Not the Rebound Guy

by Abby Knox

  She smiles, her glossy pink lips rewarding me with the knowledge that I helped to put that smile on her face this morning.

  “You won’t need that hoe for this part.”

  She shrugs and drops the implement. “I know. But why pass up the chance to make a hoe joke?”

  I nod. “Would be a shame.”

  The sound of Liza laughing grips my heart so hard I could pass out from happiness. It’s a gentle sound like a garden fountain or a wooden wind chime. God, I really need to spend less time outside; the sun is getting to me.

  She sets off to pick berries the next aisle over, and I spend the rest of the morning wondering how I can maneuver a legitimate excuse to work closer to her.

  “Look,” I say, sidling up and spotting a deep red berry where she’s working. I push aside some leaves, squatting on the ground.

  “Sometimes you gotta move the leaves out of the way to spot a really juicy, ripe one,” I say. I pluck the small but deep red berry and hold it out to her. “These are the best ones.”

  “It’s so small,” she says. “Easy to miss.”

  I brazenly hold it out to her close to her lips. “You wouldn’t want to miss this, though. Try it.”

  She parts her lips and, with no wariness whatsoever, takes the small berry, and it falls from the leaves and drops into her mouth. “Oops!” She exclaims through a mouthful of berry, covering her lips with her hand. Her lips brush against the tip of my thumb. My cock has grown so hard since she waltzed out here in that midriff top that I might tent in my jeans. And jeans are a difficult thing for a dick to tent. Heavy fabric, thick and constricting.

  “Wow,” she breathes. “You’re right. That’s delicious. Grams’ strawberry jam is the best, but I haven’t been out here picking stuff out of her garden in years. Not since I was a kid. This brings me back. I used to take my little red radio flyer out here, and I would spend all day out here with Grams. Picking green beans, rhubarb, zucchini. God, so much zucchini.”

  “Not to brag,” I say. “She has a lot of zucchini, but mine are bigger.”

  Eliza laughs. And I realize what I’ve just said.

  “Oh man, that’s not—“

  “Yes it is! Are you a grower and not a shower, Garrett?”

  I remove my cap and wipe my forehead with the back of my gloved hand; sweat is pouring off me.

  “Relax, mister,” she says. “That was too easy. Hoes. Berries. Zucchinis. Bees. Nature seems to want people to make immature sex jokes.”

  I almost forget to remove my gloves before scraping my fingers across my scalp. “Who’s joking?” I ask.

  She sucks in a breath and color floods her shoulders and collarbones. I don’t know if it’s the heat from the sun heating her up, but all I want to do is squeeze out all the juice from these strawberries on that tender, bare skin, and then suck it all off. “Um,” she stammers.

  “I’m pretty sure that kiss was no joke,” I continue, my eyes traveling down to the gingham that frames her breasts. My mouth waters as my filthy mind conjure up the image of me dripping my honey between those sweet melons, burying my face in there and eating it up.

  Eliza catches me ogling and says, “Eyes up here.”

  “Happily,” I say, meeting her gaze again, noticing the sparkle in her eyes. “You need to stay until August at least. Hate to miss an opportunity for some cantaloupe metaphors.”

  “August? That sounds like a lot more commitment than just a rebound thing,” she says, her voice soft and husky.

  I take a step closer, my exposed front brushing up against the cotton of her ultra-feminine top. Her nostrils flare. “Miss Eliza, I have it on good authority that there’s no better way to mend a broken heart than gardening.”

  Her teasing, skeptical gaze could destroy me. “Is that so?”

  “Yep,” I say. “It’s all this sunshine. I think it’s working already. Sunshine, strawberries, and a good kiss, if I do say so myself.”

  Eliza inhales deeply and exhales slowly through pursed lips, her gaze falling to my mouth, my shoulders. My exposed skin wants to be smashed against hers; wants her to nibble on me.

  “It was a nice kiss,” she says, a little breathier.

  “Nice?” I ask. “Not sweep-you-off-your-feet-Prince-Charming kind of kiss?”

