American Honey

by Heidi McLaughlin

  Not for much longer.

  “But it’s quittin’ time for me.” She stands from her chair and slings her bag over her shoulder.

  “G’night.” We exchange a smile and she’s out the door.

  Maybe it was the heated stare we exchanged before, but something in me makes me pause outside of Elle’s door. Opting for courtesy, I knock before entering, rather than just barging in, like I may have done last week.

  “Come in,” her soft voice calls from behind the thick mahogany doors.

  My eyes immediately go to the gigantic stack of papers on the desk. I’m assuming they’re the reason for the haggard and beaten look on Elle’s face. But, when she picks her head up from whatever she’s working on, finally taking notice that it’s me who walked in the room and not Rosie, her face brightens. Plastering on that how-can-I-help-you smile she’s mastered whenever I’m around, she eyes me suspiciously, waiting for me to explain why I’ve come here.

  “Everything okay?” Though the intent of my question is genuine, I can clearly see that something’s gone wrong; she still doesn’t trust me enough to tell me the truth. Her longer-than-necessary pause tells me all I need to know: everything is most definitely not okay.

  “Of course,” she answers professionally, but I hear the quiver in her voice. I wonder if I put it there. Only one way to be sure: move in closer and see if I can make it quake even more.

  Leaning over the desk, I scan the papers. “Anything I can help with?”

  “Um, well…uh… no.” Her stammering forces a wolf-like grin to curl at my lips. I’m definitely affecting her and I love it. “Is there something you wanted?” Her arms fold across one another on her desk and she leans closer. It’s impossible not to notice how the tops of her breasts push against the lacy line of her top as she does so.

  She catches me staring and laughs as she says, “Up here, Owen. My eyes are up here.” Recovering as quickly as I can, I pull my eyes away from her rack. Her eyebrow is arched at me in a mockingly sarcastic way, but there’s a touch of triumph there. Damn her. She did it on purpose and I fell for it, hook, line, and sinker.

  As she sits back, a smug look spreads across her face. Forcing her attention back to whatever she was working on before I walked in, she clicks away at a few things on the computer. She’s intentionally ignoring me, excluding me from the work she doesn’t even know I’m more than qualified to do. Not one to miss out on an opportunity, I take her state of disinterest as a chance to stare at her.

  When I told Nick she wasn’t unfortunate looking, I hadn’t given her beauty the credit it deserved. She really is quite beautiful. Pieces of her light brown hair frame her heart-shaped face. A few strands have fallen from her low bun, cascading down her long, delicate neck. Her caramel-colored eyes are almost hidden behind her glasses, but I can see the fire in them. When she pulls her glasses off her face, she slips one of the end pieces into her mouth. Watching her run that little piece of plastic back and forth over her full, plump lip makes me wonder what her lips might feel like elsewhere.

  “Oh, shit!” She clicks on a few more things and I try to tame the erection that’s just sprung to life behind my zipper. “Shit! Shit! Shit!” she repeats and it’s actually kind of funny watching her become so frazzled.

  “What?”

  “Crap, it’s nothing. Nothing you need to worry about.” With more force than is necessary, she slams the lid of her laptop closed. On a loud, exasperated sigh, she stands from her chair and walks over to the window. Damn! She’s wearing those stockings with the dark seam running down the back of her legs. So much for taming that erection.

  And of course her ass looks perfect, too.

  She twists her neck from side to side. The sound of it cracking and popping as she stretches it out makes me cringe. Her hand goes to her neck as she tries to rub out some of the tension.

  Hmmm…wouldn’t mind her rubbing out the tension in my pants right now.

  This is when I decide to make my move. Standing from my chair, I walk up behind her and drop my hands to her knotted-with-stress shoulders.

  She startles slightly, before straightening her back like an arrow. She turns her head slightly, eyeing me cautiously. “What are you doing?” There’s a breathless quality to her voice.

  “Calm down, Elle,” I say as I begin kneading her shoulders and upper arms. Her name rolls off my tongue, dripping of the sweetest honey.

