by Frankie Love
He cracks up, laughing hard. And so do I. He has a perfectly chiseled six-pack along his belly and fuck, it gets me wet. I stroke his shaft up and down. I love how hard he is in the morning and his balls are heavy. And his thighs are so muscular. I can't get enough of him.
"I'm still so wet for you," I tell him.
He grins. "Yeah?" he says.
I nod. "Is that bad?"
He shakes his head. "No, it's sexy."
"Yeah?" I ask. “You tell the boys at work about me? All the ranch hands?”
He laughs. "What do you think I’d say?"
"Oh, I don't know, that you have some hot new thing, a side piece?"
"Oh, you're no side piece."
I lick my lips. "I'm not? What am I?"
"Oh, you're the whole fucking thing. The whole shebang."
"The whole kit and caboodle?" I ask.
"I love it when you say that phrase."
"Yeah?"
"Yeah."
"What else do you like?" I ask, teasing his cock with my mouth. My lips wrap him up, sucking him up and down. "You like that too?" I moan against him.
He groans. "Fuck, baby, I love it."
I begin to suck him harder, up and down. I love to get him off. I know he likes it too. He smacks my ass and drags me closer, moving my ass to his mouth so he can grind his mouth against my pussy.
I love it when we get off like this. And he begins to lick my pussy as I suck his cock. He drags my ass to his mouth. His chiseled jaw licking my cunt up and down. Nice and good. I'm so wet for him, juicy and slick. And he knows it. I feel him move against me. And I suck his cock until I know he's about to burst.
"You like that, baby?" I moan, fondling his balls as he's about to explode in my mouth. I love it when his cum slides down my throat and I'm ready for his ribbons of cum to release. I suck him harder and harder. And he slaps my ass, sucking me so nice and good. His tongue deep inside me. He adds a finger then another until I can barely breathe.
I'm moaning, deep, deeper. Writhing nice and hard until both of us are spent, until we're nothing but orgasm. One release after another. Slick and wet. Sliding against each other. One. Deliciously slippery. Salvation. We get off, delirious, drunk, a happy elixir, a morning tonic that cures more than a hangover. We are in love.
I roll into his arms and he cradles me. “So, that was a good way to start the weekend.”
We have several hours until he needs to be at his mom's. And it's my favorite part of the day. Of course, we've only had a few of these, but still, I savor them and I can cross my fingers and my toes that no dogs or humans vomit on this sacred morning that we have.
So he says, "I have a few surprises."
"Surprises?" I say.
"Yeah," he says, "a few."
"Like what?"
"Well, first of all," he says, "I have some news." He pulls out his phone. "I got you an audition for America’s Got Back."
I frown, "America what?"
"Look," he says, "It's a new reality TV show. If you get on the show, you go on tour. It's around the world for 180 days. And every week you're in a different city doing a live performance. It's pretty amazing. You could get a record deal, a contract, a whole thing. If you audition, you could–"
"I don't want to audition for that," I say.
"Why not?" he says. "You're so talented."
"You've heard me sing a handful of times."
"I know, but–"
"No buts," I say, "I would never go on that show."
"Why, you're too good for it?"
"No," I scoff.
"You said you wanted to be on a show like that before–"
"What? Before my mom went to jail?" I sit up in bed, frustrated.
"Well, yeah? Before the kids and–"
I reach for my clothes, suddenly not liking the way this morning has turned out at all.
"Paisley, you love to sing. It was your whole dream, your whole passion in life, your–"
"Yeah, and then things changed. I don't want that anymore. I have other passions, other priorities, my family is my priority. I can't go on a 180-day tour."
"Well, you could get help. I could help, other people could."
"I don't want you to, this is my family. This is my job."
"I know, but I could be your family. We could get married."
"Even if we did get married, I don't want to leave. Not now. Not when Granger's in fourth grade. I want to watch him at his baseball games. I don't want to miss Sarah Jo's piano recitals. Not so I could go on some tour. I wouldn't want to miss out on those parts of their lives so that I could do what? Go on stage in fricking Amsterdam? No, thank you. This is my life. Here. The Ranch Lands."
