* * * *
His lips were soft and salty like he’d worked up a sweat at some point during the day. Crap, again she cursed his damn tempting bloodline. This would only complicate their pending trip even more. So naturally, when he smartly pulled her one hand away, she found a sweet spot of baby hairs with the other and went for more. Her rules—that was the only way to play with the boys and stay safe.
Lucky’s hands eventually cupped the sides of her face, which was fine because she had made her point.
“Are we okay?” he asked.
Well, hell if she knew. “Yes,” she said. They could figure the truth out later. There would be an endless amount of open road ahead of them come Sunday to think. Tonight was desperate Friday. “We’re good.” But she hesitated because he looked for a moment like he may have regretted things. When he coughed and cleared his throat, she was sure of it.
“Come on, Miss ‘We’re Good’,” he said, as he urged her the rest of the way to the back door. “I’d like to keep that promise I made Jaxon. You could go a little easier on me from here on out.”
The inside of her mouth remained warm from their kiss as she swallowed a cool breath of air. The contrasting temperatures left her with a chill and a memory—the taste of the last kiss she’d had. Cigarettes and beer. No hand holding. No talking. No first, second or third date. As badly as her sour heart warned her to throw Lucky in with that lot, she just couldn’t do it. He’d already taken more care of her than any other guy she’d known.
“You shouldn’t take things so personally.” At his wince, she splintered and added, “I know you didn’t sign up for this; I’ll try to be…better.” No promises though.
“Okay.” He hesitated, and shifted on the steps. “Ready to go inside?”
“No, you should go in though. I need to be alone.” A tingle traveled around her wounded hand and she made the mistake of squeezing it into a fist.
Lucky dipped his head then and ran his hand up along the back of his neck, rubbing it in his obvious confusion. “Trista. I’m kind of at a loss here. You’re obviously in pain. Just come inside and let me help you.”
She tried to warn him, hoping he’d listen. “Lucky, you’re a nice guy. Okay, I get it. You want to help, but I didn’t ask for that and you have no idea what you’d be signing up for anyway. Assholes can barely handle my world; a good guy like you doesn’t stand a chance. Jaxon had no right doing this.”
“Hmmm.” He scratched at his sideburn. “You don’t know what I can and can’t handle.” He looked down but she had caught his every word.
The point came when she should have shut up. But she’d given him the option of letting her be and he’d stayed.
“What exactly does your girlfriend think about you taking this trip with me?” Not the best comeback, she realized.
He shook his head as if realizing he was stuck with a crazy person but then slid down onto his butt and patted the space beside him for her to sit. “I don’t have a girlfriend. You are assuming wrong, again.”
Trista waited for him to recant and come straight with her. “Lucky, you don’t have to lie. I heard her today over the phone. It’s okay. I don’t judge.” If she did, she’d have had zero friends back in Cali. Jaxon hadn’t named his band Sin Pointe for fun.
“Wait a second; you kissed me like that when you thought I had a girlfriend?” He crinkled his brow with the honest question.
She paused to chew at the inside of her cheek and consider what he’d just stopped short of calling her. On the bright side, she hadn’t worried about the rest of the trip in so many minutes.
“Trista, I didn’t mean it like that. I just don’t understand where you’re willing to draw the line.”
That’s right, because they didn’t know each other. How could she be mad? He had merely pointed out a truth that had become apparent about her after only a few short hours. She really had been living amongst those who kept few rules for far too long.
“Lucky, sometimes one moment is all the time two people have together.” She crossed her hands at the wrists and rubbed them back and forth.
“Is that why you kissed me?”
She couldn’t answer him. That had been about control of the situation. At first.
“Didn’t you wonder what my girlfriend might think about that?” His eyebrows lifted and he started to reach out for her hand but stopped short.
She should have. But hadn’t.
He twisted and leaned over and without touching anything else, barely brushed his lips against hers as he spoke. “What if we don’t tell her?” The stubbled patch of whiskers just beneath the center of his bottom lip scraped against her chin.
