Rough & Ready

by Pratt, Lulu

But my fingers remembered the touch, as though it’d imprinted directly upon my muscles.

  “Put on some music,” I said, hoping to find something, anything, to distract me from the reality of Phoebe’s body so close to mine.

  I caught her glance at Jo-Beth, who turned further away, mistrustful of my offer. Fair enough. Apparently resigned to Jo-Beth’s worry, Phoebe took it upon herself to pick the station. She scrolled through channels, past bible thumpers, hard rockers, pop princesses. At last, she heard a few chords that caught her fancy, and paused her relentless scroll.

  “Perfect,” she said softly, and sat back, satisfied with her work.

  It was the Dixie Chicks. More specifically, their song “Cowboy Take Me Away.” The hairs on my arm bristled at the lyrics of the song. Was I Phoebe’s cowboy?

  “This is one of my favorites,” I admitted.

  “Me too.”

  A smile danced along her lips. Don’t look at her lips. But how could one not? They were hazes of pink against the white of her skin, and they moved with the readiness of a theatrical mask.

  “Where are you from?” Jo-Beth asked, her voice puncturing the rarefied air in the car.

  That was a complicated question. “Texas,” I replied, keeping the answer short.

  “Where in Texas?” Phoebe asked.

  “Nowhere you’d have heard of.”

  “Small town?” Jo-Beth inquired.

  “You could say that.”

  My body went stiff, as if encasing itself in a protective shell. I could sense Jo-Beth gearing up for more inquiries, none of which I was prepared to answer. The past was off limits. It held nothing but darkness, pain and regret.

  “Give me a name,” she pressed. “Maybe I’ll prove you wrong?”

  That’s when Phoebe interjected, “Why did you leave?”

  I gripped the steering wheel. I could feel the flashbacks, licking like flames at the edge of my vision. They were coming. Stay in the present, I reminded myself. You are safe in the present.

  “It was just time,” I managed to reply.

  “Time for what?” she pressed.

  “A change.”

  Mercifully, we were about moments away from my house, so I took the opportunity to announce, “Welcome to your temporary home,” thus ending all discussion of Texas and my troubled past.

  Jo-Beth folded her arms over her chest, but Phoebe leaned forward in the seat, as if to get a good look.

  For a moment, I felt a little embarrassed. My house wasn’t much to write home about, no pun intended. Though I’d done my best to gussy it up, plant some grass, et cetera, there’s no way to turn a donkey into a race horse.

  It was small — two bedroom, one bath — in a vaguely Spanish style. Big enough to get the job done, but nothing spectacular to look at. Would the girls think I was a small-town bumpkin? Listen to me, I’m clucking about my property like an old hen. I guess a pretty lady will do that to ya.

  “It’s lovely,” Phoebe cooed as we pulled up to the driveway and I shifted the truck into park, my hand sweeping against her leg once more. I noticed, with an erstwhile longing, that she didn’t pull away from the touch.

  “You think so?”

  Jo-Beth opened the truck door, and both girls hopped out. I followed shortly after them, slamming the door shut and rounding the side to join them in the appraisal of my humble abode.

  “You take wonderful care of it,” Phoebe observed. “I like those tiles.”

  Her long, elegant fingers, nails bare, waved to the blue and white tiles I’d inset on our outdoor steps. It was the tiniest detail, but one I was very proud of.

  “How’d you pick up on that?” I laughed.

  Without turning to me, she murmured, “I know special when I see it.”

  My chest heaved once, but I restrained myself. It felt like her every word cut through the noise of my life. If I listened to long, I’d be a lovesick puppy. And we couldn’t have that.

  “It ain’t nothin’ special,” I said, voice gruff, hoping to distract from how off-balance her compliment had got me.

  “You’ve made everything so colorful,” Phoebe argued. “It brightens up the whole desert. The little orange outdoor table, and the red planters… you’ve got an artist’s eye.”

  I’d been with women before, especially ones who told me everything I wanted to hear. The better they understood you, the more power they had over you. No matter how much I felt myself gravitating to Phoebe, I couldn’t let her insightfulness bind me. That way danger lies.

