Aroused (The ABCs of Love Book 1)

by Clover Hart

  I take one look at the bantam cock-a-doodle-doo man and decide that the dresser would eat him alive. But I don’t want to be the prick who embarrasses his elder and causes a public relations incident for FCT.

  Luckily Miss Carney steps up.

  “Clarence, I thought we might have some hot cocoa and discuss a dilemma I’m having in one of my chess games. I seem to be caught in a Blackmar-Diemer Gambit.”

  It’s Mr. Doughte to the rescue as he lets go of the hand truck and crooks his arm for Miss Carney, whose main obsession seems to be chess. I’ve already learned that she has about a hundred pen pal games going with people from all over the globe, and she’s been luring her neighbor into her chessboarded world, too.

  I watch them toddle into her house. A few burnt leaves drift on the wind in back of them, and I picture my parents like this someday, walking arm-in-arm, supporting each other.

  But I haven’t thought much about settling down myself. Too much to do, too many places to go, all those small towns to conquer.

  While I wheel the hand truck to the pickup, I pass the open window, catching Mandy’s flowery scent.

  Not that I’ll tell her, but I think I’m gonna miss this piece of crap truck when I give it back to her tomorrow.

  Yeah. I’m gonna miss the hell out of it.

  Chapter 16

  Zach

  When I pull up to a parking space near Mandy’s condo the next evening, she’s already there.

  As she watches me arrive, she leans against the door of my BMW, twirling my keys around her finger. Her hair is down again, waving over one shoulder, and she might be wearing just a little mascara and pink lipstick, if that. Dressed like she is in a pink Henley, jeans, and those increasingly hot harness boots, she’s got me right where it counts — my gut, and my cock. I still can’t figure out how she got me this worked up. My body’s pounding and acting like it hasn’t seen her in days, but it’s only been hours since she left the coffeehouse for class.

  I cut Bessy’s engine, and as the truck shudders to a stop I absently pat the wheel. Then, before Mandy realizes that I might’ve liked her pickup more than I’ll ever let on, I get out.

  After I toss the keys to her, she easily catches them, then lobs my set to me.

  Then she walks over to her rusted pickup and touches the hood. “Ah, Bessy. How I’ve missed a real ride.”

  I swallow, because that’s just what I do whenever Mandy mentions a ride. Then I take a look at the shiny black paintjob on my BMW and … Mandy must’ve washed it, just like I carefully washed Bessy.

  Still, as much as that pickup gave me some peace this past week, I’ll be glad to get back to my reality — I’m still a city boy, not a country boy.

  Definitely.

  I jerk my chin toward her truck. “I got the shocks taken care of at Tinker’s Auto this morning. You can thank me later for cutting back on the noise pollution here in Cherry Valley.”

  “You didn’t have to do that. How much do I—?”

  “Consider it my gift to Bessy. She was begging for it.”

  “Then we both thank you.”

  I grin as Mandy claims her truck again by leaning against it now. For some reason, the armor she has on today is playful, but her deflector shield is up.

  “I made an improvement on your car, too,” she says, “although it didn’t cost me a dime. You’ll find the uppity British lady vanquished and, in her place, there’s an American dude to help you out when you need directions or ask what the weather’s going to be like when you arrive back on the West Coast, even though it never changes.” She shrugs. “I tried to find an abrasive New York guy since I figure you miss Barry, but no dice. You’re stuck with the Bro Voice.”

  I think she’s lightly mocking my lifestyle, almost challenging me. This is how we always end up with another dare, and my pulse speeds up.

  “What’re you getting at?” I ask.

  “I don’t know. I was only thinking that just because you’ve eaten cattle balls and driven around in my authentic country truck doesn’t mean you still haven’t got a lot to learn — if you’re still aiming to win this town over.”

  “I am.”

  “Then more power to you.”

  She says it like she hasn’t totally been won over by me yet.

  “If I didn’t know better,” I say, “I’d guess that you’re enjoying this game we’ve been playing a little too much. One dare, then another.”

