by A. L. Moore
“You’d probably just snuff the fire out,” he smirked. “Maybe next time.”
“It’s a date,” I grumbled, shooting him my most withering stare.
The couch burned quickly and before long we were left with a lot of smoldering ash. I added a bucket of water to the embers. Thomas said he'd wait until tomorrow to rake up the mess, following me back into the house. With the looks of the yard, it would've been easier to have just hauled the couch to the dump. I breathed in the pine, welcoming it after the stench from the burning fabric.
“Mama’s probably got dinner ready," I said, gathering the cleaning supplies and assembling them on the kitchen counter. "Are you coming?”
“Let’s just grab a burger,” he suggested.
“A burger?”
He rubbed his stomach through his T-shirt as if an inch of fat had suddenly developed over his washboard abs. “Your mama is a great cook, but if I see another casserole, it’ll be too soon.”
“I can’t go anywhere like this.” I held my grimy hands up. They were covered in unknowns up to my elbows.
“Drive-thru?” he suggested, quirking a brow. “You go shower and I’ll run and pick something up.
“Sounds like a plan,” I said, reaching into my pocket for a twenty, suddenly grateful Katy had gotten our meal comped last night.
“Extra pickles . . . cheese,” he said thoughtfully, drawing back and shaking his head when I offered the money.
I nodded. “No–”
“Onions,” he said before I could get the words out of my mouth. He slammed the tailgate shut. “Your tastes haven’t changed much.”
“I like the same foods, too,” I called over my shoulder to a breathtaking grin.
Chapter 22
“Knock, knock,” Thomas called from the hall, sticking a white paper bag through the space where I'd left my bedroom door ajar. “You decent.”
I pulled the towel from my hair and tossed it into the bathroom. “As ever.” I said, combing my fingers through my damp locks.
“Do you want to eat up here or . . .?” His eyes moved questioningly from my bed to the hall and back again.
Rolling my eyes, I snatched the bag and went to the bed. “Here’s fine.” I popped a salty fry into my mouth, plopping onto the mattress and pulling my legs beneath me.
“I don’t want to get your bed dirty.”
“Too late for that,” I said, pushing my dirty clothes into the floor to make room for him. I’d changed into an oversized t-shirt and a comfy pair of shorts after my shower and never made it back around the room to put my clothes in the hamper. “It’ll wash out.”
He hesitated before sitting close to the edge, his eyes focused in the hallway, which I couldn’t help but find humorous considering how I’d attacked him in his bed last night. Surely, he wasn't nervous about being in here. It wasn't like it was the first time, and though it made me feel a little fluttery to see him on my bed, he was a self-professed man of the world now. Platonically being in a girl's bedroom shouldn't have even registered on his Richter Scale anymore. No matter, I tossed him a burger and started into mine. The only sound was the crinkling of the wrappers around the burgers as we started to eat. I tried to chew quietly and hoped I got the food to my stomach before it growled again. A pin dropping would've sounded like the fireworks on the Fourth of July about now. Transitions are always a little awkward, and going from whatever we were to friends was no different, but this was ridiculous.
“This is weird, right?” he finally said, glancing at me with the cutest smile.
I laughed, balling the noisy wrapper up and sticking it in the bag. “I know, but it shouldn’t be. We’ve been alone in here before.” As soon as the words left my mouth, I wanted to take them back. Sure, we'd been in here alone, in the dark, his lips wreaking havoc with my body in a way no one's ever had before or since. A wave of heat swept clear up to my hairline. I bit into an overcooked French fry, and I swear it echoed as I tried not to think about making out with him on this very bed. Staring at the ceiling, I managed, “The water’s probably warm by now if you want to shower."
I could feel his eyes on me as he stood, chuckling under his breath as he dropped the paper bag into the basket by the dresser. Why was there no filter on my mouth with him around? “I’m going back across the street for a while,” he said, grabbing the top of the door frame on his way out and stretching. “You comin'?”
