Right Amount of Wrong: A Standalone Romance

by Bijou Hunter

  “Did he ever mess with you?” I ask, clenching my fists.

  Vidalia stands near the railing and studies the woods. When she looks back at me, I notice her grinning.

  “One night, he tried to full-on seduce me. When he pulled me onto the couch to kiss him, my knee landed straight on his balls. I wish I could say that was on purpose, but it was pure luck. Must have fucking hurt him something crazy. After that, Mom told me I needed to move in with Reg. She couldn’t have me hurting her man. At least, I think that’s what she said since she was crying when she said it. Like she thought he might die because he was in so much pain.”

  Vidalia breaks into hysterical giggles, but I’m wondering if anyone will miss this guy once he’s gone. People like this asshole need to be dead. The world requires them dead. Sometimes, they die because God strikes them down, but often, a guy like me needs to step in and make it happen.

  “Are you going to cry?” she asks me.

  “What?”

  “You look like you’ll cry soon. Are you mourning his balls destroyed by my knobby knee?”

  Before I can answer, she’s giggling again. I run my fingers down the back of her shirt, absorbing the warmth of her skin just underneath. Her gaze finds my face, and she smiles in a way that makes me think she’s waiting for me to kiss her.

  Before I cover her lips with mine, Vidalia slaps my bare forearm.

  “Got the bugger,” she says, wiping the dead mosquito on her sweats. “You’re welcome.”

  “You hit hard.”

  Vidalia smiles at how I feign pain. Instead of giggling, she slaps her forearm.

  “I’m a ’squito magnet.”

  “It’s probably your ginger blood.”

  She gives me a dark glare. “No. Don’t.”

  “Don’t what, pumpkin spice?” I tease.

  “Do you like pumpkin pie?” she asks and immediately bursts into laughter. “Is it your favorite?”

  “You’re officially drunk.”

  “Don’t be coy now, Ogre. You said you wanted to be square with me, so fess up if you’re a ginger fiend.”

  Vidalia loves to dance when she’s liquored up. She doesn’t even need music to get her moving. Like now, when she bounces around the back deck. I watch her hair swing around her shoulders before my gaze lowers to her shaking hips. Even before she started teasing me about pumpkin pies, she was the sexiest woman I’ve seen.

  Adjusting my jeans to give my hard-on more room to breathe, I want to kiss Vidalia. Her lips are waiting for me to be tasted. No, they ache to be devoured. Breathing faster, I remember how she sucked at my tongue at the bar. There was nothing demure about this redheaded doll.

  Nowhere near as drunk as after the jello shots, Vidalia flinches when I reach out to caress her face. I hold her gaze, waiting to see if she pulls away. Instead, she looks out to the woods.

  “Are there bears in Kentucky?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Ever have one come up here and check things out?”

  “No. We’re too close to town. Don’t know about further out.”

  “What’s on the other side of these woods?” she asks, taking a step down from the porch.

  “A park no one uses. It has a swing set and a bunch of raccoons. Parents don’t want to deal with them, so only stoned teenagers ever come around, and they don’t come around on weekdays.”

  “How far away is it?” she asks, walking into the yard. “It feels like we’re a million miles from anyone.”

  “Do you want to go to the park?” I ask, taking her hand. “I’ll push you on the swing.”

  “Is it safe?”

  “From raccoons? Don’t you worry about them bandits. I’ll create a path for you.”

  Vidalia starts to protest, saying something about how she isn’t wearing bug spray Ignoring her complaints, I tug her into the woods.

  Once we’re surrounded by thick brush and the failing light disappears above the blanket of trees, Vidalia tightens her grip on me and hurries to remain close to me. By the time we reach the playground, her nails have dug moon shapes into the palm of my hand.

  “I don’t see any raccoons,” she says, tugging free her hand and spinning around once. “Do you?”

  “Nope, but let’s not tempt fate.”

  I shake the swing to get a leaf off the seat and then gesture for her to sit.

  “You’re so handsome, Gunnar. Do you know that?” she says, staring at me with bleary eyes.

  “You should have seen me before the fights.”

