Fall for You: Boys of Alabama

by Mica Halstead

  “Well I know I ain’t never seen you in here before, sugar. What’s your name?” She asks, pulling a rag from her belt loop and wiping the bar down in front of me.

  I smile at her. “Nope, my first night here. My name’s Lexi. Lexi Carter.” Her eyes widen and she lets out a loud whoop.

  “Hot damn! You’re the new teacher. I’m friends with Avery,” she says, going on, “and I have heard aallll about you and Coach James. Sugar, all the girls in town are jealous of you and boy do I mean jeaaallooous. Ford James is hottttt. That boy is like an Old Vatted Glenlivet, he gets finer with age.” I smile at her quizzically, because quite frankly I have no clue what she’s talking about. She throws her head back and laughs. “Old Vatted Glenlivet is a super old whiskey, top shelf. Just like Crawford James.” That makes me laugh.

  “You got that right,” I say. Because she isn’t wrong, that man is all sorts of fine.

  “Names Whitley, everybody calls me Whit.” She shoves her hand out and I reach out and shake it.

  “Well, it’s nice to meet you Whit. And thank you for your beautiful description of Ford. I have to agree, that man is smokin’.” Just as I take another swig of my beer I hear the door behind me creak open and in a split second Avery is sliding onto the stool beside me. She bangs on the counter.

  “Whit. What the fuck? You were supposed to be off an hour ago. Honey Jack. Stat. And make it a double.” She slings her purse over the back of the chair, huffing her hair out of her face and turns her attention to me. “Sorry I’m late. Blake wouldn’t get out of the tub and then Gen needed help with her homework and dear god, Whit, where’s my whiskey?!” She screeches, just as the shot glass lands in front of her. Whit tips the bottle up and fills it to the rim.

  “Fucking chill, Avery. You aren’t my only customer. And I’m not off yet because Dean is late. A-freaking-gain.” She turns and puts the bottle back on the shelf behind her.

  “I can’t believe I pay you to cuss at my customers,” a deep voice rumbles from the opposite end of the bar and Avery squeals, jumping from her stool. She rounds the corner of the bar top and flings herself at a man. But he’s not just any man, this man is aaall man, his hair is long enough to pull up in a man-bun and it’s the color of onyx. His full beard matches his coal black hair and is neatly trimmed, and he is huge. I mean freaking massive. His thighs are thick behind his dark denim jeans and he is beautiful and burly. But if looks could kill, this Dean fella would be dead because Whit looks pissed.

  “Late, fucking again, Dean.” She snaps, taking her apron off and tossing it at him after he’s put Avery down. “Cash me out. Now” A slow smile spread across Deans face. He shakes his head.

  “Easy, Whit. You know I like it when you’re feisty.” She narrows her eyes at him, spins on her heel, grabs two whiskey bottles and saunters past him, hip checking him out of the way.

  “Ladies, let’s grab a table,” she says, “trust me, the service at the bar is shit.” Avery snorts, cracking up. She grabs her purse and drink from the bar and we both follow Whit to a table.

  “I wish you two would just bang and get it out of your systems,” she says, pouring herself a shot from the liquor bottle and sliding it my way just as the waitress drops off two extra glasses. Whitley narrows her eyes at Avery.

  “Abso-fucking-lutely not, Avery. I’m not going there again. He is irresponsible, unreliable, and may I remind you that he left me high and dry when I needed him the most?” Averys face softens and she reaches across the table to rest her hand on Whits. I feel a little left out, but this is obviously something major.

  “I know babe,” Avery says, “but how many times can one person say he’s sorry before you finally accept his apology?” Whit’s eyes shine with unshed tears. She picks the bottle up and takes a rather large swig from it.

  “Enough of this shit,” she says, pointing the bottle at me, “and don’t ask. Because I am not reliving that right now.” I raise my hands in front of me in surrender.

  “Hey, I didn’t say a thing.” I say, taking a sip from my glass.

  “Great. Now tell me all about sex with Crawford James.”

  Ford

  I put the car in park and snagged the bouquet of wildflowers off the passenger seat, exiting my truck and pocketing my keys. I make my way down the worn-out path between my truck and the headstone. I come out here a lot, usually with the kids in tow. They like to deliver flowers and decorate Zoe’s grave for each holiday. It’s kind of our thing. I don’t often come alone, but I’m struggling with all these big feelings for Lex and I don’t know what’s right and what’s not. Deep down I know Zoe wouldn’t want me to be a miserable bastard for the rest of my life. She’d want me to fall in love and find someone who loves the kids just as much as I do but it’s not easy feeling like I’m replacing my wife.

  I make it to her grave and replace the dead flowers with fresh ones, running my hand over the cool stone. This never gets any easier. My emotions are always on high alert whenever I come here. I press a kiss to my fingers and press it against her name written in stone. “Zoe Estelle James, beloved wife, mother, and daughter.”

  I drop down onto the grass in front of the stone. Reclining back on my hands I looked upwards at the sky, heaved out a huge sigh.

