I got her on the bed and tugged a t-shirt on her so she wouldn’t be completely undressed. I’d already decided I was sleeping on the couch, but I didn’t want her waking up naked in my bed. I had no idea how much of this she’d remember in the morning.
“Lie down now. I’ll get you some water.”
“Okay,” she said, her voice dreamy.
The t-shirt bunched up to her waist as she scooted onto the bed. I rolled my eyes and got a pair of boxers out of a drawer. Tugged those up her legs. They were too big—as was the shirt—but I needed to cover what she had between those gorgeous legs of hers. I’d be up all night just thinking about it, her pussy tormenting me from afar.
I got her some water and helped her take a long drink. Then she collapsed, her head just missing my pillow.
“Thank god,” I muttered, setting the water glass on the night stand next to her. Hopefully she’d sleep the rest of the night.
“Stay.” Her face was smooshed into the mattress, so I wasn’t sure I’d heard her correctly.
“What?”
“Stay with me,” she said. “I’m too inebriated to be alone.”
“June Bug, you’re just going to sleep. I’ll be right out there if you need anything.”
Her eyes stayed shut as she talked. “Intoxication can lead to vomiting and there’s a danger of pulmonary aspiration.”
Even drunk June was smart. “All right. I’ll stay. But you better remember this was your idea in the morning. I don’t want a hungover June yelling at me for sleeping with her.”
“Do you mean that literally or as a euphemism for sexual relations?”
“I mean sleeping literally. No one is having sex in this bed tonight.” God, I was tired. I went around to the other side of the bed and sank down. “Let’s go to sleep now, okay? I’ll be right here.”
“Okay, George.”
At least she was calling me George again. That seemed like progress, even though she was passing out drunk.
“Night, June Bug.”
The only answer was her soft breathing as she slept.
24
June
A sharp pain stabbed me behind the eyes and my stomach felt like it had been scraped out like a pumpkin. I groaned, tucking my knees up. Why had I let Cassidy talk me into drinking so much? I never drank to excess. I knew the precise ratios of alcohol, food, and water my body required to avoid the misery of a hangover. Why had I tossed that all aside and poured blackberry moonshine down my throat last night?
To be fair, it had been fun while it lasted.
Now it was decidedly not fun. I groaned again and rubbed my eyes before taking a chance and opening them.
This wasn’t my room.
I sat up and everything started spinning. My stomach roiled, protesting the sudden movement. I clutched my belly and closed my eyes.
“You all right?”
That soft low voice nearly undid me.
I took a shaky breath, my eyes still closed. George. I was in George’s bedroom. He’d come to get me last night. I’d been… had I really been standing on a table? Embarrassment washed over me. I’d made a complete spectacle of myself. And George had brought me here.
I’d walked out on him. And he’d still taken care of me.
Pulling my legs up, I rested my forehead on my knees. “Why?”
“Because you needed me.”
“That’s all?”
The sheets rustled and I felt the mattress shift with his weight. His large hand rested against my back, warm and comforting. “That’s all.”
I sniffed and risked a peek at him. He was dressed in a rumpled t-shirt and sweats, his hair disheveled. His eyelids drooped a little, like he wasn’t fully awake, and one corner of his mouth hooked in a slight grin.
He was the most beautiful thing I’d ever seen.
“Men don’t like me after we’ve had sex,” I said.
“Then you were with the wrong men.”
I sat up a little straighter. That hadn’t ever occurred to me as a possible explanation. But I was still convinced the root of the problem was me. “That’s why I left the other night. In the past, when a relationship progressed to intercourse, it ended shortly thereafter. I came to the conclusion that I’m unsuitable for that type of intimacy.”
“Ah hell, June, why didn’t you talk to me about this?” There was a touch of heat in his voice and I could tell he was angry. Or hurt. It was hard for me to tell the difference. “If you’d have told me how you felt, we could have figured it out. I wouldn’t have…”
“You seemed to find satisfaction in our activities.”
“No, I didn’t. It was terrible.”
My heart sank and the rawness in my stomach clawed at me. “That’s what I’m trying to point out. I’m ill-equipped for this.”
“June, look at me.” He spun me around so I was facing him. “It wasn’t terrible because you weren’t good at it. It was terrible because you didn’t want to be there. Because I thought we were ready to share that with each other, and it turns out that readiness was awfully one-sided. It was terrible because before I could catch my breath, you were running out the door.”
“I apologize for the way I left.”
“Apology accepted,” he said. “But June, that was not what I wanted from you. If you weren’t ready—”
“I should be ready,” I said, frustration leaking into my voice. “I care about you, and I’m attracted to you. And I don’t fully comprehend why, but you’re attracted to me, too. I want to understand how to do this right, but I just don’t. I can tell you the square root of three hundred twenty-four, but I can’t manage to be truly intimate with someone. Even someone as amazing as you.”
“What is the square root of three hundred twenty-four?”
“Eighteen.”
“Jesus.” He scrubbed his hands over his face. “June Bug, I have no idea why you being a human calculator is such a turn-on, but hell if it isn’t.”