The appeal of the scrape and a stammer for how to answer kept her quiet for a second. “That would be very wrong, as you pointed out just now.” She breathed. “I would feel very bad.”
He pulled in his bottom lip again, and then stood, pulling her up with him. He’d seen her reasoning. She wished her bleeding heart would keep its mouth shut so that she could have someone good, girlfriend or not.
“She wouldn’t have to know,” he said softly as he touched the neckline of her dress while they stood inches from the back door. His fingers traced the sweetheart scoop that had taken her a week to get just right.
It was hard to decipher right from wrong when all she wanted was to take that well-mannered hand that had politely skimmed along the stitching of her collar and suction it to the skin and bones above her heart.
“She would lose you, Lucky.”
Smiling softly, he pulled back. “You must have heard my neighbor’s daughter earlier. She’s seventeen going on thirty and has been flirting with me since she was about twelve. I don’t have the heart to break hers and my dad lacks the tact not to keep her out of the shop without bringing her to tears. That’s all it is. I’m not that kind of guy, darlin’.”
Trista remembered being that age and in awe of an older man who had paid her attention, one who wasn’t a monster. Jaxon had acted with dignity, never humiliating her while she had been caught up in the midst of new feelings of lust and easily triggered hormones. Jaxon had nursed her through her crush until she realized the bond they shared was deeper and thicker than the curiosity she had fascinated on him for a while. He’d never taken advantage when he easily could have. And it sounded as if Lucky shared more than just a few common genes with his cousin.
Lucky patted the shoulder of her dress. “It’s almost midnight. I bet your grandma will have breakfast ready early. It’s probably a good idea for us to turn in.”
The look Lucky gave her then was one thousand percent that of a man who was dipping into his reserves.
“You’re right. Look, I apologize for being such a mess tonight. But can I ask you one last thing?” She squinted and searched his face, ready to be let down.
His brows raised a notch like he was preparing for another round. “Okay, but I have to warn you—.”
She cut him off. “No warnings necessary. I just wanted to know if you’re a musician.”
Caught off guard, he frowned. “No, I’m not. Why?”
“You have the fingers for it, long and tapered.”
“Um, well I work…I work with my hands but not at music.” Lucky stuttered at first like he hadn’t wanted to admit that.
“That’s good. I just wanted to make sure.” She didn’t turn around to see his response as they finally re-entered the quiet house.
“Trista, you take care of that wound.”
When she turned to face him, he offered her his hand.
She gripped it with her good one and they shook like well-mannered, decent people. “Nice to meet you, Lucky.”
What in the world was she getting him in to? Good guys had no business in her world, but he had handled this bout with her.
Chapter Three
It was time to get up. Gramma obviously wasn’t worried about waking her as she lay curled up on the couch. The old breadbox door snapped shut and Trista knew she’d b
etter be up in the next few seconds. Gramma had never been one to dote. Instead, she had been the example of strength in Trista’s life, a person who rose with the intentions of filling the day with meaningful work and who only put herself to bed at night by God’s good graces, as she had frequently lectured.
Trista had seen the rewards of such labor. At sixteen, she had left Gramma and Tennessee to be the youngest freshman student in attendance at Southern Cal. But a solid work ethic did not confirm a belief that there was a greater power up above, something or someone who cared for her. That had been difficult if not impossible to accept, no matter how hard Gramma had tried to convince her.
The sound of Gramma’s oven door banging closed without apology knocked Trista completely awake and off the couch. Not more than a few seconds later, aromatic smells of cheeses, paprika-seasoned potatoes and sweet honey ham fanned out to the living room, making nice with Trista’s startled senses.
“Good morning, Gramma. Do you need some help?” She yawned and pulled the crocheted lilac quilt up to her nose as she inhaled and then exhaled with a groan. She hadn’t needed it for warmth.
“Up late were you, Trista Jeane?”
