Drunk on You

by Teri Anne Stanley

  “Where’s our first stop?” Justin asked.

  “Nashville,” she told him. “I got lucky, and there’s some kind of a biker rally at the campground. I rented one of the last spots available. I figure that after we make the rounds of liquor distributors, we’ve got an audience with our new neighbors.”

  Justin groaned.

  “What?” she asked him.

  He was shaking his head. “Bikers? Really? Dammit, Allie, I’m kind of hobbled here.”

  “So?”

  “So I could barely protect you from two overgrown toddlers at a playground if I had to. What am I going to do when you get up in some biker’s grill, and his old lady comes after you with a knife?”

  He was really worried about this. It was kind of sweet, if it wasn’t so ridiculous. “I’m not going to get in trouble with bikers. I’ll just offer everyone some Rainbow Dog, and see what they think of it. If they like it, they can carry the word to their respective clubs.”

  Justin stared at her. “Do you even watch Sons of Anarchy?”

  Allie laughed. “These are bikers at a state park. I seriously doubt that they’ll be trading guns with a South American drug cartel at The Grande Ole Opry.” At least, that was her hope.

  …

  As it turned out, the bikers were scarier—to Justin, anyway—than if they’d ridden their Harleys right up to the motor home and threatened to kidnap and rape the both of them at knifepoint.

  They were a club of Vietnam veterans and their wives, from all branches of service, on an annual pilgrimage to Arlington to pay their respects to their fallen brethren.

  He couldn’t have been more uncomfortable if it had been an octogenarian pole dancers’ convention. He’d managed to avoid Allie’s attempt to get him involved in her VA volunteer activities, but had still landed in the middle of it.

  Allie was out of sorts, too. “I thought this would be some kind of a badass hard-partying group,” she whispered as they drove slowly through the grounds, looking for lot eighty-six. “Half of these folks look like they mix their sherry with Metamucil. They’re never going to be a target audience for Rainbow Dog whiskey!”

  In spite of himself, Justin laughed. “Allie, I suspect you could sell sand to the Saudis. Besides, Rainbow Dog isn’t exactly a badass biker drink. It’s too…colorful.”

  She braked and turned her head to stare at him.

  “What?”

  “That’s the first time you’ve called me ‘Allie,’ except when—” She shook her head. “Never mind.”

  But he knew what she meant. He usually called her “Sneezy.” Unless he’d just been kissing her. Or feeling her up. But he couldn’t call her Allie all the time, because that was too close to acknowledging feelings that he wasn’t going to face.

  She cleared her throat. “There it is.” She pointed at a sign next to the little cinder-block building that housed the men’s and women’s facilities.

  “Nice. Right next to the bathrooms and the Dumpster,” Justin said.

  “Are you kidding? This is great!” she said, apparently recovered from her dismay. He had to give it to her. She didn’t dwell on life’s little disappointments. “Everyone’s got to come by here. We’ll have a chance to meet all the campers. Damn. We should have borrowed a dog from someone. Walking a dog around one of these places is another way to meet people.”

  “Great.”

  “I detect a less-than-enthusiastic tone, Justinory.”

  “Ya think?” He didn’t know how to say that he didn’t want to talk to all of those veterans. They would ask him about his service. It was one thing to give bullshit all-purpose answers that people wanted to hear back home. And Allie seemed sensitive to his reluctance to talk about it all. At any rate, the few times she’d brought up Dave’s name, she’d allowed him to steer the conversation to something else. These guys would see right through him.

  “This will be extra nice, since they’re vets. You can regale them with tales of modern warfare. You’ll be the most popular kid in town.”

  Okay. Maybe he’d just imagined that she was sensitive to his feelings.

  He sighed. “At least these guys won’t ask me how many terrorists I’ve killed. Just pull up there.” He pointed to a turnaround. “Let’s unhook the car from the hitch so we can back this thing into its spot.”

  “Fine, Captain Cranky Pants.” She drove forward a few more yards and put the camper in park, then got out to stretch.