“I’ve already had a shower.” I dusted the crumbs from my hands and leaned over the bed to the dresser for a comb, pulling it through my hair where it had already soaked clear through the back of my shirt.
“You could keep me company,” he suggested, stretching far enough to reveal a sliver of skin between his worn jeans and t-shirt. Daddy would kill him if he broke the molding off the doorframe, but no way was I complaining. “I’m just going to check out the plumping. I called the water company earlier today, and I want to check the pipes now that the water’s running."
“Just let me throw on a dry shirt.” I said, shooing him away as I pulled my hair into a high ponytail, and grabbed the first shirt my hand touched in the packed dresser. I was just coming down the stairs when he reached the bottom.
“I’m impressed, shoes,” he observed on our way out the front door. “Scared you’ll get bit?”
“It crossed my mind," I smirked, pausing to let a car pass.
While we'd been eating, the night had slowly started to creep in, the way it does on long summer nights when it seems the sun will last forever. I love the transition time, when the sky flows with soft hues of pink and orange. The air isn’t sticky anymore, the heat giving in to the breeze after a long, hot day.
There were no sounds of mowers or tractors, only crickets and cicadas announcing the night’s arrival. This was the time of day most people around here could be found on a porch swing, watching their kids play in the yard. As I watched Thomas go back into the musty, old house, I almost didn’t want to go inside. Almost.
My job was to hold the flashlight. He was flat on his back with his head under the cobwebbed kitchen cabinets, his long legs sticking out onto the brown linoleum rug. I tried to hold the light where his hand turned the wrench, but the longer he took, the more the light slipped. I wasn't used to holding my hand at this angle for so long, not to mention, my mind kept drifting off to menial tasks that still needed to be done around here.
“Can you hold it steady?” He asked, scooting out far enough to grab a different tool from the floor before moving back in. “It’s not a Pink Floyd concert.” I’d been holding it so long now; I was having to use my other arm for support.
“If you think you can do a better job, be my guest.” I shot back, peeling my knees from the sticky floor. I’d have to hit that with a mop.
The pipes were bad off. He’d already tossed one with a hole the size of a penny.
“Everything’s going to have to be replaced under here,” he said, hitting the old pipe with the wrench. “I’ve never seen such a half-assed job in my life. Who puts Duct Tape on a pipe?”
I readjusted my legs beneath me. My foot already starting to tingle. “Maybe you should call a plumber.”
“Maybe you should stop with the light show,” he huffed.
“You’ve been in there forever,” I sighed, rubbing my wrist with my free hand and making the light wobble a little. “Are you sure you know what you’re doing?” I snapped the flashlight off, putting him in instant darkness. The wrench landed noisily on the floor inside the cabinet, accompanied by a word I didn’t often here at my house.
Thomas scooted out, his hands covered in black goo. “You think you can do any better?”
“I don’t see how I could do any worse.” He pushed the slimy, black covered wrench into my hand. “You’re already dirty,” I said, pushing it back to him. I wasn’t so sure all of the droppings under there were dirt.
“That’s what I thought,” he said with a condescending grin that challenged my very womanhood.
“Move,” I said, practically shoving him out of the way.
“I was just messing with you, Bree,” he said, trying to take the wrench back. “Don’t get in all that garbage. It smells like a sewer in there.”
No way he was getting it back now. I ignored the squishy, wet feeling that pressed against the back of my neck. The pipes were a brown-orange color that might’ve once been copper. It was hard to tell where one ended and the other began. “Where do they connect?”
He sighed and stuck his head inside, pointing to the bend. I gave it a few hard twists with every ounce of strength I could muster, but they didn’t budge. “If you get it off, I’ll clean the rest of the house myself,” he chuckled.
Come hell or high water, this thing was coming off. I hit the pipe just like he’d done and…it came loose, but not in the way I’d intended. The bend snapped, dangling in large pieces, while the foulest smelling sludge spilled out onto the side of my face.
