to his word. Told him everything. At this point, we were keeping him here in Bootleg more for his protection than for his cooperation.
Once the investigation against the judge finally broke open, things were liable to get dicey. We’d all rest easier when he was behind bars. But we had one shot at him. As much as the wait stretched my patience, like a stringy piece of Misty Lynn’s gum, I knew the sheriff was right to hold out until the case against him was rock solid.
I did a double-take. Speaking of that nicotine-gum-chewing shrew, Misty Lynn was currently seated next to Darren, arching her back to shove her fake boobs at him. The lopsided grin on his face told me she had him fooled. I rolled my eyes. We’d have to pull him aside and give him a warning. I didn’t much like Darren, but I still wouldn’t wish Misty Lynn on him.
“Okay, players, let’s get warmed up.” I clapped my hands together a few times. Coaching the Cock Spurs was mostly a matter of herding the players as they got progressively more drunk, then getting them on the school bus so they made it home. It was a pretty good time.
I had to shout at George twice to stop trying to grab June over at home plate—she was our umpire—and get his ass over here to warm up. That, and guzzle an extra-large jar of moonshine. Getting George sloppy drunk early was our concession to having a former professional athlete on our team.
Jonah joined us after kissing his girl, Shelby, and sending her up to the stands.
“You gonna show us all that muscle is good for something tonight?” I asked. “Or is it just to look pretty?”
He shook his head, smiling. “At least I don’t look like a big, angry lumberjack.”
Bowie glanced back, raising an eyebrow, his eyes darting between us.
“The shitty thing is, I can’t even insult your face,” I said. “Because we look too fuckin’ much alike.”
Jonah shrugged. “What are you gonna do? We’re Bodines. We make this look good.”
“That we do, brother.” I gave him a friendly slap on the back. “That we do.”
Bowie was still watching, but I ignored him, my attention suddenly fixed on the beautiful girl with crazy hair strolling our direction. My blue flannel was tied in a knot at her waist, emphasizing her curves, and her denim shorts gave me an eyeful of her tanned thighs. She had a hot dog in one hand, Cash’s leash in the other.
I didn’t need an ounce of moonshine. I was drunk in love with that girl.
She came around the outside of the rusty chain-link fence. Cash jumped up, his paws sticking through the gaps, his tail wagging.
“Is that Daddy?” Callie asked, grinning down at our dog. “Good boy, say hi to Daddy.”
I crouched in front of Cash and stuck my fingers through the fence to pet his head. He was too excited to hold still, licking my hands, and the fence with them.
“Hey, buddy.” He finally stopped flailing his head around long enough for me to rub between his ears a little. “You being a good boy and watching out for our girl?”
“You bet he is,” she said. “We also discovered he loves hot dogs, especially when they’re snatched out of Wade Zirkel’s hand.”
She laughed, and cliché as it was, the sound was music to my ears. I stood and held onto the fence, leaning forward to kiss her through one of the gaps.
Someone behind me whistled, but I didn’t care. Callie’s lips were soft and she treated me to a little swipe of her tongue.
“Get a room,” Jameson called out.
I twisted my arm around to flip him the bird, but I was smiling against Callie’s mouth while I did it.
Reluctantly, I pulled away. From the corner of my eye, I saw Misty Lynn glaring daggers at Callie while Darren seemed to be trying to draw her attention back to him. Whatever. She wasn’t my problem.
“I brought this for you,” Callie said, pushing the hot dog through the fence. “Thought you might be hungry.”
Funny how such a little thing could punch me in the feelings like that. But the thoughtfulness of my girl bringing me a hot dog before the game made me really fucking happy.
“Thanks, honey.”
She tilted her chin up and I leaned in to kiss her again. “I’m going to go sit with Shelby. Good luck, Coach.”
“Have fun.”
I leaned against the fence with the hot dog in my hand, watching her go. Admiring the sway of her hips. The roundness of her backside. I was gonna nibble on that ass later.
“Gibs, quit ogling,” Bowie said. “You look like a lovesick puppy over there.”
Well, he wasn’t wrong.
I walked back to the dugout and ate half the hot dog in one bite.
Bowie smirked at me.
“What?” I asked, my mouth full of food.
“You got rust in your beard.”
I just shrugged and kept chewing. “Worth it.”
The game got going, the moonshine flowed, and like usual, we were ahead by the fifth inning stretch. The Miners were stumbling over their shoes and dropping catches. One particularly drunk player chased a guy around the field with the ball in her hand, trying to get her own teammate out.
Truth was, a bunch of Bootleggers had founded the West Virginia Moonshine Softball League. They’d been the ones to add the moonshine drinking rule, knowing it usually gave our town the advantage. No one could handle their liquor like a Bootlegger could.
Highball Rush: Bootleg Springs Book 6 Page 24