by Cindy Miles
For a brief moment, as our hands were clasped and our gazes were locked, and the yard light reflected off of his eyes, I saw something flash there. Hesitation? Regret? I couldn’t define it. Couldn’t label it. Wasn’t even sure it was truly there.
I figured time would surely tell.
Jace released my hand, reached into his pocket and withdrew his iPhone. I lifted it, tapped the camera icon, crossed my eyes and took a picture of myself. Then I tapped in my number and called my cell. I flipped the phone around. “Now your turn. There! Don’t move!” I grinned, then took the pic. Smokin’ hot! At least, to me. Quickly, I sent it to my phone. “Now, we’re officially friends.” I winked. “Icons and all. Don’t be shy, Mr. Beaumont. Call me. Text me.” I narrowed my gaze. “Google me.”
With a shake of his head, he stuffed the phone back into his pocket and climbed out of the Jeep. He gave me a nod, and if I had to describe his expression, I’d call it whimsical. Sensual. All wadded together. “Whatever you say, Miss Thibodeaux.”
I watched Jace’s taillights disappear down the lane, and it was beginning to feel like a familiar sight. I hurried inside, put the leftover lemon meringue pie in the fridge, let Captain Gregg outside, and went through my chores. I stood in the barn beneath the tallowed light, giving Little Joe a good brushing when my phone buzzed against my backside. I lifted it out and to my surprise, it was Jace. My heart leapt in its cage, and my eyes gobbled up the message.
Jace: Thanks again for tonight. It’s the most memorable repayment of a belt replacement I’ve ever had.
Me: They don’t call me Memory for nuthin’, yeah? Did you attach my pic to my number yet?
Jace: Yup. Anyone ever tell you you’re kinda weird?
I grinned as the greenish-yellow neon light shined into my eyes.
Me: All the time. Bee Tee Dubs, it takes 1 to know 1
Jace: Guess so. See you around, Ms. Thibodeaux
Me: Not if I see you first, Mr. Beaumont
I stared at Jace Beaumont’s pic and for a moment, my insides fluttered. Kind of like…butterflies, maybe? It was a strange sensation—one that was foreign to me. One reserved for silly girls who took every single date, every single guy way too seriously.
I could fast learn to like the sensation. I really could.
Just like I could fast learn to like the cowboy behind the photo.
Which was the most extreme and daring of stunts, by far.
Memory Thibodeaux would not get out of my head.
I damn sure hadn’t planned on that happening.
With my hands clasped behind my head, I lay in bed, staring at the ceiling fan as it whirred above me. Guess I thought if I stared long enough, I’d get sleepy. Forget about long black hair. That smart mouth. A lazy smile. And violet blue eyes that lit up whenever she spoke. Forget about witty conversations, a soft heart that would take time to escort an aging Ranger into a baseball game. Forget it.
It didn’t work. My mind just kept replaying the night on the bridge. Memory’s crazy ghost story and even crazier stunt.
And that brief, momentary kiss that had caught me off guard.
My insistence that we just stay friends.
I groaned out loud. Draped my arm over my eyes. I knew that kiss was just Memory being spontaneous. I hadn’t known her very long, but I knew her well enough to know that. Yet when she’d kissed me? Pressed her mouth against mine and leaned into me? Yeah, she’d gotten my attention all right. And here I was at three o’clock in the fucking morning, unable to sleep because of it. Was I an idiot? My head so easily turned by a pair of long legs and sexy mouth? I’d had gorgeous women before, but I couldn’t remember them annoying the hell out of me like Memory Thibodeaux did.
No doubt about it—I knew it was a bad idea to put too much thought into Memory Thibodeaux. Hell—I knew she liked to play the field. Knew she liked to party hard. Knew she didn’t take life too seriously.
But for some reason, I sensed something else lingering inside of Memory. I saw it in her eyes, no matter how fleeting, when she looked at me with that long, curious gaze. Like she was trying to pick me apart.
Or shut me out.
It’d been two days since that night on the bridge. And for two damn days she was on my mind. In my sleep. During the day at school. And at work.
Just then, my cell buzzed on my nightstand. Thinking it might be Mom, I grabbed it.
Memory’s goofy, cross-eyed face appeared on the screen just before her text message, and something surged through me. Excitement? What the fuck? I squinted against the neon light and read her message.
