by Penny Reid
I was going to kiss her.
But first I was going to strangle her.
“Duane…” She said my name again in that breathless way, making my neck itch and my throat tighten.
Jessica was looking at me expectantly. Her big amber eyes on mine like I was the center of her world. I liked it too much. It was also irritating because I didn’t know what it meant, what she was thinking. She hadn’t said a damn word to me on our walk back from the lake. She hadn’t called me. We hadn’t spoken since Friday.
Five days. Five days without touching or tasting her.
I was going to kiss her while I strangled her.
“Yeah?” I said, the edge of my irritation clear. I wasn’t trying to hide it, there was no need. One way or the other we were coming to an agreement that involved something definite, not definitely maybes. Better she knew I wasn’t planning on rolling over unless it involved her beneath me.
Jessica blinked at me, likely because of my tone, and I watched her shake herself a little like I’d startled her.
“Uh, so…the truck.” She cleared her throat, her eyes sliding to the side and away from me.
“What about the truck?”
“You towed it.”
“Yes, I did.” I allowed myself a moment to look at her body. She was wearing a thin, pink shirt with buttons down the front, with a white, lacy tank top under. It was tucked into a tan skirt that ended at her knees. She was also wearing brown high-heeled boots, the kind that don’t make sense.
Boots are for working, for walking through wet mud, for keeping feet from getting shredded by broken glass and falling machine parts. Boots with spiked heels were just as practical as sandals with steel toes.
Still not looking at me, she asked, “So, you want to buy it?” Her voice was different, higher pitched.
“That’s what I just said.” Again, my irritation was clear.
Her eyes cut to mine, throwing me splinters of frustration. “Well there’s no need to be rude, Duane.”
“I’m sorry, was I being rude?” I couldn’t help myself, I took a full step forward, forcing her to lift her chin to keep eye contact. “Should I have called?”
“Yes,” she ground out. “You can’t just tow other peoples’ cars without asking.”
“Excuse me, Princess. But Mike McClure called me and asked if I minded moving the truck here. I figured he was calling on your behalf.”
“No, he wasn’t calling on my behalf. If I wanted to call you, I would have just called you.”
I felt those words in my stomach, just under my ribs, a quick slice. I’m sure I winced because her expression changed, but before she could explain away her meaning, I cut her off.
“Fine, I get you, loud and clear.”
“Duane—”
I lifted my hands to keep her from talking. She was so lovely, even her voice was pretty. But suddenly I couldn’t wait for her to leave and put me out of this misery of being with her when she wasn’t interested in being mine.
“We want to buy the truck and I’m willing to offer you a fair amount.”
“Would you just hold on a sec?” Jessica took my hand between hers, her grip surprisingly strong, her skin against mine sending a shock up my arm. I ignored it and ground my teeth.
“You can use the money for a new car, something smaller that gets better mileage.”
Paying no heed, Jessica took a half step forward, catching me unawares. One second she was glaring at me, the next she was lifting to her tiptoes and brushing her lips against mine. That was it, I was done for.
I was surprised, so it took me a second to respond.
But I was also motivated, so it only took me a second to respond.
I gripped her arm, staying any possible escape, and moved to deepen the kiss. Surprising me again, she moaned and opened her mouth, her hot little tongue searching for mine. I growled and I didn’t regret it.
I’d been thinking about her sweet curves, her silky skin, perfect fucking breasts, and round luscious ass for five days. Five days of an unending, tortured hard-on. I was impressed the only thing I did was growl, because what I wanted to do was throw her over my shoulder, take her to the room above the office, handcuff her to the chair, strip her naked, and listen to her moan, cry, and scream my name.
It didn’t have to be my name. Also acceptable: Oh God, and Yes please, and Don’t stop, and Harderfastermore.
…you get the picture.
I doubted her sheriff father or deputy brother would be pleased with that course of action, but I can’t say I cared much about their feelings on the subject.
Jessica’s hand released mine, slipped around my back, kneading and searching, pressing her soft body to mine, pulling against the hold I had on her arm. I relinquished her and grabbed a handful of her ass, snaking my other arm around her waist.