  “That’s your spot,” I told them, pointing to the Airstream as though they couldn’t see her hulking silver mass with their own two eyes. “I remodeled her last year. Took a bit of work, but everything should be comfortable. There are sheets and everything.”

  “Very hip,” Jo-Beth said, sounding for the first time just a little bit satisfied with her lodging situation. “It’ll do.”

  Biting back a laugh, I replied, “Glad to hear it, ma’am. Gimme a second.”

  I bounded inside the house, unlocking the door and grabbing the Airstream’s keys off the hook. Pausing for just a moment, I let myself absorb the realization that Phoebe would be spending the next four days just a matter of feet from where I slept. Not that I would do anything with that information, of course, but I’m a bit of a masochist. I love steeping in knowledge that I can never act upon.

  Seconds later, I was back outside with the girls, handing them each a set of keys. I plopped Jo-Beth’s into her palm, and she immediately turned and headed for the trailer. Despite my better angels, I didn’t drop the keys into Phoebe’s palm so much as slowly set them down, enjoying the sickness of the second our fingers collided. I couldn’t have her. I couldn’t have any woman. Didn’t mean I’d stop beating myself up over it.

  “You let me know if there’s anything you need,” I told her in a low voice. “Anything at all.”

  The sentence left plenty open for interpretation. The double entendres were slipping from my mouth before I could think to stop them. Phoebe’s big brown eyes widened, but she said nothing, until—

  “Your home,” she stuttered out. “You’re — it’s — I can feel you in it. Like a real cowboy. Like, you care about things, take pride in them.”

  My stars, how did she know just the right thing to say?

  Tilting my hat down to cover the rising blush, I replied, “That’s the finest compliment I’ve ever received. Thank you kindly.”

  Her lips curved up at the corners, a sweet, satisfied smile. It crossed my mind that perhaps she’d given the compliment because she’d known it was the one I wanted to hear. You’re a perceptive li’l lady, I thought. I’ll give you that much.

  “So,” I questioned, having overexposed myself a bit too much, “ya’ll fine staying by yourselves for a minute? I’ve gotta run back over to my work and pick up m’boy. Shouldn’t be too long of a trek. You’ve got the house keys, annnnd I think that’s ‘bout all you’ll be needing.”

  Phoebe ran her hand beneath a small framed photo in the entryway, a black and white picture of the Mojave and a coyote baying at the moon. I’d come across it in a pile of abandoned stuff on the highway. Which was how I’d acquired a good half of my belongings, if we’re being honest.

  The motion was intimate. I felt the hand on the wall as though it were tracing my own back. The spine of this house was my own.

  I cleared my throat, and she shook her head, as if returning to Earth.

  “Yes, of course,” she replied, still a touch absent. “We’ll keep it safe until you get back.”

  “Where will you hide your key?” I joked.

  Without a word, she pulled her shirt away from her body, and tucked the key inside a bra I couldn’t see. Sweat beaded at my brow. It was clear I couldn’t just flirt with Phoebe. She played hard ball. I needed to get myself up and away from this situation if I wanted to make it out with my heart intact.

  “Seems like you’ve got it covered,” I choked out. “I’ll just leave you to it. To
, uh, freshen up. Or whatever.”

  Goddammit, where had my words gone? I know I was smooth once, at some point, but it seemed like a distant memory.

  “Have fun,” she singsonged before bounding after her friend, unlocking the trailer.

  “Wait, Phoebe!”

  She swiveled around. Breathless, she asked, “What is it?”

  “Thought you might want the shower. It’s inside, second door on the left. Next to my room.”

  I didn’t need to add the last part, but I had. What was I thinking?

  Oh, you know full well what you were thinking, my conscience scolded. Don’t act dumb, Carter, it’s not a good look.

  Okay, so maybe my mouth had been workin’ faster than my mind. Maybe I was trying to lob suggestive things back as fast as Phoebe was able to catch up.

  But that was just my mouth, a single piece of my body, the weakest bit, in my opinion. As long as I could keep the rest of my musculature from following suit, we’d be fine. I’d stay woman-free, and Rough and Ready would be as peaceful as ever.

