by Shandi Boyes
“Now, come on. We’ve got non-brain-swelling adrenaline-packed activities to undertake.” He nudges his head to the door like my embarrassment is nothing but water under the bridge. “If you’re not waiting for me in ten minutes—”
“You’ll leave without me, so I can die in peace?”
He pushes my glasses up my nose so I can see the honesty in his eyes when he says, “I’ll dig my belt buckle out of my suitcase. It will ensure not even a gallon of tequila will steal your memories.”
Colby taps my ass two times, having no clue how invaluable his comment is for me. When you have a parent with Alzheimer’s, you never stop worrying that one day you’ll force your loved ones down the painful track you’d give anything to stop walking.
“Come on, Prim. I thought last night settled the score between us. I came. You came. Everyone fucking came. Now we’re even, so there’s no reason to be embarrassed.”
That pops my head out of the blanket. “Everyone? Who else came?”
He laughs at my inability not to pry into other people’s lives even when I wish mine were close to the end. “Figuratively, Prim. I wasn’t listening out for any moans that didn’t have my name associated with them.”
Clearly, he hasn’t ventured to the other side of the cabin the last two nights. The moans I heard may have come with a hefty amount of vibrations, but there was no doubt it was his name being murmured—even with him passed out several rooms away.
“Ten minutes?”
The weight on my chest eases when he holds out his fist for me to bump. “Ten minutes.”
Once we’ve sealed our agreement with a fist bump, he leaves the room. I waste a few minutes under the sheets gathering my composure. I’m still embarrassed, but Colby’s reminder of the compromising position I caught him in before my shameful attempt to seduce him makes it not as palpable. At least I was clothed. Colby wasn’t.
After fanning my heated cheeks, I slip into a pair of knee-high boots, snag my coat and beanie out of my suitcase, then march out of my room like my ass is on fire. I may have kissed Colby, but there’s no doubt he kissed me back. He wouldn’t have done that unless he wanted to. Believe me when I say there are many ways a man can avoid being kissed if the idea disgusts him. My relationship with Brad makes me an expert on the subject matter.
With my mood only just improving, I increase my pace, eager to avoid anything that will sour it. The hype coming out of the living room matches the buzz roaring through my veins. The participants are sitting through an impromptu ‘jump school’ in preparation for their scheduled events today. I’m disappointed Colby denied my request to join the festivities, but I’m secretly looking forward to spending the day with him. I’ll get to jump one day. His eyes held too much promise for it not to be in the cards, so for now, I can enjoy our first full day together.
Don’t misconstrue. I’m not anticipating anything like the event that’s slowly trickling back into my head, but I hope it’s similar to the nights we spent together before he pushed the brakes on our friendship. We have a bizarre, unexplainable connection, but I need his friendship more than anything. It’s been a crazy few years for me, and it feels like I’m only just coming up for air.
When my mom was diagnosed with Alzheimer’s, my first thought was that I could never force anyone through the maze my dad and I were about to navigate. I closed myself off, not just from friendship but love as well. It was only as my mom’s condition worsened did I realize how silly I was being. My dad could have given in. He could have walked away, but he didn’t. He loved her too much to do that. He stuck by her side throughout it all, and now his dedication is being awarded in the most beautiful way. She may only remember the man he once was, but she undoubtedly loves him with every snippet of her being. She loves him so much not even Alzheimer’s has her forgetting him. That’s a love I was determined to find—a love I craved. It’s also the reason I fell for Brad’s tricks so quickly. I told him about my mom’s condition from the get-go, and despite that, he still asked me on a second date. I thought he understood my want of a love greater than the world’s hardest circumstances.
I was wrong.
You can’t force someone to love you any more than you can’t force yourself to love someone who isn’t right for you. It took me a few months to remember my pledge, but now that it’s back, I’ll give it my best shot to make it come true—although with some slight variations. I don’t have to fall in love to have the best life possible. I simply need to learn to love myself. It will be a slow process, but this weekend has been a great starting point. Colby’s cockiness is a wonderful way to show how there’s nothing wrong with self-love. Whether sexually or mentally, there’s no shame in self-care.
