A Field Guide To Catching Crickets: ( a sexy second chance tearjerker romance )

by Unknown

  Lightning circles us, and thunder rumbles down my spine, but nothing feels as electrifying as when Hawke’s lips land on mine. I swear my body levitates. His hands slide over me in ownership, scooting me against him—my body first and then every fiber inside me. He’s saying things in this kiss that open me up and shout at me, things that jolt me. Then words come out of me on their own accord. I’m along for the ride, and I hang on. But will he?

  “I’m done hiding. You better brace yourself.” I pull away from his mouth.

  He slams his lips back onto me, his whole mouth covering mine, his tongue seeking everything inside me, plunging in deep. “You think I’m going somewhere?” He groans against my mouth.

  “I’m gonna count on it,” I answer so quietly that he may not hear it.

  “You must think very little of us. Don’t you think we’re worth hanging on to?” Hawke’s forehead is on mine, the two of us panting.

  It’s a raw, tender moment. Intimate as anything I’ve ever felt with him.

  “I’m staying, even when I tell you the other half of my story,” I say in a resolute tone. “Will I be worth staying for?”

  He doesn’t answer me with words, but holy mother of passion, he does answer me. His lips tell me I’m permanent. My kiss, in turn, begs him to promise me just that. He’s lost in me. I’m found in him. The two of us make the face of love seem like a different reality, and a new space to explore.

  He sucks a trail down my neck that says, I’ve survived. You’ve survived. Please, let’s come together once and for all, you and me. Let’s be an us. I hear myself saying, Yes, I want this. I want you, our future. Please. I beg him over and over for it.

  “I want to give you some things,” he says while sucking every naked surface he can find on me. He shoves my wet dress over my knees—then higher. Goose bumps chasing his touch. Just as quickly, his hand is under it and he’s pressing my chest, pushing me down onto the seat.

  Everything he does says, Let me show you.

  “I want some things from you,” I answer in a breathy pant. God, I beg he fucks me right here in this crazy, raw moment, in this singular, split second I will not, for anything, ever forget.

  “Between your legs.” He groans as he yanks the front of my panties down and slides his hand in. “My cock right here, where you’re so wet.” He kneels over me, his voice firm and all-male sounding.

  Things are moving fast—my heartbeat, his words, our tongues. Part of me wants to explode with all the energy spilling over between us. It’s a force, an undeniable obligation of two wills that cannot be separate from one another for one more second.

  “Between your legs and an orgasm…or five. And then…”

  As he says those words, he rubs me gently. Tenderly. Then hard. His eyes are positioned on mine, then his gaze falls between my legs. And the way he inspects what he’s doing, the way his chest is heaving, the evident bugle in his pants. “Hawke,” I say as I grab his biceps. “Inside,” I beg as I open my legs and feel my underwear pierce my thigh. He slides a finger inside me, and I press into it, moving my hips in rhythm with him. I climax, falling into a loss of control. My back arches on its own free will as his mouth lands on my thighs then between my legs. He sucks on me, licking me with my panties barely down. Then his face is at my neck, smelling of my scent and him. My toes curl, and when he talks to me, speaking words against my skin, I dig my fingers into his hair. And I hang on as my skin prickles with a flush. His mouth goes to my ear, his tongue licking me like an animal might, just before he says, “And then I want it back. I want it in moans, and I want to hear it in your screams.”

  I have another orgasm when he says that, while his hands manipulate their way in and out of me. And, as I catch myself just over the hump of that erotic moment, he continues talking. I moan a few times, the only answers I manage to summon besides orgasms.

  “Then I want to take something else away: your breath. I want that. Give it to me,” he demands.

  Christ, it’s sexy the way he asks. His fingers are slippery, traveling with intent, expertly seeking my pleasure points. Missing nothing. Then he yanks my panties straight off me.

  “Spread your legs,” he says in a savage tone, shoving my legs farther apart. Not an ounce of hesitation in his movements, nor mine.

  His hand is on my throat, encircling it. It’s exciting and dominant; it’s new, and my heart responds in a gallop to feel him want to conquer me while pushing my state of euphoria over the top. His hand travels up my throat and then grips my jaw as he slides his fingers into my mouth, over my lips, then onto my tongue.