  All I had to do was have a little willpower.

  Uh-oh.

  CHAPTER 7

  Phoebe

  I SLAMMED the trailer door behind me, leaned up against it, and squealed, “Okay, is he not the hottest man you’ve ever seen?”

  Jo-Beth was already sprawled across the bed, elevating her feet in the air. According to her, that helped “drain them of blood,” which was supposed to reduce swelling after standing all day. Personally, I thought this was a bit hokey coming from a real-life would-be scientist, but everybody has their pseudoscience vices.

  “I thought he looked like he’d make a great subject of an HBO miniseries,” she replied, lowering her feet. “After he kills us and leaves our carcasses for the wild dogs, that is.”

  “You are such a drama queen,” I sighed, flopping down next to her on the tiny mattress. Did they make mattresses smaller than twin size? Because if so, this was it.

  She rolled onto her stomach to look me dead in the eye. “Phoebe, I’m just saying… be careful. You’re usually the cautious one, and there’s no point throwing away all that good sense for a cute guy. Survival instincts are valuable.”

  “And my instincts are telling me he’s okay. Not gonna hurt me.”

  Jo-Beth scoffed, “Don’t you think it’s a little suspicious that somebody that hot is living out here?”

  I jumped to my knees, sending waves through the mattress and pointing an accusatory finger in her direction.

  “So you admit it! He is wildly, crazy, stupid hot!”

  She rolled her eyes. “I already told you this earlier, you’re just looking for approval. But… Yeah, duh. I may be gay, but I have, like, eyes. He’s the sexiest guy ever, in the history of the planet. Doesn’t mean it’s a good idea to sleep with him or whatever.”

  “Who said I was gonna sleep with him?”

  “Oh please. I’m your best friend. I know when you’ve got lust on the brain.”

  Touché. But could you blame me?

  On the other hand, Jo-Beth was right about something — Carter wasn’t simple and straightforward. There were knots to untangle, and dangerous ones at that. Most guys I met unfolded before me like a deck of cards, arrayed in a fan that could be read in seconds. Carter was a jumble of cards, like when you throw a deck in the air and let the numbers and suits fall where they may.

  And while that might be hot — because unfortunately, I’m so attracted to mystery — I knew it didn’t make for a safe bed fellow. Especially because we were just passing through town. If I’d planned to be in Rough and Ready any longer… who knows? Maybe we could’ve kickstarted a thing, Carter and me. As the situation stood, I couldn’t risk those tumultuous waters.

  Knowing the real and smart objections didn’t make it any easier, though, didn’t soothe the hungry longing in my belly. Why couldn’t I just throw practicality to the wind, and live a little?

  Because you want to live to the end of this road trip, my safety-wired brain reminded me.

  Ugh. Dumb — and right — brain.

  “Go take a shower,” I told Jo-Beth, waving her away before burying my head in one of the two pillows the Airstream had to offer. “It’s in the house.”

  There was some jostling, and I could hear her pulling a towel out of the nearby stack.

  “Cheer up,” she said, opening the door. “You just have to resist him for, what, four days? Piece of cake.”

  Easy for her to say.

  After Jo-Beth waltzed out, unbothered as ever, I lay on my back, looking at the carefully tacked string lights that Carter had hung overhead. I bet that, when midnight descended, these lights twinkled like stars.

  And again, Jo-Beth was right. A guy like that, who could’ve been a model or an artist, was in the middle of nowhere. Guys like Carter always find their way out, always come out on top. But he hadn’t. So what was the explanation?

  I crossed my heart and vowed to find out. Even if I couldn’t sleep with him, at least I could evaluate him. It was a distant second, but it would have to do.

  A handful of minutes later, Jo-Beth re-entered, covered in a thin towel and wafting the scent of her body wash — eucalyptus and birchwood, according to her.

  “Your turn,” she said, unwrapping the towel that clung to her hair.

  “Ugh, I don’t want to. I’m tired. And horny. And confused.”

  She laughed. “And, frankly, smelly. Sorry, it’s shower time.”

