by S. E. Hall
“Shoot, get on,” he dismisses me with a snort and brush of his hand.
“Dane, the owner, is my boy and he sent me. Now gimme the mic!” This time I’ve already grabbed the neck of the mic stand, curling it around to me. “Turn down the music!”
He complies, flipping some switches, and the crowd stops cold, boos starting to rise through the silence.
“Listen up!” I gulp, summoning the courage for this totally unlike me grandiose display. “Whitley Suzanne, raise your hand!”
That was okay right? I mean, I didn’t want to announce her last name, but I also didn’t want to summon any other Whitleys, so I went with her middle name. Surely there’s not two Whitley Suzannes in the crowd.
My eyes run the crowd until finally, I see a little hand pop up, followed by a “Hi, Evan!” squeal from her.
“Hi, Whit.” I laugh in the mic, relief starting to seep in and restore my blood pressure to normal. “Grab Avery and Bennett and meet at the table, woman. Now, please.”
“Okay, Evan!” she yells back in all her preciousness. I can’t see her, but I can hear her smile.
“And Jenee, wherever you are,” her hand pops up from my right, “can you come here?”
The crowd remains still and silent, seeming content to watch my show, and I see them part for Jenee’s.
“Very impressive,” she says loudly, smiling up at me where I still hang, one armed, from the DJ booth.
I’m rather impressed myself.
“I need to take some friends home. This place is too crazy. You ready?”
“Come down, let these people dance and we’ll decide.” Right, good plan.
“Thanks, man. Gimme a two minute head start before you start the music?” I beg him.
“Bet.” He tries to high five me, realizing I’m using one hand to hold on and one to hold the mic, slapping the air instead with a laugh.
I hand him his mic and jump down, grabbing Jenee’s hand to pull her with me through the growingly antsy sea of people. Whitley, Avery and Bennett are waiting at the table, as is Dane, his arm around Laney and a coy grin splitting his face.
“Nice work,” he greets me.
“Sawyer make it in?” I hadn’t had a chance to check my phone, so I have no idea if he’d gotten my messages and I’d accomplished that goal.
“Yeah, he just got here. He’s behind the bar now, so I sent Brock to the door. Thanks for the help.”
“Everyb—” The music starts up, so I try again, in a much louder voice. “Everybody, this is Jenee.”
“Hi.” She waves at them all then smiles at Dane. “Hey, Dane.”
Dane’s staring at the floor while Laney’s staring at him, and I’m done caring, back to staring at Whitley, who’s staring at Jenee.
“Um, okay, I’ll go first.” Bennett moves to the center of the group cheerily. “Jenee, I’m Bennett. My roommate is Laney,” she points to Laney, “girlfriend of Dane, that you know…how?” She follows up with a smile as sweet as syrup.
“I work for him,” is what I think she said, but we’re yelling over bebop noise and a wailing mosh pit again, so I can’t be sure.
“Oh, that’s nice.” Bennett’s shoulders relax. “That makes perfect sense. So you may know my boyfriend, Tate, his brother.”
“I do.” Jenee lifts her hair with one hand and fans herself with the other. “So,” she turns into me and almost yells, “I’m gonna stay. I have a huge group of friends here, I’ll be fine. You go tend to your girl. It was a pleasure, Evan.” She chastely kisses where my ear and face meet. “Nice to meet you all. Bye, Boss.” And with that, she’s sucked up into the dance vortex once again.
“Okay!” Bennett claps. “Avery, let’s go sit at the bar with Tate.
I’m sure that’s where Zach is.”
Dane grabs Laney’s hand. “We’re out.”
“Bye, Evan, thank you!” Laney rolls her fingers and darts her eyes to Whitley then back to me, throwing me a wink of her own.
It reminds me, before the mayhem, that Laney and I were best friends; always in each other’s corner. And she just said, “Go get her, Ev. Be happy,” with a look. We were back.
Don’t mind if I do, friend, don’t mind if I do.
She won’t hear me, a good seven feet between us, so I wait patiently until Whitley’s big sapphires meet my radar on her, and point. Turning my finger over slowly and crooking it, I beckon her over, fighting any give on my face.
