The Drop Zone

by Boyes, Shandi

  “Run, George, run!” Jamie screams before ‘accidentally’ stepping into the farmer’s way, blocking his exit long enough that George disappears into the dense forest bordering the showgrounds.

  Once he’s nothing but a haze on the horizon, Jamie helps me off the ground. “My job here is done. Next!”

  I shake my head with a laugh. I always knew there was an adrenaline junkie hiding deep inside her. “We’ll get booted out of more places than welcomed with you looking like that.” She pouts when I tug on one of her springy locks. They’re being weighed down by mud, returning them to the flat, lackless style she usually dons. “Come on, let’s get you cleaned up.”

  When I guide her to the only clothing store in Clement River, the store assistant greets us with a beaming grin. “Howdy, y’all. What happened here?” Her accent is way too south for this far north. “Pig wrestler?”

  “Champion pig wrestler,” I correct, the pride in my tone unmissable.

  The cashier slaps her knee. “You’re the reason I saw the town’s supper for the next month running past my back window just now?” She tilts in real close to Jamie, who’s throat is struggling through a brutal swallow. “I’m glad. If it isn’t bad enough they are wrestled multiple times a day, then they face being eaten, too. It almost has me wanting to turn vegetarian. Alas, I like my meat too much for that ever to happen.”

  She winks at me, ensuring I can’t miss the double innuendo in her comment. Don’t judge her—she’s not flirting with me, she’s just being playful. The gold ring on her left hand assures this, much less the brute of a man eyeballing our exchange at the side. He has the alpha male I’ll-squash-you-like-a-bug-if-you-dare-look-at-my-woman-the-wrong-way vibe. He’s got nothing to be worried about. His wife is a knockout, but even without her wearing the mud suit Jamie is donning, she can’t steal Jamie’s limelight. She’s Clement River’s Pig Wrestling Champion.

  Why does that get me so excited, you ask? If she can wrestle a pig into submission on a muddy paddock, imagine her prowess when she gets one between the sheets? Oink oink.

  * * *

  “There are spare towels under the vanity, and the mat is hanging on a hook behind the door.” Belle, the cashier slash owner of Clement River Boutique places the clothing we’ve purchased onto the bed before nudging her head to the only door in the loft apartment above her store. “The hot water takes a little while to kick in, but the pressure is good.” She smiles at Jamie while running her hand down her muddy locks. “There’s shampoo in the stall.” She pivots away from us, still smiling. “And the bed has clean sheets, you know, just in case.” When she offered for Jamie to use her loft to shower and change in, she hinted multiple times that her loft was a thing of magic while peering at her husband with gaga eyes. “If you need anything—”

  “I’ll find you at Smitty’s next door, right?” I guide her to the spiral staircase like I own the place. “Thanks for everything.”

  The jeans, boots, long-sleeve shirt, and jacket Jamie purchased set me back a whopping $83.72, including tax, but Belle is acting like she hit the jackpot.

  “You’re very welcome.” After a playful wink directed at Jamie, she gallops down the stairs where her final leap has her landing in the arms of her husband, Darby. Even from this angle, their differences in height and width is undeniable. Darby is massive. Belle isn’t.

  I stop watching them suck face as they exit the boutique via a back door when Jamie calls my name. It was all needy and hot like she wants me—urgently. She does, just not in the way my wicked brain is thinking. She’s tugging at her zipper—a zipper that’s refusing to budge since it has a truckload of dried mud embedded in the teeth.

  “Do you need me to get my scissors… again?”

  She peers up at me with her big doe eyes out in full force since her glasses are on the bedside table. “Considering the fact I smell like manure, I’d rather you bust the zipper. I’m sure it’s not the first time you’ve done that.”

  I peer down at the floor, so she won’t see my grin. The only time I busted a zipper was when she had my cock wrestling it last night and during our multiple dance-offs, but I’ll keep that snippet of information to myself.

