Huck seems to appreciate the diversion of topic though. He says, “I told Maggie that you’re going to teach her how to bead and she’s really excited. She’s got a list of people she wants to make bracelets for.”
“Friendship bracelets are the best. They mean a lot to kids.” I know this because I have a couple of girls in one of my classes who made each other bracelets last year and they haven’t taken them off since. Friendships can be hard for kids to navigate and sharing something as simple as a bracelet can help them grasp the idea of commitment.
“When I was kid,” Huck says, “me and the guys had a secret handshake that involved spitting into our palms and approximately seven fist bumps.”
“Classy,” I reply. “We girls try to keep our spit to ourselves.”
“Not always, I hope,” he teases.
How does he do that? How does he turn a simple comment into something suggestive? I know my face is turning red because I can feel the heat. “Yes, well, if y’all will excuse me, I’m going to use the ladies’.”
I get up with the sole intention of splashing some cold water on my face. I hit the powder room under the backstairs. I’m gone fewer than five minutes, but when I get back Huck is the only one in the room. “Where’d Beau and Lexi go?” I ask.
“They decided to go over to Beau’s to watch a movie. Apparently, your brother has a bigger television screen.”
That he does, but I can’t believe Lexi jumped ship. “Lexi and I were supposed to plan Emmie’s wedding shower tonight.” I can only think they picked up on the chemistry cooking between me and Huck and they’re trying to play matchmaker by leaving us alone. “Seriously, that shower needs to be planned yesterday,” I say, trying to mask my nerves at being alone with him.
“I guess you’ll have to do it another time.” He gives me his full-on sexy rock star look which leaves me speechless.
Eventually I manage, “I guess we’ll have to.”
Alone with Huck in front of a roaring fire, I feel all of my good intentions to avoid romantic entanglement slide into oblivion.
He follows my gaze and settles himself down on the sofa beside the fire. “Why don’t you come over here and sit next to me? You look cold.”
I’m torn between sprinting to his side and fleeing out the front door. I’m not sure why he wants me to sit so close to him unless he wants something of an amorous nature to occur, which of course would be wonderful. But then again, not, because I’ve already decided nothing can happen between us.
“I won’t bite,” he persists.
That right there is the problem. I think I might just want him to.
Chapter 17
Sitting next to Huck on Lexi’s love seat is exquisite torture. The rock star turns toward me and my insides puddle like melted ice cream.
I blurt out, “So, do you have a girlfriend?” Talk about smooth. But it’s something I should know before anything more happens between us.
“I don’t date.”
I find that hard to believe. “Why not? I’d think you’d have all the dates you could ever want.”
“I have little enough free time to spend with Maggie as it is. I can’t imagine splitting it with someone else. I don’t want to upset my daughter’s world more than I already do.”
“So, you’re just going to live like a monk, until what, she goes away to college?”
“Who says I live like a monk?”
Holy crap, unbidden images race to the forefront of my brain like a runaway train. “Oh,” I somehow manage to croak. “I guess I just figured that you didn’t, you know, unless you dated.” Holy heck, what do I say now? I opt for, “Would you like some banana pudding?” I jump up off the couch like a crocodile just bit my butt.
“Sit down, Amelia,” Huck says this in such a way that suggests he has plans for me.
“I really want a banana pudding,” I tell him, then rush off to the kitchen to grab one. Not that I could actually eat it without fear of choking. Huck Wiley is getting all cozy with me, but he has no intention of dating me properly. No, sir, he’s looking for a hook-up. Of all the nerve! I’m no cheap groupie looking for some wham-bam-thank-you-ma’am rock star action. That’s not who I am. Yet even as I think that, I can definitely feel the excitement of such a thing, and my nervous system responds accordingly. My temples feel like they’re being stabbed with broken shards of glass all the while other places begin to throb with need.
I wonder if I can sneak out the back door and leave. Of course, I don’t have my purse, but I could run over to Beau’s and borrow his car. He could swap with me tomorrow. While I consider my options, Huck saunters into the kitchen like a hungry bear looking for dinner. One guess who dinner is?
