Ain't Misbehaving (9781455523801)

by Cannon, Molly

  Marla Jean ducked under his arm and put her paint roller in the tray. Except for one spot that Jake was finishing, the walls were now a lovely shade of baby poop yellow. That’s what Jake called it. Marla Jean thought it looked more like soft mustard. Whatever it was, the five gallons had been a steal at the paint store. Somebody’s mismixed color had been her gain. She looked around the extra bedroom, inhaling the smell of fresh paint, and smiled. “I like it, don’t you?”

  He finished covering the last bit of white. “I have to admit, it’s growing on me.”

  “Just wait until it’s filled with furniture. It’s going to look terrific. And thanks for the help. It would have taken me all night if I’d done it alone.”

  “That’s why you aren’t supposed to sneak out of town without telling your friends. When do you plan to move the furniture in?” He put his roller down in a tray and started hammering the lid back on the paint bucket.

  “I thought I’d wait until Friday. I’ll be helping Mom with Thanksgiving tomorrow.”

  “If you need any help, let me know.”

  “Lincoln and Dinah said they’d help and Donny Joe and Theo already offered, too. I don’t have that much to move, but you’re more than welcome to pitch in if you’d like. I’m offering free beer and sandwiches.”

  He made a face. “I forgot about your faithful troop of followers. What happened to Harry?”

  She scrunched her face up. “I hate to admit it, but you were right. Harry was way too serious. I finally convinced him I wasn’t ready for anything exclusive, and unless he wanted to just be friends, he should look somewhere else.”

  His eyes seemed to search hers when he said, “Because you’re not looking for serious, right?”

  “Right.” She met his gaze and nodded, wondering if that was the truth of the matter anymore.

  “So, what about tonight?”

  His deep voice washed over her like a warm bath. She could happily drown listening to him talk. “Tonight?” Her own voice sounded breathless.

  “I don’t know about you, but I’m starving. I could use something to eat. Why don’t I follow you back to Everson, we’ll get cleaned up, and I’ll buy you dinner.”

  She quickly corralled her wayward thoughts. “Oh, I should buy you dinner, Jake. You’re the one that got roped into spending your night painting,” she insisted.

  “Okay. You talked me into it.”

  “How about a cheeseburger? I could really use a big, juicy cheeseburger. Besides I need to have my turkey antidote.”

  “Your what?” he asked.

  “My turkey antidote. I always like to squeeze in a cheeseburger before I’m subjected to the millions of turkey recipes I’ll be eating for the next few weeks.”

  “You don’t like turkey?”

  “I love turkey, but by the time Mom makes turkey croquettes, turkey pot pie, curry turkey, turkey supreme, and turkey casserole delight, it’s not so delightful anymore, and just the memory of that once and distant cheeseburger will carry me through until Christmas when it starts all over again.”

  “But now you can escape back to your own apartment and eat anything you want.”

  “Ha! You know my mother. If I don’t show up to eat with them at least half the time, she’ll sneak over here while I’m at work and leave leftovers in my refrigerator.”

  After they cleaned up the paint rollers, they headed back to Everson in their own cars, agreeing that he’d pick her up at her folks’ house in thirty minutes. As soon as she got home she jumped in the shower and dried her hair in record time. Then she threw on a pink sweater and jeans and was waiting at the front door when he pulled up in Gertie.

  She tried not to think too much about the excitement dancing around inside her chest as she climbed into his truck. She tried to think instead about the deep contentment that rolled through her when she was with Jake. Underneath the sexual yearning, under the lusty longing there lived an ease she didn’t find with anyone else but him. Settling onto the truck’s seat she reminded herself again. This wasn’t a date. It wasn’t anything but two friends eating hamburgers together. Still, the quivering in her stomach when she glanced his way made it feel like it might be more.

  They decided on Scotty’s drive-in, an old-fashioned hamburger stand with carhops on roller skates. Nina Lee, who’d worked there as long as Marla Jean could remember, skated up to Jake’s side of the truck. “Hey there, Jake. Hey, Marla Jean. What’ll it be?”

