Shy

by Grindstaff, Thomma Lyn

  “I love you, Wildflower,” Jake says. “I've never stopped.”

  “I know,” I say. “Somehow, I knew. I love you, too, Jake.”

  A long sigh escapes him and somehow, in that sigh, he combines longing, joy, and sadness. He runs his fingers through my long hair, then moves them down to rub gentle circles down my back, then he cups my bottom.

  I gasp at his touch there. “Please. I want...” I stop, shyness stopping up my throat.

  Jake won't let me get away with that. “Tell me, babe. What do you want?”

  “I want to...” Oh, I'm feeling so shy that it's hard to talk, but strangely enough, my body doesn't feel shy. I reach up and lace my fingers in his hair and pull him down to where I can kiss him. He pulls me up in his arms, making things easier for me, and feathers kisses across my forehead, then across my cheeks.

  “Please,” I say.

  “Please what?” His expression blazes not just with desire but also with mischief.

  I grip his big shoulders and squeeze them. Then I press myself up against him and feel, outlined in his jeans, how very much he wants me. “I want you to make love to me. All night.”

  He lets out a soft groan, then crushes me up in his arms and kisses me until I lose my breath. It's really going to happen. Tonight. When we dated, Jake and I did pretty much everything together but the main course, so to speak. His hands, fingers, and his mouth on me, everywhere on me, and even a little bit inside me, have always been both gentle and mind-blowing. But he's such a big guy, and I'm small and narrow. I've handled him with my fingers and thought about taking him deep inside me, and I've often wondered if I could hold all of him.

  I've heard that when a woman wants a man with all her heart, mind, and body, she can hold him.

  That's what I want. To hold him in all the ways I can.

  He takes me by the hand and leads me into his bedroom. It's a simple room, just a bed and a dresser. Straightforward, like Jake. His guitars are propped against the wall along with his banjo and a mandolin. A musician's room. I wonder if he's ever had a girl in here before. Has he made love to any girls from his shows, while he and I were just friends? Maybe Jake's still a virgin, like me. I'd like to know, but I don't want to ask right now. There's time later to talk about those things. And I certainly don't want to contemplate the idea of him doing this with someone else.

  I doubt he has. It's me he's loved all along, and Jake just isn't the type for one night stands.

  We sit on the bed together. It feels strange, yet exhilarating. I keep wondering if one of his parents will come home or if one of his little brothers will start raising a ruckus. There was a huge limit to what we could do at his house when we were dating, or at my house, for that matter, since there was no way in hell Mom made things conducive for Jake and me to do much more than kiss, and she never wanted us to do that, either. We would go make out in his truck at the lake or other secluded places, though, and we'd steam up the windows plenty.

  Now, we have all night, and this apartment, to ourselves. I can scarcely believe it.

  This has turned out to be a good day, after all. Jake's love will eclipse the pain of my humiliation at the Old Grind.

  He cups my face with his big hands. Then he leans in and kisses my lips gently, almost reverently. My lips part and our kiss deepens, becomes more forceful. He gently lays me down on his bed, then takes me in his arms and kisses me as though he's releasing all the passion he has stored and pent up over the last year. I'm kissing him the same way—everything I've held back, all the kisses I've wanted us to share. We're as hot as ever, even hotter. Our only fear should be that we might burn each other up.

  He kisses my cheeks, my forehead, then my lips again. “You're beautiful, Wildflower,” he murmurs. “I love you.” I want to tell him I love him, too, but I can't speak because, paradoxically, while passion is consuming my body, shyness is stopping my speech. It's a good thing my body has a mind of its own because it wants to lose itself him and have him lose himself in me. I want to give myself to him completely.

  We rid each other of our clothes. We can't get down to skin on skin quickly enough. I love the feel of his big, rangy body, and I love the feel of his arms around me. I feel sheltered from the rest of the harsh, critical world, in which I'm always and forever insufficient, never, ever good enough. In Jake's arms, I'm treasured, cherished, and adored, warm with his love. The love we share is our world within the world, in which we can find refuge and approval. In the warmth of our mutual love, we're both blessed.