  I didn’t move, knowing that I smelled perfectly fine, thank you very much.

  Jo-Beth paused, then added, “You don’t want Carter to think you’re gross, do you?”

  I chucked a pillow at her head which she nimbly dodged, but I knew she’d already won the battle.

  Red with embarrassment, I hauled my ass out of bed.

  “Thought that might do the trick,” she said with a self-satisfied smile.

  “Yeah, yeah, no need to gloat.”

  I considered wearing my clothes to the house, then shrugged. Jo-Beth had gone out in a towel, so it was probably fine. Besides, Carter’s was the only house on the block, if you could even really call it a block. Nobody was gonna see my bits.

  “I’ll be back in a minute,” I told her and trotted outside.

  Aw shoot. No flip flops. Oh well, I sighed to myself, keeping my eyes affixed to the ground as I carefully picked over sharp bits of sand. My face was so close to the ground I probably looked like an ostrich, but again — no one there to see it.

  Finally, I reached the door and strode inside, with probably too much pomp for someone who didn’t own the place.

  “One, two,” I counted aloud, before throwing a door open and alighting upon the bathroom.

  It was small, and still foggy from Jo-Beth’s shower, but it would do.

  After shutting the door, I slung my towel over a hook, and turned the water to scalding hot. I wanted to burn all the naughty thoughts out of me.

  As I waited for the water to heat up, I ran a hand over my body.

  No, don’t you dare, my inner voice insisted.

  “But I want to,” I whispered.

  You’ll regret it.

  “I can live with that,” I snapped, my tone fierce, as though I was fighting with a real person, and not just a figment of my own imagination.

  That did it.

  I stepped through the glass wall, positioning my pussy beneath the shower head. The hot water sizzled like a Jacuzzi jet.

  Carter’s face flashed in my mind — the slicked hair, the chiseled jaw and those dark, indecipherable eyes.

  Resisting was good, but caving was better. And just a little touching couldn’t hurt, right? It would keep my desires in check, at least long enough for us to get the hell out of town.

  My fingers began to massage my nipples, working as if without my instruction. I tilted my head to the side, letting the water cascade down my neck, lightly spraying the hair I’d done up in a careful bun.

  Even in the heat, m
y nipples were stiff. Had they been hard all day? I wondered. And, more to the point had Carter seen them sticking through my shirt?

  Fuck it. I didn’t care. I couldn’t have him, sure, but that didn’t mean I had to hide my attraction to him.

  My mind raced with thoughts of his thick arms, and in response, my fingers made their way down to my clit. They were steering this ship now. The logical part of my brain had stepped out, as if for a tea break.

  I began to touch myself just the way I liked it — short, firm strokes, interspersed with the occasional long one. It was pussy Morse code, a system of communication so sophisticated there were few men in the world who could master it and I hadn’t met any of them yet. The vaginal lieutenants, if you will.

  A full-bodied groan escaped my throat, and I pushed my hips down, forcing my clit harder onto my fingers. Could Carter touch me like this?

  Yes, I thought. Any man who could make a home with this much artistry knew how to pleasure a woman.

  His image swirled through my brain as the space between my legs grew more and more sensitive to the touch.

  “Carter,” I whispered, my breath haggard and uneven.

  I was on the brink. I pressed my shoulder blades against the tile wall, and with a couple quick flicks of the wrist, brought myself to orgasm.

  The sound that escaped me was unexpected, to say the least. It was somewhere between a mangled moan and a delighted yelp, so loud that I immediately clamped my hand over my mouth, embarrassed at the volume and being in a tiled shower only made it seem louder.

  But God, pleasure oozed through me, blood boiling and saliva thick at my lips. I’d come to thoughts of Carter, and it had been so fucking good.

  “You okay in there?”

  My head shot up.

  Shit.

  “What?” I asked through strangled vocal cords.

  “I thought I heard something.”

  Okay, so Carter was at the door, and he’d heard me masturbating.

  No, I thought. He heard me orgasming. Was that any better?

  “You okay? Do you need help?”

  Sure, I needed help, if by help he meant his cock. That variety of help I was ready to accept at a moment’s notice.