Martinis & Moonlight (A Country Road Novel - Book 3)

by Andrea Johnston

  It’s nice to know her counselor and I share the same concerns. That’s a step up from the last doctor she was seeing, anyway.

  “And, what do you think? Do you think you’ll lose your shit?” We both know the answer to this question.

  “Sadly, yes. Don’t get me wrong, I’ve talked about it during my private sessions, it’s only with the group I can’t. They,” she pauses, “they look so sad for me when it’s brought up. I just can’t. Yet. I will. I know it’s necessary for me to move forward.”

  We sit in silence for a few minutes. I simply pretend I’m not watching her process what she told me and Dakota turns her head and wipes away tears she’s going to pretend she isn’t shedding.

  “So,” Dakota begins turning her attention back to me, biting her top lip. This is her telltale sign when she is about to broach a topic that makes her uncomfortable. “Have you decided what you’re going to do when I get out of here?”

  “I’m going to be here for you like we planned.”

  “I know that’s the plan for when I get home. But, what about your job? Kent?”

  “Well, Kent can kiss my ass. I should’ve ended that long ago. As for my job, I like what I have here. I think I’m going to stay. I only took the leave so I didn’t lose my insurance and in case this town wasn’t a good fit for me. I love it here. Just wait until you’re here, Dakota. It’s so calm and serene. The parks are amazing. Plus, I really like my job.”

  “And Owen.”

  “Stop. I had a momentary lapse in judgment…”

  The sound of my phone signaling a text message stops me from finishing my sentence. I reach for my cell phone from the coffee table and tap the home screen. My eyes widen at the text and I look up at Dakota.

  “What? Is something wrong?” she asks, concern lacing her questions.

  “It’s Owen.”

  “Oh, the kisser! What does he say?”

  “Hush, I haven’t opened it yet. What if he says he’s going to submit a sexual harassment claim? Or what if he says he’s already taken out a restraining order?”

  “Umm … yeah, none of that is what it says. I bet it says ‘Minnie, I want to stick my tongue down your throat and put it other places, too.’”

  I scoff to show my less than impressed opinion of her proposed message and the fake voice she uses to imitate Owen.

  Taking a deep breath, I open the text message and a smile is instantaneous.

  Owen: I wanted to let you know blowing on my hand worked. No pain at all and full movement.

  A small giggle escapes me as I type back a response.

  Me: Good to know my nursing skills are up to par. Sorry, again.

  “Oh geez, look at your face. You are a smitten kitten! I wish you’d tell me his last name so I can cyber stalk him like a good big sister.” Again. Major eyeroll.

  “No,” is my only response. One word with so much meaning.

  “Fine. Whatever. Okay, I’m going to let you go so you can sext or whatever with your lover boy. I love you, Minnie, and cannot thank you enough for all you’ve done. But, from the look on your face I think you should be thanking me for choosing Lexington. Night!”

  Before I can respond, Dakota disconnects our call and I look back at my phone. Two texts.

  Owen: Stop apologizing. I don’t think you meant to break my hand.

  Owen: Uh, I didn’t mean break it. Sorry, don’t be pissed.

  Me: I’m not pissed. I was on Skype with my sister.

  Owen: Oh shit. Sorry. I’ll leave you alone.

  Me: No.

  Me: I mean, we’re done. She had to go.

  Owen: Ok. So, tell me, what does Minnesota Walker do for fun on a Monday night?

  I look down at myself and my baggy cut-off sweats, stained tank top. I know my hair is a hot mess piled on my head and by now my mascara is smudged under my eyes. I look to my right and the laundry is piled on the chair ready to be put away. I know the dishwasher is done and probably needs emptied and the stack of bills is still sitting on the kitchen counter begging to be paid. I can’t tell him any of that. It’s beyond boring and unattractive. Not that I want him to be attracted to me. Lies. Yes I do.

  Me: Oh, you know, the usual. Deciding what tropical island I’ll jet off to next, online shopping for designer clothes, and eating ice cream.

  Okay, so that last part wasn’t a lie.

  Owen: Tropical island. That sounds promising. Is there a bikini in this plan? I could be on board with that. Or …

  Me: or …

  Owen: Is this island clothes optional?