  As we're holding each other, kissing, the door to Jake's apartment opens, then closes. My heart flies up in my throat. I swallow the wrong way and choke on my own spit. Jake jumps up out of the bed as though he's been goosed with a hot iron.

  “Shit, shit, shit!” he snarls.

  “Hey! Anybody home?” someone hollers from the living room. It sounds like Ty, with his deep, barrel voice.

  “Yeah!” Jake yells back, pulling on his underwear, then jerking on his jeans so fast, he hops around to get them up on his legs. I scramble out of bed and put on my clothes as fast as I can. Yeah, this isn't exactly his parents' house, but neither Jake nor I care to be messing around in his bedroom with any kind of audience around. Talk about ruining the mood and making me feel well-nigh paralyzed.

  Jake and I come out of the bedroom together, and there's Ty, standing there in his overalls—his favorite thing to wear. I guess he has a pair of overalls for each day of the week. He's a lot shorter than Jake, but he's stocky as can be and has extremely wide shoulders and a barrel chest. He has shoulder-length blond hair, a full mustache, and bushy eyebrows. His expression almost always seems on the comical side, as though he's vaguely amused, no matter what happens in his life. He's a couple of years older than Jake and has played guitar, bass, and banjo in several bluegrass bands since turning sixteen. Jake met him while he was still in high school and went to see Ty play with his then-band.

  Jake's other band mate, Kelsey, is a buddy of his from way back. They started playing bluegrass together as kids, and when Jake put the Hickory Hollow Boys together, Kelsey moved with Jake to Knoxville from Appalachian East Tennessee. Kelsey's a short, wiry guy, lean and strong. He wears glasses and has a shock of brown hair that falls over his forehead and bobs in front of him when he plays. He's a whiz on the mandolin and the harmonica.

  A wide grin spreads across Ty's face. “I don't need to guess what you two have been up to.”

  Jake and I must look quite a sight with our mussed hair and flushed faces, both of us still breathing hard.

  “Never mind,” Jake says, a thundercloud of frustration spreading across his face.

  I feel the same way he looks, but there's nothing we can do about it. We can't do what we'd planned to do, at least not tonight.

  “Yeah, I definitely interrupted something,” Ty says.

  Neither of us feel like joking around. “Yeah,” Jake mutters.

  Feeling mortified, wondering how I must look to Ty, I can't bring myself to say anything. He knows Jake and I used to date, and there doesn't seem to be any surprise on his face at finding us here together.

  “I thought you were going to be out all night,” Jake says, plopping down on the couch. I sit next to him. Close, but not too close. I'm still so aroused that if I touch him, even accidentally, I might explode.

  “That's what I thought, too,” Ty says, “but Jolene has the kids tonight and we couldn't have any fun, either. So I decided to come back here and catch up on a little sleep. Too bad, huh?”

  Jolene is Ty's girlfriend, and even though she's only twenty-two, she has three kids, ages one, three, and five. She and her ex split while she was pregnant with the third one. She says he's a hateful, ornery guy who always spent any money they had on drugs instead of on his family's needs. She's certainly well rid of him and she has found a very nice fellow in Ty.

  I sure wish he'd been able to stay at her place.

  Just Jake's and my rotten luck.

 
; “Sucks,” he mutters, referring, I'm sure, not only to Ty's misfortune but also to our own. We sure can't go to my house, and my dorm room won't work, either. Too many people coming and going. And the walls are too thin.

  We'll just have to wait. But I'm thrilled Jake has come back into my life. It's exactly what I needed. He's the only person who makes me feel my shy personality needn't make me a defective human being. He accepts me as I am, unconditionally.

  Granville was warm and encouraging of my talents, in some ways even more than Jake, because—I have to admit it—he understands the nuances of my art better. Like me, he's a pianist. Though Jake is crazy talented, we play very different instruments, very different kinds of music.

  I wonder if Granville has tried to send more texts. I shouldn't be thinking of Granville when Jake and I almost made love, but I can't help but wonder what's going through his mind. He has to feel bad about what happened.

