Boys and Burlesque

by Ripley Proserpina

“Yeah?” He straightened.

  “You said Nell gave you my exercises?” I asked. “I need to do those today. I’m not exactly dressed for it right this very minute,” I gestured to my sundress, laying my accent on thick, “but I’ll change into something more appropriate so we can get to work. Feel like working me out?” It was a purposeful double-entendre that had every last one of the boys lifting their hand and saying, “Yes.”

  I spun away from Landry and Brant, glancing over my shoulder, a move that would have been way sexier if I hadn’t worn a crutch. “Why don't you boys drink some cold water and meet me in the living room. I’ll be the one in the Spandex.” With a wink and a giggle, I left them there, gaping after me.

  How was that for deflection?

  Three hours later, chugging water and dripping in sweat, I had zero desire to wink or giggle. What I wanted to do was chuck the resistance band Brant had me using at his head.

  “Ten more,” he told me. I held one end under my good foot, and stretched it with the arm on the same side. It would have been a lot easier for me to yell at him if he wasn’t working out with me, counting each rep as he did it.

  Sweat rolled into my eyes, burning, and I wiped it on my shoulder. But I did the work. We had started with stretching, and I had actually had the thought—this isn’t too bad—before he started whoopin’ my ass.

  “I didn’t do this with Nell,” I noted breathlessly.

  “We don’t have the same equipment as Nell,” he replied, “Two. One.”

  I dropped the band and shook my arm out.

  “So she sent us equivalent workouts with what we do have. We’re going to take a walk down the road in a little bit as a cool down.”

  “It’s ninety-five degrees out there.” There was nothing about a walk in that weather that would cool me down.

  “And the same in humidity,” he replied. “Stop whining.”

  “I’m not whining!”

  Infuriating boy just smiled at me. Above us, something crashed, and I jumped. “We should check on them.”

  “Nice try.” He held out his hands. “Time for push-ups.”

  Fuck this shit. Groaning, I shifted to one knee and then the other. Brant handed me a yoga mat to prop under my knees. “Staggered push-ups. One minute. Go.”

  I changed the position of my arms, placing one higher than the other and dropped my weight. “One,” he called out.

  “You don’t need to do that when you’re timing me,” I gritted my teeth. “You’re just showing off.”

  “Save your breath, Bets.” He moved forward a little and when I came up from the push-up, kissed me quickly. “Incentive.”

  Oh! Kisses as rewards? I liked that. Focusing, I switched the position of my arms and lowered myself again. When I came up, there he was with a kiss. I lapped at his lower lip, hoping to tempt him, but he jerked away. “Uh-uh.”

  Growling, I went back down again. And again. It was the longest minute of my life, and by the time I was done, my arms were shaking. “Here.” He handed me my water bottle, and I drank deeply, not caring that the water dripped down the sides of my mouth.

  “Are we almost done?”

  Brant didn’t answer right away, and I glanced at him. He held himself in the plank position. A bead of sweat rolled off the tip of his nose and plonked onto the yoga mat. His arms were glistening, as was his chest, because—bless him—he’d taken his shirt off to work out with me. My boys without shirts were one of my favorite things in the world, but shirtless, sweaty boys?

  Next level.

  “Remember that movie we used to watch, the stupid one you loved so much with Adam Sandler?” I asked.

  Brant had stood, twisting to pick up the resistance band. The muscles in his hips and abs rippled and praise the good Lord, sweat rolled between his pecs as he looped the resistance band over my good foot and handed me the end. “Point your toes,” he directed. “And yes, of course, Billy Madison. Classic.”

  Agree to disagree, but— “Remember when he had the test and the girlfriend…”

  I pointed my toes and groaned at the burn through my calf. “I hate this thing.”

  “Are you trying to hint that you’d like me to get naked in order to inspire you?” He placed his hands on his hips, grinning down at me.

  I made my eyes wide. “Obviously.”

  He unbuttoned the button on his jeans, leaving it open. “You have ten more reps and then biceps curls.”

