Vote Then Read: Volume I

by Carly Phillips

  I tipped my chin up so I could look directly at him, drawn like one of the moths circling the porch light. Winging through the dark, ready to dive into his golden inferno.

  “I don’t want Lucas,” I said quietly, drifting my gaze up and down his naked torso. A sheen of sweat glimmered in the moonlight, which also made the shadows of his muscles—the square pectorals, the solid rack of abs, the lickable V that dipped beneath his shorts—that much more evident.

  Will followed my gaze, and his hand dropped. He stepped between my legs, and his unique scents engulfed me. Working all afternoon only made them that much stronger—the scent of pine trees, lake water, and man swallowed me with a heady rush that made me shake slightly. And it was then, only then, that he finally touched me. My waist was encircled by his wide palms, so broad that his fingers nearly touched on either side. It was relatively innocent, but the intent was clear. Just like last night, he held me still; I couldn’t move unless he wanted me to. For that moment, I was his.

  When I looked back up, his eyes were fixed on my lips. Unconsciously, I licked the lower one. His pupils dilated even more.

  “Lil,” he whispered as he leaned a little closer.

  “What are you waiting for?” I murmured. Now I was the one staring at his mouth—so soft and full under his newly trimmed beard.

  I panted. Will swore.

  “Fuck it,” he growled. “I don’t fucking know.”

  Sometimes you don’t know you wanted something until you have it. Sometimes you don’t know you need something until it’s there.

  His mouth found mine in a fury, one that surprised me for about a half second before. The hands at my waist gripped so tightly, I almost couldn’t breathe, and I felt like I was strangled—not for lack of oxygen, but for lack of him. Will’s lips made me feel like I was breathing for the first time; like I’d been under water my entire life, and he was the air I’d never known I needed.

  His tongue encircled mine with yearning and need, the kind that made me moan louder than the wind passing through the trees, louder than the osprey that gave a sudden cry from its nest above. Our bodies pressed together, and Will’s chest, still slick from work, slipped against my palms pushing over his shoulders and into his hair while his hands grasped everywhere else: my waist, my thighs, my ass. He lifted me off the ground like I was nothing and urged my legs around his taut waist as he set me on the porch railing. We devoured each other completely, in a kiss that was both salty and sweet. That tasted like pine trees and fresh water and sweat and just a hint of fresh lemons.

  “Will,” I moaned as his lips found my neck.

  He flicked his tongue in tight circles, then sucked hard enough that I knew there would be a spot there the following day. I groaned. I wanted more.

  “Lily.” His breath, hot and anxious, blew cool over the spot before he bit down on my earlobe, traced teeth across my cheek, and found my mouth again with fierce hunger.

  He was more animalistic than ever, grunting into my mouth as I sucked on his lower lip, his hands kneading mercilessly at my thighs. The solid heat of his arousal—and by solid, I mean way more than anything I’d thought was there under his shorts—shoved between my legs. Will growled, and the soft prickle of his beard against my cheek sent ripples of want down my spine. Animal, I thought. It turned me on that much more.

  “Ah!” I cried as he rocked into me.

  I reached down for the elastic band of his swimsuit. There was so little between us. His shorts. My shorts. Two quick yanks, and we’d get what we both needed. It had been so long—so long. Only a few times had I tried to move past what Theo had done—more for the sake of moving on, a way of asserting my agency amidst a trial that swallowed my life. And every time had been a dismal failure. I’d run away, left my prospective partners in a wake of my fears, anger, thoughts of anything but them. Right now I could barely think of anything else. Will. He consumed me with just a kiss.

  But as my fingertips followed the deep lines of his abdominals to just below his waistband, Will’s hands wrapped around my wrist. His mouth, which was still devouring mine, was slower to stop, and when it did, pulled away from my lips with a light pop.

  “No,” I mewled, struggling against his grip. “Don’t stop.”

  Will said nothing, just stared at me with his mouth half open. An expression that was half lust, half…fear.