  Me: Lol. Yeah, no. Clothes are absolutely required.

  Owen: Damn. A man can dream.

  Me: Look, about today. I should explain.

  Owen: I know, I’m irresistible. It’s okay.

  Me: Well, obviously. I mean, it’s a wonder you can even walk down the street some days.

  Owen: Some days I can’t. It’s really a burden.

  Me: Wow, the ladies at the salon told me you were a bit of a lady’s man but I didn’t know how much. Thanks for that.

  Owen: Why Minnesota, have you been asking about me?

  Me: Uh, no. Apparently, the women of Lexington love the idea of, what did they call it? Oh yes, they love the idea of “running their tongues over your delicious abs.”

  Owen: Dammit! I just choked on my water! They do not say that. That’s … gross.

  Me: Eh, whatever. I don’t quite see the appeal.

  Owen: Liar.

  Me: Nope. Not once have I thought of licking any man’s abs. Not even Channing Tatum and his are about perfect.

  Owen: Hmm…you know he’s married, right?

  Me: It’s a fantasy not real life. Let me have my moment.

  Owen: Fine, it’s yours. But seriously, I just want to make sure we’re okay.

  Me: Totally fine. We’re adults. I like you, Owen. For some strange reason

  Owen: Hey. I have feelings you know!

  Me: I wasn’t done. I hit send too soon. What I was saying was, I feel comfortable with you. You make me laugh and yes, I’m attracted to you but it doesn’t mean I’ll attack you again. Don’t worry.

  Owen: I won’t deny I enjoyed it.

  Before I’m able to respond or tell him it may just happen again, I hear Cali stirring.

  Me: I have to go. Kids.

  Owen: No prob. See you later. Night.

  Me: Night, Owen.

  I almost type out “sweet dreams” but I don’t. Cali’s stirring turns to all-out cries and I rise from the couch, tossing my phone on the table before making my way to the girls’ room. When I walk in, I notice that Arizona is completely zonked out on her princess bed while Cali is standing in her crib and about two seconds from wailing. I reach for her and pick her up, placing my cheek to hers and humming. She’s cutting another tooth, and if the warmth from her cheeks is any indication, it’s going to be a long night in my bed with an uncomfortable little girl.

  The last few days have been interesting, to say the least. Not only did Minnie blow my mind with that kiss, but we’ve been texting the last few nights. I initiated the first one because I wanted to feel her out and see if this was going to be a stage five clinger situation or if she was going to be cool and not make a big deal of it. Honestly, I’ve never been on the receiving end of a woman kissing me unless it’s last call at the bar and she’s already hinted where the night was headed.

  But, Minnie is different.

  Everything about her is different.

  When it comes to Minnesota Walker, different is good. Maybe even great.

  When she ran her hand up my arm, I thought, briefly, of making a move on her. But, I promised myself I wouldn’t bring chaos to the office; I owe Jameson that much. Thankfully, I didn’t have to worry about making a move because, to my surprise, Minnie herself made the move.

  And what a move it was.

  The rest of the night, I couldn’t get her out of my mind and knew I would sleep like shit unless I got an idea where her head was.
Thankfully, she seemed fine with it and she made no indication she was planning our fictional wedding.

  Then, the next night, I texted her again. I’m not sure why, but I just did. It was late, and since I didn’t have a valid reason for texting, I simply asked her what exactly goes in a martini. She thought I was ridiculous and asked if I was having a weekday party. We chatted for just a few minutes about nothing much but she did explain the importance of the right ratio of vodka to vermouth for the martini I’d never actually make.

  Tonight, I have no valid reason to text her. I went all day without talking to her and I was just fine. But, now that I’m lying here in bed, the television volume low and the lights off, I can’t help but tap out a text and wait for her to respond.

  Me: Are you a baseball fan?

  Seconds tick by and I don’t see those three dots. I guess she’s asleep already. I imagine taking care of those little girls can be exhausting. Kids, man. I can’t even imagine. I mean, those two seem to be fine and Jameson’s niece, Hope, is a cool kid. Talking to Hope is more like hanging out with a short adult with a preference for pizza and pink than a kid.