"You'd want to miss out on a performance in Amsterdam so–"
"Yes, Holt. This is my whole world. Maybe in fifteen years when everyone's grown up and things are different, I’ll have a change of heart and I’ll be able to explore or want to explore this opportunity. But right now, this is where I want to be. Maybe there's ways to pursue my music here in the Ranch Lands. But if it takes me away from this place, I'm not interested." I swallow. "I'm really frustrated that you would even put my name on an application without asking me."
"I was trying to make a grand gesture," he says. "I was trying to do something romantic."
I exhale. "I see that. I do. And honestly, I do understand, and I appreciate it. Most people don't even think about me in that way. They want to give me handouts or money. They want to help my family and all of those things I do appreciate.
“But most people aren't thinking about me specifically, like what I need or what I might want. And you are. So thank you, Holt, for even thinking about my music. But there was a guy in the diner a few weeks ago, Hank Pinkerton. He was eating pot roast the night I met you, actually. He runs the Cherry Falls Festival. He said I could play a set if I wanted."
Holt's eyes lift. "Yeah?"
I nod. "I keep thinking about it. And that's actually what I would rather do. I don't want to go on tour. Even if I could get into a show like America's Got Back or whatever, I don't want to leave. Not now. I want to be here." I shove Holt. "And you said something really stupid a few minutes ago. About you staying with the kids if we got married."
Holt reaches for my hand. "Was that stupid?"
"I don't know, maybe. You can't say things like that, Holt, not if you don't mean them."
Holt reaches for something under his pillow. "Yeah, well, that's the thing, Paisley Cassidy. I did fucking mean it." He pulls open a box. "I want to marry you. What the hell are you thinking? Of course, I do. You're the best thing that's ever happened to me. I love you. Those three little words? I know it now. I know it today. And I know it forever. I love you. So you don't want a grand gesture, like some reality TV show audition. Fine. I understand.
“If you wanted to go on that road? Perform around the world? I'd support it, but I get it. You want to stay here?" He smiles. Hell, he grins. "I get it. You can't bear the idea of leaving me, the man you love, for 180 days."
I laugh. My smile is so wide. "That's not what I was saying," I chuckle, "but okay, maybe some of it was that I can't stand that idea, Holt. I don't want to leave you. I don't want to leave the kids. They've been through hell already. They've been through so much." I blink back tears. "And you've been through a lot too. We all have. I don't want to say goodbye to the people I care about. Not right now. I want to say hello. I want to wake up every day and say hello. I don't want to think about goodbyes right now. I want to say I love you every morning."
Holt smiles. "Is that a yes?"
"That's a hell yes."
"Will you let me build you a house?"
"I'll let you build me a house."
"Will you write me a love song?" he asks.
"I'll write you a love song, Holt Stone."
“You swear?"
I nod. "I swear."
"I love you, Paisley Cassidy. I know I'm not the perfect man–"
"Oh, stop
it," I say, wrapping my arms around the man of my dreams. "I love you now. And I love you forever. I love you for always." I'm naked and my heart is his. And I wrap myself in his arms.
Then I kiss him long and I kiss him deep. And I know that whatever happens next, he is mine.
He is mine forever. I love him. There's no bittersweet love here. This is a sweet love story through and through.
Epilogue 1
Paisley
The Cherry Falls Festival is today and it’s going to be beautiful. The sun is out. The cherries are everywhere and there's a ring on my finger. Well, I know that's not what makes it beautiful, but it's what makes me feel beautiful. I feel like a blushing bride, something I don't think I ever imagined I would be. Holt Stone is about to be my husband, and if you'd have asked me a year ago if I was ever going to get a happily ever after, I don't think I would have thought it was possible. But I was wrong. Turns out even a girl from the other side of the tracks with a mama who made a lot of bad choices, who broke her children's hearts in a million different ways, can get a happily ever after.