  Feeling her melt under my hands is more satisfying than I care to admit to. The subtle moan that passes her lips makes me want to nip and bite at her neck, kissing my way up to her ear. Somehow, I manage to restrain myself enough to say, “Now, please tell me what’s got you all worked up.”

  “It’s nothing I can’t handle,” she defends as some of the tension returns under my fingertips.

  Digging my thumbs deeper into the knot at the base of her neck, she drops her head down and lets out a long “ahhh” as I work my magic.

  “It doesn’t seem that way.” Another piece of hair falls from her bun. With a light graze of my fingertip, I swipe it out of the way. Goose bumps dot her skin in the wake of my touch. The coconut scent of her shampoo billows around me. My hands move to her arms, bracing her at the bicep. Pulling her a step back, I hold her against my body. “Let me help you relax.” My desire is sudden and sharp. In all of five minutes, the woman who has done nothing but frustrate and insult me for the last two weeks, has me more turned on than I’ve been in months. Even though my initial intention was to seduce her, take advantage and manipulate her, things suddenly change.

  As she leans against me, her head lolls to the side. Running my nose along the length of her neck forces both of us to shiver. “Elle,” I groan her name.

  The vibration of her “hmmm” rumbles against my chest, making me even more turned on than I already am.

  The second before I could press my lips to the peaches and cream skin of her neck, a loud bang makes both of us jump where we’re standing. As she busies herself with straightening her jacket, I cock my head. Staring down at her, I can’t hide the cynicism in my voice. “Expecting someone?”

  “Come in,” she calls out to the door. A pang of jealousy I did not see coming hits me right in the chest, right where Elle was just pressed ever so softly. A very well-put-together man in an expensive three-piece struts into the office as if he owns the place. At first glance, he looks to be about my age, maybe slightly older, but as he stands in front of me, introducing himself as Ethan Robertson, I notice his hair is peppered at the temples with more than a few grey hairs.

  “Are you ready, Elle?” Ethan asks without paying all too much attention to me. Elle nods and moves back to the desk to gather her things.

  “Yes, of course. Let’s go.” Her voice is suddenly rushed and frenzied. The desire to get out of the room quickly is clear as day.

  Ethan escorts her to the door, his hand on her lower back. With his other hand on the doorknob, he turns back to me and shoots me a look that screams, “Aren’t you leaving as well?”

  “Owen?” Elle extends her hand to the side, indicating that she expects me to walk out with them.

  “No, that’s okay. I have some things I need to catch up on in here.” I walk around the desk and sit at her chair. Kicking my heels up on the desk, Ethan shoots daggers at me. “Catch up? On what, exactly?” Elle asks, taking a few steps back into the room. Her eyes bore into mine, pleading with me to just leave already. I drop my feet to the floor and fold my arms over my chest as she approaches. Her smug attitude about my humble beginnings makes me keep a tight lip on my background. I’ll let her think I know nothing for a bit longer; besides, it’s kind of fun watching her get all up in arms over my involvement in things that don’t include dirt.

  From the stack of folders at my right, I swipe a pile of papers and quickly recognize the documents. “Well, these quarterly P&L statements still need to be reviewed and balanced. Then,” I grab for another document, “these tax dividends look like they still need to be sent
out to the accounting department.” Elle’s jaw nearly drops to the floor, but before she can say anything to me, Ethan clears his throat from the door. Completely unaware of the exchange we’ve just shared, he taps the face of his gold and rather hideous watch. “We’re going to be late for our reservation.”

  Elle manages to close her mouth and make her eyes look like they’re no longer bulging out of her face. She leans across the desk, waggling a stern finger at me. Pitching her voice low, she seethes, “Not funny, Owen. I’ll deal with you tomorrow.”

  Just to piss her off, I lean all the way back in the chair, lace my fingers together behind my head, and kick my feet back up on the desk. Ethan barely notices me through the whole exchange, but I know I’ve done something to get under her skin.

  There’s no ignoring she’s under mine, too.

  ***

  “So, how’s the S.U.B doing?” Nick asks, saying each letter of his made up nickname for Elle with no little meanness.

  “You’re really proud of yourself for that stupid name, aren’t you?”

