by Lilly Wilde
“Well, how about this? Don’t take it any way. Accept that someone’s being nice.”
“Okay, I think I can do that.”
“Good. My brother is waiting in the car. The ice cream parlor is kinda one of our hangouts when I’m in town. We aren’t due at Jimmy’s until five and we have about forty-five minutes to spare, so are you in?”
“I can’t disappoint the prettiest little girl in Blue Ridge, now can I?”
Ragan calls for Cecelia and she comes rushing into the room, screaming for strawberry ice cream.
“See what you’ve started,” Ragan says.
CeeCee gives her backpack to Ragan and rushes over to me. I pick her up and ask what size ice cream she wants. As we narrow down the best not-so-pint-sized desserts at the Bahama Bucks Ol’ Fashion Ice Cream Parlor, Ragan is scrolling through her phone.
“Everything okay?” I ask.
“Yeah, I’m sending a message to my Aunt Sophie. As soon as I walked in, she was out the door headed to a church meeting. I didn’t have a chance to tell her I’d be going out. Not sure why I bother though. She isn’t especially nice to me, but she dotes on CeeCee, so I guess I don’t want her to worry.”
“Mommy, Branch says I can have any size ice cream I want.”
“I think what he meant to say is how much yummier the small sizes are. Right, Branch?”
“Yeah.” I wink at Ragan, letting her know we’re on the same page then I look back at Cecelia. “What your mom said.”
“Loretta, this is Ragan and her daughter Cecelia.”
“Hola. Cómo estás,” Loretta says. And then with an excitement that catches me off guard, she pulls Ragan into a hug, Loretta’s pregnant belly keeping them a fair distance apart. “It’s so nice to meet you. I’ve heard a lot about you.”
Confusion crosses Ragan’s face and I glance at Jimmy, wondering what kind of spin he’s put on my nonexistent friendship with Ragan.
“Nice to meet you, too, Loretta,” Ragan replies.
Loretta goes about making introductions just as Dad pops in with Curtis, Jr. I hadn’t expected him to bring the baby. But better he brings the baby than Charlene. Time with her is always uncomfortable for all involved. I can actually see Mama embracing Dad before forgiving the ex-best friend she once considered a sister.
The noise level increases as the group of family and friends becomes larger. Ragan releases her grasp of Cecelia who’s quickly encircled by Tess, Tater, Isidora, and Luciana. After only seconds of chatter, the younger girls are running toward the toy room.
Ragan and Loretta fall into a conversation, and I figure whatever Ragan said to Loretta worked because they start to leave the room, Loretta talking ninety to nothing, her hands gesturing animatedly as she leads Ragan to the kitchen.
Ragan looks back at Jimmy who gives her a thumbs up and she smiles her response. The upturn of her lips seems to shift her entire appearance. She’s not sullen or piping off a comeback at me, not paranoid or accusatory. She’s just Ragan. And although she’s admittedly unlike the chicks who tend to catch my eye, there’s a uniqueness about her that grasps and holds my attention.
Is it only the physical? It has to be—that’s the only type of relationship I allow with women. And with Ragan, well, I’ve eyed her rack so many times that I practically know her cup size. I know how her breasts look… without the shirt… without the bra. And my hands are the perfect size to grasp them whole, to squeeze them, to mark them.
She’s what most would consider a big girl, but she’s what I call curvy, and each curve perfectly accentuates her body. I watch the sway of her ass as she leaves the room. It’s a great ass—the kind a man looks at with only one thing in mind—banging her from behind. I picture it so clearly. My pelvis slapping against that fuckable ass, each thrust harder and taking me deeper, slamming into her over and over. I can hear her moans as our naked bodies slap together at a vigorous speed. I can hear her crying out that she can’t take anymore, but at the same time begging me not to stop. And I wouldn’t. Not until her cunt is squeezing the come out of my dick. Yeah, that would be a nice start to driving away that attitude. And it would definitely chase away the sullenness.
With a full, round ass like hers, I’d bet fifty to nothing that the lips of her cunt are as plump as her upper lips. I can practically feel the slickness as my finger moves up and down her cleft, feel the warmth of her breath, the shivers that roll through her body and—
“Branch, did you hear me?” Jimmy asks, pulling me from the thoughts I shouldn’t be having.