  Hmm. Focusing on the exercise, I pointed my toes and then flexed my foot. Then I did it again. I went into the biceps curls next. “How many?” I asked. Please say ten. Please say ten.

  “Thirty.”

  Damn.

  Brant burst out laughing. “You look so sad right now.”

  Rather than answer, I growled, counting down in my head. “Zero!” I announced triumphantly.

  I glanced up at him, lifted my eyebrows, and waited. He moved one hand over his chest, down to his pants… and kicked off a sneaker.

  “Brant!” I groaned and threw myself onto my back, barely holding back from kicking my feet and crying.

  He was there instantly, arms flexed as he held himself off me. “Don’t be sad, Bets.” Gaze caught in his hazel one, I lifted my chin to kiss him. He was salty, making my lips tingle as I kissed from his neck to the corner of his mouth.

  Lowering himself, enough that I could feel the heat coming off his skin, he kissed me. I hadn’t had a real Brant kiss yet. This was better than I remembered. I lifted my hands to his head to dive into his hair, but his hat was still on, that brim turned backwards. The realization made my throat close. It was so familiar, exactly the move he used to do when he’d kiss me out in the fields or at the end of school.

  He moved his lips from mine to my neck, licking my skin before sucking it gently into his mouth. “God, Betsy.”

  Somehow, probably thanks to the beautifully sculpted muscles of his arms, abs, and chest, he was able to shift his weight to one hand and slowly slink the material of my shirt up my torso. He squeezed my hip before grazing my breast to palm it.

  I got lost in his touch. It happened all the time with these boys—I forgot where I was, who could walk in on us—all that mattered was Brant. I slid against the floor, using my good foot to lift and grind my pelvis against his.

  “Betsy, wait.”

  “I’ve waited so long,” I whispered.

  He groaned, a sound acceptance, and grazed his warm lips over mine. Our kiss went on forever. I was the tide, and he was the moon, pushing and pulling me. He dragged his lips across my skin, teeth grazing my chin, down my neck and back up along my jaw.

  I sucked in a breath as his hand left my breast and dove beneath the band of my shorts with no warning.

  His fingers slid between my folds, down to my entrance where one blunt finger pushed inside. Brant took a quick breath. “I love the way you smell.” The tip of his tongue dipped inside my mouth just as his finger withdrew and pushed inside me again.

  Jesus.

  Brant covered my mouth with his, sucking hard on my lip while his thumb grazed my clit and another finger slid into me. “I want you,” he said. “I want everything.”

  He had me. He’d had me even when I couldn’t admit it to myself. Even when every thought of him was tinged red with hurt and anger.

  Moving along my lips, down to my neck, he gave me a light bite that caused a full-body shiver.

  “I love you,” he said between bites and kisses. “With all my heart Betsy.”

  I loved him too. He wasn’t perfect, and he’d made some huge mistakes, but he was mine. It had been the hardest—and easiest—thing in the world to forgive my boys. Not everyone would understand it or think well of me because of it, but I was strong enough to live with their disapproval.

  All of us were stronger now.

  “This is forever,” he said. “I’m never letting you go, so understand that.”

  He couldn’t have uttered a more perfect phrase. I wanted to be his. I wanted his name writt
en across my heart the way Landry and Westin wrote words under their skin.

  “I understand.”

  Brant dipped his head, sucking my nipple into his mouth through the cotton of my shirt. He pushed my shorts down with the other hand, getting them over my hips and ass before settling himself between my legs.

  He palmed me, groaning as his fingers withdrew. “You’re so wet.” A gentle wet tickle followed his fingertips as he moved from my folds to my stomach.

  Sitting back, he let out a huge breath, one that had his ribs expanding. I reached forward, wrapping my hands around him. The breath bellowed out of his lungs.

  Desperate for my hands all over him, I jack-knifed and ripped open the zipper on his jeans. His length sprung free, and I wrapped one hand around it and sucked it into my mouth.

  “Betsy, fuck!”

  But he didn’t push me away. He palmed the back of my head, holding me in place while he gently thrust into my mouth.