  After sitting on the edge of the bed, I tug her toward me, instruct her to lift her shirt until it sits in the middle of her stomach, then wrangle her zipper like my cock did my jeans last night. “You don’t have a wild bush that will take out my eye when I get this undone, do you?” She smacks me up the side of the head, sending my laughter barreling around the room. “What? Have you seen your hair?” I have, and I fucking love it.

  “Excluding the seventies shag rug on my head, there are no carpets in my building, Colby.” Now she says my name how I’ve been fantasizing. Probably has more to do with the brutal yanks I’m doing on her zipper than the electricity zapping between us. “Figured you would have known all about the décor since you undressed me only yesterday.”

  “I was trying not to look.” Unlike now. “I’m all about consent, Prim. When your dad frames your brother for rape, you get a little cautious with protocol.”

  When her zipper finally gives way to my tugs, I lower it until it sits at the sexy apex between her thighs, then raise my eyes to hers.

  She’s standing frozen, peering down at me. “Your father framed your brother for rape?”

  I’d laugh at the shock on her face if she weren’t dead serious. “Do you own a computer?” When she nods, I ask, “Have you heard of Google? It was a long time ago, but it was all over the media.”

  She rolls her eyes. It is as sexy as fuck. “I don’t read gossip. I prefer fact over fiction.” I almost correct her, but she beats me. “Except when it comes to romance novels. No one wants to read about a guy with a hairy four-inch penis. Women handle enough disappointments in real life, we don’t need them in the books we read.” Her comment has me wondering if the name the blonde called Brad while storming out of the alleyway is accurate, but before I can ask, she murmurs, “Do you need to talk about it?”

  I take a second to consider her offer before shaking my head. I still can’t believe what my dad did to Cormack, but as I said earlier, it was a long time ago, so it doesn’t affect me now as it did back then.

  “All right. If you change your mind, you know where to find me.”

  There she goes again reminding me she’s about to get naked.

  “I’ll be out in twenty. Do you think that will be enough time to take care of that?”

  After dropping her eyes to the massive bulge not even horrid memories of my father could contain, she winks then enters the bathroom. Tease.

  * * *

  When I guide Jamie into a café at the end of Main Street, I’m anticipating a voracious applause, multiple pats on the back, and for the old ladies playing Canasta at the back to include me in their wills. It’s the least I should be given for keeping myself in check while Jamie showered mere feet from me—naked. I didn’t think I’d last ten seconds. I held out for eighteen minutes and thirteen seconds. Yes, I counted. And yes, I was hard the entire time.

  I’m still stiff now—hence my eagerness to slide into the first booth I see.

  “Today’s lunch specials are vindaloo or shrimp and quinoa salad,” the waiter advises, handing us the menu in case the specials don’t sound appetizing.

  “I heard the spices in vindaloo make it seem as if you aren’t eating pork.”

  Jamie glares at me over her menu. With her hair still drenched, it’s darker than normal and more contained. “You think you’re hilarious, but since George is free, I’m happy to return to my regularly-scheduled eating program.”

  She hands the waiter her menu before ordering a steak sandwich with a loaded sundae as a side dish. I order the same before balancing my elbows on the tabletop.

  “Thought you didn’t follow the weekatarian diet?”

  “Thought you said I wouldn’t win the tequila contest last night and look how that turned out.” She taps her chest like she’s wearing the f
ake medallion she was awarded last night when she ate the tequila worm as if it was a gummy worm. “There’s a lot you don’t know about me, Colby McGregor.”

  If it were anyone but her dropping my last name, my defenses would rise as quickly as my cock did when she touched her boobs, but I don’t need to be anyone but me when I’m with her. It’s like she sees a side of me that’s for her eyes only.

  I’d be scared by my comment if my hope wasn’t higher.

  “Tell me something I don’t know about you.”

  I give myself a mental pat on the back for keeping our conversation in safe waters. A lesser man would have bowed out of the fight before Jamie climbed into the shower. I would have too if there weren’t something in her eyes telling me this weekend is about more than having a good time. I wish I knew her well enough to decipher exactly what it was. If it’s Brad and all the shit he comes with, she doesn’t need to worry. Tyrone and I set the wheels in motion to fix that as soon as the landline has a dial tone.