  “A game? Is that what this is?”

  Now my heartbeat is pistoning, pumping me right up. From the flush on her cheeks, I think she might be feeling it, too, and the fact that neither one of us will own up to it only makes things hotter.

  “Come on,” I say. “You might seem sweet and innocent, but you’re a player. Admit it.”

  “A player? Like you are when you’re dating in the city?”

  “No. I never hit it and quit it with the women I go out with.”

  She laughs. “Well, it’s the same with me when it comes to the guys in Cherry Valley, so you must only be talking about how I like playing these dares.”

  I’d never think that she’s a fling kind of girl, but, surprisingly, her eyes are all lit up as if she secretly likes being called out as a player.

  No way. Girl Next Door would have to be talked into taking off that armor and letting herself go, and Mandy doesn’t seem like the type who’d ever be talked into anything — it’s like pulling teeth just to get her to do what she obviously even wants to do.

  I lower my voice. “It sounds like you’re leading up to another dare.”

  “And if I am?”

  “What is it?”

  She narrows her eyes at me. “Before you leave, you need to experience more than real food and a rugged truck. You need to go to a country bar, mister, so you can country dance. I suspect you did some of that in Montana, but I want to see it. Badly.”

  I laugh and gesture at my techie wardrobe. “Me? Hell, no. Geeks don’t dance, and I never stepped foot on any kind of country floor even back when I lived in the country.”

  “But just imagine how many women you’ll be able to impress back in San Francisco with your worldly experiences. You can show off your stuff just like a great frigatebird does in nature.”

  I cock my brow at her.

  She actually looks reluctant to say more, but I wait her out, and she continues.

  “It’s a seabird, and during mating season the male puffs up a red sac on its chest to impress the female and …. Seriously, never mind.”

  “Actually, I’d like to hear more about what you’re learning in school. It’s interesting.”

  She watches me, as if seeing whether I’m bullshitting her, but I’m not.

  Then she shrugs, and we’re back to where we were. “Anyway, country dancing is a life-altering experience. Yes or no?”

  I shake my head.

  “Hamilton, you’ll be going back to the city soon, so why not go out with a Western bang?”

  I wish I’d be going out with another kind of bang, but it’s not gonna happen. FCT’s reputation is at stake here, and I already told her that I’m not a hump-and-dump kind of guy anyway. I’ve even kept myself from asking around town about Mandy, just to learn a little more about her, because that wouldn’t look good either.

  But the bottom line is that she’s still got that cockblocking shield up, even though there’re obvious chinks in it.

  “No way I’m doing that dance.” I’m still shaking my head. “I’ve been a good sport so far, but this is too much.”

  “Okay then.” She starts to circle around to the other side of her truck, and everything inside me sinks. “It’s fine if you don’t have the guts to—”

  Guts? “Fine, I’ll do it.”

  Here’s another bottom line — I’m not about to look weak in front of anyone in Cherry Valley, especially a hot girl who’s got me wrapped around her finger for some inexplicable reason.

  She’s beaming, but when she sees that I’ve noticed, she
recovers. “Great. I mean, I knew you wouldn’t chicken out.”

  “Never.”

  “Then meet me at the Footloose Saloon in a half hour? I’ve got to drop off some Agatha Christie books at my sister’s house, and then I was going to meet some friends from class at the bar later tonight. I’ll teach you how to two-step before they get there, cowboy.”

  And, with that, she hops into Bessy, revs the engine, and peels out of there. I stand by my shiny BMW, wondering what the hell I just got myself into.

  But I don’t waste any time.

  I slide into the familiar, smooth comfort of my rental, then program my new Bro GPS for the Footloose Saloon. I want to get the lay of the land before Mandy arrives because I will not be making an asshole out of myself tonight. Preparation is the key.

