Full Coverage: Boys of Fall

by Erin Nicholas

  Because he was a Quinn boy who made her heart hammer and her stomach flip. And she wanted to dance with him. But he wasn’t really a Quinn boy. Not anymore. He’d grown up here…but he’d grown beyond Quinn. He wasn’t a small-town kid anymore.

  She was.

  She always would be.

  But for a moment she recognized the emotion in her throat. Wistfulness.

  She loved Quinn, and after twenty nine years here, there wasn’t much for surprises anymore.

  That had to explain her strange and sudden reaction to Nolan. He was a surprise. Or the way he made her feel hot and tingly when she looked at his lips and remembered their kiss was a surprise, anyway.

  “I need to ask you a question,” he said. “Maybe I can buy you the next round, then and we can talk.”

  Talk? Hell no. That was the last thing she wanted to do with Nolan Winters. It was the only time she felt like a dumbass. Other than the one time she’d tried to dry hump him in Coach’s backyard.

  The music on the jukebox changed to a Thomas Rhett song she loved and she slid off the high chair. “On second thought, dancing sounds great.”

  Because what she couldn’t add to a conversation about current events or politics, she could more than make up for on a country bar dance floor. Typically the guys she hung out with wanted to talk about the same things she did—sports, cars, the locals—and when they ran out of words, they danced and drank. She could do all of those things ’til early in the morning.

  Nolan didn’t talk about sports or cars, and he didn’t strike her as the gossipy type, so they were going to have to go straight to the dancing and drinking after all.

  Good thing that, no matter how smart they were and how they dressed, all guys could be distracted by two things—boobs and compliments.

  Randi was dressed up again tonight. It was February, so she was in jeans instead of a short summer dress, but she still wore her boots. And when she shrugged out of the jacket she was wearing, her fitted red top still clung to the most gorgeous pair of breasts he knew.

  She grabbed his hand and tugged him toward the dance floor. Nolan was a smart guy—he followed without complaint.

  This was swaying music, so he took her in his arms. He needed to gauge if she was right about the too-much-tequila tonight. He had a proposition and he wanted her honest answer. And he wouldn’t mind picking up where they’d left off at Coach’s, if she seemed so inclined.

  He’d been thinking about her nonstop for the past four months. No, more than thinking about her. He’d been worked up about her. Previously, he’d always been able to put her out of his mind when he was away from Quinn. Once in awhile he’d find himself comparing the city girls to her. It would start off as a compare and contrast between city girls and country girls in general, but when he was comparing caviar to buffalo wings, champagne to tequila and orchestra music to country twang, it didn’t take long for his mind to go to Randi. But it wasn’t like he obsessed about her all the time. He didn’t even think about her every day.

  But since Coach’s party, he had been. And frankly, he was on edge tonight. He was trying not to show it, but the second he’d set foot in Quinn this trip, he’d decided he was going to see what it was like to kiss a completely sober Randi.

  She and that kiss were the whole reason for this trip.

  The book was a great front. He could always talk to somebody here about football or Coach. And he did have a few chapters to go. He also needed to figure out photos. He had a photographer lined up for whenever he was ready , but he needed to figure out what he wanted in the book, and to best capture Coach and Quinn and the love for the game that permeated the fabric of this town. But the book was just his cover for coming back to see Randi after finally getting his lips and hands on her.

  He’d intended to get back here before this. If he hadn’t had to wait four months, he might not be on the verge of throwing her over his shoulder and heading to her house right this minute. But he hadn’t had a chance to get back. He’d been to New York twice and had been working on his book, as well as still doing all his writing for the San Antonio Express-News. There hadn’t been any damned time. And now that he’d seen her, he was fighting to not pull her close, slide his hands under the back of her shirt onto hot, bare skin and lay a kiss on her unlike any she’d ever had.

  But he wouldn’t do it in public.

