by Neal, Xavier
I wanna believe her. I wanna believe she's right. That I have earned my place in both families, but after so long of being on the outskirts of one, it's difficult to think anything else.
Before I have a chance to rebuttal, Johnson's voice interrupts, “Look at that! Rascal made it!” Slapping me on the back he cockily questions, “Are you gonna eat some BBQ or are you watching your girlish figure?”
The comment reminds me of something Glove would say. Damn. I can't wait to get home. My eyes cut to Jazz who has a soft smile. Then again. I can.
“Come on.” I grab my girl's hand and pull her along to follow Johnson. “You have to try the Miller's ribs.”
“Bro, he started adding these peppers to it...Makes you shit fire.” The description gets a laugh from me before he quickly apologizes. “Sorry little lady. Don't mean to offend.”
“Takes more than that to offend me,” Jazz clarifies while I drape my arm around her shoulder. He takes the hint and relocates to the other side of me. “I work with Marines remember? Not the cleanest mouthed men in the military.”
Johnson laughs a little as we approach the Miller's booth. “If you wanna see a real dirty mouth, you should ditch my Boy Scout brother, and I'll show you something your innocent mind has only dreamed of.”
“Hit on my lady again Jon and I'll pound you into a peach pancake. Clear?”
“They make peach pancakes?” Jazz scrunches her face.
“Don't let Ma see that reaction or you'll be eating those bastards until you pray for salvation in the form of her running out of flour.” He snags a slice of chicken out of a long silver foil pan. With a huge bite, he winks, smacks, and wanders off to cause trouble elsewhere.
She looks up at me with a crooked grin. “It's like if you and Glove actually shared DNA.”
“Except, I actually like Glove,” I remind her before speaking to Mrs. Miller who almost faints from the sight of me.
News of my arrival spreads fast forcing Jazz and I to answer hundreds of questions, endure gossip whispers that are anything but subtle, and be fawned over for how much I've filled out. In between the face pinching and games of twenty questions, I manage to sneak Jazz into the petting zoo where she bottle feeds a baby pig, and over to the face painting booth where she gets a small peach painted on her cheek.
Strolling away from a pie booth ran by the Springs, family of my friend who lives in D.C., Jazz looks up at me, beaming bright. “Can we ride the Ferris Wheel?”
“We can do anything you want darlin',” I assure, pulling her in closer to me. “Except for another hog tying competition. I hate those.”
“But you beat Johnson.”
“It's not hard to. He can barely tie his own shoes.”
She giggles again dragging me to the line, which is almost non-existent. We flash the operator our wrist bands and he opens the gate to let us on the ride. Jazz let's the back of her head hit my chest, leaning into my grip as the machine slowly starts to move us upward.
“I must say, not too bad for my first fair.”
“This is your first fair?”
“That's why I said it.”
“Are you shitting me?”
“No,” she replies coldly.
“How is that possible?”
“Boarding schools don't have fairs Lordy. Or carnivals. Or anything fun. They're like prisons without bars on the windows.”
“And the summers?”
“Were only a month long. During it I had some sort of nanny who had specific instructions on things I was and was not allowed to do. Trips outside the house had to be educational.”
“And I thought I had it shitty,” I mumble resting my face against the side of her head. “What about Christmas break?”
“Winter break was only two weeks, but the rules were the same.”
“Why do I get the feeling you didn't get to enjoy milk and cookies, presents or Santa?”
“Because you're not a moron.” After a deep breath she says, “I didn't do any of those things, but I also learned not to envy those of you who did. Jealousy gets nowhere in life. Striving for more does.”
Silence falls between us as we're lifted higher on the ride. A few feet from the top I realize, just how much between us I don't think the others can sympathize with. Neither of us with a home where we felt we were wanted. Both of us looking for a place to belong. I found it with Grim and Glove in the Corps. I'm beginning to wonder if that's the real reason she chose us to be a part of HORN. Because she knew she'd get the family she had been after for so long. Because she knew she'd get the acceptance she craved.