I needed leverage. We needed privacy. I needed to put her against something so I could do more of what I wanted to do. To that end, I lifted her slightly off her feet and carried her into the shop, past Cletus’s boots, past the Toyota he was working on, the rusty Master Lock toolbox on wheels, and into the supply room off the garage.
For her part, she never stopped kissing me. Tilting her head to one side and pressing herself to my chest, Jessica licked and bit my ear, giving me little sighs and enthusiastic moans. She also wrapped her arm around my neck and further accommodated our relocation by bending her legs, making it easier to traverse the obstacle course of the shop.
Once inside the supply room, I slammed the door and immediately turned and pressed her against it. Her hands came to the zipper at the front of my coveralls at my throat and fumbled for the tab.
Now, in that moment shut in the little room, surrounded by shelves of greasy cylinders, busted pistons, and an array of crankshafts, I admit I thought about hiking up her skirt, sliding into her sweet body, and taking her hard and fast against the door.
I thought about it. I did.
But I didn’t want to do that.
I wanted to marry this girl.
That was the truth of it. And maybe one day, after we’d been married for a while, I’d pull her in here and bend her over the table at the back and we’d have a real good time. Maybe we’d do it every Wednesday…when she was my wife.
But not now. Not yet. Not when I’m needing to be taken seriously and respected. That’s why, when I spotted the grease stain on the upper arm of her pretty top, most certainly left by my hand, I felt my engine cool and a good dose of sobriety chilled my veins.
I grabbed her hands before they could work the zipper of my coveralls down to my hips and brought them over her head. It was hard to think with her hands on me. It was also hard to think with her mouth doing its voodoo, so I bent my head to her neck and bit a spot on her shoulder. I took the opportunity to breathe her in and found this was a mistake if I wanted a clear head.
After placing one more kiss against her jaw, I lifted my head for some cooler air while trying to ignore her rapid pants of excitement and the beat of her heart against my ribs. We were pressed together knees to chest. I still held her wrists but I lowered them to her sides. My eyes were closed. I needed more than a minute, so I took it, and reminded myself that being shortsighted can ruin the long game.
Jess was the first to speak. “You’re really good at that.”
“At what?” I lifted my eyelids, careful to keep my stare affixed to the sobering dark stain on her shirt. I frowned when I saw there was more than one stain; she had streaks of grease everywhere I’d touched her.
“Kissing, touching me, making me hot.”
My mouth curved slightly at her honesty as I backed up a half step to see how dirty I’d made her. Jess had always been so honest, to a fault really. She was honest when it would have served her better to be guarded. She was so honest that I worried for her.
But for now I was grateful for this peculiarity in her character.
Knowing I had myself under control, and recognizing I was going to need
to replace her entire outfit, I finally met her eyes and released her wrists. “Thanks, Jess.”
But her attention was on my mouth and her hands slipped back to my torso, gripping my jumpsuit like she didn’t want me to go too far. “We should do it again.”
I didn’t try to hide my smile. Rather I leaned one palm on the door behind her and placed the other possessively on her hip; her skirt was already ruined and I liked the feel of her body beneath my hand. “Sounds good to me.”
I kissed her nose. The bridge of it had always been covered with brown freckles, but they’d faded since she was a teenager. Standing close like we were, I could see them.
“When?” Her nails dug into my sides through my coveralls, her tone urgent.
“What are you doing tonight?” I smiled at her pushiness. “Want to go see a movie?”
Jessica blinked, her eyebrows pulling together in a small frown. “Movie? No. Not unless it’s an empty movie theater.”
“Jess…” I shook my head, and searched her face to see if she was joking. She wasn’t. My neck itched again and the beginnings of a cold uncertainty trickled down my back. “Jess, there are lots of good movies playing now. Let me take you out to dinner.”