“Why’d you run off, Amelia?” he asks.
“I told you, I want some banana pudding.” He looks at my empty hands, so I hurry to the fridge to grab a half-pint sized Mason jar that Shuckie sells it in.
Huck walks up behind me, I can feel his body heat, smell his aftershave, and I know that he’s standing so close he’s blocking my exit.
I whip around so fast I almost hit him in the face with my pudding. He growls, “Are you upset that I don’t live like a monk?”
“Psh, why would I care? Your life is your own business.”
“Do you live like a nun, Amelia?” he asks so suggestively that my knees almost buckle.
“I don’t even have a rosary,” I retaliate like that somehow makes me a loose woman.
He closes the gap between us and I have no idea how I keep from spontaneously combusting. “Might you be interested in not living like a nun sometime when I’m not living like a monk?”
I hurry to set the jar down on the counter before putting one hand on my hip, all the while waving the pointer finger of my other hand at him like weapon. “Mr. Wiley,” I scold in a schoolmarmish kind of way, “while I’m sure many women would be thrilled to take you up on your offer to molest them, I’m not one of them.”
“I’ve never molested anyone in my life,” he sounds shocked and hurt.
I ignore him. “I save that kind of intimacy for committed relationships.” Then I inform him like the bride of God I claim not to be, “You might think I’m just some small town nobody, but you’re wrong. I’m more than that. I’m a daughter, a friend, a business owner. Sure, I might have a few troubles, but that doesn’t mean I have difficulty making decisions about my entire life. I’m no one-night stand.” I feel myself getting blurred vision from using all my breath to tell him off, so I stop and inhale. “I’m probably going to have to count to three thousand and one tonight to calm down, you have me so mad.”
Huck takes a step toward me. I could run if I wanted to, but I don’t. When he puts his hands on my waist, I should sock him in the nose, but the thought doesn’t occur to me until it’s too late. “I like you, Amelia Frothingham. I didn’t mean to insult you by suggesting anything you find distasteful.”
“Like me? What does that have to do with your lascivious offer? You don’t like me; you want to use me.” And God help me, I’m very tempted to let him.
“Didn’t the other night at the football field feel special to you? Cause it sure did to me. I feel like we shared private parts of ourselves that night, and that’s not something I do. I don’t have to in order to ‘not live like a monk,’ as you call it. And I did not try to get to know you with the intention of getting you into the sack, either. I spent time with you because I find you charming and interesting.”
“I don’t believe that for one minute,” I retaliate. “I think you’re just looking for a diversion while you’re in Creek Water and I’m not going to be the source of your fun.” If the Girl Scouts had a Keep Your Knees Together badge, I would have surely just earned mine. I continue, “I have to live here long after you leave and I’m not about to let you ruin my reputation or sense of peace here at home by breaking my heart.”
He looks good and confused, but so I am. Why am I carrying on so much? I should have simply said, Thanks f
or the offer, Romeo, but no thanks. I’ve got necklaces to bead. But I didn’t say that and now I’ve gone and made things weirder between us. After all, who tells a man that he has the power to break their heart after only a couple of encounters?
The thing is, it doesn’t feel like I just met Huck. I feel like we’ve been entwined for a very long time. Through his music I’ve gotten to know how deeply he can feel, and I’d be a complete idiot to accept anything less.
Huck studies my face, which undoubtedly gives away every thought crossing my brain, including one or two more explicit ones. In response, the rock star slowly lowers his mouth. With his lips a mere breath from mine, he groans, “I like you, Amelia. While I can’t offer you the traditional relationship you so obviously desire, I would very much like to spend time with you.” He doesn’t have to add in bed because I know full-well that’s what he means.
In true deer-in-the-headlights fashion, I don’t move a muscle, as he continues to hypnotize me with his words. “You’re lovely, you’re fun, you’re thoughtful, you’re interesting, and I like you.”