  “Hey Zo,” I said, feeling ridiculous for talking to nobody but I need to get it all out. Need to say what was on my heart, all the things making my soul weary. She believed in all that shit. Good karma, bad karma, balancing your chakra. I laugh out loud and shake my head, emotion still clogging my throat.

  “I’m sure you know why I’m here. I didn’t mean to meet someone and fall in love. That was never in the cards for me. I was content just raising our kids, teaching, and coaching. And then all of the sudden, right outta nowhere, here she came. Crashing into my life. Fucking it all up but in the best way possible.” I go on, inhaling a shaky breath. “I’m sure I don’t need to go into details. You probably orchestrated all of this shit. Saw me just going through the motions and living each day like it was the same as the one before. You probably thought to yourself, “I wonder what I can do to make him understand,” and it’s almost like you hand-picked Alexis for me. Her heart and her soul, she’s just so pure. And so forgiving. A lot like you were. Like you would be if you were still here,” a stray tear slides down my cheek.

  “But you’re not here. Not anymore. And I’m just not sure if it’s okay to have these big feelings? Is it okay for me to feel the way that I feel about someone that isn’t my wife? Someone that isn’t the mother of my children. I just need you to tell me that this is okay, that welcoming her into the kids lives and my life is okay. I need a sign, Zoe. Anything.” I finish, feeling utterly fucking ridiculous that I’m sitting in a cemetery talking to the wind. I sit there silently for a few minutes.

  I heave out a huge sigh and begin to push up off the ground. At the same time, a small breeze blows in and a butterfly flutters by and lands on Zoe’s headstone.

  Holy fuck. Zoe used to be obsessed with butterflies. It started in junior high but carried on all the way into adulthood. She could go on for hours about them. I stand up and take a closer look.

  I can’t believe what I’m seeing. A Palos Verdes Blue butterfly. I’m instantly taken back to a conversation we had our freshman year of school.

  “Crawford James, where have you been?” Zoe asks as she saddles up next to me and props her shoulder against the locker beside mine. Man, she’s pretty.

  “Been waitin’ on you to marry me, Zoe Estelle. Where have you been?” She rolls her eyes at the same line I’ve used on her since 7th grade, when she kissed me under the bleachers after a football game.

  “Your pretty boy stuff doesn’t work on me, Ford,” she says and I finish the same sentence she’s been usin’ on me all this time, “I know, I know. I gotta ask your daddy. And I will. Just as soon as we graduate,” I slam my locker and she hooks her hand around my arm and falls into step beside me.

  “What useless butterfly fact do you ha
ve for me today?” I say as we make our way to homeroom. She laughs and tosses her hair over her shoulder. This girl is obsessed with butterflies. It’s adorable.

  “Alright, so get this. The Palos Verdes Blue butterfly. The rarest butterfly in the world. It was thought in 1994 that they were extinct." She goes on, talking fast like she always does when she talks about butterflies.

  “And so what, now they aren’t?” I ask, steering us into our home room class and sitting down at my desk. She follows.

  “NO! They discovered a colony of them in California. Isn’t that incredible? It’s believed that there are only 200 in existence,” she finishes, twisting her hair up into a top knot, her cheeks flushed with excitement.

  “Did you also know that butterflies are thought to symbolize renewal after death? Like a sign that your loved one is still with you. When I die, I hope I can come back as a Palos Verdes Blue butterfly. Rare and exciting.” She grins over at me just as the bell rings.

  I’m blown the fuck away. Right in front of my eyes is this fucking butterfly. I never remembered that conversation, not before today. A sob escapes me and I shake my head. Unfuckingbelievable. The butterfly flutters from its perch on the headstone and lands on my hand before fluttering away altogether. I wasn’t sure what kind of sign I was looking for but that was clearer than I could have ever imagined.

  Lex

  Knocking on the front door, I bounce on my toes, waiting on Ford to answer. I just got back from a jog and he’d mentioned the kids were gone so I thought I’d pop by and say hi. No answer. I can hear rock music coming from deep inside the house. I try the knob and it’s unlocked so I make my way in.

  “Babe, you in here?” I call out, making my way towards the kitchen but stop when I hear the music coming from the basement. I head down and stutter step to a stop when I hit the bottom of the stairs. God this man is sexy. He’s lying on the wait bench, lifting the bar above his head. I can see his muscles bunching and stretching as he grunts out another set. Leaning against the door jam I wait for him to notice me. He lowers the bar back to it’s spot and sits up, finally realizing I’m here.

  “Enjoying the show?” He asks, standing up and making his way towards me.

  “Always,” I say, pressing up on my toes and placing a kiss on his mouth.

  ”This space is great,” I go on, taking a look around. I’ve never been down here. He’s got the weight bench, a pull-up bar, a treadmill, a leg press, and “Oh my god, is that a massage table?” I ask, making my way towards it.

  “Yeah. It was a 5th anniversary present for Zo. She had just gotten her massage therapist license and I bought it for her so she could do massages here or take the table with her to appointments.” He runs his finger over the head rest and looks at me. “Hop up here,” he directs, patting the table. I shake my head no.

  “No no. That’s okay.” I say, not sure if it’s okay for me to say yes to laying on his dead wife’s massage table.