She stared at me. I stared back, waiting. I could see her mind working, but what she was thinking I had no idea. Her fingers relaxed, letting me go, but the rest of her body soon stiffened. Then I saw a flash of pensiveness in her brown eyes. I didn’t like how she’d grown distant while I still held her, but I held on anyway.
“I can’t tonight.” She swallowed, her eyes moved between mine, then away; she looked increasingly agitated. “Claire and I have plans. We’re going to drink wine.”
My eyes narrowed and my blood pressure steadily increased the longer we stood there; me touching her, but Jessica was already far away. “Jess…”
“Yes?” Her voice was weak.
I cupped her jaw and cheeks, forcing her to look at me and leaving smudges on her skin. “In case you haven’t caught on yet, I’d like to take you out.”
She lifted her hands, covered one of mine and held on to the wrist of the other. I was happy to see some of the rising panic recede as I continued. “I want to go to a place that serves food, where neither of us have to do the clean up or the dishes, and talk to you.”
“What do you want to talk about?”
“I don’t care, I honestly don’t. As long as I’m talking to you.”
This won me a quick smile and it went a long way toward easing my cold doubt. She bit her lip, chewed on it, her big brown eyes even bigger than normal. Then she nodded.
And I finally breathed, releasing her. “Good.”
She nodded again, her eyes lighting up, her pretty mouth slanting with a roundabout smile. “Good,” she repeated, then pressed her lips to mine for a fast kiss. “This is good.”
I nodded too, her sudden happiness like aloe to a sunburn, and then proclaimed the understatement of the century. “I’m glad.”
“Okay then, it’s a date. Duane Winston and Jessica James are going on a date.”
I laughed because she was too adorable, and her words solidified something I’d wanted for years; finally the angry hard-on in my boxers didn’t feel so pointless.
“Yes. That’s what’s happening.” I rubbed my nose along hers, gave her another soft kiss. “The only question is when and where?”
“Oh…” Her gaze turned hazy, unfocused, and drifted over my shoulder. “I could pack a picnic for Saturday afternoon.”
I thought about that, about not seeing her the rest of this week. I decided it was probably too soon to say I’d miss her if I didn’t see her between now and Saturday.
“Saturday is good. Let’s do Saturday,” I said. “And I’ll pack the picnic.” I’d been thinking about this for a long time and I’d decided years ago that—if I ever got the chance—I’d take her out proper, pay for dinner—even if it was a picnic.
“You don’t have to do that.”
“I want to.”
“Fine. Let me bring drinks at least.” Her hand sought mine, entwined our fingers, and squeezed.
The simple movement and connection was dizzying, and it caught me off guard. I opened my mouth to respond but found I’d forgotten what she’d just said.
Her eyes flickered between mine, her small smile still in place. Obviously she mistook my speechlessness because she soothed, “Don’t worry, I know you prefer Guinness to Budweiser.” Then she dropped her voice to a sweet whisper and leaned a bit closer. “Your secret is safe with me.”
I grinned at Jessica James’s backside as she walked away because she had a big old brown grease stain on the left side of her skirt where I’d palmed her ass.
“Damn, Duane, you got big hands.” Cletus sauntered up next to me, wiping his own hands on a rag.
My grin became a frown and I shot my brother a look. “Don’t be looking at Jess’s ass.”
“I’m not looking at her ass. I remind you sir, she is my calculus teacher.” Cletus lifted his chin toward Jessica’s departing form. “I’m looking at the palm print on her ass.”
I returned my eyes to my girl just as she twisted at the waist and sent me a shy grin over her shoulder, setting my heart off on a goose chase.
Jessica hadn’t cared two nickels when I’d pointed out the hand marks to her just before she’d left. When I suggested I give her one of my clean shirts to cover the evidence of our groping, she looked at me like I was crazy.
Instead she surprised me by laughing at the incriminating smudges. She also laughed about the fact that the rest of her clothes were ruined by my dirty paw prints—everything but her impractical boots—and waved away my insistence to replace the outfit. She seemed to be delighted by her rumpled state, and her eyes burned brighter after she saw how disheveled she was.