While I’m being forthright, I’ll also admit a small part of me, the dorky, insurance-consultant side, loved that not even a guarantee I wouldn’t sue if I were injured saw Colby being lenient on the rules. If that doesn’t prove I made the right decision in approving his request for coverage, I don’t know what will.
My brisk speed slows when Colby’s eyes lift from a sheet of paper in his hand to me. He drifts them up my body and over my face before taking in the springy locks still bouncing from my thunderous steps. My hand shoots up to my hair, suddenly embarrassed. With my body thrumming from what I thought was excitement, but now understand is orgasmic bliss, I brushed my hair with a wire comb this morning before returning its ringlets with a healthy scrunch.
“I’ve got a beanie to cover them up.” Colby snatches my beanie out of my hand before tossing it out the window. “What the—”
“You won’t need a beanie where we’re going. Besides, I don’t iron my clothes, much less my hair, so why should you?”
“Uh… because my crazy ringlets fail to show me as the professional businesswoman I’m supposed to be?” Those are not my words. They’re Brad’s. I only commenced straightening my hair six months ago when he pointed out numerous times how childish they make me look.
“My point exactly. I like wild, carefree Jamie. She’s almost as fun as tequila Jamie.”
His teeth grit as if he said too much before he shoves the sheet of paper he’s clutching into Tyrone’s chest. I eye him curiously when he arches his brow at Tyrone. They must be able to communicate without words because not long after Tyrone jerks up his chin, Colby curls his hand around mine to lead me outside. It’s chilly today, but I’m not feeling it—even more so when Colby walks me toward a four-wheeled motorbike. It’s big and bulky and has a black steel cage on the back. It looks like an all-terrain vehicle a hunter would have.
“Aren’t we taking the van?”
Colby shakes his head before gathering two helmets off a shelf at the side of the carport. “This will be quicker.” He smirks a cunning grin. “And more fun.” He hisses while placing my helmet on. The band is nowhere near my stitches, but his panic makes it seem as if he’s jabbing a screwdriver directly into my wound. “Is that an okay fit? It’s not too loose for you, is it?”
“Let me guess, those aren’t words you articulate often?” Colby laughs at my comment, but the worry in his eyes remains. “It’s fine. I’m more fretful about how I’m going to handle that girth.” I nudge my head to the widespread of the quad’s seat. “I’m wearing extremely tight jeans that don’t have much stretch.”
“Now, those are sentences I often hear.”
I’d whack him in the gut if it wouldn’t reveal how jealous I am. I am green with envy, but I’ve got lost ground to make up for, so I can’t give him more ammunition. “You know what they say about guys who brag, don’t you?”
A throb descends to the lower half of my body when he purses his lips. I kissed them—more than once. “That it isn’t bragging when you have the goods to back it up?”
I roll my eyes before mounting the ATV remarkedly well considering I didn’t stretch beforehand. When Colby requests for me to scoot forward, I peer at him in confusion. “Aren’t you driving?”
He shakes his head. “Hell no.
You don’t get to insult my manhood and not expect it to have it rubbed against you for the next hour. Scoot forward, Prim, things are about to get extremely chummy.”
“You’re being ridiculous,” I murmur, acting like I’m not on the brink of climax from the thought of us getting friendly—again.
“How? Because I want to prove a point?”
I must still be drunk, otherwise how else could I explain leaning in real close to his side to whisper, “Because I was wearing tequila goggles last night, not a hazmat suit. I know what your packing.”
I see confidence roar through his eyes a mere second before he winks. “Then you know as well as I do that you’re more than eager for a second round, so scoot. I’m not asking, Prim. I’m telling.”