  Jamie pops a chunk of bread into her mouth before arching her brow. “Turn for turn, right? It’s the only way you operate.”

  “That’s right.”

  She purses her lips in a way I can’t help but notice how plump they are. They’re as soft as a cloud, and they taste even purer than that. Take it down a notch, fuckface! She needs a friend, not a sex fiend who’s about ready to jump her leg.

  With how many concentration lines are scoured on Jamie’s forehead, I’m anticipating for her to say something more profound than she does. “I can make fart noises with my knees.”

  I throw my head back and laugh. “Now that’s something I need to see.”

  “Sorry, I’m wearing jeans, so I can’t.”

  I shrug in a cocky, egotistical way. “Then it’s not true. Unless you have proof, it’s merely a myth.”

  “Says the guy who claims he has a dick half an inch bigger than his brother.”

  “I do have a dick half an inch bigger than my brother!” If anyone missed Jamie’s sentence, they surely couldn’t miss mine. That’s how loud I shouted it.

  Jamie slouches low in her chair, not the least bit confronted by the number of eyes we now have on us. She’s loving that she’s passed the uncomfortable baton to me for the first time in history. I don’t get embarrassed, but I swear I can feel my cheeks heating.

  “Without proof, it’s merely a myth.”

  I scoff. “How am I supposed to prove it? Take side-by-side comparison photos with a ruler?”

  Any embarrassment left lingering on my cheeks clears away in an instant, replaced with anger when she murmurs, “Now there’s an idea.”

  Although pissed she wants to see my brother’s wang, I play it cool. “Cormack would never go for it. He’s not—” I stop when I struggle to find a word to describe myself. I need more than one.

  “Arrogant, boastful, thinks he’s right about everything?”

  I roll my eyes. “I was leaning more toward as well hung as me, but whatever.”

  When she tosses a bread roll over to my side of the table, I snatch it up before tearing a chunk out of it like I’m as wild and free as the pig she wrestled to save its life.

  Jamie waits for me to swallow the extremely dry clump of bread before asking, “Really, what’s the half-an-inch thing about?”

  I almost give her the same line I give everyone—because it’s true—but once again, the light shining in her eyes has me bringing out a side not many people see. “Cormack’s always been taller, bulkier, more handsome, and successful than me. I wanted to be better than him in just one aspect. Considering my claims have only ever been denied by the woman he married, I’m reasonably sure I picked the right thing to gloat about.”

  The first half of my reply was straight-up honest. The second half was to douse the sympathy in Jamie’s eyes. It’s like she’s tapped into my inner workings, so she knows there’s more to my story than I’m willing to share. There is something I have that Cormack doesn’t. It’s just something I’d give anything not to have.

  Chapter 27

  Colby

  Tyrone grunts when my fist gets friendly with his gut. “What the fuck was that for?”

  I give him a stern glare before returning my eyes in the direction his were just facing. “I don’t recall Jamie’s eyes being anywhere near her ass.”

  His smile is more stirring than joyous. “Can you blame me for looking? Her ass in that skirt is… roar.” When I whack him again, his smile turns blinding. The same can’t be said for his breaths. They’re as wheezy as fuck. “So what’s the go? Have you two sorted your shit out? You seemed awfully cozy when we returned this evening.”

  “We were watching a movie.”

  “With the lights turned off while sharing one blanket.” He thrusts his index finger in the air to amplify his statement. “If that isn’t code for ‘please play with my sausage, Jamie,’ I don’t know what is.”

  “Nixon said she had to stay warm.” I try to keep the smirk off my face. I miserably fail. What can I say? I’m a cocky bastard. “I’m all for following orders when it comes to our clients.”

  The innuendo in my tone makes it seem as if more happened between Jamie and me today than it did. We hung out, wrestled pigs, and talked more than we did the first three weeks of our friendship, but the closest we got was her head resting on me when the pain medication I forced her to take made her eyelids heavy. Still, it was one of the best days I’ve ever had. Jamie is unlike any woman I’ve ever known. I don’t have to woo her with my wit or throw out tacky one-liners. She likes me for me. Weirdo.