Memory: I bet you’re wide awake, thinkin’ of me. Yeah?
“Jesus,” I muttered out loud. I closed my eyes and let the hand holding the phone fall against my chest. “Jesus.” Maybe I shouldn’t respond. Maybe I should just let her think I was asleep. I waited for a few seconds. The cell buzzed again. Damn. I sighed, held the phone up. Looked at the screen.
Memory: Hellloooo??? :-)
In the dark, I let out another breath. Persistent girl.
Me: Memory, it’s 3am.
Memory: So? I can’t sleep, thanks to you.
Me: Why thanks to me?
Memory: Because you’re under my skin, Jace Beaumont, that’s why. Damn your hide.
A smile pulled at my mouth. Here I was, grinning like a damn fool in the dark at some words from a girl I’d just met. I knew it was stupid to engage her on this, but here I was, engaging. And just like I’d regretted a long night of drinking with a next-morning hangover, I’d regret this middle-of-the-night conversation with Memory. One way or another.
Me: All right, Ms. Thibodeaux. I’ll bite. Why am I under your skin?
Memory: That’s the thing, see? I just can’t figure it out. I think you annoy me.
That actually made me chuckle out loud. So Memory Thibodeaux didn’t possess an internal filter. Why did that surprise me?
Me: Is that so?
Memory: Yeah, that’s def so and here’s why. You know—in the event you might want to correct the problem. :-) First and foremost, you didn’t take the bait. I actually kissed you and you did Not Take the Bait. Annoying. Frustrating. And quite preposterous if you want the truth of it and because of that hesitation I’m stuck. With you in my head. So in this, Mr. Beaumont, lies the problem. That and you should consider loosening up a bit. :-) You’re way too tense, boy.
I blinked. Stared at the text message, re-read it.
No filter didn’t quite fully cover it.
Yet I smiled again. Was that part of the attraction? No filter? Was I a sucker for punishment or what?
Me: Do you always speak your mind so bluntly?
Memory: Absolutely.
Me: Not a bad way to be I guess.
Memory: So? What do you intend to do about this problem, Mr. Beaumont? I can’t afford too many sleepless nights on your behalf. I need my beauty rest, you see.
Me: I guess we’ll just have to wait and see how things go, Ms. Thibodeaux.
Memory: I guess we will, Mr. Beaumont. Now stop botherin me, will ya? I have an eight o’clock class. Sheesh. :-)
Me: ’Night, Memory.
Memory: ’Night back, Jace.
I set my phone on the nightstand and continued staring into the darkness. I could hear Memory’s unique accent, even in text. She was…very likable. The kind of personality people gravitated toward. Lively. Unpredictable. Fun.
Memory Thibodeaux was dangerous to a guy like me. It’d be so easy to fall for her. She was…Christ. She was beyond beautiful. And what made her that way, to me, anyway, was her larger-than-life personality. The way her eyes sparkled. The wide smile that showed a daring spirit. And her ability to stop in the middle of a parking lot to escort an elderly man with a cane into a ball park without letting him know she was helping him instead of visa versa. She was...fucking perplexing as hell.
Dangerous.
I flipped onto my stomach, punched the pillow a time or two, then tried to settle my thoughts and
go to sleep. And after much tossing and turning, finally, I did.
When the alarm went off at seven thirty it felt as though someone had poured a bag of sand in my eyes. And dammit, the first conscious thought I had was of the text conversation I’d had just a few hours before.
It almost put me in a mood. A foul one.
If Memory Thibodeaux had just left me alone, would I have forgotten about her? Instead, here I was, scratchy-eyed and wondering what she was doing at that same moment. Don’t be a fool, Beaumont. Don’t.
I pulled on a pair of jeans and a T-shirt, washed my face and brushed my teeth. My deodorant was almost gone and I needed to hit the grocery store after class to pick up a few things. Shoving my arms into a blue plaid cotton long sleeved shirt, I left it open, pulled on my jacket, boots, and grabbed my back pack and headed out the door. The morning was cold, and a thin sheet of frost clung to the windshield of my truck. I started the engine and hit the defrost, and made it to History 101 just before the professor closed the door. I slid into an empty seat in the middle of class next to a guy with gauges in his ears and short blond hair. He leaned toward me.
