by M. Leighton
“It’s all right, Marshall,” Laney jumps in, sweetly rescuing the poor bastard before he makes things worse. “I knew what you meant. I guess we all grow up and start living our own lives after a while, right?”
Marshall, who I can almost remember but really don’t want to, laughs uncomfortably. His eyes dart over to me a few times before he finally just gives up and turns around to stab us each a fat, blistered hot dog.
I grab a couple of plates and buns, and hand one to Laney. We walk along the table, putting condiments on our dogs and taking a handful of chips before we make our way back past Marshall whatever-the-hell-his-last-name-is.
“What’s to drink, Emeril?”
“Beer on tap in the barrel over there and purple people eater in the cooler right beside it. Take your pick.”
I nod my thanks, snag two cups, and lead Laney over to the drinks.
“What’s your poison?” I ask as I set my plate down to fix our drinks.
“Uh, what’s a purple people eater?”
“Pure grain, grape pop, and fruit.”
“Mmm, that sounds good. I think I’ll have that.”
“Are you sure?”
“Of course, why?”
I shrug. “No reason.” I think she has no idea what pure grain is.
I fill her glass and then pour myself a cup of beer from the tap. We head to a grassy spot in the shade, right at the edge of the sand and sit down to eat.
By the time Laney delicately picks her way through her hot dog and chips, I’ve already gone back for seconds and thirds. When she finally wipes her mouth with her napkin, I ask, “Done?”
“Yes.”
“Good?”
She grins. “Yes.”
“More?”
“No, thank you.”
“More to drink?” I ask, eyeing her empty cup. She debates for a second before she agrees.
“Yeah, I think I’ll have one more glass.”
She comes to her feet and we take our plates to the trash bag and get refills on our drinks.
“Hell, if it ain’t Jake Theopolis,” I hear someone say loudly from behind us. I turn to see Jet Blevins making his way toward us. He’s an old high school buddy, as well as the lead guitarist and singer of Saltwater Creek.
“Damn, you look scruffier every time I see you, man,” I say to him when he stops in front of us. He looks like a typical band member with his pierced brow and various visible tattoos. God knows what we can’t see.
He grins and playfully punches my shoulder.
“And you get sturdier. What the hell are you eatin’, bro? Steroids? You know that shit’ll turn your balls into raisins, right?”
“Are you kidding me? The only juice that goes into this body is right here,” I say, indicating my beer. “Nectar of the gods.”
“You got that right,” he says, clasping my hand and pulling me in for a bear hug. “Good to see you, man. Where you been?”
“Oh, you know, dragging bodies out of burning buildings, saving lives, playing hero. Same ol’, same ol’.”
Jet turns to look at Laney. “I think your humble date here forgot leaping tall buildings in a single bound.”
I laugh, but Laney doesn’t. “Um, he’s not my date. We actually work together.”
“Hot damn, you’re a fireman, too?”
That makes her smile. “No, I’m a paralegal. I’m working on Jake’s family’s estate. Laney Holt.”
“Immune to superman’s charms, huh?” he asks Laney as he reaches for her hand, his eyes taking her in like he didn’t really see her before. And like he’s hungry for what he missed.
With longish black hair and pale blue eyes, Jet isn’t a bad-looking guy. I’ve never really paid much attention. He’s got a decent personality. Again, nothing I’ve ever given much thought. Until now, when he decides to flirt with Laney. And for some reason, that irritates the shit out of me, making it harder to play nice.
“I haven’t even begun to charm her yet, so back off, man,” I say, lightheartedly cutting off his handshake. I temper my words with a smile, but there’s still a bite to them. He’d be wise to take note of that.
“Wait, Holt. As in Graham Holt, the preacher?”
Laney all but sighs. “Yes.”
Jet throws back his head and lets out a howl of laughter before he sobers and looks back to me. Appreciation is in his eyes. He holds up his fist. “Dude! Nice!” I bump my curled fingers against his and then he turns his attention back to Laney. “Well, the pleasure is all mine, Laney Holt, preacher’s daughter. I’m Jet Blevins, singer, guitarist, damn fine man.”
