Then He Kissed Me: A Cottonbloom Novel (6 page)

“What about me?”

“What kind of trouble were you up to?”

“I’m not sure I want to tell you.”

“Geez, now you have to tell me or I’ll make up crazy stories.”

“Like what?” Laughter lilted her voice.

“Let’s see … you ran off and joined a troupe of travelling clowns for the summer. You attempted to learn their trade, but never made it beyond making a balloon weiner dog. You came home depressed that your lifelong dream of clownhood had been dashed.”

Her laughter vibrated the mattress. “You are ridiculous.”

“Anything you actually did will never live up to my imagination, so spill it.” He waited. The moment took on an importance beyond whatever stories she had to tell. A thirst to know everything about her plagued him.

As she fiddled with the edge of the sheet, her laughter trailed off. “Pretty typical teenage stuff, I suppose. I stopped trying to be the good girl and started hanging out with a rougher crowd. The ones who cut classes on a regular basis to drink and smoke pot. Cade was strict, but he worked odd shifts. It was easy to sneak out. I’d finally found something I was good at.”

Along with residual amusement, bitterness edged her words. He imagined her climbing out of her back window and into the hostas that grew around her house. “I always imagined you as homecoming queen or something. A tiara and everything.”

She barked a laugh. “Football games and homecoming were not my thing.”

“What about prom? Did you go?’

“I got asked.”

“But?”

“We didn’t have the money for a dress and hair and stuff, so another girl and I drank some beers we’d filched from her dad and watched old movies. What about you? You go to prom?”

He huffed. “Let’s see I was a sixteen-year-old senior who puberty bypassed. I was a foot shorter than most girls, my voice was still cracky, and my face could have been the before shot for an acne commercial. Even with all that, I somehow got up the courage to ask the head cheerleader to go with me.”

Her gasp was half surprise, half laughter and she propped her head on a hand to face him. “What did she say?”

“‘No.’ Actually, I think it was closer to ‘Hell no.’ After she finished laughing, of course.”

“That must have been mortifying.”

“Little bit.” Vast understatement. He’d pretended to be sick the next three days. He forced a nonchalant tone. “No regrets, right?”

“
That
I can’t say.”

“What do you regret?”

“Doing stuff that would have made things even harder for Cade if I’d been caught, but doing them anyway.”

“What kind of stuff?”

“I never turned down a dare. I drank liquor, smoked pot, skipped school. I once climbed the water tower over on this side to paint graffiti.”

“I remember that. They thought some delinquent boys did it.”

“Nope. It was me.” Regret or not, he could hear a sliver of pride in her voice.

“What else?”

“Stole a car.”

“How old were you?” He popped back up on his elbow, facing her.

“Fifteen. One of the quilting ladies left her keys in her giant Buick. I drove it about half a block down River Street one Saturday afternoon. I thought I heard sirens, parked it at the curb, and took off running. I was so scared I nearly wet myself.”

“I never heard anything about it.”

Her giggles turned into laughter. “That’s what was so funny. It was Ms. Candace. She stared at the empty spot for a while, then bee-bopped down half a block and drove off. I’m pretty sure she thought she’d just forgotten where she parked it.”

He laughed too, but it faded into a sense of melancholy. Her long dark hair cascaded around her shoulders to pool on the bed. He itched to touch it again. “I feel like I missed out on rites of passage or something.”

“If you want we can crash the next high school kegger.” A teasing speculation was in her voice.

“Har-har.”

“You could go play beer pong with a bunch of football players at the college or something.” Her teasing turned more contemplative. “Actually, why not relive your youth?”

“I’m about a decade too late for that.”

“For the high school kegger, yes. But we could get a little bit wild. Do things that scare us a little. Might be fun.”

“Like what?” He wasn’t sure he liked where she was headed, but knew he’d follow her anyway.

“We could climb the water tower, go floating down the river with a cooler of beer, stay out all night, steal a car.”

“I’m a professor and you’re a business owner. If we get caught—” He shook his head.

“We can skip the felony carjacking if you want.” The laughter lightening her voice reminded him of the old Tally.

The dim shadows made it difficult to get a read on her. Was she serious or teasing him? Sketching a list of pros and cons in his head, he determined the cons way outnumbered the pros, but one pro outweighed everything: getting to spend more time with her.