  “Come on,” he continues, turning around and grabbing some oil off of the shelf behind him, “you just got back from a jog. You’ve been working crazy hard between work and cheerleading. Let me give you a massage.” I hesitate before slipping my sneakers off and pulling my tank over my head and dropping it to the floor, leaving me in nothing but a sports bra and tiny athletic shorts.

  “Fine,” I say, climbing up onto the table and settling onto my stomach, “but you owe me.” I joke and he snickers, squeezing the oil onto my back and spreading it around with his hands before going to work on my back, kneading the knots between my shoulders and working his way down to my lower back.

  “Oh my god,” I mumble, “this feels amazing.” Ford chuckles.

  “Of course it does. I’m amazing.” He goes on, grazing his hands over my ass before tugging my shorts down. I lift my hips to assist him in his journey. Who am I to say no? They whisper to the floor and his hands are back on me. Working his way down my thighs, alternating between massaging and featherlight touches. He massages his way down my calf and then switches legs, working his way from my calf to my thigh on that leg before taking both of my cheeks in his hands and massaging them. I whimper, all the senses in my body on high alert. The bass of the music pulsing in the background, my breathing, his breathing. The feel of his hands on my body.

  He drags his hand to the inside of my thigh before running his finger up the seam of my pussy over my panties and I tilt my hips back towards him. He takes the opportunity to snag my panties and drag them down my legs.

  “On your knees,” he commands, dipping one finger into my heat. I follow his instructions, greedy for his touch. I leave my face pressed against the table and lift up onto my knees, spreading my legs open for him. He wastes no time dipping his fingers inside me. He uses his other hand, sliding it up my belly, and capturing my nipple between his fingers and rolling it. Those two things happening simultaneously have me rolling my hips. He chuckles.

  “You like that?” he gruffs out, applying pressure to my clit as he works his fingers inside me. I whimper because it feels so fucking good and because I want him inside me. Now. Fast. I hear the rustle of fabric as he slides his gym shorts down.

  “Sit up,” he commands, and I’m barely on my ass before he grips my hips and yanks me forward, thrusting inside me. I cry out.

  “Shit, I’m sorry,” he eases back, “did I hurt you?” I shake my head.

  “No, no. It feels so good. Again,” I whisper, gripping his shoulders and rocking my hips against him. He takes over like he always does, thrusting inside me, the table scraping along the floor with the motion. I’m so close already. Every time with Ford is better than the last.

  “So close, so close,” I chant and he presses his thumb to my clit and my orgasm crashes through me. I cling to his neck for support as he throws my leg over his shoulder and pounds into me, relentlessly, chasing his release. Leaning back so I can watch his face as he fucks me, I take in his features. The veins popping out in his neck as he slams into me, the way his eyes darken with desire as he watches me watch him. He swoops in for a searing kiss as he empties himself inside of me.

  Clutching each other, we take a minute to catch our breath and I settle my face into the crook of his neck and breathe his scent in, raking my nails up and down his back under his shirt. He eases back, slowly sliding out of me and cleaning himself off with a rag from the table and then doing the same to me.

  “I didn’t hurt you, did I?” he asks, concern lacing his face. I shake my head no.

  “Not at all. It was incredible,” I insist, suddenly feeling super weird that we just had sex on his dead wife’s massage table. After re-dressing and slipping my sneakers back on, he snags me by the hand and guides me upstairs and to the living room, sitting us both down on the couch. He nervously clears his throat, running his hand through his hair.

  “What’s up?” I ask, hesitantly. Suddenly anxious about what it is that’s making him so nervous. Is he breaking up with me? Was that goodbye sex?

  “So,” he starts, “I went to the cemetery today. Switched Zoe’s flowers with fresh ones.”

  “Ohh kay… and?” I ask, knowing there’s more to the story. He proceeds to tell me about what he went there for, and a butterfly he saw. By the time he’s finished the story, I’m in utter disbelief.

  “Holy shit,” I breathe. He arches an eyebrow.

  “Holy shit, indeed.”

  I laugh at his remark. “You really think it was a sign? That it was somehow her approval?” I ask.

  “I do,” he says, lacing his fingers with mine and tugging me closer. “I really, really do.” He presses a kiss to my lips. I can only hope he’s right, that Zoe would be okay with everything that transpired in such a short time. I don’t ever want to replace her, but I’m starting to fall in love with this man and his kids

  Ford

  Lex asks if I'll tell her what Zoe was like while we are tangled up in bed. The kids are still with my mom and we’ve spent the entire afternoon making love and being laz
y and now we’re lying in bed. She props her head up on her hand and brushes her hair off her shoulder, a small smile gracing her lips. I’m a little surprised she’s asking.

  “Sure. What is it you want to know?” I ask, lacing our fingers together, bringing her hand up to my lips.

  “Anything,” she says, shrugging her shoulders, “everything. I want to know whatever it is you want to tell me. I don’t want you to ever think that you can’t mention her or bring her up in conversation with me. I know how important she was to you.” She rests her head on my chest and begins toying with my shirt. I run my fingers through her soft hair.