by Blue Saffire
I push off from the truck and walk backward a few steps, trying to ignore the lump of undefinable emotion—elation, fear, sadness . . . regret?—clogging my throat. I did it. I set the terms. Now, it’s his choice whether or not to accept them.
His face is unreadable, though. I can’t tell what he’s thinking as he watches me back away.
There’s so much more to him than just his sexy, hot Southern charm and looks. And although that’s what attracted me in the first place, it’s what’s beneath the hood that might just keep me here, tethered to him for far longer than the few short weeks I have left before my life in Georgia calls.
I can’t let that happen. No matter what, at the end of summer, I’ll leave this town, hopefully with a few new memories, and perhaps even friendship. But I will in no way, shape, or form fall for this man. If I do . . .
Nope.
There is no other ending. Only this.
I’m determined.
I turn away, walking to the front of the house without a second glance. I never thought I’d have the balls to propose what I just did, but here we are. If he’ll have me, Homer Lovelly will be a summer fling I’ll never forget, but a boy I’ll never fall in love with.
And whether or not he chooses to be a part of my proposal is one hundred percent on him.
10
Homer
It’s been a couple days since our date that wasn’t a date. Which means, it’s also been a few days since I’ve seen Claire.
I want to say it’s because I’ve been busy at the farm, helping out where I can, fixing whatever needs fixin’ before I take off for Harvard in the fall. But that’s only half the truth.
If I’m being honest, I still don’t know what to think about her . . . proposition. Claire scares me. Her personality, her hunger for freedom, her ability to push me to my limits, and then some.
She’s all the things my parents were. And everything my grandparents’ve raised me not to be. After only a few chance encounters, I find myself wanting to be like her—more daring. Just living in the moment, consequences be damned. It’s terrifying.
What if these little temptations become more than I can handle? What if jumping into a summer fling with both feet is just the beginning?
The fear of becoming my parents has haunted me for years now, but the specter’s never felt more real than it does when I’m with Claire. She brings something out in me, makes me feel alive in ways I’m not yet sure I want to understand.
So yeah. I haven’t called her. And if I’m honest about that, too, it’s eating me up inside. I’ve been doing everything I can to keep her out of my thoughts, the days blurring one into another in a haze of well-earned exhaustion, and it only seems to bring her into my thoughts more. I’m addicted, well and good.
The question is, what am I willing to give for my next fix?
It’s not that I’m against the idea of a carefree, no-strings relationship. Hell, that’s all I’ve been in since Mary. But I was always the one in control. This time, with Claire—anything with Claire—that just doesn’t seem to be the case.
Still, if I’m being honest—truly, brutally honest with myself—that’s not the only thing that’s stopping me. I don’t know if I want an “expiration date” with Claire. If I’ll be satisfied with being nothing more than her summer fling, used for some good old-fashioned romps under the sheets, and then tossed aside when it all comes to an end.
I slam the last of the haystack into the barn house and set aside the pitchfork, clapping my hands to free them of debris. Removing my work gloves, I shove them into my back pocket, wiping the sweat from my brow with my sleeve.
“Boy . . .” Grandpa’s voice comes from behind me. I turn, eyebrows raised in question. He steps out of the tack room, the sound of happy growls and yips telling me he fed the pups and their mom. “Your grandma’s lookin’ for ya.”
“Isn’t she always?” I ask with a smile.
“Don’t play coy with me, boy,” he responds. “I’ve seen that woman pour her life into taking care of others for as long as I can remember. So don’t go telling me she’s got anythin’ other than your best interest at heart. Now, go on. Get. Before I get involved. You remember what happens when I’m involved, don’t ya?”
I shudder, remembering the time he tried to tell me about the birds and the bees. I’d been so traumatized after that conversation that I ran screaming every time a girl approached me, worried my dick would fall off on female contact. It took Mama Lucy a good month before she realized what the hell was going on. “You’re a wicked old man, Papa. I remember.” I walk toward him, pulling him into a hug. “But I love you.”