“Hold your hand up.” In my peripheral vision I saw Cletus lift his palm toward me, suspending it between us.
I kept my eyes on Jessica, the sexy sway of her hips, how her long blonde hair was blown over her shoulder as she walked to Claire’s car. She held her head high, and the big smile she gave me from across the parking lot as she opened the passenger door to Claire McClure’s Chevy almost knocked me off my feet.
This girl was flaunting the fact we’d just made out in the supply room.
“I will not hold my hand up,” I said absentmindedly.
“Come on, I want to see who has bigger hands.”
“Shut up, Cletus. I’m not going to hold your hand.”
I thought about calling to her before she shut the door. I also thought about doing a victory lap around the garage. Instead I settled for watching Jess and Claire pull out of the lot, make a left, and disappear down the road.
“I don’t want to hold your hand, I want to compare our anthropic units.”
“Quit it.”
Beau stopped in front of us, his expression blank. “Cletus, you finished with that Toyota yet? We need to leave soon if we’re going to make it to Nashville today.”
Cletus’s attention moved between me and Beau; he let his hand drop. “Listen, I think it’d be best if we just cleared the air now before things progress any further with Duane and Catastrophic Engine Failure.”
“Who?”
“Miss James.”
I felt my eyes narrow on my older brother. I hoped he wasn’t about to say what I figured he was going to say. I was in no mood—not now, not ever—to discuss Jessica’s infatuation with Beau. An infatuation, I noted, that appeared to be over as of last Friday’s bonfire.
“No need.” Beau shook his head rather emphatically. “No air to clear.”
“Come on now. No use ignoring things.” Cletus was using his grandfather voice as he placed his greasy fingers on Beau’s shoulder. “I think we’d all feel better if everything were out in the open, I know I would.”
My stare shifted to my twin and I felt a spike of alarm. “What’s he talking about, Beau?”
“I don’t rightly know, Dua
ne.”
Cletus put his other hand on my shoulder and nodded solemnly. “The truth is, Duane—and I know this might be hard to hear—but the fact of the matter is, and you know I think Catastrophic Engine Failure is a sufficient teacher of calculus, but that doesn’t negate the fact that—”
“Just spit it out, Cletus!”
“Fine. We all hate Jessica’s brother, Jackson James.”
I blinked at Cletus, then Beau and I blinked at each other. As much as two people could read each other’s minds, Beau and I could. He and I shared a brief, silent conversation where the following was shared:
Both of us: Of course we hate Jackass James.
Me: Didn’t he give you a speeding ticket over the summer?
Beau: Yes.
Me: Pigfucker.
Beau: By the way, I’ve always known you had a thing for Jess, since we were kids. I would never do anything to get in the way of you two being together (or something along these lines).
Me: Thanks. I appreciate that.
Beau: But you owe me one, because she’s hot, funny, and sweet (or something like this).
Me: Fine. I owe you one.
Beau: Good. Glad we have that settled.
“Stop it.” Cletus snapped his fingers in front of our faces. “I hate it when you two mind-meld through your eyeballs.”
Beau sighed. “Cletus, I think we’re all clear on the fact that no one in our family has any patience for Jackson James. After that shit he pulled with our sister when they were teenagers—”
“And all the times he arrested Jethro for stealing cars,” I chimed in.
“In all fairness, though, Jethro likely did steal those cars,” Cletus added offhandedly.
“Jethro was never convicted,” I added unnecessarily, wanting to defend my oldest brother.
“Exactly.” Beau sounded exasperated. “Plus Jackson still brings it up all the time. I saw Jackson at The Wooden Plank two weeks ago and he made some dumbass remark about Jennifer Sylvester’s new BMW being stolen and whether Jethro had been investigated as a suspect.”
“And that’s just him being a douchebag because Jethro has been straight-laced for over four years, and Jackson won’t let it go. Plus, Jethro hates bananas,” I added unnecessarily. Everyone knew Jennifer Sylvester had a banana cake in her front seat when the car was stolen. I could feel myself getting worked up and knew Beau was feeling similarly irritated.