“I see I’m not the only ‘humble’ one,” I mutter.
“Gotta let her know her options,” he teases, giving Laney a wink. I make a point to keep my fingers relaxed, even though I want to ball them up into a fist and punch Jet right in his shit-talking mouth.
“Laney Holt! Ohmigod!”
The shrill voice saves Jet from getting himself into trouble. Or at least that’s the way I see it.
We all turn to see a curvy redhead making her way toward us. She’s wearing a string bikini that shows off her ample cleavage to perfection. Her face isn’t bad, either.
“You probably don’t remember me. We met at Shane’s apartment last year. I was dating his cousin, Rod.”
I watch expressions flit across Laney’s face as she digs for the memory. “No, no, I do remember you. Hannah, right?”
“Yes. Ohmigod, you do remember!” The girl seems overly pleased. Good God, what’s the big deal?
Women.
“So nice to see you again.”
“You, too,” Hannah says. “I didn’t think I’d know anybody here. Shane was supposed to be coming, but he couldn’t make it. So now it’s just me and my friend, Lisa. She’s a freshman in college this year, but she grew up here in Greenfield. Shane knows her, but I doubt you would. I think she’s a few years younger than you. “
“Of course Shane knows her,” Laney mumbles.
“Pardon?” Hannah asks.
“You’re probably right,” Laney says, glossing over her comment. Hannah might not have heard her, but I sure did. “Greenfield is small, but I’m sure I don’t know everyone.”
“So, are you gonna swim? The water feels great. This is such a cool little spot.” Hannah giggles. She’s very enthusiastic. And bubbly. And she makes my head feel like it’s about to explode. I’m about thirty seconds from excusing myself to go jump in said water and not come back out until she’s gone.
“No, I didn’t bring a suit. This was an . . . impromptu trip.”
“No worries. I can loan you something. When I heard this was a swimming hole, I brought a suit and some shorts, too. Just in case. I mean, you never know. You’re welcome to the shorts.”
“No, thank you. I’ll just—”
I perk up at her offer, even if Laney doesn’t. “Oh, come on, Laney. Didn’t you hear? The water’s great. And everyone needs to ride the swing at least once,” I add, glad that I didn’t leave the girls to their conversation and miss this turn of events. Laney. In shorts. Wet. This is definitely heading in the right direction.
“I’d really better not.”
“Today’s about fun, remember? And I’m not in the habit of taking no for an answer.”
She wants to argue. I can tell. But she’s too polite. Southern girl all the way to the bone.
I turn to Hannah. “Go get them. I’ll talk her into it.”
Hannah grins, happy to be a part of the pile-on. “I’ve got an even better idea. Come with me, Laney. You can change in my car.”
The smile Laney gives her is almost as tight as her ass. “Okay.”
“Here,” I say before she walks off, pushing her refilled cup into her hand. “Seems like you need it.”
She gives me a frosty glare and stalks off with Hannah.
NINE: Laney
The only reason I’m letting Jake talk me into any of this is because I need it. As much as I hate to admit it, I know I do.
It’s out of character for me to be going to parties and drinking purple people eaters and jumping off things, but that’s what I want most right now—not to be the same old Laney. I don’t want to be the boring, predictable, good girl anymore. That got me nothing but heartache. At least I know I don’t have to worry about that with Jake. Trust isn’t really an option. I know who and what he is. He makes no bones about it. And I have no more intention of getting deeply involved with him than he does with me. That’s part of what makes this so perfect. It’s fleeting. And dangerous. Two things I’ve never before craved or pursued in my life. And two things I know I could never settle for in the end.
But there’s no reason I can’t lose the old me in this person for a while. Just a little while. If only I could learn to embrace her . . .
Hannah’s chattering stops, making me realize that I have been lost in thought and completely ignoring whatever it is she’s been talking about. “Is that okay?” she asks.
I have no clue what she’s referring to. “Sure.”