“Love you too, Spud,” he says, giving me a quick squeeze. Then he pats me on the back and pushes me toward the door. “Now get, or your grandma’ll have my hide.”
I chuckle to myself as I walk back to the house. I kick the dirt from my boots on the post stationed outside the back door, and then head inside to the kitchen. Grandma Lucy’s bustling around, pots clanking against one another in a symphony I’ve grown up listening to.
“Hey, Mama Lucy,” I call, entering into her domain with a hop in my step.
“Ah, Homer. Good!” she says, turning to me with a container in hand. She clicks the top on the container and hands it to me like I should know what to do with it.
“What’s this?” I take it from her and open the lid. “Oh, shepherd’s pie. Yum.” I practically drool at the thought of taking a bite. My stomach rumbles with immediate agreement. Lunch, I realize, was a long time ago.
“Hands off, mister.” She swats at me before pushing the lid back in place.
“This,” she says, placing a hand over the container, “is for Claire and her family. You know people these days. They hardly ever have a good, home-cooked meal. Be a good boy and take it over for me, will you?”
Oh, shit. I gulp. “Mama, I can—”
“Nonsense. Papa and I’ve been working you too hard these past few days. You’re a young man, and you’ll be headed to college soon. You should spend your summer having fun with friends . . . and girls.” She gives me a pointed grin. I love my grandma, but subtle, she most definitely is not. “I like Claire. You should invite her back here one of these days.”
“Mama, I—”
“No excuses.” She shushes me, literally trying to shove me off toward the living room—a feat she hasn’t been able to do since I was about eight. Then, just as abruptly, she stops. She leans in close and sniffs, her nose scrunching adorably. “On second thought, give me that.” She takes the container from my hands. “You smell worse than cow dung, Homer. Go clean up. Then you can take this to the Young residence.”
When I don’t move, she presses her lips together, her free hand on her hip. “Don’t make me lock you in that bathroom, young man.”
Defeated, I raise my hands in the hair. “Fine. I’ll go. I’ll go.”
Grandma Lucy’s laugh drifts down the hall after me as I head upstairs to change.
11
Homer
“Oh my god! How does your grandma cook such amazing food?” Claire groans, patting her belly. She pushes the container of shepherd’s pie away from her and lays back on her elbows, eyes closed. She looks like a contented cat laying in the sun.
I gotta hand it to Grandma Lucy. If nothing else, she gave me the perfect excuse to see Claire. I wasn’t sure what would happen when I pulled up to the Young house, but Claire had taken one look at the container in my hands, shrugged, and said, “Come on, cowboy. There’s gotta be a beach in this town somewhere.”
Then she’d hopped up in my truck like nothing had changed between us, and I’d driven us out here. The lake on the far side of town is not, admittedly, “the beach,” but it’s the closest thing to it I could think of. And sitting here, on the tailgate of my truck, watching the sun dip low on the horizon, couldn’t be more perfect if I’d planned it.
“Seriously, though. You gotta tell me how you’re still so damn hot after all the
se years of eating her cooking?” Claire says, rolling her head toward me to give me a deliciously wicked smile.
I raise an eyebrow. “You think I’m hot?”
She pokes my chest. “Oh, please. Like you don’t know that already.”
“It’s still nice to hear.”
She giggles, letting her head fall back, basking in the rays of dying sunlight. “You don’t have to play coy with me, cowboy.”
I watch her a moment longer, the conflicted, complicated thoughts from earlier swirling like a tornado in my head. I know all the reasons I shouldn’t, but god damn, if she isn’t the most beautiful sight I’ve ever seen.
Screw it.
Before I can second-guess myself, I hop down and spin, pulling her so that she’s beneath me. The surprised little squeak she gives sends blood rushing to all the right places.
That’s right, sweetheart. I’m still the one in control here.
