Page 21 of My Redneck Baby Daddy

"A bag."

"I know what a bag looks like, Teach."

"Then why'd you ask?"

His mouth twitched, a smirk forming and then he stepped back and held the door. The dog beat me inside but I didn’t mind..

"That's Waylon. He don't have any manners."

"Neither do you."

"No, ma'am."

The house was cleaner than I expected but empty. Bobby Jo had a big front room with a leather couch and a television and almost nothing on the walls. I set my bag down by the door and made myself turn around and face him, because I’d rehearsed this in my car for eleven minutes. I was going to say this because I needed to.

"I'm sure."

He went very still. "Rue."

"I know what I'm telling you."

"I need you to tell me anyway." I sucked in a breath and spit it out. "It's not because of my mama, or my daddy, or Regina, or the fact that I'm thirty-two and everybody in this town thinks I'm made out of hymnals." My voice cracked a little on the last part, and I pushed my glasses up and kept going. "It's not because I want it over with. I thought about that. Regina made me think about that."

"And?"

"It's just you."

Bobby Jo crossed the room in about three steps.

He kissed me at the bottom of the stairs, and again at the top, and by the time we got into his room my hands were shaking hard enough that I laughed at myself.

"Hey." He caught my face in one hand. "You don't have to perform for me."

"That's easy for you to say. You've done this before."

"Once or twice."

I narrowed my eyes. "I suddenly hate you."

"Little late for that. You're already in my bed."

That did it. Something in my chest let go, and I laughed, and he was smiling when he kissed me again.

He was careful with me in a way I did not expect from a man that size. He asked me things.

Is this all right?

Do you want me to stop?

You want me to keep going?

He asked them in that low gravely voice against my ear, and every single time I had to answer out loud. Which meant every single time I had to choose it again.

His mouth stayed slow at first, tasting me like he had all night and then some. One big hand slid under my shirt, palm hot against my stomach, then higher until his thumb brushed the underside of my breast. I made a sound I didn’t recognize. He pulled back just enough to look at me.

"Still good?"

"Yes."