“No, not very.” Trista folded the handmade blanket and laid it over the edge of the sofa. She didn’t want Gramma worrying. Forcing a spring into her step, she walked over to the kitchen and looked in the refrigerator then pulled out a saran wrapped tray. It was filled with fresh cut strawberries, orange slices and melon balls they’d made up the day before. “I’ll put this on the table.”
“Thank you. Your friend hasn’t come out yet. You’d better go wake him up and let him know that breakfast is ready. But get dressed first, dear,” Gramma admonished.
“Yes, ma’am.” Trista scooted her feet along the rugs and entered Gramma’s room where her things had been relocated on account of their new guest. She brushed her teeth, washed her face and after removing her white nightgown, slipped a dress on over her head. Gramma would approve of everything except for the mess she called hair. No matter how hard she tried, the best and only way to keep it out of her face was to pull it back into a bun…that resembled a nest. She had her mother to thank for the unruly tresses. Her father’s hair had been straight, brown and manageable, just like Gramma’s. She’d seen the pictures. She added a few bobby pins to the pieces that didn’t want to conform and returned to the main part of the home.
“I’ll go wake Lucky up now.”
“Good idea. The casserole won’t keep warm for very long.” Gramma inhaled deeply over the succulent dish.
Trista regretted having to wake Lucky and still felt badly about the nut job performance she’d put in last night, but they were under Gramma’s roof so that meant following her rules and time schedule. She knocked quietly. Whispering his name wasn’t necessary as he opened the door to face her.
“Hi, um Lucky, were you up already?” She peered in as the sun filtered through the mini-blinds that had been rigged permanently open. “Sorry about the light, but Gramma likes to rise with the sun. She says it adds purpose to the day.”
He yawned. “That’s okay. She’s right, you know.” A sleepy smile that made his cheeks rise greeted her in response. “I’m used to getting up at the crack of dawn with my folks.”
“Oh, good. Well, breakfast is ready.” She opened her eyes wider to press the importance of a timely appearance by him at the table. “And you should put on a shirt.” She gently poked his chest, which was tanned and toned and lightly sprinkled with dark blond hairs. If she had a religion, her thoughts right now would definitely be against it. She would not bite her lip because then he might know she was imagining being that girl lying underneath him, pushing his fallen hair out of his face while he rocked his hips against hers. She squeezed her inner thighs tightly, trying to control the tingling sensation at her core. Whoa, girl! Quickly, she stepped out of the doorway to give him back his space, but a hungry look flashed across his face at her touch. She backed away.
“Right, um, I’ll just throw on my clothes and be out in a minute.” He winked and she could see the flirt hiding behind his blue eyes.
She returned to the dining table and stood by her chair as Gramma stood by hers at the head. Everything was set in its place. Their plates, the fancy ones with the periwinkle tube flowers in the center and rimmed in the same nostalgic color, awaited the serving of food.
Lucky came out a minute later, his hair pulled back in its ponytail, wearing his same dark denim jeans and light blue western shirt from last night but tucked in this time. Gramma took his hand in hers as he reached the back of the chair directly across from Trista. When she bowed her head and reached out for Trista’s hand, it was understood that they would be saying grace. Trista hoped this wasn’t awkward for Lucky. It wasn’t her favorite activity in the world.
“Trista Jeane, why don’t you lead us, dear?” suggested Gramma.
“Yes, ma’am.” Her hands fisted before her fingertips extended to maintain hold with Lucky’s. The table was fair-sized but her wingspan was not. She gathered her short thoughts and reluctantly, began. “Thank you for this food we are about to eat and for the time we are able to spend together. Thank you.”
Finished with grace, she lifted her head from its uncomfortable bow. Lucky followed suit but they had to wait while Gramma, her eyes still closed and grip still tight, finished silently praying for a few seconds longer. Trista imagined she was probably asking forgiveness for her granddaughter’s curt nature and the omission of the traditional “Amen.” That thought was solidified when Gramma soon opened her eyes and uttered, “In Jesus name, Amen.”