“You barely made it, dude,” he said. “If you ever get here and the door is closed, don’t even try to come in.” He inclined his head to the front of the class, where Professor Jackson, a middle-aged woman who wore glasses and her hair wadded up in a messy bun, stood scribbling on the dry erase board. “She locks the door precisely at 8:01. No exceptions.”
I nodded. “Thanks.”
“I like to think she’s a female Indiana Jones,” he said. “Looks all normal in the classroom, but then changes clothes, becomes like a super Betty, and heads off on crazy explorations.”
I grinned. “Might be true.”
He stuck his hand out. “Max Johnson.”
I shook it. “Jace Beaumont.”
He cocked his head and looked at me. “No offense dude, but kinda old to be in here with us freshies?”
I shrugged. “Never too old, I guess.”
Max seemed to ponder my wise old words, then he nodded. “True.”
I hadn’t really stopped long enough to meet anyone in my classes yet. The semester had just started a few weeks before, and anyway—I barely had any free time between full-time classes and work. Not to mention at twenty-five I was a freshman, and most of the people in my classes were just out of high school. Barely eighteen years old. Including Max. The self-proclaimed freshie. So I kept to myself. Concentrated on studying. Worked.
Until a chance tow for a broken-down Jeep owned by a carefree, persistent Cajun.
For the rest of the day, I attempted to ban Memory Thibodeaux from my thoughts. Erase that slight kiss from my mind. I moved with the crowds, bumped shoulders as I walked through the corridors, in and out of classes, and outdoors along the walkways, my pack slung over my shoulder, determined not to let it happen. Determined to stay focused. I took notes. I paid attention. Even aced a pop quiz in Calculus. Yet my thoughts were scattered. All over the damn place. Like I couldn’t wait until the last class was out for the day.
I finally made it through Social Science. The last class of the longest day I’d had at Winston since starting the semester. What the hell was wrong with me? Grandpa Jilly would’ve said, What’s wrong, boy? You got goddamn ants in your goddamn pants? That memory alone made me smile. I couldn’t help but wonder what he would’ve said about Memory Thibodeaux. A smile pulled at my mouth. I had a good idea what he would’ve said. Probably the very same thing Jasper had said. Hot damnation, son. She’s got an ass on her and legs that won’t quit.
“There’s something decidedly sketchy about a guy smiling to himself for no good reason.”
I turned to the sound of my sister’s voice, right beside me. “Had a random thought about Jilly. Which led to a random thought about Jasper.”
Olivia beamed and her eyes softened. “Well, that explains it then.” She missed Jilly as much as I did, and whenever we spoke of him, we knew how the other felt. She wrapped her arms around my neck in a firm embrace. “How’s my big brother handling college?”
I shifted my pack and my weight as I glanced over my shoulder at campus. I nodded, and looked at her. “Takes some getting used to,” I said. “What are you up to?”
Olivia shrugged. “I was just heading over to the observatory when I saw this tall, handsome guy smiling to himself.” She wiggled her brows. “Thought I should intervene.”
I laughed. “Yeah, whatever. Where’s Brax?”
She inclined her head toward the opposite side of the parking lot. “Just took off for practice.” Now a smile touched her lips. Unprovoked. Uncalled for. And totally unavoidable.
“Boy, you got it bad, Lil Bit.” I said with a smirk. “Talk about sketchy. A weird kind of goofy grin stretches across your face when anyone says his name.” I gave an exaggerated shudder. “Kinda creeps me out.”
Olivia narrowed her big green eyes and punched my shoulder. “Jesus don’t like haters, Jace Samuel Beaumont. So,” she said. “Are you working all weekend?”
I shoved my hands in my pockets. “I’m running the truck for twenty-four on Saturday,” I informed her. “Off on Sunday.”
A grin made her dimple pit her cheek, and I regarded her, smiling. “What’s so funny?” she asked.
“Jilly used to tell us that a woodpecker pecked your cheek,” I said. “Seems like a lot of him is still around.”
She smiled. “I sure miss him.”
“Me too,” I agreed. “So, why do you want to know my work schedule?”
“Hey, Liv!” a voice interrupted. We both looked.
“Hey, Tessa,” Olivia said. “You remember my big brother, Jace?”