She gives me a bright smile and hits the keyless entry for a bright purple two-door car. “Great.”
She opens the door and disappears inside for a few seconds before reemerging with a couple of scraps of clothing. I look at her in question and she smiles again. “I’ll keep an eye out.”
With that, she turns her back to me, crosses her arms over her chest, and assumes the stance of a sentry, leaving me to climb into the passenger side of her car and change clothes.
After some creative maneuvering, I’m sitting in Hannah’s front seat, staring down at my bare stomach and a whole lot of bare leg. When Hannah said “shorts,” I made the very erroneous assumption that she meant real shorts, not these teeny tiny cut-off denim . . . things. And the T-shirt that goes with them? A scrap of cotton that might fit a doll.
Might.
I take a deep breath, reminding myself that I’m easy, breezy, and fun girl right now, not uptight Laney. I spy my glass of grape drink sitting in the cup holder. Impulsively, I drain the entire cup.
Liquid courage.
A burp bubbles up and surprises me. With a gasp, I clamp my hand over my mouth, hoping Hannah didn’t hear. I look out the window at her, but she hasn’t budged. I imagine that, if she’d heard, she’d be the type to mention it. So, figuring my embarrassing gastric mishap is still a secret, I grab my clothes, open the door, and exit.
Hannah turns around to size me up. Her eyes round. “Damn, look what you’ve been hiding under those clothes, Laney! You look hot!”
I feel my cheeks sting and resist the urge to cover myself with the skirt and blouse I’m holding.
“Thank you.”
Hannah reaches for my hand, taking the empty cup from my fingers, crumpling it up and tossing it into the bed of a truck as we pass. “Come on. Let’s drop your clothes off and then go show you off.”
After telling her which vehicle I arrived in, Hannah puts my clothes in Jake’s Jeep and then we make our way back to the party. We stop by the cooler for Hannah to refill her drink.
“You want another one?”
I know I should say no, but I’m feeling lighter by the minute. Happier. More carefree. Like my smile just might be permanent. And the drink really is good . . .
It takes me all of three seconds to consent.
“Sure.”
After she hands me a cup as well, we head toward the beach.
The sun is glistening on the water and laughter can be heard from every direction, even over the music the guys from Saltwater Creek are playing. The smell of grilled hot dogs hangs in the air, and my head is as light and fluffy as the few clouds overhead.
Feeling bold and brazen for some reason, I stop and scan the crowd until I see Jake. He’s talking to a couple of guys that look vaguely familiar. They’re both laughing at something. That’s the only attention I pay them before turning my gaze back to Jake. He’s the one I’m most interested in. And getting more so by the second.
Jake changed his clothes, too. He’s wearing black swim trunks. And nothing else. I scan him from head to toe. I notice two things. Number one, he makes my stomach quiver. Number two, his smooth chest and rippling abs seem to be begging for me to touch them. Then maybe kiss them.
As if sensing my eyes on him, Jake looks up from his place near the water and his gaze collides with mine. His mouth drops open a fraction as his eyes cruise every inch of my exposed skin. I tingle everywhere they touch—my throat, my stomach, my legs.
The song the band is playing brings a smile to my lips. It’s an old Warrant song called “Cherry Pie.” It makes me feel sexy and wanted and . . . daring as I step off the grass and into the sand to make my way to Jake.
The cool grains tickle my toes as I walk and a pleasant warmth suffuses my entire body. I’m not sure if it’s from the drink or from Jake, but, at the moment, I couldn’t care less.
He backs away from the other guys as I approach. I stop in front of him, pleased to see the heated glow in his eyes. “You’re gonna make me regret your change of clothes, aren’t you?”
“Why would you regret it?”
Jake takes a step forward, bringing his body to within an inch of mine. “Because I promised I wouldn’t be kissing you again until you asked me to. And this,” he says, reaching down to drag the backs of his fingers over the skin of my bare stomach, “isn’t going to make it easy.”
