by Blue Saffire
“Give me your keys,” he demands.
“Why?”
He grinds his teeth with frustration. “Give me your goddamn keys, asshole. I need to change. You got some spares in the back of your truck, right?”
I nod, pulling my keys from the front pocket of my jeans and slamming them down on the table. Growing up, my grandpa worked me hard on the farm, and he always said a real man kept a spare set of clothes in his truck. If not for me to use, then for all the young ladies that’d soon be entering my life.
Of course, I didn’t understand what that meant until puberty hit. Sound advice, it turned out. Grandpa was a smart man.
Aaron picks up the keys, mumbling unintelligibly about women as he heads out the door in search of my truck.
Before I can follow him, someone slides into the seat in front of me, the one Aaron recently vacated.
“Claire,” I say, turning what I hope is an impartial gaze her way. Inside, my heart feels like I just took an entire bottle of No Doz.
She smiles, the side of her mouth quirking up. “Homer.”
“Ladies.”
The other corner of her mouth curves upward, her eyes widening in surprise. I nod over her shoulder and she looks around. Rebecca’s looking at her, as are the others. They’re all whispering excitedly about something.
“So . . . ?” I say, turning back to Claire and raising an eyebrow. “Something I can do you for?”
She turns back around. “Yes.”
I swallow. That wasn’t the answer I was expecting. Hoping for, sure. Expecting, no. I need to play this cool. If there’s anything I know about Claire, it’s that I have zero idea where she’s going with this. “I’m sorry? Yes, what?”
She smiles, leaning forward. “Yes, there’s something you can do for me.” Then she stretches her body and neck a little further and, much like the first time, plants her mouth on mine, catching me off guard before pulling quickly back.
“Movies. Six p.m., sharp. This weekend.” She takes my hand, palm up. She reaches back toward her hair, pulling something out. Silky blonde waves cascade down around her face and shoulders. The smell of rose and something citrusy fills my nostrils.
She’s writing on my hand, I realize, my eyes falling belatedly to my palm, with the pen she just pulled out of her hair.
“The girls want to go see some romantic chick flick, and I’m not really in the mood. So whisk me away when the time is right, cowboy.”
She lets go of my hand, caps the pen, and twirls it between her fingers. She watches me as she loops her hair back into the loose bun she’d had it in, returning the pen to its place. Then she nods with a little smile, pausing as though waiting for me to say something. Words fumble around on my tongue, but I can’t seem to get them out.
“Okay . . . catch you later, Lovelly.” She slides out of her seat, heading back to the girls, her hips swaying side to side.
I groan, feeling all my blood pool down south.
Shit. I’ve never been more turned on in my life.
Before I know what I’m doing, I march over to where she’s about to sit and grab a hold of her hand, spinning her back toward me. Her body slams into mine and my breath hitches. I stare into her eyes, studying them as her pupils dilate.
“You forget something, cowboy?” she purrs, pressing her body into mine.
“Yeah. I did.” My voice is rough and gravelly. Snaking my hand around the back of her neck, I press our mouths together, pouring all the pent-up frustration and lust and annoyance and every other mixed feeling I’ve had this past week into it.
Catcalls and hoots fill the shop around us.
This isn’t me. I’ve never pursued someone like this, never been one for public displays of affection, or kissing random women like I’m a war hero returned from the front. But something about this woman, about Claire, has me in all sorts of knots.
She has me doing things I’d never do. Only, with her, it feels . . .
Right.
And dangerous.
Two run-ins with each other.
Two kisses.
Somehow, she’s wiggled her way into my thoughts like no woman ever has, made me feel things I never imagined I could experience.
I need to figure out how the hell to break free from it.
I need to get her out of my system.
I have a scholarship at Harvard waiting for me. I can’t afford to be distracted. As much as it stung, I was actually relieved when she turned me down for a date. Now, here we are, right back where we started, and I’ll be damned if making this woman mine isn’t the only thing I want to do. Consequences be damned.
