True For You (Boys of the South)

by Valentine, Marquita

  A small sound catches my attention, mostly because it’s magnified times three in my hungover state.

  Slowly turning my head, I’m not exactly stunned to find Bliss lying in my bed, but I am pretty surprised, because despite offering herself up on a platter, she has never struck me as a drunken hookup type of girl.

  Her back is to me, the sheet coming only to her waist. All those curves, right there for the taking. Or I had already partaken?

  Either way, I can’t remember exactly what happened last night.

  Bliss turns over, on her stomach, exposing more creamy skin and curves I want to touch and lick. Of course my morning-wood semi thinks now is the perfect time to turn into a full-blown hard on.

  Grimacing, I try to rewind the night’s events, but all I can see in my blurry mind’s eye is a man talking to Bliss and me. We’re standing at a… I actually close my eyes tight and try harder to make out the sign.

  Twenty-Four Hour Bait and Tackle Shop.

  Some good time I had shown Bliss.

  I flop down on the pillow—a mistake of epic proportions—and a sledgehammer cracks me in the back of the head.

  I scrub my face with my hand and rub at the pressure points.

  Damn it. I screwed Bliss last night, but not before taking her fishing, and don’t remember shit about it.

  Maybe she will when she wakes up.

  Automatically my hand goes to the chain at my neck. Maybe I had sense enough to—

  My eyes pop open. “Where the hell is my ring?”

  A small hand touches my shoulder, the unmistakable feel of metal hitting my skin. I look down.

  My ring is on Bliss’ finger, on her left hand.

  “Oh shit,” I mutter.

  “Good morning to you, too.”

  My gaze flies to Bliss. She’s all pink cheeked, the sheet covering her body as she sits up. Unfortunately.

  But I’m not going to let that, let her, distract me. “Why are you wearing that ring?” That’s my ring. It was supposed to be Violet’s ring. Only our plans were interrupted. Our entire future had been interrupted.

  She frowns. “Because you gave it to me during the ceremony. You’re wearing one, too.”

  I check my left hand. Sure enough, there’s a ring, simply designed and the color of silver. “What ceremony?”

  She leans over me, dark curls brushing my face as does the rest of her body. Too bad the sheet’s between us.

  “Here.” She hands me a piece of paper and my cell phone.

  I glance up at the paper, read it, and nearly lose it. Then I look at the picture on the phone.

  It’s a damn good thing I’m lying down.

  The man I had remembered from last night? He’s holding a Just Married sign made out of fishing lures and wood.

  “Oh shit.” This time I gulp the word. Irrefutable proof of my stupidity is probably making its way through every gossip site imaginable.

  Bliss’ pretty green eyes search my face, her cheeks heating. “We haven’t consummated it, yet. So technically, we could get it annulled.”

  “Consummated?” Right now, I’m too damn hungover, and it’s too damn early for me to even think about what that word means. But I do wonder how in the hell did anyone let me, apparently drunk as shit, enter into any kind of contract?

  “I’m still a virgin.”

  “And?”

  “That means our marriage isn’t official in the eyes of the law. Yet.”

  There’s that yet word again. I’m beginning to think Bliss Davenport is the Queen of Yet. “How do you know?”

  “The guy that married us told me and you, too, right before we left. He also said he’d file the paperwork on our behalf today, so we don’t have anything to worry about.”

  How nice of him. I frown. “Let me get this straight. We got married, but didn’t consummate it, so it’s not legal. And the paperwork hasn’t been filed.” I lift a brow. “Yet.”

  “Yes.”

  “So you decided to go to bed with me, without a stitch of clothes on.”

  She blinks. “You said I could sleep in here, while you crashed on the couch. You decided to come in here anyway, about three hours ago.”

  “There are five other bedrooms in this house, Bliss.”

  “You were hard to get along with last night.” She runs a hand through her curls. “It was easier to agree to sleep in here than argue with you.”

  “Apparently, I wasn’t that hard,” I mutter.