  “What?” he laughs, holding his hands up, palms facing me in mock protest. “It’s funny and true. You said it yourself; she’s a stuck-up bitch. I’m really just saving you time in shortening it.”

  It’s been three days since she left me high and dry in the office for her date with Mr. Stick-Up-My-Ass Robertson. Somehow, now that I know what her skin feels like, what her hair smells like, what her moans sound like, the nickname is more offensive than funny.

  A pang of jealousy struck me in the gut when I watched her walk out of that office. But, not willing to admit that to Nick – hell, I barely want to even admit it to myself – I keep my mouth shut.

  I roll my eyes and take another swig of my beer. “She’s fine,” I grit out. Nick hears the tone of my voice and backs off, striking up conversation about last night’s baseball game.

  Since Nick’s construction company is about halfway between the vineyard and home, we’ve met up once or twice at this dive of a bar since I started working there. It’s a total hole in the wall. My feet would stick to the floor if it wasn’t covered in sawdust. The tables are covered in those red-checkered plastic tablecloths. Everything about the place, from the neon signs above the bar, to the bales of hay in the corner, screams hillbilly. There’s a fine line between country and tacky, and this place pushes more toward tacky.

  Some twangy-slash-bluesy song begins to play out of the 1950s style jukebox in the corner. “I feel like I’m in Back to the Future or something like that,” Nick jokes. “But I do like those uniforms,” he adds as he calls over our waitress who’s wearing the country-girl version of a Hooters’ outfit.

  Just as I crane my head to check out said waitress, a group of women, dressed in Daisy Dukes and tied-at-the-waist country-inspired shirts, strut through the doors. The waitresses can’t hold a candle to these women. All I see are miles of long legs, and I am most definitely not complaining about the view. After a few more minutes, another group or two of similarly dressed women walk in, and that’s when Nick and I realize it’s ladies’ night. Line dancing and dollar beers are on the menu, and suddenly, I couldn’t be happier Nick chose this dive bar.

  As Nick and I finish the last of our drink and plan our attack, one last group of girls walks in and my stomach drops. It’s Elle and her friends. Shocked isn’t exactly the word I would go with. Flabbergasted might be more appropriate. Who would have thought, Elle, miss-uptight-in-a-business-suit, no-one-is-smart-enough-to-run-this-company, hotter-than-fucking-sin Elle, would actually be able to kick back and relax. The fact that she looks amazing is not as shocking as the fact that she’s here.

  Her long hair is pulled into a high ponytail and her make-up is subtle, simply accenting her natural beauty. Watching her laugh and cut loose with her friends is strange to say the least, but oh, God, is she beautiful when she smiles. Her long and curvy-in-all-the-right-places frame stretches out as she leans her elbows on the bar. Tipping her head back, she takes a sip of her beer. I haven’t been struck-dumb like this in as long as I can remember.

  And of course Elle chooses the moment I’m staring at her, ogling her, in fact, with my mouth open and eyes wide, to scan the room. Her eyes fall on me and a look of excitement, mixed with a little disgust, passes across her face. “You okay, Owen?” Nick asks, elbowing me in the side. “You’ve been frozen like that for a few minutes. See something you like?” His eyebrow arches and a wolfish grin pulls at his lips. He tracks my line of vision and lets out a low whistle. “Yeah, I wouldn’t be able to speak if I was staring her down either,” he adds, standing from his seat.

  “What are you waiting for?” he asks, looking down at me. I’m still in my chair, unable to move, well, unless I want Elle, and everyone else in the room, to see the hard-on I’m currently sporting.

  “That’s the S.U.B.,” I clarify, tipping my head over at Elle.

  Nick laughs as he slinks back into his chair. “You’ve got to be shitting me. She’s fucking hot, man.” He steals another glance at her and that pang of jealousy I felt when she left with Robertson is back.

  My elbow digs into his side and he looks at me with a smug look on his face. “You want her, don’t you?” Nick’s question catches me off-guard.

  “What? No,” my defense sounds weak even to my own ears.

  “Real convincing, man,” Nick chuckles.