Chapter 26
Colby
Jamie tries to act annoyed by my request, but I can see the excitement in her eyes. Why do you think I’m so determined to ride shotgun? I won’t lie, my peacock feathers were already fanned when she sided with me instead of Tyrone, but I was nearly whacked on my ass with a bolt of cockiness when memories of our kiss slowly trickled into her hungover head. I barely showcased the moves I’m more famous for than my billionaire surname last night, but not even half a bottle of tequila could push them into the background of her mind. I can understand why. Our kiss was too fucking sexy to forget. The way her lips parted just before my name came tumbling out in a throaty purr. Fuck. Me. That’s the stuff wet dreams are made of.
After donning my helmet, I mount the ATV behind Jamie before my cock swells so much I become a brain-dead reject—years earlier than predicted.
I shake my head to clear it of negative thoughts before focusing my devotion on Jamie. “Have you ever ridden a quad before?”
She shakes her head. “No. That’s why you should be driving.”
“It’s easy. You’ll get the hang of it in no time.”
Prickles on her nape rise when I guide her hands onto the handlebars. The way her body forever responds to mine doesn’t make sense, but tell me one time you’ve sat back and thought, Fuck me. That makes perfect sense. Some things are meant to be unexplainable—that’s what makes life interesting. It would be one dead ritual after another if everything were understood the first time around.
“This bike is fully automatic.” I press the start button to fire her up before giving Jamie a basic rundown on how it operates. “The thumb throttle on your right controls your speed, and the brakes are just like the ones you find on any bike. When you yank them back, the quad will slow down.”
“So I just push on the throttle, and we will go?” I don’t know why she sounds surprised by the simplicity of my instructions. A bike is just like a woman—with the right amount of pressure and a little bit of patience, she’ll take you on the ride of your life.
“Go slow. You don’t want to throw me off.” I scream like a bitch when she presses on the throttle so severely I’m thrown backward. “If you want to slow down, ease off the throttle, then slowly apply pressure to the brakes.” My teeth grit when my helmet headbutts the back of hers from her locking up the brakes.
“I’m sorry. I suck at this.”
She has to shout so I can hear her over the ATV’s revs and perhaps the snickering of the snooty women eyeballing our escape from the front porch of the cabin. Even hearing Jamie moan my name last night hasn’t dampened their campaign to treat her like an outcast. If anything, it’s increased their bitterness. They’re pissed my dick was taken off the itinerary of activities, and they’re more than happy to place the blame for that on Jamie’s shoulders. In a way, they’re right, but I’ll never let them know that.
“Let’s switch places.”
I grip Jamie’s thighs like my cock is plastered to her crotch instead of her ass when she attempts to hook her leg over the bike. “We’re not switching places. You’re going to ride this quad like the bad bitch you are. Hit the throttle, Prim, and this time, do it with enough power you’ll add a mud bath to their list of activities for today.” When her eyes collide with mine in the side mirror, I jerk my chin to the group watching us without the slightest bit of remorse on their faces.
Her pupils dilate. “I can’t do that.”
“Why? Because they have been nothing but nice to you since you arrived?”
I feel her sigh more than I hear it. “What if they sue you?”
“How can they sue me? I’m not driving.” I can’t see her mouth, but I know she’s smiling. I can feel it in my bones, not to mention the way it lights up her eyes. “Unless you have millions of dollars I don’t know about, it’s time to give as good as you’re getting.”
Her chest rises and falls three times before she jabs her thumb onto the throttle. The backend of the ATV swivels out of control, skidding in the mud for several long seconds before rocketing toward the exit.
Jamie squeals the entire time, her panic about our brutal speed having her missing the muddy mess she left in her wake. Not only did she spray the snickering women with smelly mud, she also got Tyrone, who’s watching our departure with the biggest grin on his face. I doubt he’ll still be smiling when we get hit with a dry-cleaning bill in the thousands.
Still worth it. I’d spend millions of dollars if it guarantees Jamie’s heart will continue beating the tune it is now.
Five hours later, Jamie’s big aqua eyes lock with mine. “What are the rules again?”