“Thomas!” I scampered to get out and to my feet, knocking us both to the floor in my haste. I landed roughly against his chest. Luckily, his shirt was already pretty covered with goo. It stretched like hot caramel as I attempted to pull my stomach away from his. We were closer now than we’d been last night when I’d kissed him. His eyes weren't hazy from sleep and the darkness was no longer a protective shield against reality. There was no alcohol alibi. There was no excuse for not moving off of him.
“You’ve got something,” he said, brushing his hand across my cheek as I braced myself with my forearms against his hard chest.
"Thanks," I managed, unable to take my eyes off him. It would be so easy to lean down a few inches and . . .
The rest of the pipe fell with a loud clatter behind us. I used the distraction to my advantage, sitting back on his knees. “It just needed a woman’s touch,” I said a bit shakily.
He rolled his eyes, grabbed me around the waist and moved me to the floor as he stood up and reached for my hand. “Deals a deal.” He grabbed the broom and dustpan after pulling me to my feet.
I watched him start to sweep the wood chips and broken metal, nearing the black water. “You can’t use the broom,” I said, snatching it from his hand just before he reached the wet gunk. “You’ll ruin it.” I went to the back steps and grabbed the old mop that hung over the bannister. It was damp and still smelled of pine. “Here, use the mop.”
The mop was awkward in his large hands, but I had to hand it to him, he kept at it like a trooper. It was hard to watch. I could’ve cleaned it up in half the time but like he said, “A deal’s a deal.” The smell was horrendous, like Katy’s backyard when their septic tank had backed up.
I took the mop to the bathroom to wash it out while he tied the trash.
“I don’t think I’ve ever used a mop before,” he called through the house, a hint of pride in his voice.
"No kidding?
“Mopping’s manly,” I called back. “You get to stand up and do it. It’s just like peeing.”
“You pee standing up?”
“I was referring to you, of course,” I chuckled, squirting a gob of the dish soap I'd grabbed from the kitchen into my hands and using my nails to rub it in. Once my hands were recognizable again, I started to pull the cobwebs and goo from my hair, leaving the mop in the shower to drain. It was a lost cause, but I didn't want to drip that nasty smelling water through the house. Thomas came in, butting in front of me and washed his hands. Rude!
“Did you get it on you?” he asked, flicking water all in the floor.
There was barely enough room in the small bathroom for me. I pivoted around for his inspection.
“You got lucky,” he said, dusting the back of my shirt. His hand was warm where it stopped against the small of my back. I turned to make sure he didn't have any creepy crawlers on him.
“You’ve got a little in your eyebrow.” I stretched up and removed a loose piece of fuzz.
It wasn’t fair that he still looked so good. My mess of a reflection stared back at me like a ghoul from a late-night horror flick. Just as I was about to look away, something moved in my hair. Thomas saw it at the same time.
“Hold still,” he said. “It’s just an inchworm.” He tugged the green hitchhiker away, pulling my hair-bow loose in the process. My hair fell gently down my back as his hand lingered against my neck. His fingers lightly grazed over my shoulder before finally pulling away.
“I better get this mop outside,” he said, reaching around me.
He disappeared out the door, before I could find the words to object. Closing the door securely behind him, I ran cool water into my hands and splashed my heated face as I braced against the sink and took a slow breath.
When I came out, I found Thomas scribbling measurements on a piece of paper. “This is going to cost a bundle,” he sighed, scratching his head. “Good thing your daddy pays well.”
“Yeah, good thing,” I muttered, heading out to the porch for some air. My body was on fire and being in the same room with him wasn’t going to help matters. I braced myself on the porch railing as a shadow moved across the window in the upstairs hall of my house. Jenny’s room was already dark, so it was later than I'd thought.
“You had enough?” I turned to find Thomas leaning in the doorframe, watching me with his arms crossed over his chest.
That was an understatement. I’d reached my limit so long ago with him, I wasn’t even sure what normal felt like anymore. “For today,” I sighed, turning back to my house.
