by Lucy Score
“Just because an individual doesn’t rush into a sexual relationship does not indicate disinterest.”
“Juney’s right.” Scarlett nodded, patting her friend’s shoulder. “Is Rene the reason he’s not knocking around your bedroom door with his pants around his ankles?”
“Who’s Rene?” Lula asked, crossing her long, long legs.
Seeing as how half the town had already heard, I saw no harm in letting Scarlett repeat an abbreviated version of Jonah’s story about his former girlfriend.
“That’s just about the saddest damn thing I’ve heard all day,” Lula sniffled into her drink when Scarlett finished theatrically.
“And that is exactly the reason why he should be jumping into Shelby’s bed,” Scarlett insisted. “He needs to get past this quicksand and start opening himself up to new opportunities.”
“Perhaps Jonah is experiencing anxiety at the thought of entering into another physical relationship,” June mused.
“Well, sitting around thinking on things don’t get a damn thing done, now does it?” Scarlett complained. “He needs a good push.”
I thought about that for a minute. I thought about everything. I was a thinker, a data collector. I was not a doer by nature. I didn’t take action. I observed. And observing wasn’t getting me into Jonah Bodine’s bed.
I sucked on my straw, surprised when I came up dry.
I’d declared my interest. He’d reciprocated his. Maybe we both just needed a little nudge over thinking and into doing. I opened an app on my phone and typed up a bullet point to remember to research seduction techniques.
On stage, the fiddler kicked up her hand-stitched cowboy boots, flashing her long legs under a short denim skirt, her long blonde curls bouncing under the stage lights. Jonah would’ve noticed her. Heck, any red-blooded American man would have noticed her.
And then there was me. In my geeky glasses. My lack of makeup. My wardrobe that existed for only two purposes: working out and sitting on my butt in front of a computer. I made it too easy to miss me. To skim over me and see only pretty fiddlers.
“This is giving me a lot to think about,” I told the table.
“Are you seriously takin’ notes right now?” Scarlett asked, amused.
“Let us know if you make anything happen,” Cassidy said with a suggestive eyebrow wiggle.
“Do not feel obliged to keep me updated,” June insisted.
“All right. I’ve answered your questions,” I said, tucking my phone away. “Now, tell me when you’re going to take my survey, Scarlett.”
“I will take your survey when you bag my brother,” she said, crossing her arms smugly.
Only in Bootleg Springs.
“Now that Scarlett’s done selling off her brother into sexual servitude,” Cassidy said with a grin. “I have some news.”
We all perked up, leaning in to hear over the sounds of boots stomping and drinks being drunk.
“Bowie and I are getting married, y’all.”
We continued to look expectantly at her, waiting for the actual news.
“We made that assumption when you accepted his proposal,” June observed.
“Correction,” Cassidy continued. “Bowie and I are getting married next month.”
Scarlett’s screech drowned out June’s cordial congratulations and the band itself. “How are we going to find you a dress, a venue, a band, and a bartender in one month, Cassidy Ann?” Scarlett demanded, shaking her friend by the shoulders and then hugging her tight.
“There y’all are,” Leah Mae hurried up to our table and drew up a chair. “I had to follow the sound of Scarlett’s screams to find you. It’s packed in here tonight!”
“What took you so long?” Cassidy asked.
“Oh, nothing much. Just drawing up some sketches for a certain somebody’s wedding dress,” Leah Mae said smugly.
“Give them to me right now,” Cassidy said, making grabby motions with her hands.
We talked wedding plans and futures. Bridesmaids dresses and honeymoon venues. But my thoughts were on Jonah. How I would go from sharing his bed to sharing his bed? Did he really want me, or was he too nice to reject me?
* * *
Q. Where in your community do you feel the most welcome?
Rhett Ginsler: The Lookout on a Friday night. It’s got everything you need. Beer. Pool. Music. Neighbors. Someone’s always willing to blow off a little steam with a fight. Good times.