I laugh at the competitiveness in her voice. If anyone ever accused her of not being driven, you can be assured they’re a liar. Even standing shoeless in a muddy paddock with a lard-sodden pig staring her down hasn’t had her backing away from the many activities we’ve undertaken so far this morning. We ate our weight in scrambled eggs, undertook two rounds of archery, and ziplined across ranges that make this region of the country some of the best for adrenaline junkiness.
Now we’re wrestling pigs. By we, I mean Jamie. I was booted in the first round.
“Tackle the pig, Prim. That’s all you’ve got to do. If you win this round, you’ll be crowned champion pig wrestler for this region.”
Nodding, she buries her feet into the sloshy mud while waiting for the buzzer to announce the final round has begun. When she suggested we join the pig wrestling competition at Clement River’s agricultural show, I agreed on the assumption we’d be out in the first round. I had no clue she’d make it to the finals. Not even a healthy coat of mud smeared across her glasses slowed her down the past five rounds. She has a competitive streak as long as my cock.
“Come here, Prim.” When she joins me at the side of the fenced pavilion, I adjust the bull- riding helmet I demanded she wear so it protects her bandaged stitches. Nixon gave her the all-clear to participate on the agreement he bandaged her cut so she wouldn’t get any mud in it. He’s here with his wife, Eden. She and Jamie sparked an instant friendship. If the baking competition hadn’t started, I doubt anything would have torn them apart.
“Do you need the glasses, Prim?”
“Ah… yeah.” Her brisk nod doubles the assurance in her eyes. “Unless you want me groping the other contestants as I hunt for the pig? They smell about the same.”
I laugh as if my gut isn’t aching from how many times I’ve laughed the past five hours. “They’d probably let you win if you gave them a quick feel-up.”
My laughter halts when she says, “Then remove my glasses and point me in the direction of contestant number six. He has sexy bedroom eyes.”
Jealousy roars through me like a big, hot beast. “Prim…”
She pokes her tongue out when the buzzer announces the start of this round, and even faster than that, she’s chasing a pig almost as big as her around a sloshy pit. I nearly fall off my seat laughing when she dives headfirst into a massive puddle. She slipped straight off the hindquarter of the pig, revealing the oil they lathered him in is doing its job.
“You won’t catch him down there. Come on, Prim. I’m craving some bacon.”
That jumps her into action. “That’s
why I’m going to win. So I can set him free.”
With a grunt like she’s double her size, she shoves the contestant she said had dreamy eyes onto his ass before elbowing another opponent in the ribs. When she jumps onto the pig’s back, she holds on like he’s a bull, and she’s striving for the clock to reach eight seconds.
“I’m trying to help you,” she screams at the pig, sending laughter across the pavilion. “I won’t let anyone eat you. I promise.”
The roar of the crowd subdues when she miraculously gets the pig’s four hooves off the mud. To the organizers of this competition, it’s all that’s required for a win.
“Yes!”
Jamie jumps into the air like she isn’t soaked head to toe in mud. She does the moonwalk before ungraciously gloating to the losing contestants that they’re not having pork chops for dinner tonight. I don’t have the heart to tell her that just because the man she’s organized to take her pig is an organic farmer doesn’t mean her pig won’t be turned into pork at some stage in his life. He’ll simply roam free before he meets with his creator.
After snatching her winner’s sash from the organizer and handing the pig to her farmer, she bolts my way. The smile on her face has me misreading her happiness. Jamie’s not dashing my way to give me a hug of congratulations, she wants me covered with as much smelly mud as she is.
“Jamie… don’t.”
My command is separated by big breaths from me launching out of my seat to bolt in the opposite direction from where she’s coming from. I make it to the edge of the pavilion before my feet are wiped out from beneath me. Jamie isn’t responsible for me hitting the slosh-covered ground like a bag of shit. It’s the damn pig she saved from being slaughtered tonight. He’s racing for the exit like he’s outrunning a firing squad. Since he is, his dash for freedom is understandable.
“Run, George, run!” Jamie screams before ‘accidentally’ stepping into the farmer’s way, blocking his exit long enough that George disappears into the dense forest bordering the showgrounds.