“Will you check the back door and the windows, be sure everything’s closed. I want to put some traps out, and I don’t want some kid coming in and getting caught up in them.” I nodded, taking another breath of fresh air and following him inside.
I was picturing a rat trap, but when I came down the hall I saw him setting up a rabbit gum. There was another in the hall and the living room.
“Is this going to be your contribution to dinner tomorrow?” I kidded, following him into his old room. “Didn’t think a regular rat trap would suffice?”
“Not for what I saw under the cabinets in there.”
He put another trap, not much smaller than the others, in the back of the closet. Watching him work so diligently, his mind perfectly concentrated, annoyed me to no end. I could’ve been my daddy standing here for all that he noticed. Apparently, I’d read more into our bathroom encounter than was warranted.
“Don’t forget to turn off the light,” I muttered, leaving him to it. I turned the living room light off and pushed through the screen only to see my flashlight shining brightly on the kitchen floor. I trudged back inside, reaching for the light and slipping on the wet floor just as Thomas rounded the corner. He grabbed my hand to help me up and the awkward feeling I’d been battling all day assaulted again, sending goosebumps up my arms. This was ridiculous. With him staying, this had to stop. I needed to get a grip and he needed to stop touching me. Without thinking, I blurted, “I’m not going to kiss you, again.”
“What?” he asked, rearing back in surprise at my random outburst. At least it was random for those not privy to the ongoing conversations in my head.
“I’m just letting you know. I’ve done it twice already and got strikes both times. I never strike out.”
“I remember,” he said with a slight smile, his eyes analyzing mine as he let go of my hand.
I started for the living room, switching off lights along the way. The wooden screen creaked as I pushed through. I started when my hand was pulled back inside.
Thomas breathed heavily in the darkness, “Kiss me again.”
“No such luck, cowboy,” I said stubbornly, trying to play it cool, but dying inside.
“What if I guarantee you won’t miss?” he pulled his hat off and backed me against the wall.
“I won’t break a perfect record,” I managed, staring him down.
“That’s not very neighborly of you.”
His words killed me in the best way, stole my breath right out of my lungs. I was
stunned that he remembered. Those were the same words he’d used on me the night we’d met. He did remember. What little resolve I was holding onto melted away. His eyes were focused on their target…my lips. “Kiss me, Breelynn,” he breathed, but I never got the chance.
He kissed me, slowly at first, soft and gauging as if waiting for my reaction. His hands gently palmed my face, but still I could feel it, the undeniable urgency behind his lips, in the pressure of his fingertips. He’d hid it well, and much better than I ever could have.
“I think we’re even,” I breathed, my voice trembling as his lips found the soft skin beneath my ear.
“We’ve never been even, Bree.” His words were a warm whisper against my neck. I was ready with a comeback until he smiled. “I never stood a chance,” he continued, looking deeply into my eyes, and like that first day, I lost my ammunition.
He was wrong, so very wrong. I was the one who’d never stood a chance. He’d had my heart since the first time I’d laid eyes on him and there was nothing I could do about it but surrender. Running my hand up the back of his shirt, I pulled it over his head, dropping it to the floor with any rational thought I had left. He invaded my senses on such a level that there was no scent, sight or taste that wasn’t tied to him. And oh my, he tasted good. All I could feel was his hands curving my bare thighs and bringing them around his waist, his voice ghosting against my lips, “Bree.” That voice. No one said my name the way he did. It was my undoing. Always had been. I kissed away his words, turning them to a deep groan that made my stomach burn in the best way. His hand gripping my hair, he gently tugged me back until our foreheads rested against one another. “We need to stop,” he breathed, the hand securing my thigh loosening. “I shouldn’t have...” He dropped my legs to the floor. His hands locked behind his head. He watched as I readjusted my shirt, both of us breathing heavily. The regret in his eyes was undeniable, gutting me. “Breelynn, don’t—"