“You sure a couple is going to be enough?” Cory asked, one eyebrow raised.
I pressed my lips together. “Uh … we can do more if you like.”
He chuckled, and rested his elbows on his knees, angling toward me, his breath tickling the side of my neck. “I like the sound of that.”
“Me, too.” I met him halfway, our lips melding together.
“Ahem, sorry to … disturb you two, but dinner’s ready.”
We leapt apart, smiling sheepishly at each other. My mom straightened from the open oven, the roast grasped between two potholders. The savory hot scent saturated the air and my stomach clenched, a rumble of noise interrupting the stillness.
“Hungry?” Cory smiled at me.
“Just a bit.” I shrugged and cleared the table of our books.
My mom set a stack of three plates with silverware on the corner of the counter.
Cory retrieved them before I could, and set the table. I beamed and brought dinner over to the table. We tucked in and ate, Cory between my mom and me.
“So you never finished telling me about the other night, when you stayed at Lorraine’s. Did she behave?”
I looked to Cory. He chewed a bite of roast, his lips tightly closed.
How did I answer that? I didn’t want to talk about the party in front of Cory. I knew my mom wouldn’t be happy about hearing Lorraine had dragged me to a party either. I was going to have to get over this protectiveness I felt toward Lorraine. But I didn’t like to be the one to get her in trouble. She did enough of that on her own. “We hung out for a bit, and then she went with Dave somewhere.”
“Hmm.” My mom used her fork to smooth her mashed potatoes before tipping the gravy boat over them.
“It was okay, Mom. I went to bed early.” I bit into my freshly buttered roll, waiting until I swallowed to change the subject, “I found a dress for Homecoming today.”
“Really?” She perked up at that. “Did you buy it?”
“Not yet. Do you think you and dad could help me pay for it?”
She nodded. “Yeah, we can pick it up tomorrow. What color is it?”
“A gorgeous deep blue.”
“Cory, remember that, for the corsage,” she said to Cory pointedly.
“Yes, ma’am. Is the blue like your eyes, Angie?”
“Kind of.”
“I’ll remember it then.” His own deep blue eyes held mine and warmth filled me.
We talked a bit more about the dance, and then the conversation turned to powerlifting and then football, easy and light and enjoyable for the remainder of the meal.
“Thanks, Mrs. Adams. Dinner was fabulous.” Cory rested his hand on the doorknob. He’d insisted on helping with clean up, but now it was getting late and school came early, practice even earlier. “You’re a great cook, almost better than my mom.”
She laughed, “Enjoyed having you with us, Cory. I hope you come again soon. Maybe Angie’s father will be able to be home, though it will have to wait until after harvest is in.”
“Mom, I’m going to walk Cory out.”
“Don’t be long. Good night, Cory.”
“Night.”
The air was chill, the deepening sky hung above the tree line, the first stars flickering into view. I rubbed my bare arms and followed Cory to his jeep.
“Your mom is really nice.” He hugged me to him. “I see where you get it.”
I tilted my chin up, not sure I wanted to be compared to my mom at the moment. My thoughts were elsewhere—anxious to kiss him. On tiptoe, my insides wiggling nervously, I did.
Caught by surprise, he stepped back, bumping against the hard metal of the Jeep. I took his face into my hands, the slight roughness of his skin sending shivers of arousal through my palms.
And then I made myself step back.
He groaned deep in his throat, his hands fisting. His shoulders rose as he inhaled. And then he kissed my forehead, one hand cradling the back of my head as he hugged me to his chest. “Thanks for your help tonight. My house next time?”
“Sounds good.” I retreated a few paces and watched until he turned the corner, the red glow of taillights gone from sight.
Chapter Thirteen
The sound of gravel crunched under the tires and I leaned forward, gazing out the windshield of my mom’s car. The three story stone house sat atop a grassy knoll, looking like a miniature castle, complete with a mini tower pointing to the sky, an ornate stained-glass window, large rectangular grayish-brown stonework, and a front door made of a solid slab of wood with black iron studs protruding across it.
It was a testament to their family’s success as potato farmers.
Turning to my mom, I gave her a quick hug. “Thanks, Mom. Cory will bring me home when we’re done.”