  “Fuck,” he muttered, as he looked me up and down, taking in my heaving chest, my nipples poking through the light cotton, my thighs splayed open. Waiting for him. “Jesus fuck.”

  “Will.” I wriggled again, but he held my hand on the railing. Then, slowly, he released it and backed away.

  His large eyes, green and almost navy blue in the night, flashed bright and scared. He took another step backward, then one more.

  “Will,” I said again. I slid off the railing and took a step toward him.

  “Pine cone,” he whispered.

  Then, without another word, he turned and strode into the trees, not bothering with the stairs that led down to the water, but instead scrambling as quickly as he could down the rocks and pine needles until he was at the bottom of the hill. I watched as he sprinted off the dock and into the water. The fury of his strokes tossed small waves into the night, visible until he was almost halfway back to his house on the other side of the lake.

  13

  “Have fun!” Mama said the following Friday as she pressed a kiss to my cheek, laced already with the sweet tinge of gin. “And don’t drink and drive, y’hear? I’ll be sitting by the phone. No more than one more gin and tonic for me in case you need a way to get home.”

  I pressed my lips together, holding back my comment. She knew I didn’t drink in the first place, so if she was giving me the “don’t drink and drive” spiel, it meant she’d already had at least two herself. I knew just as well as she did that there was no way Mama would keep herself to one gin and tonic. If she was staying home tonight, ten to one I would find her snoring in her bed when I got home, with an empty fifth on her bedside table.

  “I’ll be fine, Mom.” I grabbed my keys off the counter. “Take it easy tonight. Don’t forget, we have the septic guy coming in the morning, so you need to be up early.”

  “Now, who’s the mama here, Maggie Mae?” Mama twirled around, spinning her finger through the air as she did. “I’ll be just fine. You go have some fun for once. You and the boys have been working much too hard.”

  I shrugged. At least she was staying home. She’d already gone out the last two nights, and I was somewhat sure she’d had company on one of them. Whoever it was, they were gone by the time I’d gotten back from my morning run, but their car was in the driveway when I’d left.

  “I won’t be home too late, Mama,” I said with a kiss on her cheek. “Be good.”

  “I’m the one who’ supposed to be saying that!” she called. I just laughed as I shut the screen door behind me.

  On the way up the stairs, my phone buzzed in my pocket. It was Calliope.

  Please tell me you’re doing something fun tonight. You’re twenty-six, not eighty.

  I smiled. My friend had been more insistent this week, sensing Will’s rejection cut me more than I would admit out loud. I punched back a reply.

  I’ll have you know I’m on my way out to a show.

  Her response was instantaneous.

  Good. I hope you get laid. YOU NEED IT.

  I rolled my eyes, but didn’t answer. Sure, it had been a long time. I honestly wasn’t sure I’d ever be able to open myself up to someone like that again. But it wasn’t for lack of wanting.

  My phone buzzed again. Apparently she wasn’t going to take no for an answer.

  “Christ, Cal,” I muttered, taking it out again. But the message wasn’t from her.

  I miss you, Flower.

  I stopped at the top of the stairs, stuck in place as I stared at the message, along with the three dots that said the person texting from the number, which I didn’t recognize, was still typin
g.

  If you don’t find me, I’ll have to come find you, bella.

  I pressed a hand to my chest as the air suddenly deflated from it. It was just like him to use pathetic pet names, pretending fluency in a foreign language. Theo was all about the act.

  I sank to my bottom, suddenly finding it difficult to stay on my feet. The wood steps seemed to sway. No. This wasn’t him. Theo was in jail. I had been there, had stood in the courtroom while the bailiff had taken him into custody. While he had screamed at me that he would come after me, get me back, if it was the last thing he ever did.

  My lawyer had told me not to worry about the threat. “They all say that,” she assured me. And I chose to believe her.

  I stared at the text. Then slowly, I typed out a question.

  Who is this?

  The response was almost immediate.

  I’m offended. Who do you think it is, Flower?