Holt Stone spent the last year building me and my brothers and sisters the most beautiful home you ever did see.
We got a wraparound porch. Every one of us got our own bedroom. He even built extra rooms just in case there's a baby or two, which I'm guessing there will be. And the bonus is, above the garage is a music studio all for me.
He hung my guitars up one by one. He got me a piano and a keyboard. For my birthday, he got me a signed Dolly Parton record, which is pretty much my most sacred possession. My husband-to-be is the best man in the whole damn world.
Abilene realizes now she was wrong 100 ways this side of Tuesday, but I've forgiven her. Really, she was just looking out for me, which is why she's going to be my maid of honor when we get married next week. I guess that's the kind of friend everyone wants, a friend who looks out for you. Even when it's hard to say the thing you've got to say, she does.
Right now, Sarah Jo is looking at me with starry eyes.
"What?" I ask. We're in my bedroom getting ready for the festival.
"I'm just thinking that you must be really nervous."
"Well, when you say things like that, I get really nervous."
"No, I'm just thinking you must be really nervous about what you have to tell Holt tonight."
I frown. "What do I have to tell Holt?"
She smirks. "Well, you know that thing."
"What thing?" I ask, narrowing my eyes.
"That thing, thing."
I swivel in my chair. I've been sitting at my vanity putting the finishing touches on my makeup. We're about to leave for the Cherry Falls Festival any minute. I have been nervous about it all week. This is going to be the first time I'm performing in front of everyone in town since I was in high school, which was four years ago. So yeah, the pressure's on. But that's not what Sarah Jo means. She knows something.
I swallow. "What do you know?"
She smiles. "You're pregnant."
My eyes widen.
"I'm sorry," she cringes. "I was taking out the trash and I saw the test box and..."
I blink back tears. "We're going to have a baby."
"Oh my God," she says, "this is so perfect."
"I can't believe it," I say. "I mean, we weren't planning on it."
Sarah Jo, now 12 going on 20, smiles at me. "Paisley, I don't think life ever goes as you plan it, but isn't that when all the best things happen?"
"I think so."
"Maybe you'll have twins." Then she gasps. "Or triplets."
"Stop it," I say. "Now let's not get crazy."
She laughs. "Okay. I promise I won't say a word."
"You better not."
"You better not what?" Holt asks, coming into the room.
"Nothing," I say. "Nothing at all. We need to go."
Holt frowns and Sarah Jo squeals, running out of the room.
"Okay, now you have to tell me."
"Nothing," I say. "We've got to go to the show. I don't want to be late. I'm already nervous."
"I know, but what aren't you saying?"
I groan. "Okay. It was going to be like a big thing later. I had this whole thing planned. I was going to..."
"What?" he asks. "You have me all squirrelly."
"Squirrelly?" I laugh. "Do 30-year-old men use the word squirrelly?"
"I don't know. I guess I did."
"Hey, how's your mom?" I ask, patting his shoulder, trying to switch topics.
"Is that your way to deflect?"
"Kind of. Did it work?"
"My ma's great. She actually had a really good morning."
"That's great," I say. "She settled in well?"
"Yeah. And I'm so happy that we found the facility we did. I've never seen her so relaxed."
Her home nurse suggested a new home for early-onset Alzheimer's patients that’s only 45 minutes away and has more therapeutic care options for Holt’s mother. And there are women her age there, so she has lots of company and friends. She has been there three weeks and has been really enjoying it. It's been a weight off Holt’s shoulders. Not because he has been resenting caring for his mom, but because he felt bad about her loneliness. She's able to work in the kitchen and help with baking and have more comradery. It's been really good for her mental health.
"So what were you and your sister conspiring about?"
"You really want the good news before we go?"
"Please," he says. "I hate surprises."
"That's true, you do. Okay. The thing is, I know you're going to get emotional when you hear the song today and I know this news is going to get you emotional too, so I just don't want you to be crying all day long."
