Not the Rebound Guy

by Abby Knox

  Garrett

  Needing to check in on the brood boxes one more time before our date—or whatever this is that Eliza and I are doing tonight—I take a moment to ponder what just happened.

  Why did I just promise her a friend hangout, when that’s not at all what I want?

  The egg-laying season is coming along nicely in the brood comb, and I find myself stupidly jealous of how simple it is for some creatures. The queen bees lay the eggs and fend off rival queens. Drones’ singular job is to mate with the queens. The workers take care of everything else: gathering the food, caring for eggs, and protecting the nest. It’s all straightforward, and nobody is up in their heads about it.

  My ringtone startles me as I carefully close the brood box. I answer it and move on to check on the surplus honey in the supers.

  “What’s up, Wyatt?”

  “Just calling to see what my baby brother is up to on a wild night in Piper’s Grove,” Wyatt says.

  This is odd. “You never call just to chit-chat. What’s going on?”

  Just as I’m peeking into the superstructure to see if I have enough honey to harvest, Wyatt drops the bomb. “Erin’s pregnant. She’s having a baby in November.”

  And yet another example of a creature whose life turned out to be simple and straightforward. Wyatt and Erin met in grad school. They married quickly and never looked back. Wyatt had never had a serious girlfriend up until he met her, and he knew immediately she was the one.

  “How did you know?” I ask him, gingerly sliding the super back in place.

  Wyatt clears his throat. “Well, it’s kind of personal, but if you must know, Erin started complaining that her boobs were sore—“

  “No, Wyatt,” I interrupt, shaking my head, trying to clear any thought of my sister-in-law’s breasts from my mind. “I meant, how did you know Erin was the one when you met?”

  There’s a pause, and I wait it out while I check on the rest of the frames. “I don’t know if I can explain it. Have you ever sat next to someone at random, and suddenly you felt like you were home?”

  I do know that feeling. The second that I had Eliza in my truck, after picking her up from the airport.

  “Yeah,” I say, trying to hide the hitch in my voice.

  Wyatt says, “When Erin smiled at me in the middle of that first economics lecture, it was the first time I felt human ever since…”

  Simultaneously, Wyatt and I both say it. “Since Grandma and PawPaw died.”

  So that’s it.

  “I’m really happy for you,” I say, trying to hurry my brother off the phone, suddenly realizing I have a romantic dinner to prepare.

  “Whoever she is, brother, don’t waste any time thinking too hard about it. Go and get her.”

  That’s precisely what I plan to do.

  Chapter Nine

  Eliza

  Grams waves goodbye from the porch as if Garrett and I are leaving for prom night. Even Gertie, Helen, and Carl, the pot-bellied pig, have sauntered up to see us off.

  Garrett helps me into the cab of the truck, though I don’t need any help. He even helps me with the seat belt. “It’s a little bit of an old-school one, so you gotta tug it a couple of times.”

  I gasp and laugh when his hand grazes my boob. Looking up at him, I can see him blushing three shades of crimson.

  “I’m so sorry, I totally was not meaning to cop a feel while helping you with your seat belt. It really is a pain in the tush.”

  “Sure you didn’t,” I tease. “That’s what all the chivalrous guys say when they help me with a seat belt.”

  “Guys actually do this all the time?” He totally bought it.

  I have to let him off the hook; he looks like he’s going to faint from embarrassment. “No. Nobody does that. Guys don’t even hold doors open for me anymore. It’s my ultra-feminist vibe combined with my resting bitch face. So don’t even worry about it. You’re the first guy to genuinely accidentally graze my boob in about a century. And I believe it was an accident.”

  He hovers with the door open and stares at me. “I think that’s just sad.”

  Suddenly I don’t feel as empowered as I usually do around this guy. “I’m not sad about it; it’s just the way it is,” I say.

  He holds up his hands. “No, I’m not sad for you! I’m sad for those other jerks who don’t take the first opportunity to treat you correctly.”

  This is one of those moments where he says something, and I have to take a breath.