30
Shelby
“Have any nightmares last night?” I asked, sucking in a breath as we crested a slow rolling hill on the road. My legs were on fire. My hands cramped into claws on the handlebar. I forced them to relax. But it was a good kind of pain. The kind of challenge to push through. I was learning the difference between what to push through and what to acknowledge.
Last night, I’d introduced Jonah to my guilty pleasure: horror movies. He’d been a good sport about it.
“Not unless you count waking up to Billy Ray’s cold wet nose in the small of my back,” he said.
Fifteen minutes after his rude awakening and a potty break for the dog, I’d woken to Jonah’s morning wood in the small of my back when he’d climbed back into bed and draped an arm over my waist.
I’d looked over my shoulder, and we’d stared at each other for a long, heated thirty seconds before Billy Ray realized we were both awake and made his desperate plea for attention.
Jonah was annoyingly not winded. He looked like he could ride for fifty miles without getting tired. Meanwhile, I was struggling with sprint triathlon distances. A 750-meter swim, a 12.2-mile bike ride, and a 3.1-mile run. My illness made me more sore, feel more joint pain than the average healthy adult. But I was learning to pay attention and make better choices, thanks in large part to my sexually unavailable roommate.
I’d slogged my way through a 500-meter swim this morning and was pleased with my improved time. It wasn’t going to set a course record, but it was a hell of a lot better than what I’d accomplished on my own. We’d dropped Billy Ray off with Gibson this morning and headed out for a ten-mile ride before Jonah’s birthday party tonight.
And after the party?
I was going to seduce the birthday boy. I would be showered, made up, hair styled, and sexed up. He would be putty in my hands. Wait, no. He would be achingly hard—
“How you feeling?” Jonah called over his shoulder.
I dragged my thoughts away from Naked Jonah. Eight miles into the ride and I was starting to think that maybe, just maybe, I had a shot at finishing next month.
“Good,” I puffed.
Sweat trickled down my back to the waistband of my shorts. It was a sensation I was learning to get used to and maybe even enjoy. I still preferred the swim. I liked sinking into the water, letting it muffle all my senses. But the bike was fun, too. Unless you took into consideration how much it hurt getting hit with a bumblebee as you flew down a hill.
I had welts.
I took the downhill, intending to be cautious—bumblebees and all, of course—but the speed, the wind that cooled my skin, made me brave.
I let out a whoop of joy and hinged over the handlebars.
Jonah shot a look over his shoulder and grinned at me. Together we raced down the winding hill.
Enjoying the view that unfurled in front of me. Forest, thick and green, rolled out on both sides of the ribbon of asphalt. I caught a glimpse of lake off to the left, saw Bootleg’s church steeple in the valley below. Dark clouds crowded in on the blue sky in front of us.
And between me and the clouds was Jonah. He rode in perfect form. His calves bunched, biceps flexed. I couldn’t see his face, but I knew he was smiling.
A doer, an adventurer in search of fun. And that’s what he wanted to share with his clients, I realized. I wasn’t hunched over a pile of research pecking away at the keyboard on a beautiful summer day. No, I was flying with the sun on my face and wind lifting my ponytail.
The road curved gently away f
rom the lake, taking us deeper into the forest. We slowed as valley turned back to hill.
“Having fun?” he asked, slowing down so I could ease up alongside him.
“I was just thinking this was a more enjoyable way to spend a day than sitting in front of my laptop,” I confessed.
“Not too shabby.” He grinned. “Water break?”
I nodded. I was not comfortable enough on these roads to reach down and make a grab for my water bottle. That maneuver was above my current skill level. I wondered if I could get one of those beer helmets they sold at Build A Shine for the triathlon and fill it with water.
We pulled off the road at a trailhead that led up, up, up the mountain we’d skirted.
“Rain’s coming in,” he observed before taking a deep drink.
Lord, he was glorious. Sweaty was a good look on Jonah Bodine. His athletic frame warmed by exercise was a sight to be appreciated, swooned over. He wore a short-sleeved training jersey that fit him like skin and bike shorts that highlighted a particular piece of anatomy that I was trying not to stare at.