That made me crack the tiniest of smiles.
He studied my face for a long moment, narrowing his eyes, as if he were thinking deeply. “Do you remember when we danced at the Lookout?”
“Yes.”
“You said you didn’t understand dancing.”
“That’s correct.”
“Did you understand it by the time we were finished?”
I thought back to that night. The way his hands had felt. His body pressed against mine. The rhythm and movement as we swayed to the music. It had been arousing and enjoyable.
“Yes, I did understand dancing by the time we finished.”
“Good. I’m going to do the same thing again.”
“But you already explained dancing. I don’t need another lesson. Unless you’re interested in another style, in which case—”
He touched a finger to my lips. “No, not dancing. I’m going to show you how to develop an intimate physical relationship.”
I furrowed my brow. “But we’ve already had sex.”
“Only technically. As far as I’m concerned, it doesn’t count.”
“Just because I didn’t achieve orgasm doesn’t mean the act didn’t occur.”
“This is what I’m talking about, June Bug. Physical intimacy isn’t just putting your dick in someone’s vagina. That’s all well and good, and I admit, I’ve had that and nothing more with a woman before. It was all right. But that’s not what I want with you. Call me old fashioned, but sex means something to me.”
“George, I keep trying to tell you. I don’t understand that part of it.”
He smiled. That slow sexy grin that made me ache. “I know you don’t. That’s why I’m going to show you.”
“Physical intimacy?”
He nodded.
“Like you did with dancing?”
He nodded again.
I glanced around the room, my eyes darting back and forth. “Now?”
“No. With baseball.”
“You played football.”
He l
aughed softly. “I played football professionally, but I played all the sports, June Bug. Besides, I don’t mean that literally. I’m going to take you around the bases, one by one.”
Realization dawned on me. I was familiar with the use of baseball as an analogy for the progression of physical intimacy. “Oh, I think I understand.”
He reached over and took my hand. Even now, his touch felt so good. So safe and comforting.
“We’re going to take it nice and slow,” he said. “I’m going old school with this. I’ll court you properly, like a good Bootleg girl deserves. No moving to a new base until you’re ready. We take as much time as you need.”
“So, for example, first base…”
“That’s kissing.”
“We’ve already had intercourse once, but you’re willing to not have sex again and just do… first-base activities?”
“That’s exactly what I’m saying. If you’re fine with first base, we do first base. When you’re ready for the next pitch, we’ll head for second.”
“And second is…” I glanced down at my chest. “Above the waist.”
“Right. Then, when you decide you’re ready for another pitch, we try third. That’s below the waist, for one or both of us. I vote both, but I’ll follow your lead.”
“And then?”
“Home base.” He reached out and ran his thumb down my cheek. “Unlike a baseball game, there’s no rush to make it home. We can stay at each base as long as you want. Hell, we can go backwards if we have to.”
This made sense to me. It was orderly, with a progressive sequence of events, each building on the previous step. If I could become proficient at each base, I could move on to the next, ready to take on a new challenge. By the time we went all the way home—if he was patient enough to stick with me—maybe I’d be ready. Maybe I’d be able to connect with him.
“I think this has the potential to be successful.”
He grinned. “Of course it does. You can’t be the only genius around here.”
But why would he do this? George Thompson was an attractive man. A former professional football player. Financially secure. Sexy. Fun to be around. He could have any woman he wanted. Why would he go to all this trouble for me?
“What are you thinking now?” he asked. “You looked excited for a second, but now you seem upset again. Or is that just the hangover?”
“The hangover is decidedly unpleasant, but no, that’s not it.” I took a deep breath. “There’s a piece of this I don’t understand.”
“What’s that?”
“Why would you do this? Why go to so much trouble?”
He held my gaze, his brown eyes looking deep into mine. “Because I’m in love with you.”
Emotion surged through me, crashing like an ocean wave. “Love?”
“Yes, June Bug. I am crazy, stupid in love with you. And I’ll do just about anything if it gets you there with me.”
“Run the bases,” I said.
“Run them, walk them—hell, we can crawl. As long as you’re not running off in the other direction, trying to get away from me.”
I looked at him in awe. This man loved me. We’d slept together. And he loved me. This piece of information was going to take some time to process. But for now, I let the happiness of it bubble to the surface as another realization dawned on me.
“George. My feelings of fondness for you have grown to a state of committed affection, punctuated by tenderness and infatuation.”
He grinned and touched my cheek. “You mean you’re in love with me, too?”
“Yes, I’m in love with you, too.”
25
George
First base would have felt good, right then and there. Of course, with June dressed in nothing but one of my t-shirts and a pair of boxers, resisting the desire to steal second—or third—would have taken some superhuman willpower.
But rehabbing June’s hangover was more important than my desire to get my hands—and my mouth—on her. She wouldn’t let me anywhere near her until she brushed her teeth, and even then, she wasn’t feeling well enough for me to kiss her properly.
So instead of asking her to throw my first pitch, I took her home for clean clothes, then bought her breakfast at Moonshine. We medicated with eggs, waffles, and coffee. By the time we were done, I think we both felt better.