My hand slides up to stroke Jazz's cheek. Startled, she looks up as if I swept her away from whatever moment was trying to seize her thoughts. Playfully I tease, “Your cogitation is hurting my head.”
Her elbow nudges at me. “Oh shut up.”
Mirthfully I grin. “Ya know, you have to get kissed at the top of this ride darlin'.”
“Is that a rule?”
“My rule.”
Trying to not turn into putty, she pushes her eyebrows up. “And since when do I follow your rules?”
In a whisper I reply, “Ever since you called my name when you came.” I watch the sudden increase in heart rate, feeling like a predator toying with it's prey. Now at the pinnacle of the ride, our lips push together hungrily. My thumb gives her cheek a gentle stroke, before slipping around her neck to grip her into me as my tongue lazily slides against hers, loving the leniency granted for mine to do whatever it feels like. Jazz grips me tighter while my hand skims across her hip, transforming her taut stomach into undulating territory, a possible orgasm approaching from this small yet earth shattering moment. Fuck. If she comes from this kiss, I don't know that I won't too. Talk about fucking embarrassing myself. Her hand rolls across my hard on escalating the kiss just as the sound of cheering fills our ears.
Curious, the two of us pull away to see what caused the sudden uproar. Looking over the edge we're greeted with the waving of hats and hollers about me finally growing into a man.
On a huff I flop back against the seat. “I fucking hate this town.”
“You're like a celebrity here,” Jazz giggles. “The boys would have a field day.”
“At least they would be entertained,” I gripe. “A whole town watching and discussing your every move is not the life I wanna live. It never has been. Never will be.”
“And that's what you think being a Lord is? A source of entertainment?”
“In these parts? Yeah. The drama in our lives is discussed over breakfast like the fucking weather. Being a Lord is all about the reputation you hold and the money you bring into the bank.” The ride starts it's descent. “Speaking of the boys, any word from The Director?”
“We've spoken.”
“About our return home?”
“Negative,” she looks off into the distance, but leans back into my embrace. “I'm sure we'll get to go home soon enough, Lordy.”
“Right.” I nod and kiss the side of her forehead. “At least I've got you to keep me sane.” When she looks up at me with devious smile I add, “By driving you insane...What do you say we head back to my truck and--”
“Jody!” Mary Beth's shrill voice calls from the other side of the exit gate. She waves her arms back and forth. How can anyone possibly miss a pony tail that big and accent that exaggerated? “Jody!”
On a grumble I ask, “If I pretend I didn't see her, will she disappear?”
“Her hair is more likely to catch on fire than that is to happen.”
“That hardly seems like a fair comparison. Do you have any idea how much hairspray she puts in that shit?”
“Enough to make the devil fear letting her enter hell due to the risk of explosion,” Jazz's remark makes me erupt in to uncontrollable laughter. The joy causes a deep scowl out of Mary Beth, so I laugh harder. “Either way. Let's see what Paula Dean's biggest fan wants from you...”
“Don't insult Paula,” I argue as we're allowed to exit
the ride. “She loves Ma's peach cobbler.”
“Fucking really?” Jazz croaks in amazement.
Playfully I ask, “That didn't make it in the files?”
“Because you're joking.”
“I'm not.”
“You are. You have to be.”
“Nope. 110% Marine's honor ma'am.”
Annoyed she grunts, “I hate it when you call me that.”
Mary Beth drops her hands on her hips. “When he calls you what?”
“What do you want Mary Beth?” I grouse wrapping an arm around Jazz's waist.
“Not really a warm welcoming there, Jody.”
“Don't call me that.”
“You never minded before,” her tone turns flirtatious and Jazz shifts in my grip.
“I did. I was just polite enough not to mention it.”
“You liked it. Made you feel special...” She coos after giving Jazz a glance. “I always made you feel special.”