  Partly because he hadn’t yet determined how sober or drunk she was—though if she was too drunk again tonight, he was heading straight to the pond for a cold swim and then a bottle of tequila of his own. He needed an outlet for this pent-up energy. He hadn’t gotten rip-roaring drunk in too long. They said to write drunk and edit sober, but he’d never had a lot of luck with that approach. Between his book and the paper, he’d been far too sober for far too long.

  And he wouldn’t kiss Randi in public because he was afraid she’d push him back and demand to know what the hell he thought he was doing. In front of everyone. He wasn’t fucking doing that. Even if he was twenty-nine and past all of those insecurities.

  They didn’t talk. Randi held herself stiffly in his arms and seemed to be lost in thought. But as Thomas Rhett switched to Carrie Underwood, Nolan felt her relax a little, and by the time Little Big Town came on, he felt enough tension leave her that he could pull her closer, and she came without a protest. When an old Garth Brooks floated out of the jukebox, she gave a big sigh, stepped completely up against Nolan and rested her head on his shoulder.

  Suddenly he felt a lot of his own tightness flow out of him. He didn’t need tequila or a cold swim or even hard-against-the-wall sex. He just needed her in his arms.

  Damn. He was in trouble.

  She felt good, she smelled good,and when she took her hand from his and wrapped both arms around his neck, Nolan felt a kick in his chest.

  Two more songs played before she turned her head toward his face. Her lips were millimeters from his neck when she said, “I’m not drunk.”

  He swallowed, his skin feeling hot and a new tension filling his body. This was a whole lot less frustration and unrequited want and a lot more pure need.

  “Glad to hear it.” Really, really glad to hear it.

  “The margarita on the table was my first and I didn’t even finish it.”

  Nolan pulled back and looked down at her. “Say it.” He had relaxed since getting here—since getting her up against him. But he wasn’t going to play around and tease about this.

  She lifted her head and looked him directly in the eye. “I want to kiss you again.”

  He studied her face. She was completely sincere. And sober.

  Nolan pulled a long breath in through his nose. A breath full of the scent of peaches. That scent had always made him think of her. He didn’t know if it was her shampoo or a body wash or what. But he intended to find out just how much of her smelled like peaches. “Not here,” he said simply.

  She nodded.

  He took her hand and started for the door of the bar. He still needed to ask her for the favor he needed, but that could wait until after the kissing. Everything in the world could now wait until after the kissing.

  Making out with Miranda Doyle in the bed of a pickup down by the pond had been a long, longtime fantasy. Unfortunately, he no longer had a pickup.

  She waved at Annabelle, who was watching them cross the bar with wide eyes and a knowing smile. Nolan didn’t care who saw them leaving or what they thought about the reason.

  He stopped by the door though. “You need to pay or give Annabelle a ride home or anything?” he asked Randi.

  She reached around him and pushed the door open, nudging him through with her body. “I have a tab and Annabelle has a Jackson.”

  Her breasts pressed against his biceps, her feet tangled with his, and Nolan wrapped an arm around her waist to keep them from tumbling onto the stoop of Pitchers.

  “Easy, Ladybug,” he said softly.

  Randi got her feet under her and jerked upright. “What did you call
me?”

  He thought fast. Shit. He’d called her Ladybug. What the fuck? They did not have a relationship that leant itself to nicknames.

  But in twelve years, he hadn’t forgotten about that ladybug tattoo.

  The door to Pitchers shut behind them, leaving them alone in the suddenly quiet night.

  “Nolan? Why did you call me Ladybug?” she asked.

  He cleared his throat. “Your tattoo.” What was the point in lying about it?

  She lifted a brow. “You remember my tattoo?”

  She really had no idea how much he knew and remembered about her. And to keep from freaking her out, he decided to downplay. “If it was on your ankle, I might have forgotten.” There was no way in hell he would have forgotten. “But it was on your hip. Kinda low, if I remember right.” He definitely remembered right. “You were wearing purple panties the night you showed me too.”