  Cheeks heating, she glances around the room, and then down at the sheets before peering at me through her lashes. Flirtation is nowhere in her posture or gaze. “So what do you want to do—make me not a virgin or get an annulment?”

  Her whole let’s-get-this-over-with attitude deflates my ego and my dick. “Can I have more than ten minutes to think about it?” I growl.

  She swallows, visibly swallows, and an uneasy feeling passes over me. “You made a promise to me, but I guess holding you to something that you don’t remember isn’t fair.”

  Of course, she won’t argue with me, not like everyone else. Not like anyone else. Tossing the paper to one side, I grind the heel of my hand into my forehead. “I need a dri—”

  “There’s a glass of whiskey on the table beside you,” she says softly. “A little hair of the dog.”

  I glance beside me. Sure enough, there’s a tumbler of amber-colored liquor in it. “Mind-reader?” God, I sound like an ass, as usual.

  Bliss raises her head and gazes out the windows. How far she can see, I have no idea. But she’s squinting a little, so it can’t be very far without her glasses. “No. You poured it this morning, before you crawled in bed with me. I’m only reminding you of it.”

  Grabbing the glass, I take a large gulp, relishing the feel of it burning down my throat. “Such a good little wife.”

  Her entire body goes rigid. “Drink some more. You’re much nicer when you’re drunk.”

  “Feisty Bliss,” I say, and then take another drink. Already my headache is easing, and I don’t feel quite so useless. “Is that how you tricked me into marrying you?”

  She lets out a snort, instead of getting defensive like I expected. “It was your idea, not mine.”

  I set the glass down and sit up, edging closer to the woman beside me. I brush a thick fall of hair over her shoulder. Freckles dot the landscape of her skin, a surprise I hadn’t expected.

  I brush my mouth over her shoulder, my tongue tracing a line from golden brown circle to golden brown circle. She’s sweet and soft against my lips.

  She shivers, a small gasp leaving her full lips.

  “Tell me more about this idea of mine.” I nip at her shoulder and her arms move, sending the sheet lower.

  “Stop,” she gasps. “I can’t think when you do that.”

  I nuzzle her neck, breathing in the lemon and flowery scent that always accompanies her. “How about now?”

  “You wanted…” she begins and I take her earlobe between my teeth, slowly biting down. “Oh God. Y-you wanted to piss off Everett.”

  Just like that, I’m no longer interested in Bliss, in encouraging her to talk… in anything. The sweet taste of her skin has turned to ash in my mouth.

  My phone rings, and I get out of bed to search for it. I’m bare-assed as I walk around the room.

  A quick glance over my shoulder lets me know Bliss is staring, her mouth a little open in shock. I grab a clean pair of jeans from the top drawer of the dresser beside the door and slide them on, leaving the top button undone. No need to get fully dressed when I intend to shower in a few.

  My phone stops ringing, and I run a hand through my hair. “Where the hell is my—”

  “Table. My side,” Bliss says. I want to be annoyed with her for knowing exactly what I need.

  “It’s called a nightstand,” I correct, striding to it. The phone rings again, my dad’s name appearing. “Anything else I should know before I answer this?”

  She shakes her head, my ring on her finger spa
rkling. “No.”

  “Don’t suppose we signed a pre-nup?” Though it won’t matter if we get an annulment, because then it will be like the marriage never happened.

  “I wanted to, you said no, because it would piss off your dad even more.”

  That sounds like something I would say. Still, she didn’t have to agree so easily. I flatten my mouth. Answering the phone, I give her a look before covering the speaker with a hand. “When I’m done with this call, we’re going to have a nice long talk. So don’t go anywhere.”

  “I can’t go anywhere.”

  “Jackson Cash Morgan. Answer me,” Everett yells into the phone, but I ignore him.

  “Why?” Can’t leave the money behind, sweetheart? I want to ask, but I don’t, because a part of me wants to believe Bliss wants me for me, not my money or fame. Another reason why I shouldn’t have given up on Violet. At least I knew she didn’t need me for any of those reasons.