“Did you actually need something Mary Beth? Because if not I'd like to take my boyfriend back to his truck and test the suspension,” Jazz unexpectedly says. No fucking way. There's no fucking way my boss just said that. “And I don't mean of his truck.”
Not one to back down from a challenge, she drops a hand on her hip. “Tested it. It's not great.”
“I've got the latest model,” Jazz retorts. “All grown up, upgraded, and perfected. Now I'm going to ask one more time, did you actually need something?”
Not sure if I should be impressed or turned on or fucking both, I merely move her so she's in front of me and can feel the slight erection I've got thanks to the combination of her mouthiness and staking claim on me like that. It's something I've never had a female do. Ever.
“Thought I'd see if you two love birds wanted to come watch Jo in the shootin' competition,” her voice drops to a seductive level. “After all he is best in the town...”
“Second best,” my correction makes her smirk.
“That's right Jody. You could always handle a loaded...weapon,” the change in attitude from rubbing my brother in my face to throwing herself at me again is expected behavior. Makes me sick. Almost as sick as it made me when she called over a year ago to try to weasel her way back into my good graces.
“He's not the only one,” Jazz snips.
“Excuse me?” Mary Beth switches her focus.
“I said, he's not the only one.”
“I highly doubt you can handle more than a squirt gun princess.”
“Watch your mouth Mary Beth,” I threaten fiercely.
She parts her lips on a sigh, clearly excited by the warning.
“Why don't I prove it?” Jazz leans back, ass purposely teasing my dick that's at half-mast.
“What are you gonna show me your test scores from the military?”
“How about a little friendly shoot out after Jo is done? Me and you.”
“Please.” Mary Beth rolls her eyes. “I was shootin' guns while you were playin' Barbies. Why would I waste my time provin' that a city girl like you could never compare to somethin' special like me?”
“I can think of a thousand.” The price drop flops my mouth open. “In cash. If you prove me wrong.”
“You're really fuckin' sexy like this,” I compliment her. Confidently she looks up at me. “Is that what you think when you see me compete with Grim?”
“No, Lordy. You're an idiot then,” she states on a laugh.
Unsure if I should be hurt by the truth in that statement, after all we call him the Grim Reaper because the asshole never misses, or laugh because she did, I simply shake my head.
“I don't need your money,” Mary Beth growls. “I'll do it just so Jody can see what a mistake it is bringing Sex in the City to Dukes of Hazzard.”
“You do know they weren't very smart on that show, right?”
“Are you insulting Daisy? 'Cause them are fightin' words.”
“Dial it back Dolly. Let's just take it to the guns,” Jazz insists. “Lead the way.”
“My pleasure,” she sneers, turns, and starts stomping.
Lowering my lips to Jazz's ear I admit, “I've never seen you fire a gun.”
“Doesn't mean I can't.”
We finally arrive to the shooting area as Jo starts firing the pellet gun that's made to look like a sawed off shotgun, at the rapid moving targets. He gets 34 out of 40 with a curve. Two of the ones he hit shouldn't have counted, but given who he is, they always count them. Spoiled. I give Jazz a glance and she bumps me in the side confirming what I was already thinking. I wouldn't have missed any.
After he takes his victory cheer, Mary Beth leans over the edge of the fence and says something to the announcer who then declares, “We have another competition folks! Two lovely ladies wanna take the time challenge!”
Pa's voice comes from behind me, “I'm glad I decided to make one more trip this way.” I turn to face him, his aging face damn near glowing with giddiness. “It's your little lady versus Jo's, ain't it?” When I nod he shouts, “Whoooo!” Dropping his voice back to a level between the two of us he says, “I can't wait to see the look on Mary Beth's face when she loses.”
Jazz smiles at him. “Money's on me?”
“Suga' I've seen you handle a steak knife. I have no doubt that was jus' grazin' the edge of what you're capable of,” Pa says his accent heavier than normal. Growing up it would come out when he was too tired to dial it back for professional sake.
“You okay, Pa?” I question noticing him leaning to one side rubbing his chest. “You're rubbing your chest again.”