  “No, you would be too handsome then. Probably prettier than a girl. I like this face better,” she says, patting my cheek before plopping her ass onto the swing and nearly falling off.

  “Tell me if you think you’ll hurl.”

  “I vomit easily, so you’ll likely see it before you hear it.”

  “Your seduction skills need work,” I tease, pressing my hands against her back and making her swing higher.

  Vidalia throws her head back and laughs. For now, she doesn’t puke, but she does sing a song I’ve never heard before. Or maybe I have, and she just can’t carry a tune.

  Singing isn’t a skill I need in a woman. Her laughter is the only music I need.

  ⊱✿ ✿⊰

  Maneuvering Vidalia back to the house proves more difficult than I expect. She keeps running away and dancing to a song that sounds like pure gibberish in her slurred voice. I don’t want to get rough with her, but she pinches me whenever I try to redirect her. I finally give up and throw her over my shoulder after she decides to slap my ass and call me Betsy.

  “I hold my liquor just fine, Ogre,” she says, hanging limply from me. “What would Jagger say?”

  “Who’s Jagger?” I growl, wondering if I have another man to pound.

  “The singer, Ogre. Didn’t your mama teach you about the classics?”

  Giggling again, Vidalia doesn’t stop until I rest her on the couch and walk to the kitchen to find her something non-alcoholic to drink.

  “You’re such a beefcake,” she says, peering at me over the couch. “A real stud muffin, and I want a bite of your yummy.”

  “You sound hungry. I can warm up something.”

  “I’m hungry for that fine ass you’re swinging.”

  Laughing, I roll my eyes. “Booze sure makes you horny.”

  “Not the booze. It’s all about the view, hunky Ogre Gunnar person.”

  I chuckle at her flirting. It’s all fun and games until she refuses to eat and instead threatens to bathe me in the Sprite to test if I’m sexier wet.

  “You need to chill,” I say, sitting on the couch and making her rest her head on a pillow in my lap. “Stop thinking about my ass.”

  “What else is there to think about?”

  “Close your eyes and tell me what you dream about when you imagine you can have anything,” I say, caressing her forehead. “What do you see?”

  “You’ll think I dream small.”

  “You don’t know what I think. Just tell me what you see.”

  “What if I only see your ass?”

  Rolling my eyes as she snickers, I wait for her to settle down.

  “I imagine a house like my grandparents’,” she finally whispers. “They had a screened front porch where Reg and I spent most of our summer days. It was so hot until Grandma put on a fan. We’d sit out there and play Monopoly and Candyland until it cooled down enough to go outside.”

  “What else did you like about that house?”

  “It was one of those old farmhouses that got bigger and bigger with added-on rooms. Nothing about it was fancy, and the rooms were small, but it felt lived in and loved and safe. I liked how the fenced yard went back forever. That’s how it felt anyway when I was a kid and running. No other home I lived in felt like that one.”

  With her eyes still closed, Vidalia reaches up and takes my hand resting on her forehead. “My grandparents died a few years apart, and the house was sold and remodeled. They basically tore it down and starte
d over. I understand why someone would do that. I mean, people like different things now. Anyway, I still get that warm feeling in my chest whenever I see one of those front screened-in porches.”

  “That’s where you’d want to live. Now, who would you want to live with? People or pets. What do you see?”

  “I don’t know about people, but I’ve always wanted pets. A few dogs and cats. Maybe chickens. I crave the chaos of pets like when I went to my uncle’s farm before he sold it. I probably remember it with my nostalgia goggles, but I liked having all those animals around me.”

  “So, you want pets, but what about kids?”

  “At least two. Sometimes, when I take my niece and nephew out, I pretend they’re mine. I like the idea of having a family of my own, but that’ll never happen.”

  “Why not?”

  Vidalia startles me by opening her eyes and sitting up. Twisting around, she shakes her head.