“Now, I’m done,” I say as I pull back. It’s a lie, but if I’m going to be the gentleman my grandpa raised me to be, I need to be done. Letting her go, I walk out of the ice cream shop, not taking the chance to look back.
5
Claire
“He’s gonna lose his shit when he sees you tonight,” Beccs says as she flips through the latest issue of Tiger Beat. My eyes flicker to hers in the mirror.
If he shows up. I haven’t heard from him since I left my number on his hand the other day, so who knows if he’ll even show tonight. Still, that’s not something I really want to think about right now. That thought brings unwanted guests—like expectation, and hope, and all the strings I’m trying to avoid this summer.
Instead, I point to the magazine in her hands. “You’re not even looking at it.”
She shrugs and tosses it to the side, rolling onto her back and spreading out her arms like an angel. “Don’t change the subject.” She turns her head to look at me. “Why are you so hung up on making him fawn all over you? I thought you didn’t care.”
I roll my eyes and turn around, walking over to the bed to fall backward next to her. I sigh, then turn my face to hers. “I’m not hung up on anything. I just don’t mind finding out if he’s well hung up on me. If you know what I mean.” I wiggle my eyebrows at her.
“Oh my god, Claire.” She swats at my shoulder before pushing up to sit. “Seriously, girl. You gotta back off.”
I scoff. “There’s nothing to back off from, remember? He never called,” I remind her. “Besides, what’s the big deal? It’s not like I’m going to jump him when—correction, if he shows his face at the theater and force him into something he doesn’t want to do.” A flash of how he spun me around and kissed me breathless the other day plays in my head.
Obviously, he’s not the one complaining. Which means . . . shit. Could it . . . ?
I shoot up to a sitting position, accidentally elbowing Beccs in the face.
“Ow,” Beccs yelps, rubbing at her neck. Not face. Doesn’t matter. This is more important.
“Beccs, do you like him?”
“What?” she asks, still rubbing her neck.
“You heard me. Do you like Homer? Is that why you keep warning me off of him?”
She rolls off the bed and stands, her hands on her hips. “What’s it to you?”
“Just answer the question.” Maybe I should have whacked her in the face.
“No. I don’t like him.” She puts added emphasis on the word, “like.” I choose not to look too closely at what that might mean.
Instead, I sigh in relief. Though, relief from what, exactly . . . ? I shake the thought out of my head. “Okay. Good. Then stop giving me shit about it.”
“You’re gonna tear that poor boys heart out.”
“Are you for real right now? Did you see the way he kissed me?”
She sighs, a dreamy smile plastered across her face. “Yeah. He was marking his territory, for sure. I mean, he didn’t take out his wiener and pee on your leg or anythin’, but hot-diggity-damn . . . he marked his territory.”
My face crumbles, like I’d been slapped. “I’m not anyone’s territory.”
She laughs. “Look at you, Claire-bear, getting all worked up about it. I get it now.”
I cross my arms over my chest, one eyebrow raised, daring her to continu
e. If I’m lucky, she won’t see through the charade. Though, it’s probably already too late. Part of what I love and hate about Beccs is her ability to hit everything so squarely on the head without even trying. I already know she’s gonna call my bluff. If I’m not careful, she’s gonna make me admit the feelings I don’t want to feel, ruin all my plans to avoid serious emotional entanglements.
“You can’t handle the fact he took what you gave him and served it right back on a silver platter, with roses and love notes and all, can you?”
“You’re delusional.”
“Ha!” she squeals, jumping back on the bed with both knees. “I’m delusional?” She laughs, throwing her arms around my neck and squeezing the life out of me before she lets me go.
“Stop it, Beccs,” I protest, pushing against her. “You’re gonna mess up my hair.”
She pushes me back to arms’ length and grins wide. “Fine. You go get him, then. I can’t wait to see how exciting and fun my summer’s gonna get.”
My grin becomes huge. Now this . . . this I can live with. My cousin. My best friend. My helper when it comes to doing things neither of our parents approve of.