  Garrett’s arm rests on the truck’s window frame, unintentionally showing off his triceps in that henley he wears. Who is this man, anyway? He smiles at me for a beat as I take in what he’s said, then closes his eyes and rests his against his forearm, seeming deep in thought about something. He lets out a low hum, or a growl, or some kind of masculine noise that I don’t quite understand.

  “You are something special, Eliza.”

  I blink at him and have to force myself to meet his gaze. I don’t think I’ve said anything or done anything to make him believe that. But I could get used to the way he looks at me. He has such friendly eyes, but sometimes—like right now—when he’s looking at me, trying to communicate feelings, those eyes feel so intense I have to look away. I like him so much as a person, for taking care of my Grams and for generally being such a good human. He deserves all the things. He deserves whatever he wants. But we’ve known each other for one day, and if I didn’t know better, I’d think he’s looking at me like a man in love. And I’m not sure I can reciprocate.

  “We’d better get going, or we’ll miss the good spot,” I breathe.

  He taps the top of the window frame twice. “Yes, ma’am.”

  Grams lied. The film at the drive-in tonight is not that new comedy.

  It’s a special showing of Ghost.

  As the trailers end and the film begins, I mutter, “Oh my god.”

  I glance over at Garrett, who is next to me in the bed of the pickup. We have the center window cracked open to hear the film’s sound broadcast on the radio.

  “Didn’t you tell me it was supposed to be that new one?”

  “No, your Grams said it was.”

  “I didn’t check the listing on the placemats, did you?”

  “I didn’t go to the diner today,” he says.

  I have to laugh. “I can’t believe they’re still putting the town news on the placemats.”

  “If it ain’t broke, don’t fix it. You were in there, you know.”

  I pivot my shoulders so I face him in the dark, suddenly very interested in this news. “I made it in the placemat?”

  He laughs. “You sure did. The day you got that job in New York.”

  I roll my eyes. “Grams probably did that.”

  “Probably,” he laughs.

  I look back up at the screen and say, “I hope you have some tissues in the truck because this is going to get real,” I say.

  Garrett’s eyes go wide, and his voice is full of fake outrage. “Young lady, I would never let you watch me clean the pipes on a first date.”

  I punch him in the shoulder.

  “Ow,” he laughs.

  “I mean because I might cry! Idiot.”

  He can’t stop laughing. “I might cry too; you never know.”

  “Just watch the movie. God.”

  I want to punch him again, but I can’t. I’m not going to lie; his dumb jokes make me smile. In fact, ever since I arrived back in my hometown, I’ve been uncharacteristically smiling a lot.

  “I don’t know why Grams would say that another movie was playing. She reads the placemats like it’s the Bible.”

  “Your Grams doesn’t read the Bible. She reads dirty novels from the grocery store.”

  “That’s the truth.”

  When I’ve had my fill of the snacks Garrett packed, I adjust myself to get comfortable in the truck bed. It’s not the best place to chill for long periods. Garrett sees me shifting my weight around, and offers to set up one of the stadium sea
ts he keeps stashed in here for high school football games. “No thanks,” I say. I want to say that I don’t wish to sit alone in a stadium seat in the grass. What I want to say is I want to stick close to him.

  Seeming to read my mind, Garrett extends one arm out to me. “Feel free to use me as your movie-watching sofa.”

  I settle into the warm crook of his arm, and he squeezes me close. I can still feel the ridges of the truck bed liner digging into my hip, but not as much with Garrett absorbing half of my weight against his chest.

  This is cozy. Just two friends cuddling in the back of the truck, a romantic movie on the screen, a picnic blanket spread with fruit and cheese and wine. Stars. Fireflies. Patrick Swayze.

  Don’t you dare fall for him, my mind insists. This is not romance. The air is not filled with magic. It’s filled with gnats and mosquitoes. Unsupervised kids are running around outside late at night during a movie that is not family-friendly at all. That cornfield over there is full of pesticides and is probably interfering with poor Garrett’s bee colony somehow. Someone is smoking a cigarette nearby when its clearly posted that’s against the rules at this drive-in.