  He looked at Marla Jean, who said, “I’ll take a cheeseburger, cut the onions, and a diet cola.”

  He raised an eyebrow, but before she could explain the no onions he said, “That’s right. You’re allergic to onions, aren’t you?” Turning back to Nina Lee he said, “Nina Lee, we’ll take two cheeseburgers, cut the onions, and one diet and one regular cola. And two orders of fries.”

  “You got it, Jake.” Even though she was old enough to be his grandma, she flipped him a flirtatious smile and skated away.

  Once she was gone Jake tuned the radio to an oldie rock station and sat playing drums on the steering wheel to an old Rolling Stones song.

  Marla Jean shifted in her seat, searching for something to say, mesmerized by the sight of his wide wrists and strong forearms. Although they were separated by a good two feet, Jake as always seemed to take up more than his share of the available space. Finally she said inanely, “Nina Lee sure gets around on those roller skates.”

  He laughed. “She’ll probably want to be buried with her skates on. I heard a rumor that she used to be a star in the roller derby in Dallas in her younger days.”

  Marla Jean’s estimation of Nina Lee rose even higher. “Wow, I would have loved to have seen that.”

  “I don’t know if it’s true. You know how this town loves gossip.”

  “I do for a fact.”

  The conversation stalled. He kept time on the steering wheel while Mick Jagger sang about not getting any satisfaction. Marla Jean sympathized with Mick completely. Sitting so close to Jake wasn’t helping. He was one of the many reasons she chose to move away to Derbyville. His complete lack of interest in her had bothered her more than she let on. But he’d shown up tonight offering a pot of ivy and his painting expertise, and she’d all but jumped at the chance to spend time with him. Probably not the smartest thing she’d ever done.

  But it was time she faced it. She was crazy about him. Foolishly, stupidly, out-of-her-mind crazy about him. And that was the reason sitting in this truck with him was such a bad idea, because the more time she spent with Jake, the harder it became to deny her feelings. That old infatuation had flamed to life, maybe because he’d rebuffed her and it seemed safe to fantasize about someone she’d never have, or maybe she was simply destined to fall for men who in the end didn’t want her.

  But tonight, tonight something about him seemed different. He’d been quieter than usual, more intense. Several times during the evening she’d caught him watching her, like he had something important weighing on his mind.

  It didn’t take long for their food to arrive, and Marla Jean leaned across Jake to pay, brushing his sleeve in the process. Aware of how close together their heads were when she said, “Keep the change, Nina Lee.”

  “Thanks, honey. Here’s some extra ketchup packets for your fries.” She smiled at Marla and winked at Jake, then did a little spin before skating away.

  Marla Jean settled back in her seat while Jake handed out the drinks and sandwiches, making a big production of arranging their food on the seat between them, making sure she had napkins and salt and pepper. Jake tapped his paper cup to hers. “Here’s to new starts.”

  “New starts,” she echoed merrily.

  She hadn’t realized how hungry she was, and inhaled her food like a farm hand after a full day’s work. Marla Jean savored the last bite of her cheeseburger, eyeing Jake’s fries, wondering if he was going to eat them, when he said in a serious voice, “Marla Jean, there’s something I want to talk to you about.”

  She w
as still chewing, so she turned toward him attentively, raising her eyebrows to show she was listening.

  He set his burger down on the yellow paper wrapper that identified it as cheese rather than a plain old hamburger, put his arm along the back of the seat, and wrinkled his brow. Clearing his throat he said, “Marla Jean, after giving it a lot of thought, I’ve decided, if you’re still interested that is”—he paused then, a long, drawn-out pause—“I’d like to take you up on your offer.”

  Chapter Twenty-five

  Jake watched with alarm as Marla Jean’s face turned red. When she started choking and sputtering like a car filled with bad gasoline, he started slapping her on the back. “Geez, Marla Jean, are you okay?”