She returned my smile, her eyes crinkling deeply at the corners. Her laugh lines were visible even when relaxed. Her hair was swept up into a sleek French twist, her freshly manicured hands resting on the wheel. It was a rare night. My dad was home early due to a machine breakdown, harvest on hold, currently taking a shower, getting ready for an out-of-the-norm Thursday night date. Gone were my mom’s typical sweats, replaced by a shimmery midnight blue dress, high heels instead of the fuzzy slippers, and she actually had on makeup. She was beautiful.
“Well, have a good time, dear. Your dad and I won’t be home until late, but we still expect you to be home at a decent hour. And make sure you do some actual studying with Cory.”
“Yes, ma’am.” I saluted. Then chuckling, I stuck my head into the car. “I’ll be home before dark. Go, Mom, have fun.”
“Always. Love you.”
“Love you, too, Mom. Bye.”
I started to close the car door, when she called out, “Remember—”
“—who I am,” I finished. “I’ll be good, Mom.”
She waited in the driveway until I mounted the overlarge porch steps, then gravel crunched as she backed out.
The heavy iron knocker resounded with a loud thwack. After a few moments faint footsteps approached, and the door opened to reveal a petite woman with Cory’s fair hair and piercing blue eyes. Lashes fluttering, she smiled warmly. “You must be Angie. Come in.”
I cautiously took her hand, afraid I might break the delicate bones, but returned her surprisingly firm shake. My dad believed a handshake spoke a thousand words, and I didn’t want her to think me weak. She tilted her head and gave me an appraising look, her lips pressing together.
“Uh, yeah, I’m Angie. Nice to meet you, Mrs. Jacobs.”
“Please, call me Theresa.” She touched her slender fingers to her chest. “Cory’s out back. You can leave your bag here if you’d like.” She pointed to the floor next to a decorative mahogany table, an elaborate dried flower arrangement displayed in a large, expensive looking vase. “If you go around the west side of the house, you won’t miss him.”
“Thanks, Mrs. Ja … uh, Theresa.” I felt awkward calling her by her first name, unused to referring to adults so informally, at least to their face.
I plunked down my bag and retraced my steps out the door, a rhythmic clanking growing louder as I approached the end of the house. Cory’s Jeep was just around the corner, but the sound wasn’t coming from that direction. There was a flicker of movement behind a tractor, the shine of a bald white head barely visible over the oversized tire.
I strode in the direction of the bright green tractor, parked on a slab of cement outside a large white metal shop. Cory crouched over a toolbox, his back to me, his shirt hanging from his jean pocket, the muscles in his shoulders bunching as he searched for a tool.
I must have made a sound—which was amazing considering I’d lost the ability to move, let alone breathe—because Cory spun on his heels, still in the crouch. In his hand he held the largest wrench I’d ever seen, grease gracing his arms up to his elbows, a small smudge over his right brow.
He broke into a grin and dropped the wrench into the toolbox, jumping up from his squat. “Ang, perfect timing.”
A frayed red rag lay inside the yellow wheel well, and he snatched it up, wiping his greasy hands and arms. I tried not to stare at his bare chest, the muscles flexing and coiling with his movements. “Hey, Cory, nice tractor. Sexy.”
“Me or the tractor?” He hooked a thumb behind him at the tractor, then stuffed the filthy rag into his equally filthy jeans and grinned cockily.
“The tractor, definitely.” I sucked my bottom lip in and took hold of it with my teeth, holding his gaze.
“Oh yeah?” He grabbed me and kissed me deeply. When he released me, my breathing was labored. The only evidence our kiss had any effect on him was his husky tone. “That’s what I thought.”
“Brat.” I brushed my lips softly against his and exhaled quietly. “Should we, uh, get to work?”
He groaned. “Already cracking the whip I see.”
“Whacchoo.” I mimed a whipping motion.
“Okay, teacher. Lead the way.”
“This is your house, you’d better lead.”
We should have been at a powerlifting match instead of studying, but it had been cancelled. With a looming test tomorrow, Cory needed all the help he could get and I was not complaining.