  It sounded just like him. It was just like Theo to answer a question with a question. Insinuate that my doubt, confusion, anything was somehow my fault. Not his.

  With shaky fingers, I typed the only response I could think of. The only one I wanted to know.

  Where are you?

  But there was no answer. I waited thirty seconds. A minute. Five. Still nothing.

  “Everything all right?”

  I jumped so high that my phone fell into the dust under the stairs, and our heads cracked together when Will and I both scrambled to get it.

  “Jesus!” I screamed. “For fuck’s sake, Baker! Warn a girl, will you?”

  Will chuckled, and for a second, a suppressed smile glimmered under his usually stolid mask.

  It wasn’t like we hadn’t seen each other over the last several days. To my surprise, after our abrupt kiss in the moonlight, Will continued to show up wordlessly day after day, jogging down the stairs from his truck (instead of swimming) at 8 a.m., and meeting me even earlier on the others for a bike ride or a jog. But barely a word was said. Nothing about the kiss on the porch. Nothing about the heat that at least I continued to feel between us. He hadn’t touched me, nor I him, and any attempt I made at conversation was generally met with curt, one-word responses.

  But he was always there. Just…there.

  So maybe I shouldn’t have been startled when his voice broke through the pine trees. In fact, maybe I should have been mad, considering the icy treatment I’d gotten all week. But instead, as I clasped the phone to my thumping chest, I was so, so happy to see him.

  “I’m just here to give you a ride,” he said, obviously confused by my adoring look. “Who was that?”

  Gradually, I let my hands fall, the phone with them, and I tucked it into my purse. “Oh…no one. You scared me.”

  Will looked like he didn’t believe me, but he didn’t press me on it. His hair was down, and his beard had been growing out all week again, much to my (odd) disappointment, but his green eyes still glowed with mischief. Although he was grooming, clearly avoiding the psycho yeti look, there was still a solid two inches of beard hiding his face.

  He wasn’t exactly dressed to impress—Will never was—but in the faded jeans and worn graphic t-shirt that molded against his lean swimmer’s body just so, he looked nicer than I’d ever seen him. Better than nice, really. The man made wearing denim an art form.

  “Sorry,” he said as he came closer. “I didn’t mean to scare you.” He gestured toward the top of the hill. “I’m parked up there if you still want to ride together to the show.”

  “I can drive,” I said, pointing to my newly repaired vehicle. It had been delivered today after the boys had gone, and to my surprise, was fully paid for. “Thank you for that, by the way. Please tell me how much the repairs were so I can reimburse you.”

  Will glanced at the Passat and frowned. “There’s no need for that.”

  “Um…of course there is. You’re not paying for a major car repair. It can’t have been cheap.”

  “It was nothing,” Will argued, but when he looked at me, his sharp gaze softened. “Call it…a favor. For putting up with me…pine coning…all week.” He took a step closer and cocked his head. “Please.”

  Obviously there was no way I was going to accept this from him, but his expression was so open and adorable, I couldn’t find it in me to say no.

  “All right,” I said. “And you can drive if you want to. But, wait! You’re actually going out in public?”

  I clapped a hand over my mouth. Immediately, two rows of lines appeared over Will’s brow, and I felt terrible. I sounded like Lucas, who hadn’t passed up excuses to goad Will about his monastic tendencies all week. It had gotten so bad that I had literally taken to sending them to different parts of the property altogether. More than once, Will had looked like he wanted to toss Lucas into the lake.

  “Sorry,” I said. “I’m just surprised, that’s all. You haven’t mentioned it since last weekend, so I figured it was part of the pine cone situation.”

  Will shrugged and rubbed the side of his face. The motion was so clearly self-conscious, it made me want to hug him. And not because I had been dying for that addictive scent of his all week. No, that wasn’t it at all.

  “Well, I’m mentioning it now,” he said. “Unless you don’t want me to come.”

  “No, no, no!” I surprised myself with how forcefully I objected.

  Will looked up, his eyes hopeful. “Okay, then,” he said gruffly. “Let’s get going, then.”