  “You took my clothes out of my bag and burned them in the fire pit beside the pool.”

  I really did that? What the hell was wrong with me last night? “And you let me?”

  “In case you haven’t noticed, you’re twice my size,” she says, and I feel worse. No, not worse, I feel like shit. “Don’t worry; you said you’d buy me more.”

  So, shit feeling gone now. I’ve married a gold digger. Everett’s going to hand me my ass over this.

  Chapter Three

  Bliss

  The only thing worse than waking up nude with a guy that can’t remember the night before, is waking up married to him and finding out he’s more of a jerk than you previously thought.

  I glance down at the wedding ring on my finger. It’s beautiful, white gold or platinum, with diamonds all over it. It’s the first piece of jewelry I’ve ever owned.

  Although, how long it will stay mine remains to be seen.

  “No, I did not plan this,” Jackson growls into his cell phone as I slip on my glasses. He comes into focus, and I blink. I’m not sure who exactly had my glasses fixed, but a big part of me wants to believe that the man standing by the bed had something to do with it.

  “It just happened, Everett. That’s how,” he snaps.

  Never in my wildest dreams did I ever imagine I’d end up here, just outside of Charleston, South Carolina, with country music’s golden bad boy, Jaxon Hunter.

  In private, though, I think of him as just Jackson.

  My heart skips a couple of beats when his dark blue gaze rakes over me. Strawberry blond hair sticking up all over the place and a morning beard that makes his face all adorably scruffy.

  Dark blue jeans hang on his narrow hips as he paces. Tight abs, with an, oh holy crap, eight pack in the making leaves my tongue glued to the roof of my mouth. Then there are the tattoos. Don’t even get me started on the tattoos, but I want to get started on them.

  He tilts his head and smiles, as if he knows exactly what I’m thinking, sending my heart into overdrive.

  “We’re staying married,” he says into the phone, his blue-eyed gaze pinning me to the bed. “If you have a problem with that—honestly, I don’t give a damn.”

  As if he could ever be just Jackson.

  Blushing, I glance away. I’m not stupid though, despite agreeing to marry him while I was perfectly sober and he was perfectly drunk, to think that what will happen next will be all hearts and flowers.

  But I was desperate. I’m still desperate.

  I’m tired of living on the street, tired of homeless shelters and crashing in bus stops when I have no other options. Since I was let go from the tour, I have no place to go. No place to live, unless I go back home to Forrestville.

  A shudder racks my body as I think about what waits for me at home. No, not my home, not anymore.

  My Uncle Brian drags me by the hair, across the floor. I wrap my hands around his wrists, trying to ease the stinging in my scalp. My glasses are barely hanging on my face. “You were supposed to stay for a week, maybe longer if you’d been any good.”

  Pain slices though my heart from where he’d beat me when I’d turned up this morning. “Please, don’t send me back,” I beg. I’d rather stay here and take my “uncle’s” abuse than go back.

  Aunt Helen stares at me with vacant eyes as she opens the door. “You’re sixteen. Old enough to earn your keep.”

  “You told me I was hired to clean his house,” I scream.

  “Don’t you back talk your aunt.” Uncle Brian grabs my shoulder and throws me outside. I land in the dirt, air rushing from my body in a painful whoosh.

  The frame of my glasses is painfully tight against my now-raw skin. Lifting my head, I blink and can barely see a thing. The gravel I landed on has scratched the crap out of them.

  “I’ll have to give that bastard his money back, you worthless little bitch. Knowing him, he’ll want his pound of flesh, too, and he ain’t getting it from Helen or me.”

  I spit out a mouthful of grass and taste blood. Fear courses through me, and my stomach turns. I can’t go back there. I just can’t. I’d rather slit my wrists than go back.

  “Here’s what’s going to happen next: I’m going inside to finish my breakfast, and then make a phone call. In the meantime, I expect you to get your ass back inside and shower, put on the dress Helen bought you, and be ready to go back.”

  “I’m never going back,” I say through gritted teeth.