“Little tired. Long day and the old knee is starting to feel it. I'll be fine Rascal,” he insists. “Quit your worryin'.”
“Need your cane?”
“What did I jus' say?” Looking at Jazz he shakes his head. “Hope he's a better listener for you.”
“Typically,” she replies before moving through the crowd to the front where she is being summoned.
“Not gonna wish her luck?” Pa curiously questions.
“You've met her. You know she doesn't need it.”
On a chuckle he pats me on the back. “You've got yourself a good woman, Rascal. Don't lose her.”
“Don't plan on it,” I reply as they give Mary Beth first shooting rights.
She loads it up and the timer being started is yelled for all of us to be aware of. Mary Beth starts shooting the targets until time is called after a minute. The announcer takes a moment to have a word with the judges before declaring, “Folks! We have Mrs. Mary Beth Lord coming in with a whoppin' 29 out of 40! Clearly she shoots almost as well as her husband!”
“That's not sayin' much,” I grumble and Pa chortles.
They cheer and an unknown voice calls out, “Does that mean Rascal's gal shoots as well as he does?”
There's laughter and I uncomfortably fold my arms across my chest. Pa's hand lands on my shoulder. “It's been some years, but I remember how well you shoot.”
“I've gotten better.”
“I don't doubt that.” He nods. “Now, watch your girl bring the town to their knees.”
My eyes drift back at Jazz who raises the weapon, a clear relaxed look on her face. I've never seen her fire a shot that didn't come from her mouth, however the look she is packing indicates there isn't anything to fear. The moment her time is announced, Jazz fires off pellet after pellet flawlessly hitting each and every target, moving and stationary. With twelve seconds to spare, she's hit all 40 targets and successfully dropped every jaw that's gathered around, mine included.
“Well I'll be damned,” the announcer mumbles.
Feeling cheated by the expression on her face, Mary Beth shrieks, “How the hell did you do that? How the hell did some city gal like you beat me? Where'd you learn to shoot like that?”
“Um...” Jazz looks around at the curious faces. “Big cities really are dangerous?”
Thankfully they chuckle even as Mary Beth huffs, declaring she got cheated, whining she
got hustled, complaining to a crowd that's not really listening upon dispersing.
Continuing to laugh, Pa demands, “Marry that girl.”
With a crooked smile, the idea being one I could see happening now and explaining later, I simply extend my arms for her to come back into. Once she's there I hug her tightly and whisper in her ear, “We're getting' the fuck out of here...”
She pulls back and nods, letting me lead her away after a brief goodbye to Pa. The two of us wander back towards the truck reminiscing over the good time we've had.
Closer to our getaway, a distance from prying ears, I ask, “Seriously, where'd you learn to shoot like that?”
“You think you get my job without the ability to handle a weapon Lordy?” Jazz takes the hat off my head and pulls it onto hers. “One of my first training sessions while being groomed was a weapons course. Covered basics and advanced. I can even hold my own against Grim.”
“No one can hold their own against Grim,” I argue.
“I didn't say I could beat him, but I can definitely do better than you.”
“Aren't you full of confidence, ma'am?” the term makes her lightly laugh as I open her truck door.
“Don't you forget it.” She touches the tip of my nose with another sassy giggle.
On our ride back to the house, I feel drunker than I ever have before. The intoxication that came from not only watching her fire off the gun like she's a good ol' fashion country woman, but wiping the floor with the bitch who insists she's the best of the best at everything, cranked an insatiable hunger, to the point of famine level, to my dick. Goddamn...I'm gonna feed that craving in some way or fashion. Watching her look so at home in a place I never felt that way, should've made me feel even worse about being here, yet instead the opposite effect is coursing my veins. She makes me feel like I belong. Like if they can accept her they'll accept me. That if this was our life, that if this place was our home, things would be the way I always wanted them growing up. I know it's not a possibility. I gave up that fantasy long before HORN required me too, but there's a toxic peace from those thoughts.