Then he touches his lips to mine so softly that I barely feel it. His kiss is as light as a whisper, but affects me like I’ve been hit by a tornado. Lust rages through me and despite the cold room we’re standing in, sweat beads my brow. I want to kiss him back so badly, but he’s going to leave Creek Water someday. If I succumb to temptation, he’ll break my heart.
I’m not easy-going like other people. I don’t just pick up and move on to the next thing. I’m not casual about my feelings. I’m a planner, a worrier, a counter. So, instead of returning Huck’s advances, I gently put my hands on his and remove his touch from my person.
Then I turn around and walk out of the room all the while mumbling, “One … three … five … seven … nine …” I walk into the parlor and grab my coat and purse and continue out the front door until I’m safely in my car. “Untethered” blasts through the speakers like it always does. I have to exorcise Huck Wiley from my head and the only way to do that is to stop listening to his music. So, I hit eject and when the CD slides out of the stereo, I take it out and break it in two. Then I throw it out the window. Of course, I’ll have to come back tomorrow and pick it up because I’m no litter bug, but for now I leave it.
Twenty-seven … twenty-nine … thirty-one …
Chapter 18
I should get a pet, a nice kitten or bunny, not a dog though. A dog needs more space to run and play than I can currently offer. I need an animal that will cuddle with me and be my friend but will mostly take care of itself. I should also repaint the crown moulding in my bedroom with a semi-gloss instead of the current flat paint that’s there now. Who uses a flat finish on crown moulding?
Maybe I should take a bubble bath.
Thought after thought spins through my head like I’m whipping up something in my Vitamix. Huck Wiley did this to me. Why couldn’t he have just kept his mouth to himself and found some other chippy in town to fool around with? Why did he have to ask me if I wanted to do the horizontal hokey pokey?
I continue to thrash around in my bed for hours. I don’t know what time I finally conked out, but it was late, probably early if we’re talking actual numbers on the clock. When I wake up, it’s light outside, and I’m twisted around my sheets so badly I look like a contortionist. I feel like crap on a cracker.
I slowly unwind the bedding from my waist as last night’s confrontation roars back into the forefront of my mind. When I look at the clock and see that it’s nearly nine, I don’t even bother getting dressed. I just get out of bed and trot down to the shop still wearing my white flannel nightie.
Mrs. P’s eyes go wide with surprise after I let her through the front door, and she gets a load of me. “Girl, did you get lucky last night? Cause if so, I think we need to have a chat about updating your nightclothes to something a little more appealing.”
I shake my bedhead and reply, “There was nothing lucky about last night, I assure you. Would you mind holding down the fort while I go upstairs and change?”
“Honey, go back to bed. I’ll stay as late as you need me to.”
I nod my head gratefully. “I’ll be down at noon with lunch.” Then I crawl back up the stairs to my apartment and proceed to sit on the sofa in a funk for two solid hours. I weigh the outcome of letting my lustful thoughts play out in real life against the inevitable desertion I’d feel when Huck leaves Creek Water. Because he is going to leave.
Yet being with him would be a once-in-a-lifetime experience. I’ve no doubt our chemistry would be explosive, but I’m afraid it would ruin other men for me. Wasn’t it Lord Tennyson who said, “It’s better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all?” Clearly the esteemed poet had never considered a liaison with a rock star. Because in Huck’s case, getting in too deep could mean never recovering my equilibrium.
I finally screw up enough gumption to get into the shower, but the thoughts don’t leave my head. If nothing else, I’m pretty sure I become more tempted than ever before—probably due to the fact that I’m naked (!).
I stay in a Huck-Wiley-induced haze for the better part of two days. I don’t go to family dinner, I don’t answer phone calls, I just plod through my routine like a robot with a failing battery. To be honest, I’m surprised someone in the family hasn’t shown up. I send a psychic message of thanks to Emmie for her fast-approaching wedding which has been keeping everyone occupied elsewhere.
I start to feel more like myself by the time Sunday rolls around. After waking early and fixing myself a cup of tea, I turn on an oldies rock station. “I’m Gonna Be” by The Proclaimers is in progress. I can’t help but think that’s the kind of love I’m looking for. I want some man to sing about how he’d walk five hundred miles, then do it all over again just to fall down at my door. That’s commitment.