  “I can’t become my mom.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “She used to be strong and independent. I found out when she was younger than me that she lived in a tiny bachelor apartment with another girl. They were both saving up money. The other girl was going to college, but Mom used her money to go to concerts. She didn’t care if they were big stadium shows or garage bands playing at a honky-tonk. She loved music. Every weekend, she’d go to listen to someone play, and she often went alone. She was this tough chick who did whatever she wanted and didn’t need a man or anyone else to hold her hand.”

  Vidalia caresses my cheek and smiles. “Loving a man ruined her. Took away all her independence and fire. Stole away her goodness until she’s the fragile, scared piece of shit that I can’t share a room with now. Do you see why I tell you no?”

  I take her hand still pressed against my cheek and cradle it in both of mine.

  “Now let me tell you a story about a broken girl who had almost nothing in her life. When a rough, foul-mouthed man saved her, she fell hard for him, but he wasn’t an easy person to love. He was broken too, but he fell hard for her too. So, you’d think two fucked-up people would fuck each other up more. Somehow, they made each other stronger instead. Love did that for them. I know you think your mother’s example is the only one there is, but you’re wrong.”

  Vidalia plants a kiss on me so fast that I have no time to wrap her in my arms before she’s already gone.

  “Never trust love,” she mumbles as her fingers touch her lips. “It cripples people.”

  “No, it crippled your mother. That’s not the same thing as crippling people.”

  Vidalia leans back on the couch and wildly waves her hands around. “She can’t be the only one. Love is toxic and a lie. Now, don’t get me wrong. I’m not saying I’m too special never to settle, but I’m not ready.”

  “So, falling in love is settling?”

  “Don’t cry, handsome.”

  “I’m not sad. I just can’t control my face.”

  “Sure, sure,” she says, winking at me. “A few of Reg’s friends have asked me out. Not because they’re all that interested in me, but Reg says they’re playing the averages. The more girls they ask out, the better their chances are of getting a yes.”

  “Do you want any of them?”

  “Yes.”

  Vidalia points at me and laughs loudly. “You have puppy dog eyes.”

  I roll those puppy dog eyes and exhale loudly, which only makes her snort-laugh. She squirms around on the couch and then crawls over to me and gives me a big, sloppy kiss.

  This time, I wrap my arms around her before she can escape. Vidalia moans into my mouth, loving the affection even though she eventually pries her lips free.

  “You can cop a feel if you want,” she mumbles.

  Groaning, I ask, “Why can’t you say that while you’re sober?”

  “You’re a really good kisser. Have you had a lot of practice?”

  “No,” I lie since Mom taught me never to kiss and tell.

  “Your lips are little sexy pillows. I bet getting punched so much tenderized them.”

  Again, Vidalia bursts into laughter. Then just as quickly, she covers my hungry lips with her hungrier ones. My head swims with desire, and I don’t know how long the erection filling out my jeans will remain contained.

  “Vidalia, baby, you’re killing me.” I moan, pulling her arms from around my neck and maneuvering her away from me. “If you won’t say yes when you’re sober, I can’t take anything as a yes when you’re drunk.”

  “Did your mommy teach you that?”

  “Actually yes.”

  Vidalia smiles and crawls toward me again. “Your manners are sexy as shit.”

  “Don’t make me tie you up.”

  “Do it, baby,” she says, kissing my face.

  I know she won’t let up, and I’m not so certain I can hold out against an oversexed Vidalia. My next move is a dick one, but it’s the only thing I can think of.

  “I’m surprised you’re so horny even when it’s dark and quiet outside.”

  Vidalia’s eyes widen, and she looks at the door. “Nothing happened last night.”

  “I doubt anything will happen tonight either, but I’ll stay up and keep watch just in case.”

  As if my words are an ice-cold shower, Vidalia loses her aroused bluster and cuddles closer.

  “You’re tough. You’ll handle whoever might start trouble.”

  She might mean the words as fact, but I hear the question in her voice. Wrapping an arm around her shoulders, I grab the remote.

  “Let’s watch TV until dawn.”

  Giving me a soft smile, Vidalia nuzzles her cheek against my chest while I put on an action movie. She says nothing for the longest time, and I eventually realize she’s dozed off in my arms.

