by Abby Knox
Boyfriend or no, Jack was in trouble.
He couldn’t even hear whatever smart-ass remark she was making, but it seemed to him she was mocking old Chet. Chet got a mean look on his face and stood up.
“I don’t believe you were invited over, old man.”
Jack got his bearings again and replied, looking straight past Chet, “I do believe I was asking the young lady a question.”
She smiled at him. It was a flash of white teeth and lush pink lips that made Jack think of doing things. Things he hadn’t thought of doing in a while. Things that made him feel like he was the one harassing the poor woman.
“Why, yes, he is bothering me. Thanks for asking.”
Her voice…that was it. Was it possible for a voice to sound the way that ice cream tastes? Oh god, that was a dip-shit pansy way of thinking about it. But when he had a raging boner only getting more ragey, he had weird poetic shit take over his brain.
He didn’t care if he had to rip Chet’s dumb-ass Garth Brooks hat off his stupid, fat head. Tonight was going to end one way and one way alone. This woman was leaving with Jack. He didn’t know how, but that was the end of it.
Sure, he wanted to get Chet away from her. He would want to pull Chet off of any woman, man, or creature no matter if Jack wanted that woman for himself or not. On principal, Chet was a nuisance. But this whole situation had escalated and now it was going to end in a fight. Testosterone was flying and he was the bigger caveman.
“Did you hear that, son? She said you ought to leave her be.”
“And I said, nobody asked you. We’re just a couple of old high school friends catching up is all. But you wouldn’t know that, since you’re a newbie around here.”
“That’s the difference between you and me, Chet Easley. I know when to fold ’em and walk away. I pick up on social cues. So I will be straight with you. It’s time for you to go. She said it. Carrie says it. And now I’m saying it. What more do you want, son?” Bringing Carrie into this was a bit of a fib, but hell, she couldn’t stand the son of a bitch either.
“Just because you’re 65 years old don’t mean you get to call me son.”
Well, that was uncalled for. This night was hurtling toward pain, quickly, for Chet.
“Well, now, you know I’m 42. But I don’t blame you for not being the best at math, what with dropping out of high school a few years back…” Chet’s neck and ears were turning pink. Jack pushed on. “And oh yeah, that other number problem you had a little bit ago, something about you and a 16-year-old girl from Des Moines you met online? I’m sorry, man, I know you have your troubles.”
Chet’s ears and neck were beet red now and his cheeks were flushed. “You better shut your mouth hole, you smelly old goat-fucker.” His teeth were gritted.
“Well, it’s a good thing daddy had that big hog factory to hand over to you, young man. Good for you! It’d be a real hassle having to get a job and move to the city, what with having to tell all your neighbors that you’re a sex offender. See that? I know quite a lot for being a newbie around here.”
Chet’s eyes bulged and his hand flew.
Jack was fast, and he caught the drunken fist in mid-air and countered with a jab right to the face. Chet cried out and stumbled backward, knocking over the young woman’s beer.
“You broke my doze!” He dabbed at his face with the sleeve of his pristine denim jacket.
“Probably,” Jack said to Chet. Then, turning to the young lady, he nodded and offered his hand to help her slide out of the booth. “Ma’am?”
She stood and he helped her wipe down her sweatpants with some napkins. “Awfully sorry about your beer.”
“Not a problem. These are just the only clothes I have besides my waitress uniform. I’d better get home and wash up.”
Chet had stumbled out the door. Jack turned and grabbed his hat, left a very large tip and covered his bill and the young lady’s. As he laid out a stack of bills on the bar, he could still feel the heat from the young lady’s hand in his from when he’d helped her slide out of the booth. Carrie still had that same wry smirk, and he now understood why.
He turned and offered his arm to the woman and insisted she let him walk her to her car. He felt every pair of eyes in the place on his back as he walked her out. Well, at least he would give the bored college students something to talk about for the rest of the night. And the old farmers would have something to gossip about over breakfast at the Gas & Sip tomorrow. Out in the parking lot, she turned to him, “I’m Maggie, by the way.”
Maggie.
He played the sound of her name in his head. He liked it.
“Nice to make your acquaintance, Maggie. I’m Jackson Clay, your bodyguard for the evening.” He winked. “Which one is your car?”
He liked the sound of her name in his mouth. He’d like to do more things with his mouth that involved Maggie. Tonight and every night. Get control of yourself, man. She’s probably 20 years younger than you.
“I don’t actually have a car. I walked here from home.”
“And now I will be your chauffeur. Where is home?”
She protested, “Oh no, I’ve caused you enough trouble…”
“Ma’am, you’re not going to let me get in a fight for you and then completely drop the ball and let you walk home alone in the dark, are you?”
In the lamplight, her pinks cheeks grew pinker. “I guess not.” She smiled shyly. If he didn’t know any better, he would detect she had a flirtatious look in her eye.
“Where can I take you? Where is home?”
“Morning Glory Farm? Do you know the place?”
Yeah, he knew it all right. That was his place. Or at least, that was the name of his place right before he’d bought the farm from Jane Blaise and changed it to Clay Enterprises, LLC.
Jack stood speechless for the first time tonight. He stared down at this small, intensely beautiful woman with the ice-cream voice and a body… Well, he was a 100 percent straight man and let’s face it…a body he could toss into the back of his truck and ravish ten different ways until they made that pristine truck bed liner exceptionally messy.
He swallowed. He considered whether to have the conversation now or just let it play out.
“Yeah. I know the place. Hop in.”