What the fuck? “Nope,” I reply, sliding into a lie. “Sitting here wondering if Tucker will be able to increase the yardage of his passes in the next game.”
Jimmy throws me a questioning glance and says, “Curtis and I are debating the odds of Dallas making it through the next round without you. What do you think?”
Jimmy’s question launches a back and forth among the three of us until Ragan steps in and announces dinner’s ready. When our eyes meet, I revisit my earlier thoughts. And heat rushes to her cheeks as if she can see the images running through my head. She looks away somewhat awkwardly and asks if she should go to the game room for Jace and his friend. I tell her I’ll get them as the others head to the dining room.
When I return, everyone has been seated. Jace and Drake hurriedly grab seats on either side of Jimmy’s oldest, Luciana, leaving the one chair next to Ragan empty. I take the seat and feel her stiffen beside me. I figured she’d be more at ease by now. Obviously not. But does it really matter if she’s uncomfortable around me? Most women are, so why should she be any different? Seriously, what the fuck does it take for her to drop her guard? And why is it pissing me off that she hasn’t?
She has no idea how fortunate she is. I could very well give her the same Branch McGuire that every other woman gets, and in less than five minutes she would be exactly as Carrie said—horizontal. Despite everything I’ve said and done, isn’t that all I want anyway?
I glance at Ragan and she turns to meet my gaze. Those nervous brown eyes of hers meet the inquisitive blue of mine. That’s when I decide that for some reason she is different and I leave it at that, not probing any deeper for fear of finding answers I don’t wanna find.
HIS TENDER EXPRESSION MEETS THE anxious confusion of mine, and my stomach drops. I swallow hard, my eyes pressed to his as a flash of heat passes between us… and then nothing. His expression shifts, becoming hard and reserved, then he turns away before I can decipher anything further.
What was that? I return my attention to my surroundings and apply focus to everyone but him. Not an easy task considering the side of my body nearest his was seared by those mere seconds.
I engage in the table conversations, I laugh at the right moments, and I observe the others observing me. Particularly Jimmy and Loretta. Their eyes track from me to Branch and then to each other. Always in that sequence.
The evening continues to unravel, revealing the unexpected. Not only does the date versus nondate debacle continue, but a mass of nervous energy plays racquetball with my belly each time I look at Branch. So I try to keep my distance—sticking close to Loretta, storing the leftovers, helping with the dishes, tossing out elusive questions about Branch, and chatting her up about her unborn baby.
In return, she does her own digging, subtly inquiring about my relationship, or lack thereof, with Branch. I tell her what he told me—that he’s just a guy being nice. And then I tell her I’m just a girl who took Jimmy up on a dinner offer that seemed like a great chance for CeeCee to make new friends. I don’t tell her how I always feel naked under Branch’s gaze. And there’s no point telling her about the kitty purring or the panty poofing, so I avoid topics that’ll lead to an inappropriate disclosure. As a matter of fact, I avoid any topic about Branch that could be misinterpreted. Especially since this isn’t a date.
From across the room, I observe my daughter leaning over the arm of Branch’s chair, looking on as he tickles his baby brother. And th
en Branch laughs when he hears the giggle he was aiming for. No sooner does my gaze settle on Branch do I perceive a difference. The change is mind-numbing. His arrogant subterfuge has faded. The star athlete persona has washed away. Every shield has been lowered and I feel as if I’m seeing the true him.
Could I have misjudged him? Could all the stories be wrong? Were the reporters and writers not given a chance to see this side of him?
When the baby begins to cry, Branch abruptly passes him to his Dad. Tess rushes over and woos CeeCee back to the pile of toys on the opposite side of the room. Before she grasps Tess’s hand to leave, she gives Branch a hug. And at that moment, I realize that I want this to be a date.
Later, in the game room, or the ultimate man cave as Jimmy called it, he passes a beer to Branch and makes a joke about Branch having yet another admirer. I stop breathing until Jimmy clarifies, making it clear he was referencing CeeCee. The two men laugh, clink their bottles, and take long swigs of their beers. When Curtis joins the duo, I realize that it’s difficult to determine which man is Branch’s parent in this picture.