  Justin slid into the driver’s seat, carefully maneuvering his bum leg around the center console. It rankled that she was going to have to do most of the physical stuff on this trip, but as he looked in the side-view mirror, he had to admit that watching her bend over to unhook the car from the hitch wasn’t a terrible experience. Damn. He was having a harder and harder time—so to speak—remembering why he had to leave her alone.

  He’d promised Dave he’d watch out for her. Dave hadn’t said, “Don’t fuck her.” He’d just said to make sure she didn’t get pushed aside, always the baby no one gave credit to. And to make sure people didn’t take advantage of her. It wasn’t that she was naive and easily conned, but she was just so damned interested in everyone that people crossed her personal boundaries without much thought. Although…if he was inside her personal boundaries himself, he could fight off marauders more easily, couldn’t he?

  If he wasn’t careful, he’d rationalize his way into her bed. There was a big reason he wasn’t going to sleep with her. She mattered to him, and she deserved better than his nasty, screwed-up self. And he needed to remember that he didn’t fit into her life. He might have been sleeping a little better lately, but that was just because she was wearing him out with all of these Rainbow Dog preparations, not because he was feeling more serenity or any bullshit like that.

  Allie straightened and saw him watching her in the mirror. She motioned for him to roll down the window. “Throw me the keys!” she said.

  He tossed them back to her, and she caught them in midair. “Nice throw, Peyton!”

  He shook his head. She’d called him that in high school, when he’d quarterbacked the Crockett County Rocketts to the state championship. Apparently, she’d shoved him back into the friend column. Good. That was good.

  After she backed the car away from the camper, Justin maneuvered the beast onto the narrow band of asphalt they’d call home for the next several days. By the time he had the thing situated, no fewer than six senior citizens with potbellies and leather vests were not-so-discreetly watching from the adjacent campsite.

  Resigned to turning his man card over to the old farts next door, he let himself out of the motor home and made his way to the picnic table next to the cold fire ring.

  “Afternoon.” One of the old guys nodded.

  “How ya doin’?” Justin sat down sideways, not wanting to be rude, but not wanting to dive into neighborliness, either.

  “Where’d you serve?” asked a tall guy with a silver ponytail. The ring of men followed him onto the campsite.

  Jesus. How the hell—oh. The sleeve of his T-shirt rode up due to his crutches, and his “semper fi” tattoo showed. “Afghanistan,” Justin admitted. “Three tours.”

  “Shit, son, how long you been out?” That was from another guy with a high and tight buzz cut that had a distinct shiny patch in the highest and tightest region.

  “Few weeks.”

  “Thanks for your service.”

  Justin nodded. “Same to you.”

  And suddenly, he was one of the guys. His new best friends all introduced themselves, and he was completely overloaded with names, branches of service, units, conflicts, and military bases. Someone offered him a beer, and after a beat, he declined. He really wanted a drink. And that alone told him how important it was that he avoid one. The last thing he needed right now was to have a buzz on while alone in a camper with Allie.

  Another man, white-haired and slender, Justin thought his name was Rick, pointed at his leg and asked, “That happen to you in the li
ne of duty?”

  “Uh, no. It’s more recent. I, uh, fell.” He didn’t know why he felt like he was losing some street cred, but he thought they’d have been more impressed if he had a Purple Heart to tell them about.

  Then Allie approached with an older lady. “This is my husband, Justin,” Allie said.

  “Justin, this is Maureen Logankowski.”

  Her husband? What the fuck? She’d been out of his earshot for all of five minutes. Feeling a little nauseated, he smiled and shook Maureen’s hand. She was pretty and plump, with short blond hair and tight jeans. The big guy with the ponytail said, “Hey, darlin’. You got something for me?”

  Maureen smirked and said, “Yeah, but you can’t have it here in front of everyone. My conJustination might have something to say about it.”

  Everyone laughed.

  “I’m a Presbyterian minister,” she told Justin.

  Ah. That must be why Allie told her they were married. He hoped it was a knee-jerk panic at being in the presence of a church official, similar to being followed by a state trooper on the interstate. That sudden need to slow down and sit up straighter.