  “Taste what I love,” he says, and I suck his fingers.

  I feel like his sex toy, and I fucking love it. I love his control, his confidence, and the way he asks and takes and gives. He rubs my taste inside my cheeks as I lick his fingers in anticipation of his mouth. Then, as fast as I think that thought, his mouth replaces his hand. He makes love to my mouth as his hand runs down my front and… Oh, Christ, yes—his lovely hand finds me again.

  “Look at you. Your wet little pussy can’t wait for another one,” he says, glancing between my legs. Then he sucks my bottom lip into his mouth and holds it hostage as he fucks me with his hand.

  It’s all mental at this point, and I’m lost once more—lost to him, his words, his passion, that deep timbre in his groan. His hunger.

  I’ve never felt a man so hungry for me. But he’s not done with me, and this one nearly kills me because it brings me back to my center, and in that deep place, I find us as he asks for another.

  “Darlin’, one more. Give me one more.” His voice is rough now, commanding, his fingers finding me in ways I’ve never known to exist. “I want every last bit of your pain.” He kisses me deeply for only seconds.

  I cry out as his lips leave mine, but then he slides down my body and shoves my dress up higher. I fist the wet fabric as he forces it over my breasts. His hands work their way across me, pinching my nipples so hard I squeal. Then with everything he’s got, he takes me there. Again. His mouth moving over me, wet flesh on flesh. With his eyes pinned on mine, he drinks me in licks and sucks until he’s making me come as though it’ll be my last orgasm on this Earth.

  “I have a serious case of I-cannot-get-enough-of-you.” I grab Sloan’s panties off the floorboard and hang them on the rearview mirror.

  She snorts out a laugh and yanks them down.

  “Licking you, tasting you… Shit. My tongue seems to have a mind of its own around you. I gotta say it’s a problem, and it sits somewhere between heavenly and otherworldly.”

  “That sounds like a good problem. Back-to-back orgasms? I see no crisis there.” Sloan shimmies her dress back into place. Wiggling around then shifting the rearview mirror to look at herself so she can spit-shine her makeup, she says, “Guess we should head up.”

  “Guess so. If we stay here, we’re going to give a whole new meaning to the phrase speed bump.”

  “Listen,” I say as I thread my fingers with hers, “as much as I want to know the other half of your story, we don’t need to talk about things tonight, okay? Let’s enjoy our time here, and then next week, once we get you settled into your place… Well, let’s just say I’m glad you want to talk.”

  “Me too. Sorry I’ve been a scaredy-cat about it. I just figured we needed some time together first. I have a lot to tell you—just not now.”

  “Cricket, no more apologizing. Let’s go celebrate. Hell, your best friend is now your sister. And I’m still sort of on the table.”

  We both laugh.

  “Or at least dining at it!”

  As we head up to the house, the rain marginally subsides. Enough, though, that it gives me the opportunity to assemble a handful of guys to throw the awning up over the small one that already exists out by the pool patio. A portion of the crowd gradually shifts outside as the party ensues.

  A friend of ours who has a small rock band is set up in a corner of the great room, jamming. I’m hanging out at one
of the bars, shooting the shit with the guys. Between toasts and shots, we ogle a group of rowdy women dancing, including Sloan, who manages to still look spectacular in her wet dress. Why on earth she wouldn’t want to slip into something dry is beyond me. Wet, dirty, and sexy, she lights a torch inside me.

  “You two going to make a go of it?” Granger asks as he nods to Sloan, who’s dancing on a chair with Coco on another next to her.

  I see a broken ankle somewhere in the future of this party.

  “Hell yeah, we are,” I tell him. “We have some stuff to sort through, but it’ll happen.”

  “Be patient with her,” he says after a pull from his beer. “I know my folks have had words with you. That’s all I’m saying. Give her some time.”

  “You McQueens… Jesus. Yeah, I know,” I mutter.

  A couple of girls approach us, stumbling into each other. Unquestionably coming for one thing by the smiles on their faces and the way their eyes rake my body.