  There was a tiny smile tugging at the corner of her mouth. “You remember the color of my panties?”

  He shrugged. “If they’d been white cotton and boring, probably not.” He totally would have. “But they were purple silk. That stuck.”

  The tiny smile grew a little bigger. “They had a big white heart on the front.”

  Nolan felt a flash of heat go through him. From talking about a white heart on the panties that she’d worn twelve years ago. Jesus, he was in huge trouble.

  “I would have definitely remembered that if I’d seen it,” he told her.

  “If you would have seen that, I think you would have been remembering a lot of other things too,” she said with a twinkle in her eyes and a smile that made everything male in Nolan go on high alert.

  “How about we go make some memories now?” he asked.

  He wasn’t going to mess around here. This wasn’t a one-night stand waiting to happen. He and Randi had known each other all their lives. There had never been any of this heat between them before, but it was there now. He was one of the smartest guys in Quinn. He was getting Randi Doyle naked tonight.

  “Sounds good.” She stepped close and wrapped her arms around his neck. She put her lips to his ear and said huskily, “Know what I’ve been thinking about since you were here last?”

  Nolan’s hands were on her hips and he swore that if he didn’t get his hand full of breast within the next three seconds, he was going to spontaneously combust. He slid a hand up her side until his thumb skimmed over the outer curve of one breast. “What?” he asked, his voice rough.

  “The high school newspaper office.”

  The words took a second to sink in. “What about it?”

  “I want to go there. With you.”

  He didn’t move his hand, his thumb very happy resting against the fullness of her right breast, but he pulled back to look at her. “You want to go to the high school newspaper office? Now?”

  She nodded, giving him a smile that should have been sweet, but was very naughty.

  “Why?”

  She lifted an eyebrow. “Really?”

  “Yeah. Why there?”

  There was light out here but the night shadows fell over them so that he couldn’t tell for sure, but he thought she might be blushing.

  “Forget it. It’s stupid.” She ducked her head. “We can go to my place.”

  She started to move back, but that would have taken her breast away from his thumb, so he gripped her hip with his other hand. “Hang on.”

  She looked up at him. “What?”

  He turned them so the front light from Pitchers shown on her face. Then he reluctantly moved his hand from her side to her cheek, tipping her head slightly. Yep, she was blushing.

  “What are you thinking about the newspaper office, Randi?” he asked.

  “Nothing. It was a dumb idea. I didn’t think.”

  Why did their conversations always have to be so damned weird?

  Nolan swallowed his frustration and ran the pad of his thumb over her jaw. “I’d love to know. That newspaper office meant a lot to me in high school.”

  He’d been king there. He hadn’t been an all-state football player—or anything player. He hadn’t been Homecoming king or team captain or Mr. Popularity, but he’d been the editor of the school newspaper and the school’s correspondent to the town newspaper. That meant he had something very important that the rest of them didn’t, something more important than trophies, crowns and votes—he had control over information.

  “I know it was,” Randi finally said. “I shouldn’t have suggested we have sex there.”

  Surprise and a major dose of lust rocked through him. “You were suggesting we go have sex there?”

  Now the blush was easy to see even without direct lighting. “That’s ridiculous, right?” she asked. “I know. I’m sorry. Maybe I did have more tequila than I thought.”

  She tried to duck her head again, but he cupped her face, forcing her to maintain eye contact. “You’re not drunk.”

  She wet her lips and he almost groaned. He hadn’t kissed her for months but he could still remember the exact feel and taste of her.

  “Randi,” he said. “You’re not drunk.” He wanted to hear it again.

  “No.”

  “Then this isn’t about tequila.”

  “It’s…” She sighed heavily. “I say the stupidest things around you.”

  He supposed that he knew she was aware of the awkwardness when they talked one-on-one, but that was the first time they’d really acknowledged it. “Things do get…”

  He wasn’t sure what word to use.

  “Weird,” she filled in.