  Brian’s face grows dark and, before I can move, he’s outside with me, fingers digging painfully into my skin. “If I have to hog-tie you, I will, Bliss. You ain’t got anywhere to go, no family to speak of, and no place to live. Do you really think anyone cares about you? You’re nothing.”

  Call us Uncle and Aunt they’d said the first day I’d been dropped off. We’re going to take care of you like you’re one of our own. LIARS. “I hate you.”

  His hand draws back and, before I can brace myself for what’s coming, he slaps me across the face. My glasses go flying.

  A hand lands on my shoulder, and I scream.

  “What the hell?”

  “Please,” I whimper, screwing my eyes shut. I hate how helpless I sound, how helpless I feel in this moment.

  “Bliss, hey, hey… it’s me—it’s me. It’s Jackson,” he says, his voice still rough from sleep and his hangover. “Are you okay?”

  No, I’m not okay. I want a hole to open so I can drop in it, and float away. Let the darkness eat me, until nothing’s left.

  “Bliss!”

  I try to say something, but I can’t. My lips won’t move, and my throat feels like it’s full of marbles.

  “Talk to me, baby doll,” he pleads, sounding nothing like he had when he’d first woken up this morning. “You’re scaring the hell out of me.”

  Turning my head a little, I stare at him, though dry eyes.

  I stopped crying four years ago.

  *** *** ***

  Jackson

  I take Bliss into my arms, settling back against the headboard of the bed. She’s shaking like crazy, and I have no idea what made her so scared or what to do about it.

  All I know is the sound of her scream made my hair stand on end.

  “I-I… I’m sorry. I thought I saw a snake on the floor, and I’m scared to death of those things,” Bliss says, her voice whisper thin.

  Snakes? In April? “I’m not trying to call you out, but you were completely inside your head before I even tried to touch you. I said your name at least five times, and you didn’t say anything.”

  “Oh.” Her nose touches my chest as she turns into me. I hold her tighter, trying to ignore the softness of her skin against mine, while I run my hand up and down her back. “Memories.”

  “Want to talk about it?”

  “No.”

  I close my eyes. “Fine.” Eventually, I’ll get the truth out of her.

  “I’m exhausted,” she says. “Can we talk later?”

  “Yeah, sure. I’m exhausted, too.” Not just physically, from not being able to
sleep for the past couple of days, but because I’m done. Done with love, with doing the right thing, and being a hero for a happily ever after in which the princess wanted the lowly farm boy and not the prince. Yeah, my ego is shot to hell. “We can stay like this, if you want.”

  “I want.”

  So do I. It worries me, though, because after I’d made my decision to help Cole and Violet, I’d made up my mind to be free. Free from contracts, from relationships, from my so-called family… from everything that made no sense.

  Only being with Bliss makes complete sense, and it scares the hell out of me. This feeling of falling is familiar, but I know what happens when you stop falling. You hit the ground. Hard. And you’re never the same again, too damaged to be good for anyone else.

  I open my eyes. “Bliss?”

  “Yes?”

  “You heard what I told Everett, that I’m staying married to you, right?”

  She tips her head back, pretty green eyes staring at me from behind her glasses, and frowns. “I don’t want you to stay married to me, because you’re rebelling against your dad.”

  “We didn’t marry for love, Bliss. We got married because I was drunk and wanted to give my dad the biggest Fuck You possible.” She starts to draw away from me, but I hold her in place. “Hear me out, okay?”

  She nods.

  “We didn’t marry for love, or any other rational reason.” Or at least, not one I can remember.

  “Love isn’t rational,” she points out.

  I grunt. “We weren’t rational, but it doesn’t make us in love.”

  She licks her lips. “What does it make us?”

  “Two people desperate for one another, for a way out, for anything but how they’d been living.” I can’t believe I’m being so raw, so honest with her. “And I think… I think we should make this marriage official, or at least pretend it’s official.”

  “For how long?”

  I shrug. “I hadn’t thought that far ahead.”

  “Thinking things through isn’t your strong point, is it?”