  We rode in silence for a while, like usual, but it was chilly and as if Will knew just how long it had taken for me to make my hair behave, he kept the windows rolled up. He pushed a cassette tape into the ancient tape deck; it was the kind with a wire coming out that you could connect to the audio players of other devices. I watched with amazement as he connected it to a decrepit iPod—the old kind with the circular control in the center. The kind that had absolutely no internet access. There was only music.

  “That’s a pretty awesome setup, you have there, Hoss,” I teased. “Very 2001: A Space Odyssey of you.”

  Will arched a brow. “Oh? Do you remember 1999, Lil? These things were classic.”

  I blinked. “I remember some.”

  His eyes twinkled, and that wide mouth twitched. It reminded me that I still hadn’t managed to make him laugh.

  The sounds of The Head and The Heart floated through the speakers, haunting the air with poetry about “Rivers and Roads.”

  I smiled. “These guys are some of my favorites.”

  Will glanced at me. “Yeah? Mine too, actually.”

  I watched the lake glimmering through the trees. “I love the way they mourn in their songs.”

  It was a funny thing to say, of course. They weren’t mourning, although the singer, Charity Rose, had a voice that reminded me of keening women I’d read about in an Irish poetry class I’d taken in college. She cried the way I had so many times when I’d found Mama passed out on the couch. When I’d felt alone in the world because she was too busy battling her own demons to help me manage mine.

  I said as much to Will—the part about the poetry, anyway. I kept the part about Mama to myself.

  He nodded. “She reminds me of some Yeats poetry. This one in particular, ‘The Sorrow of Love.’”

  “Oh, I love that poem!” I turned in my seat, excited. “It always reminded me of the lake. ‘The brawling of a sparrow in the eaves, the brilliant moon and all the milky sky’…”

  “‘And all that famous harmony of leaves,’” Will continued, nodding his head. “‘Had blotted out man’s image and his cry.’”

  I sighed. “So, so pretty.”

  “I didn’t take you for a poetry person.”

  I shrugged. “I went to college, took a few literature classes. But really, poetry, lyrics. They’re the same thing. It’s all music.”

  “You’re a music lover, huh?”

  I opened my mouth, surprised by the pang in my chest at the question. That it should even exist. That anyone should even wonder.


  “I was,” I said, but didn’t elaborate.

  I could feel, rather than see, Will pull into himself, almost as a reflection of my own withdrawal. The “man’s image” that Yeats spoke of in the poem seemed to apply directly to Will. Like he was that man from the Yeats poem, withdrawn behind the sounds and sights of the wilderness around him. Maybe that was the way he wanted it.

  Except he couldn’t. Not completely. I didn’t know him well, but I knew that. Will exuded something magnetic, something bright that could never be hidden completely, no matter how plain or majestic his surroundings.

  The volume of the song rose again, filling the car with tension and beauty. We listened quietly as the melancholic harmonies swirled around us. I closed my eyes. And for the first time in weeks, I felt that old yearning. The one that had made me take up my guitar at age seven. The one that had me singing ditties before I could even talk. An aching space inside me that yearned for the only thing that had ever filled it: music.

  The song ended, and another came on, but the final melody of “Rivers and Roads” still haunted my mind like a ghost.

  “God, I’d love her to sing my songs,” I murmured.

  It was what I’d always said. When I had first graduated with my music degree, my goal had been to sell my songs, not play them. I’d wanted to write and produce, and Calliope and my previous manager had assured me the best way to do that was to perform myself to make a case for my songs.

  But I wasn’t a natural performer. The butterflies in my belly had told me that ever since the first time I had gotten onto a stage. More often than not, I would vomit before a performance, and it wouldn’t be until I was two or three songs into my set, fully immersed in my music, that I would be able to loosen up to sing my songs the way I meant them to be heard. Even then, it was never quite enough. I could play the guitar, of course, but my voice wasn’t as strong as the melodies I heard in my head.