  She’s choosing her words carefully, which I appreciate. While she thinks about what to say, the tip of her pink tongue slips out and wets her lips.

  “I’ve had Prince Charming, and he’s a dud. And a cheater. Doesn’t feel good to get cheated on by a dud and a cheater. Makes you tell yourself unpleasant stories. No, that kiss left a mark.”

  My stomach falls into my boots. “Oh shit. Did I leave a bruise? I wanted to kiss you harder than that; I thought I was holding back, but—“

  Eliza blinks several times and reaches out to steady herself on my forearm. The heat of her gripping fingers sends chill bumps across my skin. “No, not a literal mark. I mean, I could still feel it when you were gone.”

  I feel dumb. “W-wow,” I stammer, looking up at the sky and see the notes in the clouds. “That…that gives me another idea for a song.”

  “Another?”

  Cringing at my own cheesiness, I explain, “I shouldn’t have said that. But the truth is, I was up really late composing a song after you went to bed. You seem to put ideas in my head.”

  Eliza shifts her weight, and her rubber boot makes a squishy sucking noise in the mud. “Oh my gosh, I sound like a jerk. Keeping you awake all night.”

  I reach out and play with a strand of her hair that has escaped from under her straw hat. “The opposite of that. I enjoyed staying awake with you in my head.”

  She chews the inside of her lip like she’s, once again, deciding whether to tell me something. “You were in my dream last night.”

  “Thank god,” I say, chuckling. “Because if there was anybody else making you moan like that, he and I are gonna have words.”

  Her eyes widen, and her hands cover her mouth.

  “Don’t be embarrassed. It’s a completely natural response to spending an evening in the company of someone you find attractive. And you did say I was pretty…”

  “You heard me!?” Her cheeks blaze a deeper red, and she squeezes her eyes shut like she wants to block out me and her dream memories. She takes a step back.

  “I did,” I say, closing the distance between us again. “And that was hot as heck.”

  “Oh my god. Can we pretend that didn’t happen?”

  “If that’s what you want. But just so you know, you don’t have to hold back. If you ever go to bed horny, just remember I’m right down the hallway.”

  She backs away again. “On my grandmother’s porch!”

  “But you have a bed,” I correct her.

  “In my grandmother’s house! I can’t have sex right down the hall from my sleeping grandmother.”

  I lift one shoulder, enjoying watching her cheeks go from scarlet to nearly purple. “Well, I guess we can always go camping in the meadow.”

  Her eyes widen even bigger than before, and she gasps.

  “What?”

  I hear nothing but the squelch of her boots in the mud as she comes back to me, a bewildered expression as she blinks several times, her eyes flicking from my eyes to my mouth. She angles up to me slowly, hesitantly; I assume she’s thinking I’m going to let her kiss me gently. Leaning down to meet her, I wait for it, the velvet of her lips against mine. Her strawberry kiss is beyond soft; her lips are beyond supple. She feels like heaven. Before she can pull away, my arms are wrapped around her, clamped onto her hips, and I’m kissing her back. I deliver a deeper pressure, a commanding kiss, so she knows that this morning’s kiss was not a fluke and that this is more than a flirtation.

  I don’t half-ass my kisses, and I don’t half-ass the relationships I maintain. I am in, or I am out. With Eliza, I am definitely one hundred percent in.

  I keep hold of her but let her pull away just before my tongue slides into her mouth.
Instead, I sneak a quick lick across her bottom lip, the juicy, sticky nectar easing across my senses.

  When she pulls away, she covers her lips.

  “Too much?”

  She shakes her head. “I’m just…not sure what to say after that.”

  I shrug. “Then don’t say anything. Let’s finish picking strawberries. And then we can go inside and have lunch with Grams.”

  Chapter Seven

  Eliza

  After lunch, I park myself in the gazebo by the creek and open my laptop. I’m treating this whole scenario as if Grams were my marketing client because she needs a consultant right now. And a time manager. The Berry Cottage will go under before it’s even begun to get itself out of the red.