  Granger chuckles as he wiggles his eyebrows at me. “It’s gotta be a weird feeling, isn’t it?”

  “It is what it is. I’m meat to them. They’re sharks looking for a story to share with their girlfriends.”

  “They’re Coco’s cousins, just so you know,” he says quietly. “They’ve been sniffing you out, looking for an intro.”

  “Because what?” I laugh. “I’m too intimidating to approach?”

  “Dude, lest you forget your status with the ladies—yes, you are intimidating. Not to me, douchebag.” He laughs as he catches their eyes and lures them over for the intro. “Ladies, this is Hawke. But, then, I guess you knew that.” He winks at me as he throws an arm over my shoulder. “Meet Virginia and Peggy.”

  “Nice to meet you, girls. I hear you’re Coco’s cousins. I’ve known Coco a long time.”

  “Have you fucked her?” Peggy asks.

  I laugh and choke on my beer. Her trashy accent and crass question are the perfect combination of nauseating, not to mention the cigarette hanging out of the corner of her mouth as she wrestles a piece of something else. Gum.

  “Hell no. She’s my girlfriend’s best friend.” I clear my throat, trying to suffocate my laugh. I cannot, for anything, make eye contact with Granger or I’ll lose it.

  “Your girlfriend?” Virginia says while cozying into me as she pets my arm.

  I get a whiff of her cotton-candy scent and take one step back. “Sloan McQueen,” I say, pointing to Sloan, who is now lap-dancing with the chair.

  Actually, she’s quite good, very entertaining. Sexy. Even if she is looking more than drunk. Then she slips and falls when she notices me watching her. Call me clairvoyant or Dr. Slater.

  I race over to her. “Cricket, Vegas called. You didn’t get the job.”

  “Did they offer to fuck you?” She’s wild-eyed. “Those two… They were… They want to…”

  I’m laughing. She has no idea the life I lead.

  “God no.” I pick her up and sit us down away from the dance floor on a leather couch. “You’re a little boozy, darlin’. I think your lap-dancing days are over.”

  “Did they try anything with you?”

  “What, like grab my cock?” I chuckle.

  “Yes! They want to fuck you. I’m not joking.”

  “I don’t mean to sound like an egotistical dick, but this is a regular thing for me. If women recognize me, they feel free asking for anything they want. It doesn’t mean I take them up on it.”

  “Are you serious? It’s normal?”

  I whisper in her ear, “As normal as me eating you out in your parents’ driveway.”

  She smacks my arm. “Very funny, smartass.”

  “You have nothing to worry about.” I grab her ankle and massage it as she moves it in circles. “That was some nice bump and grind on your part. How’s the ankle?”

  “Guess this is what I get for trying to out–lap dance Coco. She obviously wins.”

  “I think you won. I have a little prize for you.” I reach into my pocket and finger the ring. “I’m also a decent plumber.”

  Her smile is Grand Canyon–wide before she erupts in tears. “Oh my gosh! I thought it was a lost cause.”

  “Nah. It was sitting in the U-pipe under the sink. It took me two minutes, your dad’s wrench is all I needed. I knew it would be waiting for me.”

  Sloan slams a kiss on my lips. “Like you waited for me, huh?”

  “Just like it. I would have waited forever.”

  Sloan and I wake up late Sunday morning to a blistering day. She’s leaning against the headboard, knitting and humming, with School Bus sleeping belly up in her lap, that one foot flopped over. We smell like sex and us. Just being able to say those things and feel confident of where they’re going makes me smile.

  “It’s gotta be over a hundred degrees and you’re knitting?” I pinch her earlobe and direct her face to mine with a tug.

  “It helps me think.” She shrugs. “Do you still have all those hats and scarves I knit for you?”

  “Every last one. Very handy in California.”

  She pokes my forehead with one finger, and says, “We get cold mornings and nights. You wore them.”

  “Still do. I’m just giving you shit. What are you knitting, a sweater for fuzz ball?”

  “Booties.”

  That shakes me for a second. “Obviously not for the duck’s foot. Are you pregnant?” Shit, that came out sounding caustic. But holy hell, this would put a wrench in things. It would also give meaning to all the angst she’s plagued with.