Without another word, Gramma smiled and patted Lucky’s hand that rested near hers. “Let’s eat, kids.”
“Yes, ma’am.” Lucky’s hearty enthusiasm for consuming multiple servings of what was laid out in front of him made Gramma laugh while her eyes sparkled. And the sun was nowhere near setting yet. Trista smiled as she watched them eat, unable to deny the value of the golden boy at the table.
The sun had now set over the trailer park and once again, the familiar dark of night called her outside.
Long, tall Tennessee walked to the tree she leaned against and shuffled his boot over a patch of moss. “Hey, don’t worry about earlier today.”
If he said so. Shirt shopping had been…interesting. She’d insisted on accompanying him into the dressing rooms, same as she did with Jaxon and the guys every time they prepared for a new tour and needed new custom designed outfits. Always armed with her tape measure, she’d wanted to be sure and get him a perfect fit. How many times had she measured Sin Pointe’s bare chests, necks, arms, and waists? Her only thoughts being on tailoring. Yeah, no. She couldn’t measure Lucky, ever again. Last night she’d kissed him in an effort to be the one in control of her confusing feelings where he was concerned. Today she’d held onto his waist, thirty inches to be exact, for oh, say five minutes straight. Her only thoughts being on sinning. A lot. And licking her way around those sexy hips of his, not defined to the max or lined with veins. They would make like a smooth yet firm hard candy shell and would taste just as good. The tip of her tongue peeked from the corner of her mouth as she devoured the completely inappropriate thoughts of her best friend’s cousin. They should both be worried. The more she tried to be in control with him, the more ground she lost. He should be very worried.
She couldn’t stand out there with him in the darkness any longer. If she was behind the wheel, she’d be back in control.
“Hey Lucky, I’m gonna go for a drive.”
“Okay.” He coughed.
“That’s an invitation.” One she probably shouldn’t have made but she just couldn’t help herself around him. “Are you coming or not?”
He tugged the Jeep door open and climbed in. A sudden bout of seasonal allergies gave her the sniffles. Even through those, she caught a breath of him. “On second thought, maybe you should get out. Stay here or better yet, you can take the Jeep out for a spin. I’ll go hang o
ut with Gramma.”
The small strip of hairs centered under his bottom lip poked out as he pulled in on his lip. Most guys she knew with soul patches sported menacing tattoos and matching attitudes. It impressed her that, so far, Lucky hadn’t fallen into that tired old cliché. The way he turned so slowly to face her, giving her time to realize he was going to say something thoughtful, gave her a moment to let her breath out.
“You know, we’re going to be in this Jeep together for a couple thousand miles. Maybe a test drive right now is a good idea.”
He was right. She rubbed her hands over her face as if trying to clear his scent from her nose and the vision of his perfectly tapered, not even an ounce of fat anywhere tanned torso from her eyes. It didn’t work. But he was still right. She had the distraction she so desperately needed for this trip.
“Alright, let’s go,” she said, giving him the once over.
The drive was quiet but heavy. And not just with warm, kind man smell, but the fragrance of night-blooming jasmine and magnolia as they rode with the windows down. Trista had driven a few miles until she had no choice but to let the words out. “I’m not going to be able to do this with you, Lucky.”
“I’m sorry, what was that?” He had been watching the passing trees through her driver-side window when she had glanced over at him. He ran a single finger along her jaw which made her want to abandon the wheel and offer him her neck, her throat to be exact, because from there his finger would have an easy, straight path down through her cleavage to her belly button. All of which tingled and clenched at the feel of his one finger, still only tracing her jaw. How many more thoughts could she stand of him like this, knowing he was just being nice as a favor? A few escaping curls tickled the skin of her neck as she drove them. She had to keep her eyes on the road but the way he looked at her was proof he wanted her to pull over just as badly as she wanted to. “What did you say?” he asked again.
Sidewalk Flower Page 3