  “Don’t let her fool you,” Ponytail Guy said. “She’s still a biker’s old lady.”

  Allie laughed, and Justin tried to join in, but when she put her arm around his shoulders and settled onto his good leg, he had a hot flash that was part panic at the thought of being married and part desire at imagining having Allie naked, any time they were both in the mood.

  “Allie told me about losing her brother, your friend, overseas. I’m sorry for your loss,” Maureen told Justin, laying her hand on the arm that he hadn’t automatically wrapped around Allie’s waist.

  “Thanks,” he muttered.

  Allie went on to tell the men in the group about her brother David, that he’d been Justin’s best friend, that their families had been in business together for generations, and served in the military when they weren’t making bourbon.

  She was telling the truth, and the bare minimum, but it still felt thick and heavy on Justin’s soul. But maybe it was good that she told the story. Then he wouldn’t have to later; no one would ask about it. The explosion, the blood, the fear…

  “Hey, baby,” he said, nudging her to move off his lap. “I, uh, need to go to the head.” With a polite nod to the group gathered around him, he escaped.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Allie watched Justin disappear into the men’s room, then plastered on her brightest nothing’s wrong smile and turned back to their new neighbors. “Was there firewood for sale at the camp office? I forgot to look when we checked in.” She somehow doubted she’d be able to get Justin to sit outside around the fire tonight, but she needed something to say to these people after he was so rude.

  “I’ve got plenty. Just come over and get some—you can replace it later,” said one of the men. “But we’ll be having a fire over at Marty and Maureen’s lot later, if you want to come.”

  “That’s very kind. I’m not sure—we’re pretty wiped out, but we may surprise you and show up.”

  As the men wandered back to the cooler, Maureen gave her an apologetic smile. “I’m sorry, sweetie, I wasn’t thinking.”

  Allie sighed. “It’s been two years. It was horrible. But it happened, and sometimes Justin acts like David never existed.”

  “Oh, dear.” Maureen leaned against the picnic table. “Marty’s pretty on-the-table with his feelings, but he’s got buddies who never talk about things that happened.”

  “And are they all still alive and functioning?” Allie had to ask.

  “Some of them.”

  They talked for a few more minutes. Allie never had a problem talking to new people, but Maureen was exceptional—one of those insta-friends that happen now and then. After her initial panic about a minister finding out she was sleeping in the same camper with a man she wasn’t married to—hence the lie—she’d started telling Maureen about feelings she hadn’t even shared with Eve. New feelings, about a beautiful, bighearted—and troubled—man she was starting to know all over again—or maybe for the first time.

  Maureen said good-bye, and Allie let herself into the camper. Justin sat at the little kitchen table holding an empty glass, turning it in his hands.

  Determined to ignore his stay-away vibes, she opened the cabinet above the table area and got out a bottle of Blue Mountain. “Do you want a drink?” She got herself a glass and sat down opposite him.

  “No.” He blew out a breath. “Why did you tell them about Dave?”

  She leaned back in her seat, surprised. She figured if he was going to berate her, it would be for telling everyone they were married. “It just kind of came out.”

  “Oh, like, ‘Hi, my name is Allie, that’s my fake husband, Justin, and my brother died in Afghanistan’?”

  She sucked in air and let it out, slowly. It didn’t help. “Yes, Justin. Exactly like that. I added a couple of shaky breaths to curry the sympathy factor.” It wasn’t like that at all. Maureen had told Allie that the group was headed for Arlington in a few days, and that she hoped she and Justin would stop by, too, to pay their respects to David.

  “Great. Maybe you could invite a couple of those guys to chase me around and force me to tell them war stories for the next two days.”

  “That’s a great idea!” she chirped at him, since he was determined to snarl at her.

  He glared at her, eyes narrowed, jaw ticking, but then looked away. The silence in the camper threatened to suck Allie against the wall and leave her hanging there.

  She opened the bottle and poured herself a shot, looking at him over the rim of the glass when she took a sip. He had dark circles under his eyes, and his complexion was sallow.