  When I step inside the bar, it’s still early enough in the evening that only a few cowboys and cowgirls are drinking at the tables. It smells like old beer and the peanut shells that dust the floor near the long bar. Guitars hang on the walls along with pictures of country music stars, and neon lights up a dance area in the middle of the big room.

  I head straight to the bar.

  Geeks don’t dance country, and I’m not going to get through this without a few drinks. If I’m going to do this thing, I don’t want to remember it later. Hell, I’ll even contact Dirk so he can drive me home if no one else is available.

  There’s a tough woman in a black tank top behind the bar. Mascara raccoons her eyes and her hair is the consistency of cotton candy under the pink neon.

  “The best whiskey you’ve got,” I mutter.

  She pours for me, and I down the harsh crap that’s in the shot glass. Then I repeat. And repeat again.

  By the time Mandy enters, I’m in a good, mellow place. The saloon still isn’t very crowded, but it doesn’t fucking matter. She’s everything, her smile taking up all the space around her.

  As I turn to watch her approach, I lean against the bar, the warmth of the bad whiskey saturating my veins. All the heat flows to my belly, getting me primed at the sight of her as she moseys toward me, a slight sway to the way she walks.

  Fuck, I love those boots and those curve-hugging jeans and the way that Henley outlines her …

  You knows.

  “You’ve sure been busy,” she says as she sidles up to me at the bar and takes a gander at the shot glasses lined up in front of me. “Very busy.”

  “Busy diving into the whole cowboy experience.” Damn, I sound cocky. Excellent. Bring on the damned two-step. “And don’t ask if I have a ride home, because I’ve got that covered.” I lift a finger. “Got everything covered.”

  She’s highly amused at how relaxed I am, and when she glances at some dancers on the floor, I’m afraid she thinks I’m ready to go for that dare.

  But … no. Everyone’s lined up and doing some kind of ritual bootscoot with their hats on and their thumbs hooked into their belt loops. Silver buckles flash and boot heels kick up before they slide in the other direction. Pretty yippee-ki-yay-yastic, actually.

  I can’t do that shit.

  Mandy nods toward the floor as if to get me on it, but I turn away to order another whiskey, avoiding the inevitable boogaloo disaster.

  The music changes to a mid-tempo song about good times and good music and laughing, and the bartender brings over my shot. I toss it down, but before I can even set the glass on the bar, Mandy has me by the jacket sleeve, pulling me toward a lone corner.

  “You can’t duck this,” she says to me. “Incoming two-step ahead.”

  The music is so loud that I have to bend to hear her, but that’s all right. That means I get to smell her flowery hair and whisper in her ear while my heartbeat takes me over in all areas. And I mean all.

  “Let’s just get this over with,” I say, even though I’d really like it to start. I also like the feel of her hair against my lips. Fuck, I’m starting to get off on this whole thing.

  With a sassy grin, she takes my right hand and guides it under her arm so that my palm presses against her shoulder blade. She does it so casually that I almost don’t have a chance to think about the fact that I’m touching her when she so often does her best to put up her guard.

  “Don’t get excited,” she says loudly.

  When I see that there’re a bunch of couples on the dance floor scooting around easily, and not necessarily romantically, I tell myself that I’d better not get a hard-on from this.

  But then Mandy rests her left hand on my upper arm, and her touch is so delicate that it seems impossible for me to take my next breath without tipping her off to the fact that even this tiny gesture puts me even closer to losing my shit.

  She grasps my free hand in hers and holds them up so that we look like we’re about to tango. We face each other as my head pounds right along with my dipshit heart and ecstatic cock. Her scent, the feel of her skin …

  I make my best attempt to push it all away as she starts to explain this two-step to me. Evidently, I’m going to take one quick step for one beat of music, then one slow step for two beats.

  I’m going to fail so hard at this because it makes no sense as I listen to the song.

  “All you’re going to do,” Mandy continues loudly, “is walk me backward to this beat like this.” She verbally takes me through the steps, timing them to the music. “Quick quick, slooow … slooow. Quick, quick, slooow … slooow …”

  I internalize her instructions. They still don’t go with the beat, but then Mandy starts walking backward, bringing me along with her. “Quick quick, slooow … slooow. Quick, quick, slooow … slooow …. You’ve got it!”