Chewing her bottom lip the whole way, she slinks over to me. “Hi, Evan, how are you?” Her words are breathy, tone hopeful.
“Not so great, pretty girl. You scared me, again. I don’t like feeling that you’re in danger and I can’t stop it. Where’s your date?”
She opens her mouth, but I place two of my fingers over it gently, no longing giving two shits where her date is. “You know what, hold that thought. Let’s get out of here; my eardrums are bleeding.”
No argument or agreement, no “let me say bye to…” No question in her eyes. Her tiny hand slips into mine and I squeeze, fighting our way to the door, her body tucked tightly, safely, against mine.
“Where’s your date?” I ask again. Okay, I do still give a shit and nothing would make me happier than to hear she’d left him in there, alone, to leave with me.
“Nosey,” she grumbles under her breath, looking out her window as we sit in my truck.
I haven’t started it yet. I’m kind of just enjoying sitting here, knowing she’s within arm’s length and secure. There’s nowhere else I need to be.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t quite catch that,” I tease, reaching over to tickle her side.
“Stop,” she squirms and snickers, “I said you were nosey, Nosey.
Where’s your date?”
“You saw her walk away. She stayed there ‘cause she knew I had other things to take care of.” I wiggle my fingers, threatening to tickle her again. “Now spill, woman.”
“Okay!” She scoots as close to her door as she can. “He wasn’t my date, if you must know.”
Oh, I must know.
“And?” I want her to keep talking.
“Thad works for my father. He was sent to discuss the changes my family will be facing. It seems my parents are liquidating certain things in preparation for an,” she makes air quotes with her fingers, “‘amicable division of assets.’”
“Your parents are getting divorced?”
“So it seems.” Her face is sullen, eyes downcast. “And they sent a suit to tell you?”
She nods, the movement causing a tear to fall from beneath the veil of her hair onto her leg.
I can’t take seeing her so sad yet trying to be strong, stoic, hiding her pain from me. I slide across the seat in one motion, wrapping my arms around her. She curls into me and her body shakes as her sobs grow louder.
“Shhh, I got you,” I whisper against her soft hair that tickles my lips. “You don’t have to be the happy, strong one all the time, Whit. Let me have a turn to hold you up.”
Her head lifts off my chest, nose pink and eyes shiny. “There’s no way I’m as good at being your rock. Am I?”
I scoff. She has no idea. “All the damn time, woman.”
She grins slightly. “Well, you bring out the best in me.”
“Right back atcha, pretty girl.” I wink down at her, earning me another smile. 100% success rate—still undefeated with the wink.
“So, I guess that’s what happened with your beach house? But splitting money doesn’t mean you don’t have any, so why foreclosure?”
What the fuck, Evan? Why are you asking shit, making her examine the details?
“Sorry, Whit, just thinking out loud, nevermind.”
“It’s okay,” she says through sniffles. “I’m not involved, obviously, since my parents sent a messenger rather than talk to me themselves, but I know my father. My guess is, he let them ‘take,’” air quote fingers again, “the house so she doesn’t get claim on it, but I’d bet anything he buys that cheaply pric
ed, foreclosed property back under a business name.”
Sneaky. And maybe illegal?
“Damn, that’s some diabolical shit. What about your tuition?”
Again, Evan, stfu.
“That’s fine, covered and paid. My house too, paid for and now in my name.”
“Well, there’s something.” I run my hand down the back of her head, embarrassed when I realize I’ve done it several times and probably more than necessary. “It’ll all be all right, Whitley, you’ll see. Parents split up, and it sucks, but you’re grown, have your own life, and you’re amazing all by yourself.”
“Yeah?” She has no idea what it does to a man when a beautiful blonde peeks up, all doe-eyed and innocent, heart-shaped face pinked and lips parted, puffs of her breath hitting your neck.
“Yeah,” I assure her, pulling my eyes from the glisten on her mouth and back to her eyes, “definitely. What can I do to make you feel better?”
Please don’t let her say watch Moulin Rouge. I’d be down for another tattoo, but not that movie. It seriously sucks ass.