Tessa walked up, long brown hair highlighted with blonde streaks and wearing big sunglasses. She flashed a wide smile. “Holy cow balls, Liv, who could forget Mr. Sexypants?” She tipped her shades and looked at me over the rims. “Hey, Jace.”
I laughed and shook my head. Tessa was, as my mother frequently said, a hot mess. “Hey, Tess.”
“So did you ask him?” Tessa questioned Olivia.
“Not yet,” Olivia answered, then looked at me. “Tessa’s boyfriend, Cory—you know, Winston’s big first baseman and Brax’s buddy—well, his birthday is tomorrow. We’re going to celebrate at Rucker’s. Wanna stop by?”
“Please?” Tessa urged. “It’s just close friends. Nothing too big, promise.”
I looked at my sister, whose eyes begged me, too. “Sure. Thanks, Tessa.”
“Sweet balls on a rooster, he’s coming!” Tessa squealed, then hugged Olivia. “Later, chica,” she said, then threw me a kiss. “See you then, Jace! Hey! Marci! Wait up!”
We both watched Tessa as she hurried off to attack another friend, and I gave Olivia a skeptical look. “I’m pretty sure the college bar scene is not my thing.”
She sighed. “Not my thing either, bro. But I love Tessa, and I love Cory, and Rucker’s is one of the lower-keyed places around here.” She grasped my hand and gave it a squeeze. “You really are the best big brother.”
“Right?” I answered, and chucked her under the chin. “I probably won’t stay long though,” I went on. “I have three tests next week.”
Olivia took a step back and inspected me with a twinkle in her eye. “I’m so proud of you,” she said in that sweet voice she had. “We all are. Jilly, too. I’m convinced he’s watching over us.”
I laughed. “Yeah, me, too.”
“So,” she said as we both started walking toward the lot. “Heard any more from Memory?”
I gave her a sly glance. “Why?”
She shrugged, and we both stopped at my truck. When she looked at me, the sun glanced off her eyes, and she squinted. “I think she likes you.”
I exhaled, looked out over the parking lot where students milled about, getting into their vehicles, laughing. Talking. A horn blew. More laughter. “Yeah, I think she likes a lot of guys, sis.”
In the next instant, Olivia’s long fingers
grasped my chin and forced my gaze to hers. They were soft, her eyes. Never scolding. Never judgmental. Olivia had a way of speaking without words; just with a single, solitary look. “Take it from me, Jace. Draw your own conclusions, okay? Don’t rely on what others offer, no matter what good intention may lie behind it.” She dropped her hand and her smile tilted the corners of her eyes. “You may really like what you find.” Then she rose up on tip-toes and planted a kiss on my cheek. “See you later.”
My sister’s words bounced around in my skull as I left campus, and when I pulled into the parking lot at Gunther’s Grocery Mart they was still bouncing around. The moment the words had left my mouth, I’d regretted them. I knew it wasn’t fair to judge Memory. Hell—I was in no position to do it anyway. I’d known her for a handful of days. But my baby sister had gone through pure hell because of people believing rumors about her. And Brax, too, had been shadowed by it. Who was I to draw conclusions about Memory Thibodeaux?
The warmer air inside the grocery store hit me as I left the chilly weather outside, and I grabbed a cart and headed up the aisles. Man-staples, as my mother called them: ground beef. Hamburger Helper. Chicken. Mixed vegetables. Chicken broth. Finally, I ended up at the produce section. After grabbing a bag of apples, some celery and onions, I started down the dairy, picking up a gallon of whole milk—which I was tempted to twist the lid off and guzzle right in the store. It was there a voice surprised me. I glanced behind me and saw Memory with a cart of her own—which she’d just abandoned as she headed toward an old woman. Memory laughed, hefting a ten-pound bag of potatoes into the woman’s cart. Then the woman pointed, Memory pointed, too, and then Memory hurried over, squatted down, and lifted two bags of apples. After she placed them in the woman’s cart, the woman tried to give Memory something. Money? Memory laughed, waved it off, and said goodbye. Then she grabbed her own cart and headed directly toward me.
The moment Memory caught sight of me watching her, a smile cracked her face in half. Those white teeth glowed, and I knew I’d been busted. I could do nothing but wait as she strutted toward me.