Branch and Jimmy resemble father and son in their gestures, but definitely not in their features. Branch towers over the curly-haired Jimmy, who’s slender with dark eyes and obviously of Mexican descent. And then there’s Curtis. He doesn’t appear as easygoing with Branch as Jimmy, yet he bares the resemblance. Maybe a few inches taller than Branch. Similar builds and hair color. And similar brows offset by those piercing blue eyes.
Of course, Curtis is Branch’s father, but if I had to judge solely on body language, Jimmy would be assigned that role. I wonder what the story is there. Because there’s definitely a story. Did Curtis abandon his son? Is that why Branch said he knew what it felt like to have an absent father? Are the two finally reconnecting, hence the celebratory dinner?
Although the evening started with a gross misjudgment on my part, it’s easily transitioned to something else. Something that feels oddly comforting while still capturing all the discomforts of a first date. I first noticed it with CeeCee. Branch was so sweet and kind and attentive to her at the ice cream parlor and still now at Loretta and Jimmy’s. And she seems to have taken to him, which is unlike her. It normally takes awhile for her to warm up to anyone.
Branch looks up from the pool table and catches me eyeing him. He flashes a grin and tips his chin. I glance over my shoulder thinking his gesture was meant for someone else. But no one’s around; it’s only me. I point at myself and mouth, me. Branch mouths yes, you and gives me a wink. I blush. There he goes again, doing something simple that feels everything but simple to me.
That wink, for instance. Not only does it flutter my heart, but it speaks to kitty. It’s a hello that yields soft purrs and insta-wetness. I try to think it away, to settle into the heat of his gaze, but kitty keeps purring and the wet gets wetter. I shift uncomfortably in my seat as my insides pulse under the guise of an impending climax. Oh, sweet fuck, who is he? The Kitty Whisperer?
“Looks like you can’t keep your eyes off the obnoxious guy you claim is less than a friend,” Loretta says, interrupting whatever crazy thing is happening between Branch and me.
I pull my gaze away from the spellbindingly hot man who has just earned the title of Kitty Whisperer. “Just because I’m looking in that direction doesn’t mean I’m looking at Branch.”
“Yes, they’re handsome guys, but I doubt you were checking out Jimmy or Curtis.”
“Okay, you win. But not about the keeping my eyes off of him part. I was looking at him because I’m trying to figure him out,” I lie. Well, it isn’t entirely untrue. I am trying to get a read on him.
Loretta passes a hand over her belly. She sure looks further along than seven months. And she’s positively radiant—she wears pregnancy well. And I can see why they’re on child number five. Loretta is a vibrant, beautiful, and sexy woman. I’m sure Jimmy can’t keep his hands off her.
“Hmm,” she muses and looks toward Branch. “I don’t think he’s hard to figure out.”
“For you maybe.”
“Well, he’s like a son to me, so that’s probably true,” she says. “But it’s quite simple actually.”
“Simple? Branch McGuire? Somehow I doubt that.”
“You’re thinking there are two of him, aren’t you?” She takes a seat across from me at the card table.
“Well, yeah.”
“There’s only one,” she says. “And you’re looking at him.”
“But the cocky asshole that I typically see, who’s that guy?”
She laughs and waves my question away. “That’s a guy being a guy. Some men have an overabundance of confidence, especially if they have a few advantages like Branch. But they also have insecurities, like you and me. And also like you and me, they have shields. Maybe that confidence is his.”
“CeeCee, you know better. Apologize to her.”
She looks up at Tess. “I’m sorry.”
“Now give her dolly back.”
Tess grabs her doll from CeeCee and runs from the room.
I grasp Cecelia by the shoulders and turn her toward me.
“You don’t take things that don’t belong to you. Do you understand?”
“But I want it.”
“Cecelia, that was Tess’s doll. Not yours. You were wrong to take it. Now, tell me you understand.”
“No,” she says, her lips moving into a pout.