  Before I begin, I check my phone messages and emails. One voicemail from Debbie with an update on the mercurial client (she finally did what I advised and everything went fine); one text from Jared (“Hey, just checking on you. Let me know when you’re back in town.”); and one text from Nora (“I had so much fun last night! Garrett is hotttt. Are you going to be seeing him again? Talk later, so hungover.”). Still neither a reply nor payment from my mother. I’m tempted to try again, to let her know I’m with Grams for the next couple of weeks, to see if she wants to meet. But honestly? I’m not in the mood to see her face to face. I can’t deal with more pointed comments about me dropping out of medical school.

  So, I put my phone away and get to work.

  I tap away on my laptop, make spreadsheets, figure out how much time each batch takes and what kind of manpower Grams will need to fulfill all these orders before they come due. I create another spreadsheet to determine how much return on investment she’ll be getting at the prices she charges.

  I’m in my element, in the flow. This is the kind of thing I enjoy. If only I had clients as easy as my Grams. She trusts me, and that makes me feel good. Makes me feel better than what my own mother ever made me think.

  It doesn’t feel good to think that, but it’s the truth. I love my mother, but she’s not exactly mother of the year. She raised me, kept me alive, but rarely had time to cheer me on and make me feel like I was a success. Grams was always my greatest cheerleader.

  Mom tried. She’d hired me remotely to develop a time management and office organization plan for her medical practice. She didn’t like hearing my corrections. She was offended by the number of digits on the invoice when the project was completed. But I’m her daughter, so of course, I charge too much and yet know nothing.

  And it’s because of that unpaid invoice and her offense at my organizational advice that we haven’t spoken in six months.

  I love my mom, but we are not similar people. She’s an anxious, scattered person. I’m focused. Grams is a free spirit, but when I rein her in, she seems to appreciate it. Even at her most obstinate, Grams sees me. The real me.

  Which is why, when Grams comes outside to join me in the gazebo, her eyes twinkle. She holds her hands in her lap, rubbing the middle of her palm with her thumb, the way she does when she’s dreaming up a new idea.

  “I was thinking,” she starts.

  “Always a dangerous thing,” I say with a smirk and saving my work on my laptop. I close my device and meet her eyes. “What’s up?”

  “I heard that there is a good movie playing tonight at the drive-in. Maybe you and Garrett should go see it.”

  I cock my head. “Grams. If you want to go see a movie, then you should just say so. One of us will be happy to drive you.”

  “I saw you and Garrett kissing in the strawberry patch this morning.”

  Oh. Here we go.

  “It was a momentary thing. We’re not dating. I’m still, you know. Healing. This is a temporary vacation thing.”

  “And I saw the way you two looked at each other over lunch. Does he know this is a temporary vacation thing?”

  “If he doesn’t, then he’s been hit on the head. He and I and Nora and her husband spent two hours hashing out all our disastrous past relationships. He’s heard it on repeat that I’m here to mend my broken heart. The kissing was a momentary thing. Flirting. Two attractive people who—“

  Grams interrupts, “Fell into each other’s faces?”

  “Sure. Let’s go with that.”

  “Mmhmm. So listen, about that drive-in movie. He’s got a nice truck. You could pack a picnic basket.”

  I squint my eyes. “That sounds like a very romantic date, and I see what you’re doing. What movie is it?”

  She puts up her hands. “Oh, I don’t remember.”

  “Yes, you do, you read it on the placemat at the diner this morning with Linda, or you wouldn’t have come all this way to the creek to tell me about it.”

  She sighs, “All right, all right. It’s that new comedy with that cute girl you like with the glasses. And the fella with the shoulders.”

  I know what movie she’s talking about, and it’s supposed to be really funny. “I went out with Garrett last night.”

  “And you made it clear that wasn’t a date, and yet you’re kissing him in my strawberry patch.”

  “Grams.”

  “Well, did you have fun last night?”

  “Of course I did. He is a good dancer, very polite.”

  “Good kisser?”

  “Grams, he is not someone I need to be going to a drive-in movie with. We’re just friends who kissed a couple of times.”