I push her knees apart, and she lets me sink between her legs, that delicious smirk making its first appearance of the night. God, I missed that smirk.
“Why, hello there.” She bats her eyelashes, and my heart skips a beat. My nerves feel raw, a surge of pure desire streaking through my system. Leaning forward, I dip my head down until our lips touch.
Her hands slide under my shirt as she scrapes her nails across my skin, enticing an approving groan from my lips. This woman’s gonna be the death of me. Kissing her, touching her, hearing her sweet sighs and moans . . .
She reaches for the hem of my shirt, lifting slowly. I let her, pulling away from the kiss, just for a moment. She peels the fabric off me, pulling it over my head and tossing it aside. Instantly, we’re back to kissing, my hands tangled in her hair, roaming her curves.
Claire pushes up against me, then spins us until she can slip her legs on either side of mine, straddling me. I wince and hiss against her lips when the cool metal of the truck bed hits my skin, but I don’t care about that. I can’t. Her soft core presses against my obvious hard-on, pulling my focus southward as surely as my blood. She pulls back, breathing hard, and runs her hands over my chest, her blue eyes latching onto mine. I’m dying to pluck her shirt off her and run my hands over her skin. Instead, I force myself to focus on the strand of hair fluttering across her face in the breeze. Carefully, I tuck it behind her ear.
She leans in, taking a soft bite of my bottom lip, stretching it out painfully, agonizingly slow.
“Claire,” I whisper, my eyes sealed tight. One more look at her lust-driven glance and I might just say fuck it. “You’re gonna kill me here, darlin’.”
“Hmm . . . maybe that’s the idea, cowboy.” She giggles, leaving a trail of vibration against my neck.
“Fuck,” I groan.
“Now we’re on the same page.” Her hands skim down to my hips, but I catch her before she can take things too far. “Homer,” she breathes, half frustrated sigh, half plea.
“I want to kiss you . . .” I bring her hand to my mouth and kiss it. “I want to kiss you everywhere.”
“I’m not saying no.” It comes out throaty, sultry and delicious, same as her legs moving against my hips, nice and slow.
“You know, sweetheart, this . . . whatever it is we’re doing, it’s not just sex.” My mouth is over hers as I say it, pressing the words into her lips. I know that what I’m about to say could potentially ruin everything, but it’s like I can’t keep the words to myself. I need her to hear it. Consequences be damned. “I don’t want to be just your fuckbuddy, Claire.”
She pulls back, licking her lips. Her gaze is uncertain, like she knows where this is heading and is hoping I won’t say it.
Here goes nothin’.
“It’ll never be like that between us.”
She frowns, the sides of her mouth curving down. “Yeah? Then how’s it going to be?”
I push up to a sitting position, keeping her firmly planted on my lap. I nuzzle my nose against the length of her neck, nipping at it. She moans. “It’ll never be just sex, Claire. You’re too special for it to be just sex.” As soon as I say the words, I realize just how true they are. I kiss the curve of her neck, her shoulder. “So when we do it, it’ll be me making love to you. No matter what the future holds, however this ends between us.” It might not be enough for her to change her mind about the predetermined fate of our relationship, but it’s enough for me to have said it. If a summer fling is all she’s willing to give me, then I’ll take every last second of it. “Understand?”
I rake my lips along her neck, stopping as I come to the top of her chest.
“Yes.” It comes out sounding choked. I like that she’s left breathless.
“Good.” I smile and claim her lips with my own.
“But first,” Claire says, pulling away. That wicked smirk of hers is back. “I have an idea.”
“Yeah? And what’s that?” I ask, taking the opportunity to kiss her jawline. My mouth hasn’t left her skin since we started talking. My words might be asking for one thing, but my body has completely different plans.
She pushes at my shoulders, then up to a standing position, giving me one hell of a view. She turns to the edge of the truck, sitting against the wheel well and spinning so her legs dangle off the side. I grab a hold of her hand. “Where do you think you’re goin’?