  I’m assuming Minnie won’t be answering and plug my phone into the charger on my nightstand before I tap the sleep timer on the remote. Just as I’m clicking off the lamp, my phone dings. Ah, so she isn’t asleep.

  Minnie: If by baseball you mean baseball players in baseball pants, yes.

  Me: You can’t be serious.

  Minnie: I take men’s asses in baseball pants seriously.

  Me: Isn’t that a little like objectifying men?

  Minnie: Says the guy that has referenced my “sweet ass” multiple times.

  Me: Touché

  Minnie: This is a very random conversation.

  Me: Not really. I was watching highlights and wondered if you were a sports fan.

  Minnie: Oh, you didn’t say sports fan. You said baseball.

  Me: Fine, Minnesota—what sports do you like?

  Minnie: Drag racing.

  What the hell? Drag racing? Who likes that? I can honestly say I’ve never met a person who has even watched that shit on television, let alone admit they’re a fan. But, of course Minnie continues to confuse me, so this shouldn’t be a surprise.

  Me: Seriously?

  Minnie: Yep.

  Me: So, let me get this straight. You wear shoes that probably cost more than all my clothes combined to work at a construction company, drink martinis and not beer, and are a drag racing fan?

  Minnie: Yep. Well, except the shoes. I only buy consignment for the expensive ones. But yes, the rest is true. And, as for the beer, I’ve never really found any I like. They all taste the same.

  Me: First, beer is the greatest adult beverage outside of Irish whiskey so watch your tone, missy. Second, you’ll need to sample mine. I’ll bring you a bottle next week. And, you’re going to need to explain this drag racing obsession.

  Minnie: It’s not an obsession. My dad took us to a race once. It was AMAZING! Those dragsters go like 300 mph! Do you know what that feels like when it goes by you? The rumbling of the engine, the smell of the nitro, the sound of something going so fast? You can feel it deep in your bones, it’s … well, kind of climactic.

  That’s just what I need her to reference. A climax.

  Me: You make it sound sexual. Tell me more.

  Minnie: Perv. Just trust me. Go to a race. So, you’re bringing me one of your beers? Like from your fridge?

  Me: Nah, I brew my own beer. It’s kind of my hobby. I’ll bring you one. A medium amber I have will change your opinion on beer.

  Minnie: If you say so.

  Me: I do. I should let you go, it’s late.

  Minnie: Okay. G’nite, Owen.

  Me: Night, Minnesota.

  The last few nights staying up texting with Minnie and then being awoken to the kitchen ninja also known as Landon has made me a less-than-friendly coworker this week. The guys on my crew have left me alone for the most part, limiting our interactions. I feel bad and, to show my gratitude, send them home early offering to clean up the job site before I leave. I’m not certain if I finish telling them I’ll handle clean up before I watch their trucks disappear in a cloud of dust. Assholes.

  Since I’m by myself for cleanup, I’m here a little later than usual and have my earbuds in instead of my Bluetooth playing. As the beginning notes of Seven Nation Army by The White Stripes starts, I feel someone tap my shoulder and jump about three feet in the air and my hands automatically round into fists.

  “What the fuck?” My heart is racing, and as my eyes take in the person in front of me, the racing isn’t only from being startled. Minnie is standing before me in a pair of shorts and a tight tank top. Fuck me two ways to Sunday. She looks amazing. Her normally long, flowing blonde hair is pulled back in a ponytail and all I can imagine is grabbing it as I lay my lips to the back of her neck and tell her how fucking hot she is. Shaking off the visual, I pull the buds from my ears and will my dick to not pitch a tent.

  “Sorry! I was saying your name but didn’t see your earbuds. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to sneak up on you.”

  “It’s okay, I was just taken off-guard. What’s up? I see you opted out of the ‘costs more than my entire closet of clothes’ shoes today,” I tease in an attempt to ease some of the tension from my aggressive reaction to her arrival. “Have you always been this short?” She’s not short, but she’s always seemed taller to me.

  “Funny guy,” she teases with a smile. That smile. When did this happen? A few months ago, I was just a single guy going about my business of work, brewing beer, and meeting women at the bar. Now, I’m some dumbstruck asshole that can barely put a sentence together in front of a chick who kissed him unless it’s via text and late at night.