He held out his hand, his calloused skin stained with black whorls. I hesitated at the sight of the grime, but shrugged. Hands were washable. He squeezed my fingers and led me into a slightly cluttered mudroom. He tugged his shirt and rag from his jean pockets and lobbed them into a hamper positioned between a way-too-clean-to-actually-be-used washing machine and a large deep sink. Spinning the knobs, he shoved his hands under the faucet, generously lathering his hands and arms with a citrusy smelling soap.
While he washed, I scanned the room. My mom would be so jealous. The room was divided in two, the dirty and the clean, the hamper seeming to be the dividing point. The sink was clearly on the dirty half—shoes discarded in a haphazard pile under a bench, oil-stained overalls and denim jackets almost falling off their hooks, and a stack of stained, but laundered, neatly folded red rags set on a shelf by the door. On the other side sat a large polished table obviously meant for folding clothes, labeled shelves behind it. One marked “Cory” in flowing script was filled with carefully folded clothes.
Shaking his hands, Cory dried them then rested his hip against the side of the sink, the sight of his still naked torso decidedly distracting.
“Cory, is that you?” Cory’s mom’s voice preceded her entry. “Oh, good, she found you. Cory, where is your shirt? You have a guest.”
“It got dirty on that grease trap of a tractor and I didn’t want to put a fresh one on until I changed these pants.”
“Well, go get decent then.”
“Alright, no need to get grouchy, Mom.” His tone was light. “Come on, Ang. I’ll show you where we’re going to study while I change.”
Cory’s mom looked like she wanted to protest, but Cory gave her a peck on the cheek and smiled. She shook her head, and headed into the kitchen. I had a feeling that smile got him out of trouble a lot.
The rest of Cory’s house was just as impressive as the foyer, and just as perfectly put together as the mudroom. Painted in varying shades of browns, with touches of spring thrown in; blues, yellows, greens, even subtle hints of lavender accented the dark interior. It looked right out of a home-decorating magazine.
Cory made a beeline to the spiral staircase, multicolored fragments of light streaming in from the large stain glass windows curved into the tower walls. I grabbed my bag as we passed the front door and caught up to Cory at the stairs. We were at the foot of the stairs when Cory’s mom stopped us. “Make sure you put those nasty pants straight down the chute and not on the floor.”
“Course.” He shrugged, but a muscle flexed in his jaw. He snagged my bag and climbed the stairs, slinging it over his shoulder. “Come on.”
The landing widened into a large open space, overlooking the beautiful living room below. Overstuffed beanbags and banana chairs formed a semi-circle around a massive flat screen TV, game controllers and game cases strewn on the floor. It was clearly his domain and not as controlled as the rest of the house. What shape was his room in?
Cory dropped my bag onto a beanbag, stopping outside a door along the far wall. “Is it alright if I take a quick shower?”
“Sure.” I shrugged a shoulder, my hands deep in my pockets.
“I’ll be right back. Make yourself at home.” He gestured toward the beanbags before disappearing. He reappeared with a stack of clothes, I assumed from his room, and ducked through another door. It closed with a click.
I stared after him. Kicking my shoes off, I folded into one of the banana chairs. Nudging the floor with my feet, I set it rocking. Several rows of pictures caught my eye. A young Cory with a touch of strawberry blonde hair, the pictures progressively changing until it ended with Cory as he looked now. His weren’t the only pictures, a darker haired boy and a girl also showing their changing years. I assumed they were his older brother and sister. I vaguely remembered his sister from my freshman year.
Below the pictures, was an enormous faux mantel, every possible inch of space covered with trophies ranging from three inches all the way to four feet tall.
I pushed to my feet and approached the “brag wall.” The achievements, arranged in no particular order, were staggering: wrestling, ballet, little league, karate, pie-eating, peewee football, gymnastics, hip-hop, t-ball, soccer, volleyball, basketball, even a diminutive spelling bee trophy tucked in the back, an oversized caricature of a bumblebee forever frozen with its stinger pointing in the air. I plucked it from its spot, careful not to knock over anything, and read the golden plaque on its base. I felt a presence behind me and I slowly turned.