  Blood is chugging through me with the same rhythm as her words, and …

  Hey, I’m not screwing this up. I still look like a city idiot dancing over here in the corner — the bartender is watching me and smiling indulgently — but who cares? I’m with the hottest girl in Cherry Valley and she’s impressed that I’m giving this a go.

  I’m fucking acing this.

  “It’s not as bad as I thought,” I say over the music.

  I don’t mention that I also get to put my hands on Mandy and smell the shampoo wafting from her hair. Not bad at all.

  She smiles up at me, reminding me of the night we went to Milton’s Diner and I tore through the SICK BALLS dishes. Or even the day I salvaged her computer files. I can live with her smiles, and I start feeling how the dance fits the beat.

  I’m doing this crazy country thing.

  When the song ends, she backs a step away from me, applauding.

  “You,” she says, pointing at me, “are a cowboy, and you didn’t even know it!”

  I search for a smart comeback, but there’s nothing, because the next song has started and it’s an oldie that my parents used to play. Willie Nelson’s “Always on My Mind.”

  Mandy looks at the dance floor where couples are still two-stepping in a counterclockwise circle, but slower now. They’re looking into each other’s eyes, and I glance back at her.

  As if something has changed — could it be how I’m looking at her? — she bounces on her toes and gestures toward the bar.

  “Drink?”

  I don’t answer because Mandy Burnett, with her gorgeous brownish-reddish hair and those slight freckles over her nose and her sweet light-brown eyes, is right here in front of me. I’ve had enough whiskey to make me not give a shit about anything, and I reach over to her hand to gently clasp it.

  I think I hear her drag in a breath as I slip my other hand under her arm and press my palm against her shoulder blade, bringing her closer. Something in her eyes makes her seem lost as we look at each other for a few more slow beats.

  Quick, quick, slooow …

  As we start to dance, the song fades away in my head, my pulse taking over everything. Thunder, need, want. I’m not even sure we’re dancing to any kind of rhythm as I press her even closer. The feel of her breasts against my chest scrambles my thoughts, chaos on an old TV screen that’s on the fr
itz. Electricity scratching through me.

  Fuck all these games. Fuck the dancing. I want what I want, and with a surge of who-gives-a-fuck I pull her up as I bend down to kiss her with everything I’ve been holding back — fingers buried in her hair, mouth tasting hers, a slow burn that’s making my cock push against my zipper …

  With a shove, Mandy ends everything, stumbling back from me and touching her lips with her fingertips. There’s something dark and confused in her eyes, and I have no idea what.

  What the hell did I just do?

  I hold up my hands, backing up. “Mandy, I’m sorry. I—”

  But she’s already out of there, turning around and disappearing into the growing crowd by the bar, leaving me with proof that, if I didn’t know she was wrong for me before, it’s real goddamned obvious now.

  Chapter 17

  Mandy

  The next day is an awfully slow one at Screaming Beans. There’s a Homecoming football pep rally over at the high school, and it includes a carnival. Since the Cherry Valley Crushers are a focal point for just about everyone in this town, Main Street is dead, and it should be for the rest of the day.

  I even received an email from my biology instructor and he cancelled today’s class, so I’m taking advantage of my free time while hiding behind the screen of the extra laptop that my sister loaned me from her curio shop. I’m reading Abby’s newest blog, The ABCs of Love, in which she’s going on about that not-porno film that was the hit of Cannes and is now playing at the Bijou.

  Aroused.

  She says it’s certainly racy. It’s thought-provoking. It’s arty.

  And it’s making me think of Zach.

  Even though I’m praying that he won’t have enough of what we Cherry Valleyians call gumption to show up at his regular table and set up for work today, it’s as if he’s still in the room, making me go breathless every time I think of last night.