  My thoughts snap back to the present when Tyrone says, “So nothing is going on between you two? I’m good to ask her on a date when we arrive back on home turf tomorrow morning?” I fist his shirt before I can stop the brutal knot of jealousy twisting in my stomach from responding to his rile. “Should I take that as a no?”

  I scoot to the edge of the couch before straying my eyes to his. “Take that as a warning. I’m not playing your games anymore, Ty. If this is meant to happen, it will occur without your interference at a time that’s right. She just broke off her engagement, douche canoe. She’s not ready for anything right now.”

  Ignoring the little voice in my head screaming out in denial, I make my way to Jamie. When I reach her, she sets down the bottle of wine she was replenishing her glass with before facing the congregation of hyped-up people in the middle of the living area. “Is it always like this after a jump?”

  “Crazy?” When she nods, I do too. “Pretty much so. There’s a thrill you get from skydiving you can’t get anywhere else. For years, I thought it was all about the freefall. Only over the past few months have I realized I was wrong. There’s something surreal about the minutes you have under the chute once it’s been deployed.” I swing my eyes to Jamie’s, my smile picking up when I catch her staring at me. I’ve noticed her not-so-inconspicuous glance many times today. “You’ll be as crazy as them one day.”

  Her laugh is full of nerves. “Yeah... one day.”

  “You don’t have to jump if you’re scared, Prim. It’s okay to say no.”

  “I’m not scared. I’m…” She swivels on the spot, fanning out the skirt I’ve admired for way too many hours tonight. When we returned from Clement River, she changed into clothes more suitable for her personality, and even though the length of her skirt should make her look dowdy, it doesn’t. “Fine. I’m scared. Happy?”

  Not at all. “Depends? Are you scared because of fear? Or are you worried you’ll become an addict after one jump?”

  Jamie smiles in a way that shouldn’t stop my heart, but it does. “A bit of both.” Her smile slips away as the light I’ve been striving to keep alight in her eyes dims. “There’s also guilt associated with having fun when those around you aren’t.”

  Although she doesn’t mention her parents, I know that’s who she’s referencing. They popped into our conversations many times today. She’s never directly said what’s going on with
her mom, but the pain her eyes holds every time she talks about her reveals it’s hurting her as much as my mother’s illness affected me—affects me.

  “Grab your coat.” When Jamie peers up at me with big, wide eyes, I nudge my head to my room, pretending I can’t feel the eyes of over a dozen people on us. “Grab your coat, or I’ll staple Moosey’s skin to your shoulders.” Jamie’s face whitens when I nudge my head to a hideous moose skin I need to ensure the decorators remove when they bring my cabin into this century. “The choice is yours, Prim. Which is it? Moosey or your c—”

  “I’ll get my coat” She pushes off her feet with a huff. It does little to weaken the smile breaking across her face. Jamie’s so eager to discover what I’m up to, she’s back at my side before I’ve slipped my feet into a pair of gumboots by the front door.

  After donning my own sleet-resistant clothing, I help Jamie into hers before adding additional layers of protection. I’d rather keep her curls exposed, but a beanie and scarf will keep her head and neck as warm as her toes will be in wool-lined boots. I should probably ask her to switch her skirt with a pair of jeans, but since her coat almost hits her ankles, I let it slide. We won’t be outside long, and it gives me the perfect excuse to get cozy with her as we did on the couch earlier.

  Tyrone wasn’t lying. We did look ‘awfully comfy’ when he arrived back to the cabin because I scooted across the sofa so Jamie’s head could rest on my chest instead of my shoulder. For the first time in a long time, I sat in silence while the world raced by me at a million miles an hour. I always thought silence was my enemy, but the hour Jamie slept on my chest had me realizing it isn’t an empty void of nothing. It was full of the answers I’ve been seeking but were too busy to stop and listen to.