“Out of all those trophies, you grab my first grade spelling trophy.” Cory leaned casually against the bathroom doorframe, rubbing his damp head with a towel with a lopsided grin. Little droplets of water dotted his naked chest.
I averted my eyes before my mind strayed to other, less scholarly things and tipped the trophy toward him. “Brawn and brains. Nice!”
“Got to work on the brains bit.” He laughed, flexing his muscles, bringing his arms up and turning slightly in a body builder pose. So much for getting my mind off his physique.
Something in my expression must have given me away because he closed the space with purposeful strides, his eyes dark. He carefully tilted my chin up, and my body hummed with the anticipation of his kiss, but he leaned his forehead against mine. My lips parted and I met his eyes. His hands were hot through the thin cotton of my shirt, my skin burning where he touched me even after his fingers had moved on.
I tentatively touched his bare chest, skimming along the hard ridges of his abdomen. His hipbones jutted out just above the waistband of his low-slung jeans. Warmth flooded me, his scent everywhere, heat and life and distinctly male, uniquely him. My heartbeat roared in my ears, pounding out a savage rhythm.
He let out a shuddering breath. I could feel his pulse accelerate under my touch. And then he was kissing me, very softly, his mouth tracing the shape of my lips. Afraid my legs were going to give, I clung to him, dizzy with desire. He pulled back, his eyes the deep blue of twilight.
I stared at him and drew my lip between my teeth. With a groan, Cory captured my lips, his kiss hard now, almost frantic in its intensity as he crushed me to him.
The hard ridges of his back muscles bunched under my fingertips and I gave in to the sensations erupting in the pit of my stomach. His knuckles grazed the bare skin below my collarbone and I moaned his name, his touch tingly, electric. It made me feel alive. The hunger of his kiss matched my own urgent need, and I pulled his lower lip between mine. Then his hand slipped under my shirt, his fingers splaying across my abdomen. Lowering his head, his breath caressed my neck, my collarbone, the triangle of skin visible by the open collar of my blouse, the touch of his lips below the jut of my collarbone piercing my arousal, common sense rearing its ugly yet rational head.
&nbs
p; “Wait.” Instantly I regretted the abruptness of my reaction, acute pain and longing written across his face. Turning away, Cory rubbed his head, pausing at the absence of his hair, clasping his fingers behind his head.
I fumbled with the buttons on my blouse, my face on fire. “I’m sorry, Cory,” I whispered, touching his elbow. “I’m not ready for that.”
“I know. I got carried away. You drive me crazy. Kissing you, your skin, the way you smell.” He looked as wobbly as I felt, taking deep, heaving breaths as if he’d run all day and was on the brink of collapse. His voice husky, he hitched a grin onto his face. “It’s alright.”
The tension in his shoulders, his hand gripping the balcony rail told me it wasn’t, not really. I tried not to look at the way the tension shaped the muscles in his torso, accenting the sinewy breadth of it.
I wanted to reach for him, the need to be in his arms, to feel his sweet lips on mine calling to me, his look of barely concealed desire seducing me, tempting me to dive back into his delicious embrace. But I planned to save myself for marriage—and I had plans for my future. I was going to have to be careful. The more time I spent with Cory, the harder it was going to be to stick to my decision—and we’d only really been alone twice. Boy, was I in trouble.
He went to his room and I retraced my footsteps to the banana chair, but instead of sitting on it, I flopped onto a beanbag. My chin on my arms, I sighed, a weighty, shaky exhalation. Maybe we should go downstairs to study. I stared unseeingly at a speck in the otherwise clean carpet then twisted onto my side, waiting for Cory to return. But all was silent in his room.
“Cory, you alright?” I rose.
His door was open and he sat on the edge of his bed, clad in a clean tight shirt, accentuating his muscles perfectly.
His brow pinched together, he shrugged. “Yeah.”
“You sure? We can study tomorrow.” I stood in his doorway.
“No.” He came to me, but stopped a few feet away, not touching me. He let out a heavy sigh. “I just needed … a moment.”
His nearness stirred up the ache to feel his hands and lips on me again and I closed my eyes, opening them to his touch. But I couldn’t meet his eyes and instead I looked at his work toughened hands on my arms.
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