  He tasted so good—musky and salty. I was so turned on, I pressed my legs together to ease the throbbing ache.

  Brant grabbed my hand, shoving it down so it pressed against my mound, encouraging me to touch myself.

  I redoubled my efforts around his cock, sucking hard, and using my free hand to cover the length I couldn’t get in my mouth. Wet, sucking sounds filled the living room along with Brant’s grunts and my breathy moans.

  “Betsy.” He made a move to pull away, so I shook my head slightly. I wanted him in my mouth, to take him down my throat.

  He pushed my hand away, shoving his fingers into me in quick, short thrusts. A moment later, he spilled, warmth covering my tongue. I swallowed quickly, because in the next second I was coming around his fingers and crying out around his cock.

  “Holy fuck.” He pushed me onto my back and dropped his face to my neck. His beard tickled and his breath cooled the moisture on my skin, and I shivered. “Holy fuck.”

  Above us, something fell, and I jolted. “Brant.”

  “I know.” He got off me, yanking up his pants as he stood. But he didn’t hide the smile on his face.

  “What?” I asked. I didn’t move. Between the orgasm and the workout, I was mush.

  “I can’t believe I have you. That you’re here. In my home.” He sat, pants still unbuttoned, and rested his forearms on his knees. “I want this to be our place, Betsy. I want you to love it.”

  I already did. From the cracked ceiling to the patched sheetrock. The overgrown garden and the pot-holed driveway. “It felt like home the moment we drove up.”

  He leaned forward, kissing me gently before suddenly yanking away. “Ouch.”

  I glanced up. Josh stood by the corner of the living room and stairs, hands in front of him like he’d just flicked something at Brant. Another resistance band sat next to me, and Brant grabbed it.

  “Not the eyes!” I cried as he launched it to Josh.

  The two took off, hooting and hollering through the house and out the back door. They streaked by the window in one direction, and then Josh darted in the other. Brant followed, garden hose in hand, spraying it after Josh.

  Laughing, I stood and hopped to the back window. Their lightheartedness was contagious. Away from everything, my worries seemed as far away as New York City. Later, I’d read my emails and do whatever business needed to be done, but it didn’t twist my stomach in knots.

  I had thought I’d found happiness without them—I’d labeled satisfaction and success as happiness. It wasn’t until now, with my body sore and my heart full, that I experienced the truth.

  “Brats.” Landry’s voice startled me. I whirled to see him standing in the living room, arms crossed. The light hairs were dusted with something powdery-white.

  “What were you doing up there?”

  He came to me, pulling me against his chest. His chin touched the top of my head. I kept my foot off the ground. With Landry bracing me, I was balanced. “Fixing the ceiling fan. The room is almost done. Ceiling needs a coat of paint, but it’s mostly finished. As soon as that cast comes off, you’ll see it.”

  “Couple of weeks.” It seemed a million years away.

  “Yep,” he answered. He rubbed his chin over my hair. A spray of water hit the back window, and we lurched back, Landry steadying me when I would have fallen. “Watch it!” he yelled, and in the distance, I caught, “Sorry!”

  Shaking his head, Landry led me to the worn sofa facing a wide-mantled fireplace. Once I was seated, he sat next to me.

  “The place is gorgeous, Lan.” It was getting easier to imagine it as it must have been in its heyday.

  “We bought it and it’s been sort of a lifeline. When we need to escape, get our heads screwed on straight, we come up here and demo the hell out of it. But with you here, it finally seems livable.” He cleared his throat, linking the fingers of our hands. “Do you think you’d want to live here?” he asked.

  I wanted to live with them, but I sensed there was more to his question than that. “What do you mean?”

  “In the south again. In the country. I—we—want this to be our family’s home. If you want to be a family.”

  “We’ve been a family since kindergarten, Lan,” I replied. But I knew what he meant. Having a family.

  “It’s very far from—” he began and stopped.

  “From New York City. From San Diego.” I filled it in, but he shook his head.

  “From Marigold.” His words made my throat close. It was. It was very far from Portland and the little grave in the massive cemetery. But the thing was, Marigold wasn’t in that cemetery.