  She didn’t answer, just shook her head and coughed some more. Grabbing her arm like his mother used to do when he was a kid, he jerked it straight up in the air and bounced her up and down like he was churning butter.

  “Stop, please, I’m fine.” Wrenching her arm away, she closed her eyes and coughed a few more times. “A piece of pickle went down the wrong pipe. That’s all. Except for being embarrassed, I’m fine, perfectly fine.” Her eyes were pink and watery and her voice sounded like a bullfrog had taken up residence in her throat.

  She didn’t look fine, so he figured he’d give her a few minutes to compose herself. He took a sip of his drink before continuing. “Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea.”

  She cleared her throat and waved a hand in his direction. “No, please, go ahead with what you were saying. I’m all ears.” The wary look she was giving him didn’t fill him with confidence that she’d still be a willing participant.

  Needing some resolve, he took a deep breath. “Well, as you know, and tell me if this makes you uncomfortable, the wedding is Saturday.”

  She looked confused but nodded and said, “Go on.”

  “And tomorrow is Thanksgiving, and Friday my mother has all sorts of errands set up for me to run.”

  “Okay.” She frowned uncertainly.

  He was momentarily distracted when she reached for one of his french fries, and started swirling it in a puddle of ketchup. Clearing his throat he continued. “I know I expressed my doubts about this.”

  “Doubts?” She scoffed. “You made it plain that even if hell froze over it would never happen.”

  “I know, and I thought about checking with your dad first, but it’s a holiday and I hated to ask him.” He pushed the rest of his fries toward her in case she wanted the rest.

  “Wait a minute. Why on earth would you check with my dad?”

  “Well, sheesh, I guess because he understands my tricky cowlick better than anyone, and I need a haircut before the wedding or my mother will disown me. That leaves Floyd, but he’s closed for the holidays. So, I started thinking, hey, maybe I should take Marla Jean up on her offer.”

  “My offer—”

  He kept talking right over her thinking to win her over with flattery. “After all most of the men in Everson trust you with their hair, so why shouldn’t I? It’s not like the whole town walks around looking like they got their head caught in the lawn mower, or anything. So, it’s obvious you know what you’re doing. But now with the move, I’m realizing you’ll be tied up, and I guess it’s out of line for me to ask you to do anything, even indirectly, for the wedding. But the main thing is I decided to trust you to cut my hair, even if you don’t have time to do it now, though I hope you might.” He spoke slowly trailing off at the end as he realized he’d been babbling on and on.

  She sat looking at him like he’d just hatched from a snake egg. “You want a haircut. That’s the offer you’re taking me up on?”

  He nodded and hurried on with his explanation. “You said if I ever changed my mind, the first haircut would be on the house, but of course I’ll be happy to pay. I’ll even pay extra under the circumstances.” He trailed off again as she continued looking at him in that strange way.

  All at once she started wadding up the wrappers from the food and shoving them into the sack. “Let’s go.”

  “Let’s go?” he asked.

  “To the barber shop.” She gave him an evil grin. “That’s where I keep the special hair-cutting lawn mower, but I get my best results from the weed whacker.”

  “Are you sure? Right now?” he asked.

  “Sure, I’m sure, and right now’s perfect. I’d be happy to make you look all spiffy for Bradley and Libby’s wedding. It will be my gift to the happy couple.”

  Taking the sack from her, he got out to throw it away in the nearby trash can. He got back inside and started the truck. “I want you to realize I’m putting all my trust in you, Marla Jean.” He wanted to impress on her that for him this was a big decision.

  “I know,” she said with a wicked glint in her eye.

  “With my cowlick,” he added for emphasis as he pulled out of the parking lot and onto the road.

  “I know,” she repeated gleefully. Rubbing her hands together she said, “I can hardly wait. Step on it, Jake.”

  The moon hung like a bright yellow ball in the purple November sky, and a bracing wind swirled around her legs as Marla Jean unlocked the door to the barber shop. The bell over the door tinkled in the darkness as she ushered Jake inside. “Welcome to my lair.”