  Nothing about this is romantic. Nothing. Nope. Nada. Zilch.

  It’s not the least bit sweet that that hard thigh of his is nestled next to mine. Or, more precisely, almost nestled between mine. There’s nothing amorous about that mysterious, woody smell that’s all over him. The fact that his hair is falling into his eyes and all my hands want to do is reach up and play with it? Just flirtation. Just my horny body calling the shots. Not romance, and indeed not love.

  “Was this a bad idea?”

  He looks over at me. “Eliza,” he says, running his hand through my hair.

  The flickering lights of the screen highlight the sharp edges of his jaw-droppingly handsome face. Garrett’s Adam’s apple bobs, his eyes become hooded, his jaw clicks. All the hidden parts of my body respond to these signals. My throat dries up even as my mouth waters, as if that makes any sense. My palms sweat. The night breeze wafting over my skin excites me. My nipples tighten. The muscles of my sex clamp down around nothing. I wet my lips and blink up at him.

  “I don’t want to like you this much, Garrett.”

  “That’s the thing, though. You do like me, and I like you. So let’s give it a shot.”

  “I can’t date a rebound guy.”

  He closes his other arm around me. “Then let’s just call this what it is. I’m your rebound guy, and nothing more. No hearts broken. No promises made. Just fun. Just chill. Just enjoy the moment.”

  “One minute you seem like a flirty, sweet country boy angling for a wife, and the next moment you’re a zen master free-love sex guru. I can’t figure you out.”

  “I’m both, depending on what you want me to be.”

  “You’re going to force me to give you a nickname. Garth Buddha.”

  “Whatever you want, that’s me, lovely. Enjoy the ride.”

  Chapter Ten

  Garrett

  I’m such a liar. I’m already in too deep. It’s going to break both our hearts when Eliza leaves. And I’ve already made promises to myself. I’ve changed my floor plans because of her. What’s wrong with me? If you build it, she will come. Is that what I’m doing? Because that might be a sight too cheesy, even for me. She’s, what, not supposed to be freaked out by that?

  Maybe she’s what I want, but what if I’m not what she needs?

  Eliza needs a slick city boy who can take her to fancy restaurants, museums, and concerts whenever she wants. She needs excitement that I can’t give her. Then again, if she doesn’t stay? Then I’m not out anything but a more oversized bathroom.

  Yeah, right. You’ll be devastated.

  But my heart doesn’t care. My hands, my mouth, my soul kick my conscience out the door. I just want to be reckless with her.

  I press my mouth over hers, and the electrical storm is instant. This kiss is going to take us to new, uncharted places. I could plumb all the depths with Eliza, right out here in the open. In front of the whole town of Piper’s Grove—and it’s a safe bet everyone in town is here on a Friday night—I won’t be able to stop myself from getting lost in her completely.

  Breathless, I pull back from the kiss to look into her eyes. This confirms she feels what I’m feeling. Those gorgeous hazels are wide and wild. Eliza reaches up and grips my neck, pulling me back down for another kiss. This time, our kiss is a little more frantic. She pushes her tongue into my mouth, and I welcome it passionately.

  The kiss leads to fumbling hands over clothes and legs intertwining. Her torso nests against my chest, our hearts pounding together, our shared breathing exchanging heat. She deepens the kiss even more, pressing herself closer. With her arms around my neck, my hands are free to memorize her warm, writhing body, noting what she likes, what she responds to.

  Ever since she told me about her ex and his refusal to service her, I’ve been picturing how I would go about giving her what she deserves. Eliza is owed. Every inch of her body needs to be worshiped, and I am the only man fit to do it.

  I want to get her out of here. Her tongue explores my mouth with urgency when I squeeze her curves, the plump little butt, her soft breasts that fill up my hands. She lets out a sexy moan into my mouth when I squeeze her breast, thumbing her nipple through the layers of fabric.

  I want to rip and tear, rid us both of all of our clothes.

  There’s just one problem. I’m reminded of one of those problems when I hear the screeching of kids running up and down the aisles of cars, treating the place like their own playground.