  I have no fucking clue what Vidalia will do or say tomorrow. Until then, she’s exactly where she belongs.

  14

  Vidalia

  ⊱✿ ✿⊰

  The sun is low in the sky by the time I wake up in the spare room. Sitting up, I remember bits and pieces of last night. The most important bit is how I drank too many wine coolers. Everything after that went about as to be expected.

  “I can’t hold my liquor,” I mumble to the empty room.

  Down the hall and back in the living room, I find Gunnar sleeping on the couch. His bare feet hang over the armrest, and I’m shocked by how badly I want to tickle them. Controlling my impulses, I shuffle to the bathroom. I get one look at the mess in the mirror and know for certain I’m taking a shower.

  The main bathroom doesn’t have any shampoo that I can find, so I sneak back into the hallway. Glancing at where Gunnar still sleeps, I can’t help smiling at how relaxed his handsome face looks. He somehow manages to look both tiny and massive on the couch.

  Leaving him to rest, I use his parents’ shower even if I feel weird about it. The hot water wakes me up quickly, and I wash away the sleepiness from my eyes. Gunnar’s mom uses a shea butter infused shampoo and conditioner. By the time I step out of the shower, I smell so good that I never want to wash with anything else ever again.

  I dress in a pair of jean shorts and a black Harley tank top. Standing in front of a long mirror, I wonder if Gunnar will be turned off by how much I resemble and smell like his mom.

  After brushing out my still damp hair, I leave the bedroom and find an awake but sleepy Gunnar sitting hunched over on the couch.

  “Hey,” I say, hoping I didn’t do anything to make him hate me last night.

  “Hey, you smell great.”

  “Eww,” I mutter.

  “What?”

  “I smell like your mom.”

  “Why is that ‘eww’? She smells good.”

  “I wouldn’t want you to smell like my dad.”

  “Only because your dad doesn’t smell as good as me.” Gunnar takes a whiff of his pits and frowns. “Well, now isn’t a great example, but if he smelled like me at my best, then you’d want me to smell like him.”
>
  “You sound half asleep.”

  Standing up, Gunnar lets his gaze roll over my bare legs before returning to my face.

  “You look real nice,” he says in the horniest voice I’ve ever heard on a man. Even hornier than the guy who was jacking off while harassing me on the street.

  “Go wash up so I can say the same to you, Ogre.”

  “I hate when you call me that.”

  “No, you don’t. You like everything I do,” I tease, poking his gut.

  “Oh, is that right?”

  “Yep. Now shower up, and I’ll see about breakfast.”

  Flirting is dangerous with a man capable of taking what he wants from me. I don’t care, though. I acted a fool last night, and a lot of men might have taken advantage. With Gunnar, I woke up safe and sound.

  Dipping my big toe over the line into danger is a big deal for a chicken shit like me.

  On Gunnar’s phone, I discover his favorite music channels and hit play on the oldies country. No more putting up excuses for keeping him away. I want to see what happens when I give the green light to the sad-eyed hunk. If I embrace him and his lifestyle, can I dig out of the fear-based bunker I created years ago to avoid becoming my mother?

  I’ve scrambled up a whole pile of eggs by the time Gunnar appears in clean clothes. I smile over my shoulder at him.

  “Do you want toast?”

  Gunnar stands too closely, crowding me even with plenty of space in the kitchen.

  “You didn’t have to do all this yourself.”

  “I asked about toast.”

  Gunnar leans down and nuzzles the top of my head. “Toast sounds good.”

  I fight the urge to step away and end the moment. Instead, I look up at him and hold his gaze.

  “What kind of jelly?”

  “Surprise me,” he says, and I know he isn’t talking about breakfast.

  My anxiety is too damn powerful, and I’m forced to turn away from him. Though I pretend I’m focused on the food, Gunnar’s sigh tells me that he isn’t convinced.

  “If you were to ask me out sometime,” I say while plating the bacon, “my answer wouldn’t be no.”

  I wait for Gunnar to gloat or make a move, but he only pours coffee into two cups and walks them to the living room. I join him with the plates, and we sit on opposite ends of the couch.