No, I don't let her use the chainsaw. Not today, at least.
It's a long day full of hard work on the house. Her face when we pulled up to the house nearly broke my fucking heart, the sight of the fallen tree and the branch busted into the house so much worse in the daylight. Everything was sopping wet. I was able to cut up the branch so we could pull it out of the windows, and once cleared, she headed inside to clean up the mess in there. Broken glass, water and leaves, debris everywhere in the spare room. Thank god it was mostly empty. We'd have to repaint it, but the floors were okay. Since we'd have to get new windows, I had a thought we could make it a bay, put a window seat inside for her to sit in and read. The whole thing had to be reframed anyway, why not upgrade it? I've been making mental plans for her library past that, imagining the built ins, put in a rail with a ladder. Maybe a pretty light fixture.
We went to the hardware store, and by the time we got back and I boarded up the windows, it was nearly dark. So we ordered pizza. Showered together. She packed a bag and got Scout'sthings for the weekend, hopeful we'll have her house together enough we can stay there next week. Then we ate and hopped in the truck, swinging by my place so I could change on the way to The Horseshoe. I made a note to get some stuff together to take to her place, some clean clothes and a toothbrush at least. Especially while we're working on repairs. Which we'll be doing for longer than I hoped.
The damage is substantial enough that it's going to be a shitload of work, but not so bad that it's not livable. There's so much to do, staying at her place makes the most sense for us. And yeah, I saidus. Because wherever she is, that's where you'll find me, unless she says otherwise. There isn't another thing in the world that could drag me away.
Feels like a swarm of bees is circling inside my ribs as we pull up to The Horseshoe. When I kill the engine, the faint sound of music and voices floats toward us, and I hesitate, anxious.
Whatever we find when we walk through the doors, at least I have her. And I'll fight through hell to keep her. God help any motherfucker who gets in my way.
"You ready?" I ask, noting she looks nervous, but sure of herself.
But then she smiles and says, "Horses, hoe."
A laugh bursts out of me, and just like that it feels like everything's going to be okay.
"You ready?" she asks.
"Only because I've got you, peaches." I lean over the console, and she meets me for a kiss, my fingers trailing her jaw, her neck. She's so soft. A flash of our shower earlier shoots through my mind and into my lap. So many firsts for us, each one a little sweeter than the last.
I'll be thinking about her soapy tits in my hand and her fist around my slippery cock on my deathbed.
I try and put the thought away--it's not going to help our case if I walk into the bar with a hard-on. I'm not worried about our friends' reactions, though I'm sure they'll cause a scene. But I don't know what to expect from everybody else. It could go either way--they'll have their answer and shut the fuck up, or they'll talk more shit. Worse shit. I'm braced for it, bound and determined to take the brunt of it so she doesn't have to.
I just want to be happy. That's it. Feels like a simple request, one that I want to believe that the people of this town, who for forty sum odd years have largely regarded me as a good guy, would give me a fucking break. They know what I've been through.
But so far, all they've done is prove me wrong.
We climb out of the truck, my pulse doubling in the time it takes me to meet her around the front. She's wearing a little skirt that she'd normally have on a bigass cardigan with, but tonight, she left it at home. Which means her top is tight, hugging the curves of her breasts and waist. I got the feeling she left the sweater at home on account of my obsession with her titties, mostly when she smoothed her hands down her torso and asked if she looked okay. My answer was to get ahold of one of her breasts and touch her until she squirmed.
I should have brought the cardigan just in case. The last thing I need is somebody commenting on her body--what little chill I have will evaporate and the odds of me hitting somebody will rocket to space.
Sighing, I pull her into my side, her arms looping around my waist. And then I press a kiss to the top of her head, saying another little prayer before steering us for the door to the bar.
The second we walk in, half the jam-packed bar turns to look, and then the other half is looking too, and for a suffocating second, you could hear a pin drop.
And then Cass yells "Finally!" and the whole table of our friends cheers. The bar watches as we're greeted by the people who actually give a shit about us. Somebody saysAbout damn time!And another,You finally got your shit together.Molly is blushing, laughing, and the guys are clapping me on the shoulder. You'd think we got engaged as excited as they are.
The thought--engaged--sends a flare of overwhelm through me at the unbidden imagining that it's what that is. It's not a thought I've ever had before, not with anybody. I can't even entertain what that implies, despite knowing exactly what it implies.
When everybody's calmed the fuck down and takes their seats again, I pull out the only bar chair for Molly--between Shelby and Tate, of course--taking her elbow as she climbs up. Then I tip her chin. Look into her eyes, the connection between us humming.
"What do you want to drink, peaches?"
"Bees Knees, please." One of her newly discovered favorite drinks, now that she partakes, a suggestion of mine--sweet and velvety and makes you warm from the inside out, just like her.
I nod once, leaning in to kiss her sweetly, chastely, just in case anybody had questions as to who she's here with. And then I head to the bar.
The crowd is thick around the bar, and I know every face. Every face but one, the figure at the end of the bar. The man from the game, the stranger talking to her after, his hand around a beer bottle, forearm resting on the lacquered wood. Our eyes meet. My hackles prickle, then they rise. Leo calls my attention, but when I look back, the stranger is gone. Uneasy, I order her gin and honey drink and a beer for myself, but when I scan for him again, he’s gone. whichW is good. He was smart to leave.
I ignore the occasional looks, otherwise feeling pretty good about our little coming out party. It's notworse,at least not yet.
I’m waiting on our drinks when I hear him.
“Brooks.” Wade Pruitt leans onto the bar next to me, beer in his hand, shit-eating smirk on his face. “Damn, what a pull. Good for you.”
I don’t answer. I know that smirk.