There are enough songs today about easy sex and one-night stands, dedicated to the gritty side of loving, but not nearly enough about meaningful relationships. Too bad the guy who sings this song is probably older than my daddy or I might track him down.
My store’s closed today and I’m not quite sure what to do with myself. Emmie and Zach are moving Emmie and Faye’s things over to Zach’s house. Beau and Lexi mentioned getting to work on the garden, to get things tidied in time for the wedding ceremony. Mama and Aunt Gracie are probably in full planning mode, which is something I definitely want to avoid.
While I could stay in my jammies all day and stream a series of romcoms, I haven’t left my building in days and feel the need for some fresh air. I put on a fifties-style circle skirt with some wool tights and pair it with a cute cardigan and some fur-lined boots before grabbing my coat and hitting the street. I’m not sure where I’m going, but it feels good to get out.
Downtown is nearly deserted since it’s Sunday. The only store open today is the tattoo parlor and the owner, Johnny Franks, is just getting out of his truck as I pass by. “Hey, Amelia, when are you going to stop by so I can give you some ink?”
Johnny and I went to junior prom together and while we were never a couple, we’ve remained friendly. “Probably about the same time you come over to my place to make yourself some nice jewelry,” I tease.
He tilts his head and bites his lip like he’s considering it. “I’m gonna have to think about that. Some pretty pearl earrings might be just the ticket.”
I laugh out loud. “You do that, Johnny.” As I slowly walk past, I give him a thorough once over, wondering if I’m missing an opportunity right here in town. Johnny’s got that bad-boy vibe going on, but as I amble past, my body doesn’t respond at all. I have to acknowledge that he’s not doing it for me. Not in the same way Huck Wiley does, darn it.
I cross the street to Bobby Jean’s where I’m gonna have Sunday breakfast. I’m suddenly famished, and I start to catalogue everything I want to order.
Bobby Jean greets, “Mornin’, hon. None of your family are here. Who’re you meetin’?”
“I
’m on my own today, Bobby Jean. Mind if I sit in a booth?” I don’t want to take up too much space, but I want to spread out a little, and there aren’t many folks here—that means most of them are getting ready for the 11:00 church service.
“Sure thing. Why don’t you grab the back booth and I’ll be over in a sec.”
I head to the corner table my daddy and Uncle Jesse think of as their own. Seriously, if it’s taken, they’ll wait rather than sit somewhere else. They’ve even given over to intimidation if they feel the other occupants are taking too long. I once witnessed Daddy tell Mrs. Heinz that if she’d hurry on up, he’d buy her lunch for her. She accepted his kind offer and took the rest of her meal to-go.
I sit so that my back is to the front door. I’m not looking to be noticed by anyone or spend my time small-talking. I’ve eaten precious little in the last couple of days and I’m ready to make up for lost time.
Bobby Jean brings over a hot chocolate for me, because that’s what I always order here. Then she hands me a menu. “You need to see this, or do you know what you want?”
I reply, “I’ll have one biscuit with gravy, one scrambled egg, a short-stack of blueberry pancakes, and a sticky bun. Please. Oh, and a side of well-done bacon.”
Bobby Jean eyes me like she’s trying to figure out what’s going on. I normally only get a muffin or something small. I smile brightly and announce, “I’m just super hungry this morning and everything sounds so good.” I had to say that last bit or the whole town would be speculating that I was in the family way by supper time.
While I sip my hot cocoa and wait for my meal, I start to feel my resolve come back. I have not worked on myself as hard as I have to let some fly-by-night rock star blow into town and knock me off balance. No sir, I’m stronger than that. And just as I’m about eighty percent sure I’m buying my bravado, I look out the window and watch as none other than Huckleberry Wiley strolls down the sidewalk holding the hand of a pretty little brown-haired girl.
The Plan: A Sweet and Sexy Rock Star Romantic Comedy (The Creek Water Series Book 3) Page 8