I know I did.
June was a woman who challenged me at every turn. Her uniqueness put some people off, but it drew me right in. I loved her intelligence and her no-nonsense attitude. And there was a softness to her, just beneath the surface. She saw me for more than being GT Thompson, and I saw more than the June Tucker her friends and neighbors assumed her to be.
I knew she came by her fear of intimacy honestly. But she wasn’t nearly as bad at human interaction as she thought. Like I’d told her father, she’d been doing just fine with me. I understood her, as much as a man can understand a woman.
I loved her. I was in this for the long game. I just needed to convince her she belonged out on the field with me.
While June went back to her home office to work—it was a Thursday, after all—I headed to my rental to get in my PT. My knee was getting stronger. Whether it was the hot springs, my physical therapy exercises, or time—probably a combination of all three—I was healing. My balance and strength were both improving, and I was regaining some of the knee mobility I’d lost.
I was drying off after a shower when my phone rang. I wrapped the towel around my waist and answered. It was Andrea.
“Hey, GT. Do you have a second?”
“Sure, what’s up?” I sank down on the couch. Mellow hopped over, so I scooped her up and set her on my thigh.
“I have everything ready to file your taxes. Just a heads up on that.”
“Thanks. Anything important in the mail lately?”
“Um, no, not really.” She paused for a second and it sounded like she was thumbing through paperwork. “Just the usual stuff. Speaking of mail, when are you coming back to Philly?”
“Not anytime soon,” I said.
“So, you’re just… staying out there?”
“Yeah.”
“Hmm.”
This was odd. Andrea didn’t usually have much to say about where I went or what I did with my time. Not unless it required travel arrangements or dinner reservations. Those were part of her job. But my staying in Bootleg didn’t require her to do anything new.
“What are you hmm-ing about?” I asked.
“Oh, nothing. I’m just surprised you haven’t gone home.”
I petted Mellow, running my hand over her impossibly soft fur. “I like where things are going out here. And it’s not like I have to get in shape for training camp.”
“True. Well, I just wanted to touch base, and let you know I’m going out of town this weekend.”
“Have a nice time.”
“Thanks,” she said. “I will.”
What June had said about Andrea before poked at me. She had worked for me for a long time, but I also didn’t follow-up on things very often. I just let her do her thing and assumed everything was fine. And it should have been. I’d have heard about it if Andrea was messing up somewhere, wouldn’t I?
I told myself I was worrying over nothing. Andrea was good at her job. It was one thing I didn’t need to be concerned about.
* * *
Saturday, I picked June up for a late breakfast. Afterward, we decided to walk off the meal. We wandered hand-in-hand through town, both of us quiet. Hints of spring were in the early April air, the cool breeze fresh, rather than biting.
We got all the way to Bootleg Springs High School and walked past the main building. The ball fields were in the back. June stopped in front of the chain link fence.
“My dad used to coach baseball here.”
“Did he?”
She nodded. “He only retired as coach a few years ago. He still goes to all the games.”
“I take it your dad got you into spo
rts.”
“Yes. At first I just wanted to know what the numbers meant. But it gave us something to do together. Something to talk about.”
“Did you come to the games here?” I asked.
“All the time.”
“Were you crushing on any of the players?” I nudged her gently.
I meant it as a tease, a chance for me to joke about football players being better than baseball, but her expression grew serious.
“Yes. Unfortunately.”
“Uh-oh. What happened?”
She held onto the chain link fence and looked out at the field. “Senior year, I liked a boy on the team. Hank Preston. I’d never paid a lot of attention to boys before that. Cassidy and Scarlett did, but I could take them or leave them. But I went to all the games, and he started paying attention to me. I liked that. He asked me to the prom, but…”
I stroked her hair. “But what?”
“We didn’t go. A few days before, we were together after practice. I went with him to his house. We had… we had sex. And then he took Tanya Varney to the prom and didn’t talk to me anymore.”
“Oh my god, June.”
“I heard later that he told his friends he just wanted to find out if I was a robot, like people said.”
Anger coursed through me, searing me from the inside. “Does he still live in town? Because I would love to pay him a visit.”
She sighed. “No, and anyway, it was a long time ago.”
“I hope you let your sister and Scarlett go after him.”
“Oh, they did. Scarlett flattened his tires with a screwdriver and Cassidy spread a rumor that he hadn’t been able to keep an erection long enough to have intercourse with me.”
I ran my hand down her back. “I would have done worse. Broke his nose, for starters.”
“Do you want to know what doesn’t make any sense?”
“Sure.”
“I really wanted to go to my prom.”
“Why doesn’t that make sense?”
“It was a dance,” she said with a shrug. “I’d never cared about going to a dance before that one. But Mom took me into Perrinville to get a dress and Cassidy was going to do my hair. I actually wanted to go. And even though what Hank did to me before that night was arguably worse, sitting home on prom night was when it hurt the most.”
Bourbon Bliss: Bootleg Springs Book Four Page 17