  “Wow. You look scared stiff.” She keeps knitting with her lips pursed as she straightens her back and lets out a long, annoyed-sounding groan.

  It startles School Bus, but as I stroke her fuzzy belly, she calms.

  “I’m saying, if you were, it would mean something else.”

  She gazes at me, no emotion on her face. “Like what?” She still hasn’t said she’s not.

  “Like you were with someone. Like you were having a baby with someone. Again.”

  “Mmmhmm.”

  I’m close to shitting myself. “So, are you?” I shift into a sitting position and get in her face, readying myself to wrestle her tongue for the answer.

  She lays her needles and yarn down next to her lap then gazes at me with her face wrinkled in disgust. “No, I’m not, but it’s good to see what sort of reaction I’d have received if I were.”

  Thank God. I let out a noisy breath, then twist my body around to slouch on my back next to her, propping my feet on the headboard. “Are you mad at me for asking? Come on.”

  She begins knitting again. “I’m fine.”

  “You were fine yesterday too.” I kiss her knees then tickle the backs of them, hoping for a smile. But I don’t receive one. “‘Fine’ sure seems to mean other things with you. Other than okay. I’ve developed a solid bullshit detector over the years, and for the record, it would be okay with me if you weren’t fine. Don’t panic over my reaction. Are you knitting them for a friend?”

  “No. I don’t have any pregnant friends.”

  “Okay, so, you just like to knit baby booties?”

  “I have boxes full of them.” She snaps her head up and looks at me then down again. “It makes me think of him.”

  My heart sinks. Him. And I feel like an ass. Again.

  “I totally get it,” I say, as I stroke the back of her hand. “That’s cool. What else makes you think of him?”

  “Are you sure you want to do this?” She lets out a deep sigh, plunks her needles and yarn on the nightstand, then starts rubbing her forehead.

  “Not if you don’t. Your call.”

  “I’d rather not.” Her cheeks redden.

  This is, no question, going to be an interesting week of dialogue.

  “Okay.” I fold my arms behind my head. “How about this, you want to drive to LA together today?”

  “I’ve decided I’m not going today,” she says with an edge in her voice as she stares down her nose at
me. “I’m staying here for a few more days.”

  “You sound off. Something happen between last night and this morning? I was kind of hoping you’d come down to LA with me and stay at my house before we get you moved into yours. Could give us the time to talk about the things you wanted to tell me.”

  She slants her head, face crinkling. Then scoops up the duckling and swings her legs over the bed’s edge, her back to me as she speaks to the wall. “We decided we’d do that once I got moved in.”

  “Okay. I was just trying to find a way to reach you.” I dig my fingers into her waist for a tickle, and she bounces off the bed, back collapsed on the wall. “What’s up? Tell me what that wrinkle on your forehead is saying? Come on.”

  “It’s saying I’m a little stressed out. Overwhelmed. Your career, the way you spend your days. Me and everything I’m about to dump on you.” She cringes as her eyes shift to the ground.

  “Cricket, look at me. We can figure it all out. None of it matters as much as you being home. I got you back, anything beyond that is solvable.”

  “Yeah, as solvable as world peace.”

  Mama is sitting on the kitchen floor cross-legged in denim overalls, nursing an orphaned lamb with a bottle, when the oven bell rings.

  “Sweetheart, those are the scones. Pull them out please.”

  “I’ve got ’em,” I say as I take a big step over School Bus, as she turns in circles with newfound wonder.

  “You always have been an inventive child. Look at that thing go.” Oma chuckles, watching School Bus scoot across the wooden floor in her new wheeled contraption I made this morning after Hawke left for LA.

  I woke up in the middle of the night drenched in my sweat, with my heart pounding. I rubbed my wrists, scrambling to get free from the imaginary restraints. It’s always that or my neck or my ankles. Nothing new about it, except now it’s happening when I’m next to him. I wish I could say everything will be fine with us. Sure, he left with a smile on his face, but I know it wasn’t what he was really feeling. His jaw was moving so fast after I kissed him goodbye it made nausea rise in my throat.