“Oh. I have plans. Big, big plans for my summer, and Homer’s willing to play, so why the hell not?”
Her jaw drops open. “You don’t mean . . .”
I give her a nonchalant smile. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
This is my summer and I, for one, am not going to waste it. I only have three goals: have fun, get laid as much as possible, and leave it all behind at the end for a new life in Georgia. Not my fault I stumbled on someone I could achieve all three of my goals with in the first two weeks, is it?
Beccs knew what I wanted when I was sent down here. She claimed she wanted the same. So what’s with her second-guessing me now?
“Ready to go?” Beccs asks, pulling me out of my thoughts. She’s over by the mirror, applying lipstick and smacking her lips together.
Before I can nod in agreement, the doorbell rings.
Beccs and I look at each other, confused. We weren’t expecting company. The girls had all agreed to meet at the theatre.
I run to the window to see if I can tell who’s at the front door.
“Shit.” I cover my mouth with my hand and turn to her, my eyes wide. In actuality, I’m trying hard not to laugh. Her reaction will be so much better if she has no idea.
“What, what?” Beccs asks, walking toward me. “Who is it?”
I shake my head, milking my feigned horror. “You’ve gotta see this.”
She shoves past me to the window, looking out, fear and curiosity warring on her face. When she finally spots our mystery guest, she glares at me and I let my laughter bubble out.
Her response is exactly as hilarious as I thought it’d be.
“Fucking Aaron.”
6
Homer
“Yes, sir,” I respond to what feels like the millionth question Mr. Young’s asked. “It won’t be any trouble at all.”
“What about you, son? You look like someone who loves his booze.” Mr. Young’s suspicious appraisal turns to Aaron. He places the shotgun he’d answered the door with out of sight, behind the open door, while he waits for Aaron to collect himself. The smirk dancing on the edges of his face tells me he’s satisfied he’s put the fear of God into his daughter’s would-be suitor.
Aaron, on the other hand, doesn’t—or maybe can’t—seem to notice that, though.
He stands beside me, stunned, his usual goofy grin long since gone. I guess when he agreed to come pick up Claire—and, begrudgingly, Rebecca—with me, he wasn’t thinking about the possibility her dad’d be home. Or that he’d be a hardass.
I mean, why would he? The man’s a pastry chef, not a militia general. I think his exact words were, “Even if he’s home, I’m sure he’s cooking or baking or whatever. I’ll have him eating shit from the palm of my hand by the end of the night.”
“No, sir. He won’t be drinking, either,” I respond. “I promise.”
“Good. I like you, Homer.” He pats my shoulder as he steps aside, ushering me into the foyer. Aaron, he ignores. “Come on in. I’m sure they’re just about done.”
I step across the threshold and look back over my shoulder. Aaron’s exactly where he was a minute ago. Unmoving.
“Aaron!” I whisper, snapping my fingers at him. “Pull it together.”
He shakes his head as if clearing it, and steps inside.
“Girls, your dates are here,” Mr. Young calls as he shuts the door behind us.
“Dates?” one of them calls from above. Footsteps soon follow. Rebecca’s the first to come into view, her eyebrows knit together with a mix of confused fury. Her eyes land on me, and I smile. Her step falters, shock crossing her face.
“Homer . . . ?”
I give her a nod.
“What are you—?”
Aaron steps around me, apparently having gotten the feeling back in his limbs, and awkwardly shoves a short-stemmed rose at her, cutting her off. “For you.”
Rebecca’s eyes grow as wide as a raccoon in a restaurant dumpster after the dinner rush. She looks at her dad, then to me, before taking the flower hesitantly. She eyes Aaron like she expects he’s poisoned it, and I resist the urge to sigh in exasperation. I swear, these two . . .
One day they’re yelling at each other.
The next, he’s handing her short-stemmed roses . . .
I wish they’d do us all a favor and just hate-fuck already.