Aunt Sophie mentioned that CeeCee had been misbehaving at the church nursery, taking things that didn’t belong to her and throwing a tantrum when her behavior was corrected. So when she yanks away from me, I’ve pretty much decided on spanking her bottom. But one look in her eyes and I know I can’t do it. I can never do it. Even when she needs it. She looks at me as if daring me to do or say anything further. When tears sting my eyes, I resign and send CeeCee off to play with Tess.
I stare after her, knowing my baby girl will need discipline, and sometimes that will be in the form of a spanking, but I can’t do that to her. I can’t be that person. But how can I be an effective parent without rendering discipline?
“Everything okay?”
I wipe my cheeks and look up as Branch approaches. I don’t want another mother-daughter showdown with CeeCee. Especially not here. It’s time to go.
“Yeah.” I go to grab CeeCee’s backpack. “Can you take us home?” I ask, averting my eyes.
“I thought you were having a good time. Did something happen?”
“I upheld my part of the bargain. Now I want to go. If you won’t take me, I’ll call Hayley.” I go for my purse and he grasps my arm.
“Hey, I’ll take you,” he says, confusion plastered over his face. “Just let me tell them we’re leaving.”
“Is something wrong?” Loretta asks when I trail into the room minutes later.
“CeeCee is acting out and I want to get her home and into bed,” I say, my voice small, my spirit broken. “Thanks for having us.”
“Of course. And thanks for helping out,” Loretta adds. “You’re welcome to come by anytime. The girls loved playing with Cecelia.”
“Thanks,” I say. But I don’t suspect I’ll be coming back.
“So what did I do this time to upset you?” Branch asks as we make the first turn leaving Jimmy’s.
“You didn’t do anything.” It never occurred to me that he may have misinterpreted my rush to leave.
“Did someone else upset you?”
I can’t tell him the truth. That I didn’t want anyone at Jimmy’s to see me lose my shit. Especially him. The last time CeeCee faced a spanking, I chickened out then, too. Ended up sitting on the floor, my arms wrapped around my knees, rocking myself and crying like a freaking baby as visions of my past flashed in my head. I was that seven-year-old kid again. And I was helpless. Screaming for Dad as Cassidy did her worst—slapping me across the face, shoving me to the floor, ordering me to pull my panties down so she could whip my bare ass with a belt. Or with her shoe. Or with whatever
she could get ahold of. She’d said she never wanted to hurt her hands. But to my body, she rendered every bit of hurt that she could. And when she let loose, she didn’t have the capacity to stop. Each time, she lost control. And my body was evidence of that lapse. She’d given welts and bruises I’d had to cover for years.
I don’t want to become Cassidy. I don’t want to be the mom who loses control. How can I tell Branch any of this without him looking at me with pity? Or worse, seeing me as some nutcase? With Ethan, it had been easier because we’d both come from abusive homes. He could relate and understand. But not Branch. There’s no way he would. So I take the path I’ve most often traveled—lies and denial.
“It’s nothing like that. And no, I don’t want to talk about it.”
Branch exhales his frustration. “You won’t hear another word from me.”
That sounded permanent. As if he’s not only done with the subject at hand, but with me altogether.
“THANKS FOR ARRANGING THIS, SON,” Dad says and follows me to the living room.
“Have a seat and I’ll let her know you’re here.” I step out of the room, wondering if I’ve done the right thing. Mama was certainly happy when I told her Dad wanted to see her. I mean, all of the anger and the supposed hate disappeared in a puff of smoke, and her face took on an expression I’ve never seen.
I’d initially chosen to disregard Dad’s request to see Mama, but he asked again. Before deciding either way, I checked with Christina to see how things were going with the routinely uncooperative patient—same as I do every day. She reported Mama was doing well—taking her meds without issue and even being a little less rude to her. Her update paralleled the doc’s reports and was also on track with what I’d seen for myself. If nothing else, confirmation of Mama’s continued improvement relieves the pressure I’ve been managing, which means I’ll be leaving Blue Ridge sooner than I expected. And that means I won’t miss the final playoff game. I’m amped at the thought of being on the field again—the crowd at my back, the adrenaline running through my veins—there’s nothing like it.