  His tall form was only a shadow in the unlit shop, and she brushed past him to turn on the lights. Outside, streetlights revealed an eerily deserted Main Street. Everyone was probably home baking and cooking, preparing for turkey day, but she closed the blinds just the same. The last thing she needed was for one of the many nose-poking, busybody citizens of Everson to see them inside the shop after hours. No telling what rumors they’d concoct with that tidbit of information.

  Jake stood by the door, his cowboy hat in his hand. She walked over to her chair, patting it to indicate he should take a seat. “Come on. I won’t bite, but I need to get a good look at your hair while it’s dry.”

  He hung his hat on the hat rack and shrugged out of his leather jacket, hanging it up, as well. “I guess I better get comfortable.”

  “Absolutely, Jake. Relax, get comfortable, and surrender yourself to my care.” This was going to be fun.

  Although earlier, she’d been choking on more than a piece of pickle when he said he’d decided to accept her offer. She’d been choking on shock, astonishment, wonder, and a real case of “I can’t believe I’m going to finally sleep with Jake”-itus. But of course she wasn’t. Going to finally sleep with Jake, that is. And that sucked.

  But if there was a silver lining, it was that she was finally going to get to cut his hair. Okay, maybe it was more like a tin foil lining when you stacked it up against sex.

  But getting her hands on his thick, wavy head of hair had been a long-standing fantasy, even before she ever thought about following in her father’s footsteps as a barber.

  Many a day she’d bounced along on the rock-hard bench seat of the school bus, sat right behind Jake, her gaze glued to his gleaming, blue-black superman hair while he laughed and joked and horsed around with Lincoln. She’d stare at the back of his head, hoping he’d turn around, hoping he’d notice her, hoping he wouldn’t.

  She patted the chair again. “Have a seat right here, mister.”

  He approached slowly, circling her a bit as if she was a wild creature who might turn on him without warning. Easing around to the front of the chair, he sat, settling his feet on the shiny metal foot rest. “What the heck, it’s only hair, right? It’ll grow back.”

  She laughed. “But not in time for the wedding.” When his eyebrows went up in alarm, she put a hand on his shoulder. “Just kidding—I want you to look your best. I promise. After all, my reputation’s on the line.”

  He never took his eyes from her, but she could feel the tension seep out of his neck and shoulders as she started running her fingers through his hair. It was thick and soft just like she remembered from the few minutes he’d been on top of her in her bed the night she hurt her foot. It had a bit of a wave, an
d she could see that his tricky cowlick would be no problem in her hands. She took a comb and smoothed out the tangles, studying the way it fell naturally on his head. Grabbing a plastic cape and a towel, she fastened them around his shoulders and said, “Okay, let’s get you shampooed.”

  “You’re going to shampoo my hair?” He looked like she’d just announced she was going to take out his appendix. “Why do you have to shampoo my hair? Floyd doesn’t shampoo my hair and neither does your father. I just sit down and they start snipping away.”

  “Good to know, but I’m not Floyd or my father. Are you going to let me do things my way or not?”

  He looked like he wanted to argue, but stood up from the chair and said grudgingly, “Fine. We’ll do it your way.”

  “Thank you.” It was true. She didn’t always shampoo. A lot of the old guys sat down, she’d take a little off the top and around their ears, and they were done. But some of her younger clients wanted more of a salon experience. They wanted a shampoo, cut, and blow dry. Some even insisted on color and styling products. Not that Jake needed anything like that, but now that she finally had him in her clutches, she wasn’t going to miss a chance to wash his hair. Leading him to the back of the shop, she pointed to the shampoo bench. “Lie down and lean your head back.”

  He did as he was told, his body stretched out on the narrow vinyl-covered platform. She leaned over him, her breasts inches from his face, making sure his hair was over the basin before adjusting the water to a nice, warm temperature. His eyelids fell shut as she used the sprayer to wet his hair. Then pumping some shampoo into her hand, she massaged it into his hair and scalp, wallowing in the opportunity to study his face at close range.