I don’t have long to dwell on that thought, though, as Claire steps into view at the top of the stairs. Instantly, my entire world narrows onto her. She holds my gaze, unwavering, as she descends one slow step at a time, that sexy half-smirk that makes my pants feel a few sizes too small already fixed in place.
She smiles coyly as she comes to a stop before me. “Date, is it?”
I nod. “You set the terms. Six p.m., sharp,” I point out.
“I said to meet me at the movies. Not for you to come pick me up.”
I press my lips together and pretend to think. “Hmm . . . I think your exact words were, ‘Yes, I’d love to go out on a date with you, Homer. Thank you ever so much for the invitation.’ And what kind of a gentleman would I be if I didn’t pick my lady up before a night on the town?”
She raises a single eyebrow—her signature flirt move. Odd. But cute. “Love? Really? Now I know you’re talking crap. Because love and I? We aren’t exactly on speaking terms. Don’t go getting any ideas. Okay?”
“Fair ’nough,” I laugh, extending my hand to her, conceding the point. A satisfied smile curls my lips when she slides her hand into mine a moment later. “Shall we?”
She gives me an exaggerated eye-roll and a half-shrug, theatrically put-upon. “Oh, I suppose.”
Under Mr. Young’s watchful eyes, I escort Claire out to the drive, where Aaron’s Jeep Cherokee waits. I would have much rather been in my truck, but it doesn’t have room for four. Claire waits patiently as I open the back passenger door for her, then climbs inside and shimmies across to make room for me. I follow, settling into place while Aaron tries the same chivalrous move with Rebecca.
“M’lady,” he says with a ridiculous little bow, holding the passenger side door open for her.
She scoffs. “Please. I’m not your anything,” she says, climbing in and closing the door herself. Aaron bristles visibly, muttering something along the lines of “stubborn ass woman” as he walks around to the driver’s side and climbs in.
I glance at Claire as Aaron starts the Jeep. She’s watching me like she’s trying to figure something out.
“So, what movie are we watching?” I ask as Aaron pulls out onto the road.
7
Homer
I never thought giggles could be so addicting.
Of course, that was before I heard Claire’s. And frankly, everything’s addicting where she’s concerned.
She follows me, her hands claspe
d over her mouth to stifle her laughter, as we push through the door of the movie theater and out into the main lobby. I don’t think I’ve ever been so entertained in my entire life. The movie was boring as hell, but having Claire next to me, leaning in like it’s the most natural thing in the world, whispering sarcastic commentary in my ear . . . that, I enjoyed.
“God,” Claire moans, falling into me. I instinctively wrap my arm around her, laughing softly. “That really was a terrible movie.” She giggles again, wiping away the tears gathered in her lashes.
“Maybe we should have gone with Aaron and the girls to see—”
“God, no! That would have been a thousand times worse.” She makes a face, her nose scrunching in disgust. “I still can’t believe Aaron went with them.”
“Neither can I,” I say as I pull open the door to the outside and wait for Claire to pass through. “Though, if I had to guess, it has more to do with him annoying Rebecca than him wanting to see the film.”
She huffs a small laugh. “Probably.”
The look on Rebecca’s face when Aaron announced his film of choice to the ticket clerk had been pretty priceless. Indignation, horror, and rage had all made equal passes for the spotlight. Aaron had simply grinned at her as she stomped off with the rest of the girls. It was, as she’d loudly complained, a free country, after all. But he certainly wasn’t sitting with them. The eyebrow wiggle he’d shot us as he followed them into the theater said differently, though.
“So, now what, cowboy? We gonna wait around for Rebecca and Aaron, or you have something else tucked up under those plaid sleeves of yours?” Claire asks, leaning against the railing of the promenade in front of the cinema, looking back at me with a smirk that’s clearly meant to be challenging. And suggestive. And damn, if that’s not a suggestion I want to take.
I pull my bottom lip between my teeth for a moment before letting it go. “Actually . . .” Eager mischief lights her eyes as I pause, coming to stand beside her. “I was thinking about something, if you’re up for it.”