“You could kiss me,” she says in a voice so quiet couldn’t even be classified as a whisper.
And yet, I heard her in Dolby.
I could kiss her. And take care of her and hold her hand and take long walks. Give her a reason to sing and hum every day. I could quit fighting it, second guessing it, playing devil’s advocate on why I don’t or shouldn’t feel what I’ve absolutely felt for a while.
That’s what I could do.
I run both my hands up the sides of her face, moving back her hair to show me all of her ivory neck. “You sure are pretty, Whit.”
I lay my lips on hers, unmoving, locking gazes. Her hands come up and lock around my wrists, tightening, holding me there. Whitley’s lips move first, rubbing shyly side to side on mine.
“Kiss me, Evan,” she breathes into me.
Tracing the seam with my tongue, I take my time learning her lips, her taste. She opens, letting me in. No begging, no me wanting her more than she wants me, just the two of us together, joining, finally. As our tongues meet, she whimpers, the sound crippling. Her hands move into my hair, tugging, hungry, truly wanting me closer. And in that instant, another crack heals and I feel closer to whole. Kissing her is electric, better than a game winning touchdown.
My fingertips trail down her neck, her shoulders, her sides, learning every dip, line, and curve that is Whitley. I end my gentle exploration with hands gripped around her tiny waist, hauling her whole body into mine. Releasing her sweet mouth, I nibble her jawline before feasting on her neck, her pulse drumming against my eager mouth.
“Ah, Whit,” I growl, licking slowly up to her ear, “damn, you’re sweet.”
She grabs my cheeks and pulls my face to hers, eyes aflame. “You about done with the disaster dating thing?” Her chest heaves, her breaths coming heavy and hungry.
Oh how this little pixie makes me laugh. “Yes, ma’am. You forgive me?”
She twists her mouth, tapping her chin with a single finger. “I don’t know. Seems like I should make you sweat it out since you made me so crazy.”
“Only a crazy woman can love you like crazy.”
“You better be ready to give as good as you get,” she warns, nipping my mouth and bringing to life another part of me I thought for sure had died. The part that loves to cherish, the part that wants to be embraced, and the part that yearns, has always yearned, to have that embrace returned.
“I’m a thorough kind of guy, Ms. Thompson. I’ll give you something to hum about every chance I get, you precious little thing.” I tap her nose airily. “And no more dating for you, either.”
“I told you, Thad wasn’t a date.” She wiggles, burrowing closer against me.
“Yeah, I know, but what about the other night when I asked you to hang out and you had plans? I assumed you had a date then.”
“I didn’t.”
“Well then—”
“I sat at home, Evan. I wrote a paper, took a bath, and fell asleep watching a Duck Dynasty marathon.”
I’m elated to hear she didn’t have a date; I’d been trying to ignore the fact that it’d been eating away at me wondering what she’d done with who, since the minute she blew me off that night. But, now there are much more important matters at hand.
“Duck Dynasty! Why don’t you ever force me to watch that instead of singing bullshit or whatever?” I slap her bottom. She squeals and jumps, landing her firmly in my lap.
“I didn’t know you liked that show. There’s a lot I have to learn.”
“Whit,” I sneak a kiss, “I’m from Georgia. I hunt and fish; Duck Dynasty is a pretty safe bet. In fact, anytime you have to choose between beards or singing, what do you think my answer would be?”
“Okay, okay,” she giggles, “lesson learned.”
“You guessed strawberry shortcake, my favorite dessert, but missed this? Crazy girl.” I move for her mouth, already starving for another taste, but her body goes stiff as she gnaws her bottom lip, climbing out of my lap and scooting away.
“Hey,” I reach out and rub her leg, “what just happened?” She won’t look at me, head turned to the window.
“Whit, talk to me, please.”
Her head shakes. “I had almost forgotten, so it’s not like I lied.
I’m sorry.”
What am I missing here? Did she steal the strawberry shortcake or something?
Her mutter is lined with worry. “I didn’t guess about the shortcake. Or the fishing. Laney fed me some info a while back. I’m a big, fat fraud.” Her fist goes to her mouth and she bites her knuckle. “I’m not in tune to you; I’m a cheater.”