Holt chuckles. "You're saying I'm not going to be able to keep myself in check?"
I laugh. "I don't know. I'm just saying you're going to be a father."
Holt's eyes light up. "What the hell are you talking about?"
"I know, right?" I start laughing. "I'm pregnant."
"Are you kidding me?"
I shake my head. "No. I took a test this morning while you were gone." I reach into my vanity and pull out a test stick. "Look, it's positive. We're having a baby. Well, here's another one. I took a couple of them. I told you. It's really real. I was a few days late and we weren't trying or anything and I'm never..."
"Oh my God." He pulls me into his arms. "Are you okay?"
"You and this question. Yes, I'm okay. Remember, I'm tough."
"I know, baby. You're the toughest girl I know. I love you. Look at you. You have a person inside of you."
"Our person," I tell him, "our little miracle."
"Oh my God," he says.
"I know, right?" I grin, reaching up on my tippy toes and kissing his lips. "Now, we've got to get to the show."
In the car, I turn on the music, putting on a song that I know Holt loves, Willie Nelson's “Our Song”. He looks at me and he squeezes my hand. The kids in the back of the Suburban don't argue, don't make a fuss. Usually, they would argue, asking to be the DJ, to put on some music that I don't understand. But today they get it. It's about me. My guitar's in the back. It's my music that they're waiting for. So I get to pick what music we listen to as we drive to Cherry Falls. Holt squeezes my hand and I wish his mom understood what the song means to him.
When we get to Cherry Falls, I set up at the festival, taking in the crowded city streets, the small town that is packed today. There are vendors out and children running around, stalls set up, and people everywhere. It's beautiful. It's like a small town from a movie. Everyone is smiling, decked out in their best, ready to celebrate not a national holiday, but their city just for what it is.
And when I get up on the main stage with my guitar in hand, hooked up to the amp, I lick my lips, settling my nerves. I’m wearing my pale peach dress, my cream-colored boots. My brown hair swept to the side, wanting to replicate the moment that night I met Holt Stone when he took me by the hand at the Tipsy Cow an
d changed my life in a million different ways.
He made me more than a believer that night. He made me his.
I was scared about this song, putting my heart out there, but I'm trying to be brave. I clear my throat and speak into the microphone. "I'm Paisley Cassidy and this song is called “Bittersweet Lane”. I wrote it for Holt Stone, the man of my dreams. This one's for you, baby."
When I finish singing, there's a hush that falls over the crowd and for a moment I feel like maybe I messed it all up royally.
But then there's applause that sets my heart on fire, that has a smile on my face that I haven't felt since I was 18 years old.
And I tap my boots on the wood plank floor of the stage and I begin to sing another song on my set list, and then another, and then another.
I said maybe I wasn't made for the stage.
I thought maybe my dreams were dashed a long time ago.
I know a world tour isn't high on my agenda this year or next.
I sure as heck can't go on a reality TV show anytime soon.
But I can stay here in my small town and give a concert for the people I love, for the man I love.
Right now, I can sing a song. Right now. So I do.
Epilogue 2
Holt
When he pulls around third base, I can't help but hoot and holler. Now, I know you're not supposed to make a big old ruckus when you're a parent in the stands, but I can't very well help it. It's my kid. He's my son. And he's about to make a home run. How can I not raise a fuss? It's my boy after all and he's in Little League.
"You got it, Handy! You got it!" I shout. He's seven years old and he's the light of my life. God, this boy is good. I'm clapping and Paisley's cheering and the whole crew is jumping up and down. It's like we've never seen a kid run before. I don't think I've ever been so damn happy, but here I am coaching my son's team like this is the major leagues.
Damn, it's a good day.
After his team has won, I'm at the barbecue grilling hamburgers and hot dogs at the house. Both teams are there, everyone. Winners and losers, because, hell, it's Little League after all. Paisley is nine months pregnant, because of course she is. We're on baby number four. Our whole life is fucking better than we could have imagined. We're still here in the Ranch Lands because, well, it's our home.