  “Wildflower,” Jake says. “I guess I need to get you back to your dorm.”

  “Too bad, so sad,” Ty says with a chuckle. “Better luck next time.”

  Jake shoots him a glare, then we leave the apartment and get into the Hickory Hollow Mobile.

  “Damn,” he says. “That didn't turn out well.”

  “Want to go to the lake?” I say. “We could have some fun in your truck...”

  “No, babe. Not in the truck. I want something special for our first time. Not all cramped up in this old truck. We'll figure something out, okay?”

  “Maybe my roommate will be gone next weekend...” I trail off, thinking that my dorm room really isn't an ideal spot, either.

  “Maybe Ty will be with Jolene next weekend and we'll get lucky and Kelsey will be doing something, too. We're gigging, but after we finish gigging, we don't all come back to the apartment.”

  “Yeah.” I wonder, again, if he's had one-night stands with girls after his shows. I kind of doubt it, but hell, it's possible, isn't it? Girls certainly find him attractive. I've seen plenty of them ogling him at Hickory Hollow Boys gigs. How can they not?

  “What's wrong, Wildflower?” he asks, noticing the shadow cross my face.

  “Just wondering if you've been with other girls.” There it is. It's out.

  He gives me a tender smile that looks especially sweet on that rugged face of his. “No, babe. Nobody but you, okay? There have been girls after shows who've been interested, but I was never interested back. I guess I've just been too crazy about you all these years.”

  “Well, there's been no one but you, either,” I tell him. “Granville and I shared a few kisses, but that's it.”

  He scowls. “I figured as much. Damn it.”

  “It was just a few kisses.”

  He cups my cheek with his big hand. “I'm sorry, babe. But I just can't stand the thought of that rich son of a bitch touching you.”

  “Just a week ago, you thought he was better for me than you are,” I remind him.

  “Well, what happened to you tonight when you went out with him showed me differently.” He pulls me to him and gives me a long, hot kiss that leaves me gasping.

  “Can't we please go to the lake...”

  “No. When we make love for the first time, I want it to be right.”

  I wish we could get a hotel room, but I just don't have the money in my budget right now, and I bet the same is true with Jake. He and his band work hard, but they don't have a lot of extra money. What they make goes right back into bills, day-to-day needs, and the traveling expenses of their gigging.

  I won't mention my line of thinking to Jake. He's very sensitive about his lack of money. He's never grasped that I honestly don't mind.

  We drive to my dorm and park in the parking lot instead of pulling up to the curb. I guess he wants to come in with me for a while. I'm glad. I'm not ready to say goodnight to him yet.

  As we head into the front door of my dorm building, an idea comes to me. “I just had the best thought. How about we go on a hike tomorrow? We could make love in the forest, off one of the trails, and we...” My words die away as I notice who's sitting in one of the rooms to the right of the dormitory lobby, waiting for me.

  It's Granville.

  With him, he has a huge box, about two feet tall, fancily gift-wrapped and topped with a big red bow.

  Chapter Fifteen (Jake)

  Wildflower goes rigid, staring at something or someone. I follow the direction of her gaze, and there, in one of the visiting rooms, sits a guy a few years older than me. He's wearing a pinstriped shirt, nice slacks, and shoes that must cost more than I make in a month. He's got wavy, brown hair and an intense face that suggests a guy who gets what he wants, and look out when he wants something.

  Or someone.

  My sweet Wildflower is staring straight at him, shock in her gaze, and he's looking right back at her, his eyes brimming over with enthusiasm. His gaze shifts to me and his expression dampens. But only somewhat. Apparently to him, I'm as incidental as a fly.

  “Granville,” Wildflower says, and my suspicions are confirmed. Who else would it be? And what the fuck has he got in that gigantic package for her?

  He stands up. “Hi, Frannie. I've been trying to get hold of you, and since I thought you'd be back before too long, I thought I'd bring this by for you. I was just about getting ready to leave. I'm glad we connected after all.”