  “I carry her with me everywhere,” I whispered. Funny, after all this time, talking about her still hurt as much as it always had. “She’s in my heart. Her little body is part of the earth, holding me up. So she’s in my heart, and she keeps me standing. She’s gravity and air and earth, and everywhere I go, she touches me.”

  Lan’s eyes went glassy, but he nodded. He tipped his head to the ceiling, taking a big deep breath and letting it out. It came from his toes and carried with it eight years of guilt and anger.

  “I wish I had held her,” he whispered. “Told her I love her.”

  “I tell her every day.” I went to sleep thinking about her, and woke up the same way. Turning to look at him, I wobbled, and he caught me.

  “We got this place to take our minds off of the future, and now that you’re here, it's all I can think about.”

  “You say that like it’s a bad thing.”

  He was quick to answer, “No! I don’t mean that. I just mean—fuck, Betsy—it’s hard to live with all these regrets.”

  No kidding. “I get it. Don’t you think I live with regrets?”

  “Honestly?” He drew away to study me. “I think you live life unapologetically and gracefully. I think that’s the reason why people love you. You hold your arms out and say, ‘Here I am, love me or hate me, this is what you get.’"

  I didn’t see myself that way, but I liked that he did. “Thank you.”

  Someone sprayed the glass again, and he got up, opened a window and yelled, “If you’re going to spray the windows, get the ones in front!”

  Seventy-Four

  Landry

  This was the life I dreamed of having. After barbecuing outside, we stayed to watch the stars come out. Betsy fell asleep, head on my thigh as I pushed the old metal swing back and forth. We sat out there for hours, talking like we had in the old days. It was all so easy and natural.

  Made me realize how complicated our lives had been until now.

  I’d thought joining the Navy simplified things, but all I’d done was add these layers of bullshit to my life. With Betsy, those were stripped away and I could just be me.

  I liked Landry Shaw when he was around Betsy.

  Rubbing my hand across my chest, I caught Wes staring at me. “Sorry. I missed what you said.”

  “I didn’t say anything,” he replied. “You look happy.”

  I smiled, dropping my hand from the
words that still burned me. “You do, too.”

  “I’m going to bring her in,” Brant said quietly. He stood from his spot, and lifted Betsy easily into his arms.

  “I’m going in, too,” Josh added, and they disappeared into the dark house.

  I left my hand on my chest but dropped it when the door shut behind him. “You thinking about Jay?” Westin asked.

  My father was a cancer I was continually beating back, only to have to have it reemerge.

  “Yeah,” I replied. “And Marigold.” I was angrier than I ever had been, but I was also happier. But I had no idea how to say that to Wes.

  “I get it,” he replied. “I’ve been thinking about Luke a lot. What he did to us, did to Betsy. I want to hurt him as badly as he hurt me.” He sighed. “But I also don’t want a single thing to come between us again.”

  “You could let it go?” I asked. For so long, my anger was my fuel. With every promotion, I gave Jay Shaw the middle finger. I showed him he couldn’t control my life and he had no power over me.

  “I wouldn’t spit on my father if he was on fire.” Wes’s voice was cold as ice. “But I also wouldn’t risk Betsy.”

  “And we choose Betsy.” Today. Tomorrow. Always.

  “Always,” Westin replied.

  Seventy-Five

  Betsy

  I woke up in the middle of the night, turned on my side and snuggled into the warm body sleeping next to me.

  My eyes shot open, panic making my heart pound before a raspy voice whispered, “It’s just me. Go to sleep.”

  Landry.

  He lifted his arm, and I burrowed against his chest, hand skimming over his pecs to tuck against his side. “Mmm.” I closed my eyes and breathed in. He smelled like soap, and his skin was still a little damp, like he’d jumped from the shower into my sheets.

  “You smell good.”

  “So do you.” He kissed the top of my head and breathed in. “Feel good, too.”

  His hand trailed down my arm and gripped my hip, then skimmed to my knee, pulling it up so it rested on his thighs.