Do not laugh, Evan. The lady thinks it’s serious, you take it seriously.
“Woman,” I say, watching as she turns her head to me but her eyes dodge mine, “come here.” I pat her spot in my lap.
She’s unsure, thinking I’m mad, so I give her a smile and pat my lap again. Hesitantly, she crawls back in and I wink at her, letting her know I could care less. So she got the DL on me, so what. She cared enough to put her info into play…so I see no problem here.
“You worry too much, sweet girl. I love that you wanna know my secrets. I love that you wanna know me.”
“Really? Okay. And just because she told me a few little tiny things doesn’t mean our connection isn’t real.” The whole sentence came out in one rushed ramble with no pause for breathing. It was adorable.
“Really and agreed. Now relax.” I kiss her forehead, still fighting the urge to snicker at her. “Ask me anything you want, anytime.”
“Will you take me on a date?”
She needed no time to think about that one. “You bet your sweet ass I will.”
KISS ME
Date #1 (none of the rest count) Conspirator—Fate Girl—Whitley
Stats—little blonde hummingbird, biggest blue eyes you’ve ever swam in, Junior
Problems—nothing we can’t solve together
“Hi.” She opens the door, perky and smiling. Her eyes slowly survey me from head to toe, dressed in Timberlands, jeans and a long sleeved white Henley, and I hope she likes what she sees. “Sorry,” she blushes and scoots out of the way for me to enter, “come in.”
“Don’t be sorry,” I kiss her cheek, “I can wait all night. These are for you.” I pull a bunch of daisies tied together with twine from behind my back. I hear her breath catch and trembling fingers take them from me. I figured your first real date called for a whole bunch of flowers, not one at a time like I usually hand her.
She’s really nervous; thank goodness I’m not the only one. “What were you so deep in thought about?” I ask her.
“What to wear.” She glances down to her shorts and tee. “I’ve proven I’m an epic failure at dressing correctly for the occasion, so I was waiting for you. Where are we going and what should I wear?”
Oh, that smile of hers…did I mention it already?
“I’m not telling yo
u, and wear whatever you want. But, you’d probably be fine in jeans.”
“I can do that. Make yourself at home, it will only take me a minute.”
“Do you want me to put those in water for you while I wait?” I glance to the flowers, still clutched to her chest.
“Sure, thank you.” She hands them over slowly, seeming to not really want to part with them just yet. “There should be a vase in the cabinet above the fridge.” She turns to go down the hall, but I catch her by pulling on the hem of her shirt, dragging her back to me.
“Don’t be nervous, pretty girl. We’ve been on plenty of dates. We may not have called them that, but we always have a good time together,” I breathe huskily in her ear and watch the goosebumps pop out over her bare shoulders and arms.
“I’m glad we’re calling them dates now,” she admits sweetly.
I run one knuckle down her neck. “Me too. Now gimme some sugar before you run off.”
She kisses the tip of her finger then touches it to my lip. “That’s all for now,” she teases me.
“Go get ready. Quickly,” I hiss, trying to swat her bottom and missing as she scampers away.
I found this spot on accident, just out driving by myself one day, thankful to find somewhere relatively close to school where I could hide way. But now, I don’t want to keep it my secret; I want to share it with her. No more will it be the place I sit to stew on old memories, but the paradise where I make new ones.
“Stay put until I come get you, okay?”
“Okay.” Whitley grins, giddy at the prospect of a surprise.
I chuckle to myself and shake my head as I climb out; she’s so easy to please, so easy to make happy, but I plan to be the man who takes her from agreeable to delighted all the time.
The truck bounces a bit as I unload all the stuff out of the back of it, but she never turns around; I know she wants to prolong the surprise. I hate to think she holds on so tightly to times like these because she’s not used to people doing them for her.
A few minutes later I have it all set up and open her door. “Whitely,” I take her hand, “you can get out now.”
She turns to face me, eyes squeezed closed. “I didn’t peek, I promise. Should I keep them closed?”