  Okay, two problems. If we leave now, where are we going to go? We could find a parking lot somewhere, anywhere. We could hop inside the cab right here at the drive-in. After all, I do believe a fair number of Piper’s Grove citizens were conceived right here in this very field.

  I’m overthinking everything. What have I been saying to Eliza since she got here? Live in the now. Go with the flow. Just enjoy what’s happening and see where things go.

  Eliza leans away a few inches so she can grab hold of my chest. “I’ve been thinking about your lips all afternoon.”

  “This one? This one right here?”

  She leans in to kiss me, then pulls away and laughs.

  “Oh, you like to tease, do ya?” The ensuing tussle results in tickling and wriggling until I have her pinned under me, both of us out of breath.

  “Say the word and I’ll let you up,” I growl.

  Instead, Eliza slides her hand up under my flannel shirt.

  “God, why do you have to be such a gentleman, wearing an undershirt under your flannel in June?”

  “Raised right. Sorry, not sorry.”

  “Remind me to slap your mother.”

  For some reason, this makes me kiss her harder. Our fingers dig into each other: mine into her ample hips and hers into the flesh of my lower back.

  I slant my face against her cheek and kiss the shell of her ear, sucking her earlobe into my mouth, dragging a whimper from her lips.

  “Eliza. You keep making noises like that, I’m gonna lose control of my manners.”

  “Do it. I’d love to see you riled up for once, Chill Boy.”

  I wrench her tight to me and kiss her as passionately as I’ve wanted to, messily, with no regard for politeness. Our tongues compete to see who can plunge down the other’s throats faster. She tugs my undershirt loose, finally, and her hands on my overheated skin feel so good I have no room left for rational thought.

  I need to touch her now. I pause to ask if I may go up her shirt—remembering that we’re in public—but this mind-reading woman does it for me.

  Like a madman, I plunge my face between her breasts. My sighs sound like a wild man’s; surely we’re gonna be seen. The only saving grace is the tailgate is up, partially shielding us from anyone casually passing by.

  While I cover her lace-covered breasts with kisses, my hand runs the length of her thigh, daring to slide up
her skirt.

  “So soft.”

  Her hand reaches back and cups my backside, squeezing the flesh of my ass through my jeans.

  “God, you feel so good; I can’t wait to get you naked,” I say.

  “Keep trying, and we’ll see.”

  My hand roams down the front of her jeans to her lace panties. Her body jerks against me in response.

  “Sorry,” I say.

  “No, it’s good. Your hands are rough. I like it.”

  I don’t want to stop kissing her to have a conversation, but I know we should. Things are getting dangerously close to indecent exposure. “If you want me to keep going, I will. I’m gonna treat your pussy so good, she’s gonna forget all about Mister Soft Hands.”

  “Mister Soft Hands!” She laughs so loud I have to smother it with a kiss. I’m flattered she finds this funny, but I’m not laughing as I sit up and yank the picnic blanket like a terrible magic act. This move sends paper plates, solo cups, and the remnants of our romantic dinner clattering across the floor of the pickup bed.

  Eliza yelps in delight then stifles a giggle as I use the picnic blanket to cover us up.

  “Come here,” I growl, cinching her close, then tugging the fly of her jeans open.

  I expel a quiet moan as she helps me unbuckle my belt and unzip my fly.

  “Thank god you don’t wear one of those dinner plate belt buckles,” she rasps.

  I tease her lips with my tongue, my hand cupping her pussy. “That’s the thing. The dinner’s on the inside of my drawers, sweetheart.”

  She barks out a laugh and calls me ridiculous even as my fingers slide between her damp folds.

  “This is a very sad part of the movie. You better stop your laughing; people are going to suspect something’s going on over here,” I scold her, dabbing kisses down her neck and over her breasts.

  She strums my nipples with her two thumbs, spiking every carnal urge to claim her. On the verge of drooling, I lean down and suck her nipples through the fabric of her bra, soaking it. I pull at her tiny buds with my teeth, provoking a gasp and a stifled moan from her.