  He nodded and felt a smile forming. It was the best word. “Yeah. Why do you think that is?”

  She wrinkled her nose and focused on his cheek instead of his eyes. “Me.”

  “You what?”

  “It’s because of me.”

  He frowned. “Our conversations get weird because of you?”

  Her eyes came back to his. “Yeah.”

  “Why do you think that?”

  She wet her lips again. “You know how when you’re having a normal conversation with someone, even if your mind really is on what you’re both saying, you have other thoughts going through you mind too? Like if they have a button missing or if it’s hot in the room or that you only have five more minutes before you need to leave…things like that?”

  He nodded. He thought he was following. But just like she said—his mind was on the conversation, but his thoughts included things like the shape of her mouth and the fact that he loved peaches and remembering the first time he’d seen her in her cheerleading uniform.

  “Well, since we have almost nothing in common, we run out of normal conversation really fast, and then all that’s left are all those extra random thoughts. And I can keep them inside with everyone else except you. I mean, I just leave other conversations when I run out of things to say,” she told him, clearly exasperated. “But I can’t leave you. And I can’t keep all the stupidity inside, apparently.”

  Nolan just watched her, processing that. He liked it. Yes, their interactions were…memorable. But he liked that he affected her differently than anyone else did. Her explanation about the random thoughts in their heads made sense. He supposed he was surprised that showing him her tattoo and her peach-flavored body powder were two of her random thoughts when she talked to him.

  “See?” she said. “Even this is weird. This is why I was hoping we’d stick with dancing and kissing.”

  “You turned me down for the dance,” he said, still thinking about what she’d revealed.

  “Yeah, until you wanted to talk.”

  He focused. “You pulled me on the dance floor to avoid talking?”

  She nodded. “I like dancing with you.”

  “But not talking?”

  “I feel like an idiot when we talk. Like right now.”

  He narrowed his eyes. “You don’t need to feel like an idiot.”

  “Why not? I’m saying idiotic things.”

 
“Do you want to see my tattoo and my body powder is peach flavored are not idiotic,” he told her.

  Her cheeks heated again and she stepped back until he had no choice but to let his hand drop.

  “Dammit, Nolan. Do you remember every dumbass thing I ever said to you?”

  He wouldn’t categorize them as dumbass, but yeah, he probably did. “I have a really good memory. It’s not you, it’s me,” he told her.

  That got a tiny smile. “Well, that’s definitely not true,” she said. “But that’s cute.”

  “Cute enough to go back to the newspaper office idea?” he asked. But he knew the moment was past. He tucked his hands into his pockets. Fuck.

  “Sorry.” She took a big breath and shrugged. “I can’t explain it, Nolan,” she said, her eyes full of a strange combination of confusion and frustration and maybe a touch of regret. “I get worked up around you and my mouth runs away with me—either saying the dumbest stuff I’ve ever said to anyone or I’m kissing you like I’m some desperate, horny lush.”

  Something about all that made him step forward and take her upper arms in his hands. “You are not dumb and you’re not desperate. And I don’t care if we’re talking or kissing—I like when your mouth runs away with you.”

  Then he sealed his lips over hers and kissed her with all the pent-up emotions he’d been carrying around since the last time.

  It took only two seconds for her to moan and press closer. He moved his hands to her ass and her arms went around his neck. Their tongues stroked, their breathing grew ragged and their hands began wandering. Nolan walked her back until she was against the side of Pitchers. His hand went back to the breast that he’d barely brushed earlier, now cupping it, reveling in how fucking perfect it felt, and playing with the hard tip through her shirt and bra. Randi made a soft, needy sound in her throat, and he nearly ripped her clothes off right then and there.

  He tore his mouth away from hers. “The back door of the school still broken?”

  She nodded. “You ever get a blowjob in that office?”

  Nolan choked on the breath he’d been trying to take. He’d never gotten a blowjob within the Quinn city limits. “You want to—”