  “Don’t you like him?”

  “Sure. I don’t kiss guys I don’t like. But I’m not interested in starting another relationship. The more time I spend with him, the more I like him, and I don’t want to break his heart when I go back to New York.”

  “So don’t break his heart. Date him, marry him, and give me some grandbabies already. I’m 80 goddamn years old, for Pete’s sake.”

  “Grams! I’m not going to marry the rebound guy. That’s asking for a lifetime of regret.”

  She adjusts herself on the gazebo bench. “Your grandfather married me two weeks after my high school sweetheart up and left me at the altar. And I don’t think either of us regretted that decision.”

  “Of course you didn’t. But granddad had been secretly pining for you since junior high.”

  “I’m just saying, keep an open mind. And don’t take too long to make decisions.”

  I slide my laptop into my bag and pull out my planner. “How long until Garrett’s house is finished?”

  “Late June or thereabouts,” she says.

  “So, he’ll be moved off the porch by the time I head back to New York.”

  “Probably, yes.”

  I click my favorite pen and mark the last weekend in June in my planner and write the word “Sex.” Because I have to have something to look forward to if I don’t currently have a place to have the sex. And I’m not the kind of girl who does it in public. Not even on vacation.

  “What are you writing?”

  “Nothing. I just want to get Garrett a housewarming gift when he moves back in, and I don’t want to forget.”

  “I’ll bet you do.”

  “Grams!”

  “Oh, calm your undies. And please, take the boy out tonight.”

  I jut my chin out. “Well, the joke’s on you because he already asked me out for tonight.”

  Grams claps her hands in glee.

  “I feel bad leaving you alone for the second night in a row when I just came back to town. What are you going to do?”

  She wags her head at me. “It’s Friday, honey! Book club at the senior center. They have a bus now, for senior-center sanctioned activities.”

  I stand to leave. “Well, I’m still sweaty from all that work this morning. I’m gonna head up to the house and take a shower if I’m going out tonight.”

  “You do that. Shave your legs, too!”

  “Grams!”

  Inside the house, I bump right into a sight I was not prepared for.

  “Whoa. Sorry.” I don’t know where to look. I did see Garrett’s man nipples just hours early
in broad daylight, but this is ridiculous.

  Standing there in the bathroom with the door open is Garrett, wearing nothing but a thin white towel wrapped around his waist. Grams’ pink floral monogram sits right over the bulge.

  “Oh my god, I’m sorry,” I say, backing out.

  “It’s okay!” Garrett exclaims as I make a beeline for my room and close the door.

  I hear his footsteps on the other side as I catch my breath. “Hey, Eliza?”

  I bite my lip. “Yeah?”

  “Your Grams tell you to take me out to the drive-in tonight?”

  I laugh. “Yeah. Did she tell you to ask me out tonight?”

  He returns the laugh, and I feel flooded with relief. “Yeah. Wonder why she keeps trying to get rid of us?”

  I tease, “Who knows, maybe she has her own gentleman caller.”

  “She should!”

  I wag my head. “Yeah, but I’d rather not think about that. She’s eighty years old.”

  He pauses, and I think I hear something brush the door like he’s resting his hand there as he speaks. “Timing is irrelevant when it comes to finding happiness.”

  “Nice idea,” I say, pressing my hand against the wood.

  “If you just want to go as friends, I’m okay with that.”

  I blow out a breath. “That would be nice. To just go with a friend. No pressure.”

  “Absolutely. I would not want to pressure you, Eliza.”

  “Because you know I’m still processing my breakup.”

  “The breakup with the guy who won’t go downstairs. Got it. You definitely should not jump into anything after such a life-changing thing.”

  I bite back the moan at the thought of what Garrett’s soft lips could do to me—if he eats pussy half as good as he kisses, he could ruin me for anyone else—and then slide my hand across the wood. “I’m gonna go have a shower before our…date. I mean, before our group hang of two.”

  His voice drops low, and it vibrates through the door, through my hand, and lands between my legs. “I’ll get out of your way.”

  Chapter Eight