I’m trapped in the caramel pools of his eyes, in the low rumble of his voice, in the delicious web of this unfamiliar desire. The part of me that would normally resist him is curiously absent, leaving only the part of me that is fascinated by him and what he makes me feel.
I sway toward him. “Maybe I don’t want it to be easy.”
One inky black brow shoots up. “Are you teasing me, beautiful?”
“Maybe.”
“Have you ever heard that expression about messing with the bull?”
“Are you threatening me with your . . . horns?” I ask, knowing full well that I’m playing with fire, yet not quite able to care. I just feel the heat. And I want it.
I want him.
“Baby, I don’t make threats. I make promises.”
For a second, I forget that we are in the middle of a crowd, that we aren’t alone and that I shouldn’t be tempting fate this way. For a second, I just want him to kiss me. And touch me. And make me forget everything in the world and in my life except him. And I know Jake is just the kind of guy that could do that.
An unwelcome voice interrupts the moment. It’s Hannah. “There’s no excuse for you to still be dry, Laney,” she says. I don’t even glance her way, hoping that if I ignore her, she’ll go away. Only she doesn’t. “Come on, you two. Let’s go give that tire swing a whirl.”
One corner of Jake’s mouth curves up into a wry grin. “Didn’t you say you were here with a friend? What was her name, Lisa? Where’s she at?” he asks without taking his eyes off mine.
“Oh, she’s off flirting with some guy she met.”
While I am a bit irritated by the interruption, Hannah has been very nice to me, and I feel bad for her that her friend abandoned her so easily.
Swallowing my sigh, I turn to her and smile. “Lead the way.”
“Yay!” she exclaims, clapping her hands as she bounces, setting her generous boobs ajiggle. She flips her red hair and turns toward the huge rock where several people are waiting for their turn on the swing.
Jake and I follow, stopping behind her in line. I feel his warm palm slide around the curve of my waist to settle at my hip. It’s an intimate gesture, and I feel the heat of his hand all the way to my core, making me wish again that we were alone.
I don’t turn to look back at him. I don’t want him to see my smile.
I sip my drink until it’s my turn to climb up on the rock, then I hand it to Jake. “Here. Hold this.”
Jake takes it in one hand, glancing down at it before he winds the fingers of his other around my upper arm. He stops me from m
oving forward to take my turn. “Hey, are you sure you’re okay to do this? I get the feeling you’re not used to drinking, and this stuff isn’t exactly a wine cooler.”
His comment stirs up the resentment that I’ve been battling since things with Shane took a turn for the worse. I pull my arm free. “I’m fine. I’m not the goody-two-shoes you think I am.”
He quirks one brow, but says nothing as I turn and climb onto the rock.
The first level isn’t too bad, but the thing is, you have to climb up onto another, higher part of the rock to get to the tire and swing out over the water. When I reach the top and a guy pushes the rope tied to the tire into my hands, I look down. It seems that I’m at least a mile above the surface of the water.
“Uhhh . . .” The guy looks at me, raises his eyebrows and tips his head toward the water. “Umm, I’m not sure I want to do this,” I tell him.
“Aw, come on. It’s fun. You’ll be fine.”
I start to back away. “I don’t think I should.”
“Can you swim?” he asks.
“Of course I can swim.” I feel like saying Duh! Why would I be up here if I couldn’t swim? But I don’t.
“Then you’ll be fine. Just put your foot up here and I’ll swing you out.”
I pause, teetering between sucking it up and doing it to save face, or braving the humiliation of climbing back down.
A familiar voice interrupts my musing. “Want me to go down with you?” Jake rumbles at my ear.
I feel a sigh of relief swell in my chest before I ask, “Can we do that?”
Jake reaches around me to take the rope from my fingers. For just a second, nearly every surface of his front is pressed to my back. He pauses before he straightens, as if he’s giving me time to enjoy the feeling of being enveloped by him, of being touched all over by him.
“We can do anything we want,” he answers softly, his breath tickling my neck.
And just like that, we’re talking of much more than just the swing.