“Think we’ll make it home before that?” I asked, again tearing my gaze away from his crotch.
“Still two miles out. How fast can you peddle?” he teased.
A fat raindrop fell from the sky and landed on my chest. “Uh-oh.”
And with that, the West Virginia skies opened up on us.
“Let’s go further in,” he yelled over the slow roll of thunder. He gestured up the trail.
We pushed our bikes into the trees and away from the road. He found a copse of hemlock trees that formed a low leaky canopy. I crawled in behind him.
“Homey,” I said, sitting down on a cushion of lost needles and other forest floor debris.
I unclipped my helmet and pulled my hair free from its low tail. I shook it out, fluffed my bangs. Just because I was stuck in a rainstorm in the middle of a forest didn’t mean I shouldn’t make a small effort with my appearance.
I was, after all, on schedule to seduce the man tonight.
Shower, leg shaving, unscented lotion so I’d be super soft to the touch. Makeup light enough to look like I wasn’t wearing any. And a cute outfit. Not lingerie. Lingerie brought with it expectations. Fun shorts and a daringly low-cut tank would be friendlier, sneakier, Scarlett had assured me.
They were expecting a full report tomorrow. Well, June wasn’t. And Scarlett probably didn’t want any details seeing as how Jonah was her brother and all. But I was still looking forward to this grand experiment.
I was tired of doing nothing but sleeping in his bed. We had chemistry on our side. And judging from the morning wood Jonah sported this morning we had biology, too. It was time to initiate a reaction.
The rain was slower under the trees, but it was still soaking. My white tank clung to the psychedelic sports bra underneath, and my nipples hardened to points.
“Shelby?” His voice was strained.
“What? Oh my god. Do you see a bear?” I whispered, scanning the forest beyond our bikes.
Getting mauled would seriously hinder the seduction experiment tonight.
Not spotting any forest monsters, I looked at him and noticed he was looking at me.
“What’s wrong?” I asked.
He shook his head, smiling wryly. “Nothing’s wrong. No bears. I just thought now would be a good time to kiss you.”
Another roll of thunder rumbled. This one I felt in my bones as Jonah’s mouth, wet and firm, found mine.
There was an urgency here.
A beautiful, painful urgency. And if he was going to back off again or we were going to be interrupted by—God, please not a bear—I was going to develop the equivalent of lady blue balls. I wanted him so keenly it hurt. The ache between my legs went deeper than just flesh and muscle. It was visceral.
I wanted Jonah to know he was wanted. To let me remind him what that felt like.
Nerds interested in sociology and biology and motivation turned out to be rather excellent lovers. I prided myself on being good at sex.
As if reading my mind, he dragged me to him, spreading my legs so I straddled him, his back braced against a tree trunk.
His erection, that biological miracle of blood flow and arousal, nestled between my legs causing the breath to catch in my throat. He felt ready. But I needed to know. Needed to hear the words.
“Jonah,” I said, dragging my lips from his.
“What?” He pulled me back. Tasted me deeper. His hand fisted in my hair. And when I moaned, I felt the hard length of his shaft twitch against me.
“Are you sure you want to?” I breathed. “I don’t want you to feel pressured or to have any regrets afterward.”
He eased back an inch, far enough for me to see the amused curve on the lips I’d just voraciously kissed.
“I’m sure, Shelby. I want you.”
Hallelujah!
“That’s convenient because I really, really want you,” I confessed.
He kissed me again, this time his hands skimming the outer curves of my breasts. My flesh, beneath layers of shirt and sports bra and rain and sweat, paid attention. I craved more.
“You know what’s not convenient?” I whispered, shifting against him just to feel his hard-on line up with my body.
“What’s that?”
“Wet spandex.”
31
Jonah
We stripped as best we could out of wet spandex and rain-soaked clothes. We tossed them over shoulders and stood facing each other. It felt hedonistic to stand naked in the forest, to skim Shelby’s beautiful body with my gaze.