“Have you ever been skinny-dipping?” he asked.

Her intake of breath was audible, and on the exhale, she said, “Once or twice. A long time ago in a galaxy far, far away. Have you?”

Her
Star Wars
reference might have amused him if he wasn’t picturing water streaming over her naked body. “Nope. But I want to.” And suddenly, desperately he did. As long as it was with her. He didn’t want to give her a chance to say it was all a joke. “How about this? We both make a list of stuff we never got the chance to do. Then, we’ll tackle the lists together.”

“I wouldn’t have anything to put on a list.” Her voice was wary. “I thought this was for you.”

“Come on. At least, come up with a couple of things so I don’t feel like a complete loser. You didn’t go to any school dances, right?”

“Good grief, Nash. You are the opposite of a loser. You have a PhD for goodness sake. I barely got my high school diploma. If we’re comparing, I’m the loser.” In stark contrast to her tough-girl, wild exterior, a vulnerability wove through her words.

This side of her destroyed his common sense and tapped into his own insecurities. Unable to help himself, he wrapped his finger around a swath of her hair that had fallen forward over her shoulder. “You were a genius with numbers. You had to help me a time or two with my long division if I’m not mistaken.”

She plopped backward, her hair passing through his fingers like silk. “I’m no genius. I used to wonder if I was adopted or something.”

He dropped his head to his pillow, but stayed on his side, facing her. Reaching out, he tipped her face toward his with a finger. “Don’t sell yourself short, Tallulah.”

She took his hand and tangled their fingers, letting them rest on the covers between them. Neither of them spoke again, but Nash watched until her eyes drifted shut and her breathing deepened before allowing sleep to steal him away.

*   *   *

A man with rumpled hair and brown eyes trailed his mouth down her naked body, planting himself between her legs. She arched her back and tried to move her legs farther apart to give him better access.

Her leg was trapped. Bright sunshine danced stars behind her eyelids. Had she fallen asleep outside? Where was her mystery lover? She tensed and her eyes shot open, blinking to clear the fog of her dreams.

A stack of comic books on a messy nightstand was in her field of vision. Dust motes played in the sunbeams shining through the skylights. Memory flooded back. She was in Nash’s bedroom. Her head was pillowed on one of his arms while his other was draped over her waist. His hairy, heavy leg had caged her in. Dear Lord, they were spooning. Even more alarming, Nash had been her sexy dream man.

Her breathing hitched. She couldn’t deny that Nash had turned into a handsome man, and neither could she deny that when he’d walked out of the bathroom wearing nothing but a pair of boxer briefs, all her female parts tingled.

But Nash was the total opposite of the type of man she usually went for. For one thing, he was smart—really smart. For another, he seemed nice—adorably nice. Chivalrous even. Maybe that was something he’d picked up studying medieval knights or maybe it was his Southern DNA flaring to life in the humidity.

The way he’d swooped in last night to get her away from Heath had made her want to throw herself into his arms. And the way he’d insisted they come back to his place so she’d be safe made her heart flutter.

But, it was
Nash
. Her best friend. Until he wasn’t anymore.

What time was it? Birds trilled and called to one another. Probably still early then. She should get up and leave, but she had nowhere to be until noon. Reed Garrison, her second-in-command, was opening the gym that morning. Nash’s chest moved against her back with deep, slow breaths. As soon as she moved, he would awaken and the moment would be lost. A few more minutes wouldn’t hurt.

His hand was splayed on the bed in front of her. As kids, they’d held hands while wading the river. She’d watched him catch frogs and tie slipknots for rabbit snares. His hands had been small but his fingers dexterous.

Now his hands were huge, his palms broad and his fingers long. They looked completely unfamiliar. Gently, so he wouldn’t wake, she tilted his hand up a few inches. A white scar traced from the meaty part of his thumb around to the base of his index finger.

A rusty fishing hook had sliced him while he was casting around in the muddy reeds for crayfish. Blood had poured out, and she had hollered so loud both her parents had come running. Her mother took over, pressing a dishtowel over the wound while her father had called Nash’s house. By that time, his mother was already sick. His aunt Leora sat with her most days while his dad worked on the oilrig.