  “She turned her phone off,” I snarl at him before I can stop myself. Does this fucking rich son of a bitch think she has to be available to him twenty-four hours a day? The asshole. I ought to stomp him into the ground for the way he's looking at her.

  Except he's looking at her with affection and respect, not like he wants to bend her over the little table in here and have his way with her. Somehow, it bothers me even more that he's looking at her with respect and kindness. It isn't that she doesn't deserve it. She absolutely does. But the problem is it makes it harder for me to hate him. I want to hate his guts because he looks exactly like the kind of rich, dreamboat guy who would be perfect for her. Even more than that, he looks like exactly the kind of rich, dreamboat guy Wildflower's mom would love for her to marry.

  I want to get out of here, but I have to see what's in that huge package he's brought. I know it'll make me even angrier, but I have to see. And if what's in that package validates what I'm thinking about how she'd be better off with this Granville, then I need to wait and see what's there. It's going to break my heart, but I can't make Wildflower mine and then watch her wind up like my mom—musically talented but with no life at all, only struggle and misery, married to a man she's still attracted to but is afraid of. My parents' marriage is a clusterfuck, and I want better for Wildflower, even if it's another man, even if the idea of it makes me want to yell and lash out at the whole world.

  Wildflower and I probably can't be friends, either, if she gets involved with someone else. I hate that; it makes me feel selfish. But I don't think I could stand seeing her with another guy. The sight of this Granville, all slick and smiling, with his big, wrapped gift, tells me that I came close to making a big mistake tonight. I guess I'm glad, after all, in a sad way, that Ty came home and messed up our plans. Fate knows what's best for Wildflower better than I do.

  If I step aside, my Wildflower will make love for her first time with this guy. I can't stand the thought of it. I take a long, deep breath to control myself. The thought guts me from the inside out.

  God damn it.

  Granville looks at Wildflower with question marks in his eyes, no doubt wondering why she turned her phone off, but he's thoughtful enough not to ask her about it in front of me. That's another good sign: he's a thoughtful, sensitive guy. Fucking hell. A sensitive guy. Just what every woman needs. It's not that I object to sensitivity. Sensitivity can be great. Like when you want to let a girl know you love her. When you're making love. But some guys are so sensitive, they seem more like girls than like guys, and I'm just not that way. But if it's what's good for Wildflower, then it's what will have to be.
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  “Frannie, is this who I think it is?” Granville asks.

  “It's Jake,” she tells him. “We've been together tonight.”

  He nods and looks from her to me and back again, the question marks in his eyes seeming, if anything, to get even bigger. Clearly he's wondering what's going on between us and what, exactly, Wildflower had meant by together. He'd have to be an idiot not to notice the tension, the charged energy, and he's no idiot. Tension prickles all around the room. Between us two guys, especially.

  We're two guys in love with the same girl.

  Chapter Sixteen (Frannie)

  I never would have dreamed, in a million years, that Granville would be sitting here, waiting for me, and even less that he would come bearing gifts. Or, one big gift. Oh, the expression on Jake's face. His eyes are narrow, his gaze is snapping with fury. But not just fury. Something else, too. Something that bothers me. It's almost as if he's glad, in a weird way, that Granville's here, even though it pisses him off at the same time. Jake has always been a tough guy to figure out, a mystery wrapped in a puzzle at the core of which lies an impenetrable enigma. I know Jake loves me. But the actions he takes based on that love sometimes stupefy me.

  “Jake, this is Granville Watts, my friend at college. Granville, this is my friend Jake.” My friend, my friend. It feels kind of dishonest to introduce them to each other this way. But it isn't dishonest. Each of these guys is my friend. Something more, too, each in his own way, though.

  Granville offers his hand. “Good to meet you. I know you and Frannie have been friends for a long time.”

  Jake gives a stiff nod, takes Granville's hand, and pumps it up and down once in a hard shake. Granville's eyes grow wide. Jake must have gripped his hand pretty hard because when he lets go, Granville flexes his fingers a bit.