Her eyes brighten as she offers me a secret smile.
“Care to find out?”
12
Claire
I hop off the truck and land in a crouch. My heart hammers in my chest as I walk backward, away from Homer and his heated gaze. I want to make sure he can see me, but not touch me—yet.
Keeping my gaze on him, I reach for the hem of my t-shirt. His eyes widen. I pull it over my head in one quick swoop and toss it at him.
It lands right on his face. He slowly pulls it down, then hops off the tail gate of his truck, his expression almost predatory in its desire.
“What are you doing, Claire?” he growls, low and oh so sexy.
I chew on my lower lip and reach for the top button of my denim shorts. “Something I’ve wanted to do since that first time you scooped me up in the rain.”
“Claire . . .” My name slips, strained, from between his lips. It’s a warning, but I’m not about to listen.
Keeping my eyes on him, I pull down the zipper and shimmy out of my shorts, leaving me in nothing but a bra and panties. I shiver. Not from the breeze that kisses at my skin, but from the way his eyes drink in my body.
I haven’t been this bare in front of him before, and my body trembles from the nerves coiled deep in the pit of my stomach. I know he wants me; that much is obvious. But will he like the real me? The me who’s stripped of all my sarcastic armor and carefully cultivated confidence?
I turn, facing away from him, and take a deep breath.
Now or never, Claire. This is what you wanted . . . a summer of wild abandonment.
I reach back to the hooks of my bra and undo them, one at a time, slowly, carefully. I’m not above playing unfair, if that’s what it takes.
The sharp intake of breath behind me gives me a boost of confidence. I look over my shoulder as I drag the bra off my body and hold it out to the side, leaving no doubt in his mind as to just how naked I truly am. I turn slightly to the side, connect my gaze with his, and toss the bra at his feet.
I wink at him. “Catch ya on the flip side, Homer. If you dare.”
Then I make a run for the water’s edge and dive in head first. The moment my body hits the water, I realize just how stupid this idea was.
Shit, this water’s cold.
I surface, spitting water from my mouth and wiping the hair from my eyes. I hear a splash a few feet away, but I don’t see him when I turn. I look around, trying to see if I can spot him, but with the sun’s light mostly gone, it’s hard to see much.
That’s when I feel it. Something tugs at my foot. I scream as panic surges.
Homer’s head bobs up beside me. He grins and squirts a mouthful of wa
ter into the air like a fountain.
“You bastard.” I splash a wall of water at his face. “You scared the shit out of me.”
Homer laughs as he shakes his head like a dog, water spraying every which way. He moves closer to me, his eyes hooded. A dimple I somehow never noticed makes its grand appearance as he gathers me in his arms. “So, this was your grandiose plan? Skinny-dippin’ in the lake?”
I move closer to him, hoping to get a glimpse of his hidden treasure. He denies me, pulling me in tight, my bare chest brushing over his, and I forget to breathe, let alone look down. Every inch of me trembles in anticipation. My heart thumps in my ears.
Homer snakes his hand around the back of my neck and pulls me firmly against him, his mouth desperately claiming mine. His tongue’s as insistent as his hands as it glides over mine, sending a quiver straight between my thighs.
I wrap my legs around his waist, tight as a coil, pressing myself against his hard length. Shivers dance up to my belly as I grind my hips against his. I’m not sure if this is what he imagined would happen when he pulled me close, but I am one hundred percent okay with the direction this is heading.
Homer groans against my mouth as I circle my hips, the sound vibrating in my chest. His kiss intensifies, adding fuel to my need for release.
His hands push wet hair from my eyes, tucking it behind my ear. Goosebumps rise across my skin. I’m shaking—or is that him?
“You’re shaking, Claire,” he says, as if answering my thoughts. His eyes strain with worry. “We should get out of here before you catch pneumonia.”