Her daddy drove him to the doctor in his old truck, and she had sat in the middle of the bench seat holding Nash’s uninjured hand, telling him he’d better not die. Ten stiches and a tetanus shot later, Nash was strutting around, proud of his battle scar, but he’d squeezed her hand hard while they waited for the doctor.

“Morning. Glad no rampaging ex-boyfriends found us last night.” His sleepy, rumbly voice startled her, and she shifted around to see his face, but didn’t drop his hand.

His brown eyes were half-lidded, his hair even more rumpled than the night before. And … yep, that was definitely a hard-on brushing against her hip. Her body didn’t recognize Nash as off-limits and responded in kind. Her nipples pebbled, and she was afraid if she glanced down to see how obvious they were, it would only draw his attention to her inappropriate reaction. At least, he would have no idea how damp her panties were from her erotic dream starring him. Her body was in full rebellion.

His hand twitched before he curled his fingers over hers. “I’ve never forgotten how nice your parents were that day. Your mother had popsicles waiting when we got back.”

Even though her parents had been gone for many years, the void they’d left would sometimes open and swallow her. She nodded, cursing the lump of tears in her throat. She never talked about her parents. Not even with her brothers if she could help it. Any mention of them was a trigger to change the subject.

“I still miss them.” The surprise at what had popped out of her mouth unleashed more. “Sometimes I get so mad, I have to open the gym so I can beat up on one of the body bags.”

“I miss my mom, too. Or more like, I miss the idea of a mom. There were so many things she was too sick to do.”

Still pillowed on his arm, she turned her head so they were face-to-face. What she saw in him poured understanding into the void. He truly understood. He wasn’t spouting platitudes.

Being with Nash made her feel exposed and raw yet protected at the same time. The conflicting emotions tore through her. She pushed up and swung her legs over the side of the bed. Away. She needed to get away to figure things out.

“I’ve got to head out. Thanks for letting me crash here last night.” She grabbed her smoky-smelling jeans from the night before and yanked them on. Working her bare feet into her boots was a little more challenging.

He rose and stretched. A sunbeam from the skylight emphasized the muscles of his chest. Hair a shade darker than on his head covered his chest, her gaze following the line that disappeared into his waistband of his boxer briefs. She dropped her gaze to what was barely hidden. After fumbling with her laces like a kindergartner, she stood up fast, her head swimming, unable to tear her gaze away from the bulge in his underwear.

A garbled noise welled out of her throat. He muttered a curse, grabbed a pillow, and held it in front of his hips, shuffling so his back was against the bathroom door. A red flush had spread up his neck and into his face. Heat radiated from her too. Embarrassed, yes, but something else as well. Something that made her want to rip that pillow out of his hands and fall to her knees.

“Sorry. Mornings … beautiful woman in my bed … nature taking over, I guess.” His sleep-roughened, sexy voice only made things worse.

“Understood. Not a … big deal.” She choked as the Freudian slip exited her mouth. It
was
a big deal, a huge deal, possibly even an enormous deal. Grabbing the shirt she’d had on the night before, she held it in front of her chest, hiding her traitorous nipples, and backed to the loft stairs. “I’ve got to get to the gym so … I’ll see you around.”

She ran down the steps, tripped on her poorly tied laces, and stumbled over the last few stairs. Not exactly a smooth exit. She ran across the wet grass of the backyard and through the gate. A middle-aged male jogger ran by and glanced in her direction, but otherwise the street and sidewalks were deserted. Why did she feel guilty? It’s not like anything actually happened except for some handholding and unintentional cuddling.

But Lord have mercy, she’d dreamed about doing things to Nash and him doing things to her. Naughty, dirty things. Things she might have been able to shove back into her subconscious until she’d seen the bulge in his underwear. Her naughty, dirty thoughts got exponentially naughtier and dirtier.

She fumbled with her key fob, unlocking her sensible four-door sedan and sliding behind the wheel. Even at this time of morning, heat had built up inside, forcing her to turn the air conditioner to max. Did he really think she was beautiful? A glance in the rearview mirror showed a woman with bedhead, no makeup, and shocked, wide eyes.