  When the bulge behind my zipper has calmed enough for me to walk, I get up and go over to Elle who is still eyeing me warily.

  “What are you doing here?” she snaps as I slide into an open spot at the bar next to her.

  “Nice to see you, too,” I say without even looking at her. Tipping my head at the bartender, I order another round. Her anger at me simply being in the same place she is vibrates off her. So much so that when I get my beer, I lean in just to piss her off even more. With the citrusy and vanilla scent of her perfume curling around me, I whisper into her ear, “You don’t look like you’re pissed I’m here.” I trace a finger down her exposed arm, loving the fact that goose bumps dot her creamy skin as I do. “In fact, you look pretty excited to see me.”

  With a huff and puff, she storms away from me, leaving me at the bar chuckling at her antics. Can’t say I mind watching her ass sway in front of me. And then watching her dance with her friends, yeah, that’s not so bad either.

  Laughing as Nick finagles his way in-between two rather busty women, I still find myself watching Elle. Ah, fuck it, I say to myself. Three beers in and I’m feeling good. All thoughts of everything that’s been going on between the two of us – awkward first meeting, stilted encounters, ugly name-calling – melt away as I slip behind her on the dance floor.

  “What the–” She jumps as I wrap my hands around the soft curves of her waist. Though she tries to maintain her prim-and-proper exterior around me, I feel her melt under my touch. It was the same the other day.

  “Can’t you play nice, Elle?” I whisper into the crook of her neck. The music is too loud to tell for sure, but I think her only answer is a low groan. Knowing that I affect her, I make sure to let my stubbled jaw graze the soft skin where her shoulder meets her neck. She rolls her head to the side, clearly enjoying the rough glide of it.

  As a slow song replaces the previous, fast-paced one, her body relaxes into mine. With my chest pressed against her back, her ass fits snuggly against my groin. My fingers dig into her hips, securing her tightly against my body. She rests her head against my shoulder and turns so that her lips are mere centimeters away from my neck.

  “Is that nice enough for you?” Her sultry voice is seductive and raspy.

  Without a second thought, I spin her in my arms, reveling in the soft feel of her tits pressed up against my chest. “This is much better.” With a sly smile, I wink down at her and we finish the song.

  When the music picks back up, she excuses herself to go find her friends again. Before she’s more than an arm’s length away, I wrap my fingers around her upper arm and p
ull her back to me. “No, Elle. We need to talk.” The fire in her eyes is mirrored in my own, I’m sure.

  No matter what tension there’s been between us, there’s no denying this attraction and if we plan to work together, we’re going to need to get along a lot better than we have been. To be honest though, working together in a professional manner is the last thing on my mind. Figuring out who the hell she is, what makes her tick, and how to get her to purr like she just did again, those are the most important things on my mind right now.

  She gulps, and nods, sliding past me to an open table. My large frame eats up most of the space at the small table. A waitress comes over as soon as our asses are in the chairs. I order water and Elle gets a shot of tequila. Note to self: make sure she’s not driving and that whichever friend is driving, stays sober.

  Trying her best to avert eye contact, she looks all over the room, everywhere except at me. Needing her attention to say what I have to say, I drop my hand to hers, covering it easily.

  Risking my pride, and swallowing back whatever reservations I have, I clear my throat, calling her attention back to us. “What’s going on with us?” I ask. Her only response is a wide-eyed and dumbfounded look.

  Chapter 6

  Elle

  “What’s going on with us?” His voice is gruff and smooth at the same time.

  What is going on with us? I repeat to myself in my own head. The only answer I can come up with is that I have no freaking clue. Well, I mean, yeah I do – kind of. He’s hot; there’s no denying that, but that’s all there is.

  Right?

  His fingers snap in front of my face, breaking my dazed stare. “Earth to Elle,” he laughs, leaning forward on his elbows. His scent puts me on edge as it moves its way across the table. I hate him for putting me off my game, but dear God in heaven, I want to lick him so badly.

  “Um – there’s nothing. I mean – why, what do you think?” Stammering over my own words makes me look like a blubbering idiot, but that’s pretty much what happens when I’m in close quarters with Owen.