  “For your information, I am average height and have a love for a tall heel. And, I changed my clothes and shoes before I came to the site. I was on my way to pick up the girls from Mrs. Larson. I’m taking them to my parents this weekend. We’re doing some family stuff and whatever, you don’t care about that.” She looks away, embarrassed, her cheeks pinkening just a little more than they already are from the afternoon sun beating down on them. “Anyway, I wanted to swing by and let you know that the contracts are signed on the Shattuck property. Jameson is going to be out Monday so I brought you the information. Would you be able to go by there first thing and just confirm with Mrs. Shattuck on the tabbed items?”

  “Sure thing. Do you have them with you or do I need to go by the office?”

  “Oh, no I have them! They’re in my car. Let me get them,” she says, smiling and walking away. If I thought I owed a huge thank you to whoever created her tight leggings, I was wrong. The maker of these shorts is who I must bow down to. There’s nothing special about them, they’re simple white cotton shorts, but the fact that they hug her, yes, I’ll say it, sweet ass, like she was sewn into them leaves little to my imagination. Like a moth to a flame, I follow Minnie toward her car. And then she does me in. She bends over and reaches into her car for the papers. Just as she stands and turns toward me, I make my least stupid idea of the week. Or the stupidest, it’s really up for debate.

  One step. Two steps.

  I’m in her space. Before she can even comprehend what is happening, I wrap my hands around her waist and pull her to me and capture her lips with mine. If I thought that first kiss was something for the record books, I was wrong. This kiss is familiar and powerful. Tingles of awareness make their way down my body, and before I know what’s happening, my hand moves from her waist to her breast and flicks her nipple. Minnie lets out a sound that is far more than a moan or even a purr. It’s pure ecstasy and one I want more of. A sound I need more of.

  I’m so consumed by her, by her smell, her touch, and her taste, that I almost forget where we are. As I begin to slow the kiss down, a horn honks in the distance and a kid shouts out something I’m sure is inappropriate. I can’t tell you what he said because all I can hear is the
blood rushing through my ears. I pull back from Minnie, my hand no longer on her breast and now on her cheek, as I watch her slowly open her eyes and a tiny smile take over her face.

  “Well, that was unexpected,” she whispers.

  “I’d apologize but I’m not sorry,” I say before laying a simpler and gentler kiss to her lips.

  “Twice in one week. Why, Mr. Butler, you better be careful or I’m going to think you want to bring me more than a bottle of beer.”

  Her response is not anything I expected and I can’t help but laugh. Bringing both hands to her face, I tilt her head slightly and look directly into her eyes. Eye contact often makes me uncomfortable when I’m talking to a woman. I don’t like to expose myself like that, but with Minnie it’s different. She’s different. I don’t think she’ll try to take advantage of me and something in her eyes tells me she’s not shopping for her forever, she just wants to have fun.

  “Go out with me this weekend.” Where did that come from?

  “What?”

  “Go out with me.”

  “No, I heard you, but it’s always been my experience that when a gentleman wants to take out a lady, he asks.” Raising a brow at me, she looks at me as if she knows I’m going to come back with a smart-ass comment. Not this time.

  “Minnesota Walker, would you like to go out with me this weekend?”

  “Why, Owen Butler, I thought you’d never ask. As much as I’d like to sleep in, I know I won’t. I should be back home from my parents around eleven. Pick me up at noon?”

  “Sounds good,” I say, stepping back from where I have her positioned against her car and take the folder from her hand. Minnie offers me one last look before turning to get in her car. I stand watching her as she puts the key in the ignition and pauses. She turns the key and then rolls the window down.

  “I’m not sleeping with you.”

  “I didn’t think you were. It’s just hanging out.”

  “Friends?”

  “Yep, friends. I won’t even try to kiss you again.”

  “Well, let’s not get ahead of ourselves. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  Before I can tell her goodbye, Minnie is pulling out of the Kaplans’ driveway and driving away. It’s official, she’s a witch who has cast a spell on me. There’s no other reason I would have just asked her out. Dates aren’t my thing. Except, apparently, they are this weekend and not just any date, a date with a friend I promised not to kiss. Excellent planning, Owen.