  “When was the last time you got a good night’s sleep?”

  “Are you my mom now? Justin’s grumpy, he must need a nap?”

  She shrugged. “You look like you could use a test tickle.”

  He didn’t even lip-twitch at the reference. She wasn’t sure, but she thought the testicle joke had originated with David, a book about bodies, and a Barney episode about hugging.

  “Fuck.” Justin threw the empty glass across the room, where it bounced off of a cabinet and rolled harmlessly to the floor. God bless her mom and high-quality glassware, even for camping. “I haven’t really slept since…since the fire.”

  “Are you having nightmares about it or something?”

  “No, it’s more like I’m not having bourbon.” He looked straight at her, a challenge in his gaze.

  “Do you need help? Are you having withdrawals?” Alcoholism was nothing new to Allie. Her father had been a drunk. It was a painful reality, especially in a business that fed the disease, but she and Eve had gone to Al-Anon and knew their own limits, and she wasn’t afraid of booze.

  “No, I’m not having fucking withdrawals or DTs or whatever. I just can’t fucking sleep.”

  “Then have a few drinks, if it gets you through,” she said, her heart aching for him, even though he was being a dick, knowing he was reacting to his own pain.

  He laughed bitterly and got to his feet. Tucking his crutches under his arms, he turned toward the bedroom and said, “It’s not about being an alcoholic, it’s about drinking because I can’t sleep at night for thinking about how hard it is to keep my fucking hands off of you.”

  The shock of heat that landed in Allie’s belly and spread through her chest, core, and limbs had nothing to do with the liquor she’d just swallowed and everything to do with the man who disappeared with a slide of the door.

  …

  Justin was claustrophobic as hell, but the sounds of Allie banging around in the mini kitchen kept him sequestered. He would have to face her at some point. The damned bathroom was outside the bedroom door, and he couldn’t piss out the window. Or could he? He sat up and pushed aside the little curtain that covered the window. It had an unremovable screen.

  Nope. He’d just have to grow a pair and talk to her.
>
  He sat up and fished around his seabag for a clean pair of cargo shorts. It was still a little chilly outside, but he was only going to sacrifice so many pairs of pants to be cut to fit over his brace, and one cold leg in shorts could survive. He stripped out of his T-shirt.

  It took him five minutes and a lot of wrestling around in the tiny space, but he managed to get changed. He was refastening the brace when Allie knocked on the door. “Can I come in?”

  Heart beating double time, he said, “Yeah,” and watched her appear through the opening door.

  “Taste this,” she said, shoving a plate at him.

  “Whatcha got?” His stomach growled, and he realized he hadn’t eaten in a long time. He selected a cracker that had a blob of bright orange cheese in the middle. “Squeezy cheese on a saltine?”

  “Sort of.”

  He bit down and found that, along with the canned cheese, was a tiny bite of something… “Is that bacon?”

  “Yep. And a little olive slice. Now try the other one.”

  He took a Ritz Cracker covered with a speckled, lighter cheese, topped with a tiny pickle slice.

  “That’s ranch-y cream cheese.”

  “You’re really taking some pains with your Greater Appalachian cooking,” Justin observed.

  “I know, isn’t it great? I was thinking about putting together a Rainbow Dog cookbook. We have all this fancy stuff we troop out to go with our refined, Southern-style bourbon tastings, but that’s not what Rainbow Dog is about. It’s about right now, and what you’ve got in the pantry. No need to make a special trip out for cherrywood smoked ham and Amish goat cheese.”

  Justin found himself nodding. “What can you do with Velveeta?” he asked.

  “Oh, baby. What can’t I do with Velveeta?” She cocked a hip and raised an eyebrow.

  A little strip of skin peeked out above the waistband of her pants, and he remembered how soft her skin was right there. He wanted to turn her around and trace the tattoo he knew would be showing while he tugged those britches down and…

  He coughed and pulled on a T-shirt.

  “Maureen and Marty invited us to share dinner with them. I thought I’d take these. Are you up for that?”