She looked like she belonged here, her hair long and curling in the damp, the mist that settled over the forest floor. A nymph. Tiny frame, lush curves. Her waist and hips begged for my hands. And her breasts, creamy pale perfection. Lush again, heavier than I expected, forming ideal tear-drops with rosebud nipples.
It speared through me, and I remembered what this felt like now. To want.
But it felt sharper, keener somehow.
Maybe it was the scene. Or maybe it was the woman.
She looked her fill, wetting her lips. I felt her eyes roam my body. And I wondered which of us would be the first to cross the invisible line between us etched in the pine needles under our feet.
Me.
I wasn’t conscious of moving until I stood before her, until I took her mouth. Only our lips touching. The rest of our bodies a breath apart. Thunder rolled long and low, vibrating between us and through us.
Then she was drawing me closer, her breasts pressing against the muscle of my chest, fingers digging into my shoulders. Now I was free to touch her.
I slid my palms down her neck, over her shoulders and down her arms. Thumbs skimming the delectable curves of her breasts.
My cock, aching and hard, was pinned against the smooth skin of her belly. I wanted so many things in the moment. Too much.
I wanted to feed on her breasts, making her nipples budded against my tongue. To feel her lips wrap around the crown of my hard dick. To slide two fingers deep inside her. To watch her come. To hear my name whispered when she came. To paint her with my own climax.
Fuck.
“Shelby,” I said, pulling away from her eager mouth.
“Huh? Yeah? Wha?” she breathed. Easing back, her tight nipples dragged lightly through my chest hair. She gasped.
“I don’t have a condom.”
Her eyes were wide, dazed. “Me neither.”
“We can’t—” A lifetime of safe sex lectures from my mother echoed in my head.
“I’m on birth control. You haven’t had sex in over a year, and I just had a boatload of blood tests a few weeks ago,” she said.
I was afraid to say anything. “I don’t want you to feel like you have to,” I began.
“Jonah,” she said my name in exasperation. “I want to have sex with you. Right here. Right now. It’s a green light.”
“If you’re sure,” I said.
She responded by grasping my hand and placing it on her breast. I felt her nipple bud against my palm, and every rational, cautious thought dissipated from my head. Cupping both breasts, I rubbed my thumbs over her nipples and reveled in the sigh that broke free from her.
The rain was light and cool on our skin, but my blood was hot and roiling beneath the surface.
She used my distraction with her breasts to do her own exploring. She closed a clever hand around the base of my shaft and stroked up. Electric need pulsed through me as she pumped me from root to tip.
I pinched her nipples gently, and she bit my pec. Then she was sliding down my body.
I watched her sink to her knees in front of me, her mouth inches from where my cock hung heavily. My nostrils flared as I forced air into my lungs, and then she was closing those perfect pink lips around the head of my dick.
I’d forgotten this. How slick and sweet a woman’s mouth was. Shelby’s mouth. Because, again, this was different. Special.
I couldn’t take my eyes off her as she, seemingly enthralled with my taste, licked and sucked her way up and down my cock. This was heaven on Earth, I thought, fisting my hand in her hair and fighting the urge to thrust into that sweet mouth.
I held back, knowing if I gave in to urge to fuck her mouth, her throat, I’d lose myself there. It had been too long. My endurance wasn’t what it once was. And Shelby was very, very good at what she was doing to me.
She groaned her disappointment when I pulled her mouth off me. But I silenced it when I took her down to the ground. A bed of leaves and pine needles and discarded clothing. Eagerly, I closed my mouth over a breast sucking, sampling, savoring.
Her knees fell open welcoming me. And with one hand, I trailed a path up the inside of her thigh. She shivered against me, encouraging me with those sexy little moans. How had I thought I wasn’t ready for this? I could have missed this. And this, I thought, sliding the tips of my fingers through her wet cleft. Every inch of our bodies was wet from the rain. But here where I probed, it was different. Thicker, hotter, and oh so tempting.
I sank two fingers into her as I sucked rainwater off her other nipple, crossing two items off my list. She bowed up off the ground against me, driving me insane with her reactions to me. And when her fingers closed around my cock again, I let myself go just a little crazy.