A Field Guide To Catching Crickets: ( a sexy second chance tearjerker romance )

by Unknown

  We enter the shower after putting School Bus on a towel in the sink. Hot beats of water pelt us, imitating our erotic fury.

  “Fuck, to be next to you, Sloan. From now on, only hellos.”

  “Hawke,” she says as I pin her to the slippery marble wall, my mouth finding her pebbled nipples.

  “Hang on to that rail.”

  She grabs the silver bar that runs the line of the wall behind her as I lift her legs and wrap them around me. I’m not sure what’s moving faster: our mouths, our impossible-to-catch breaths, our combined heartbeats, or my hips.

  Sloan yelps as I enter her.

  “You okay? Too much?”

  “It’s okay. Always seems to surprise me. I’m just getting used to you again.” Her head falls back, as her eyes close.

  I suck her neck as she bridges off the wall. This, us, when I’m inside her, when her body is riding me, and her face is contorting in satisfaction and need mixed with ache and hunger—this is a world onto itself. This is why she’s the only woman who owns me.

  “I don’t know what I love more: your brain or your tight little cunt.”

  “God I love your filthy mouth.”

  “Not my cock?” I chuckle then murmur, “Fuck, I’m so close.”

  She belts out a moan as her body writhes then gets stiff. Seconds later, her mouth is biting my shoulder. Her hips thrust in wind-up, fast motion, kick-starting my orgasm. We’re a million miles from reality, doubling down on our lust, our togetherness, and, I beg, our future.

  Sloan’s legs slide down my body as I skim my mouth over hers, tasting her sweetness, loving the way she worships our kiss. I’m amazed how easily we fit together. Still. How our kiss feels as familiar as it does, even after all these years. How I could linger in it for hours; how it feels like a dance and a song and a force to reckon with all at once.

  “That was nice.” Her mouth slides into a smile.

  “Nice? Which one are you, then? The devil or the angel? You’re hot as fuck, sinfully sexy, sweet, and radiant.”

  “Maybe a little of both.”

  “Heaven and Hell. Let’s check the back of your neck for a triple six.”

  Her whiplash response floors me. “I might be your worst nightmare.”

  “Not this again. Come here.” I take her hand then shut the shower off. In one step, I snatch a couple of towels from the hooks. In another step, I take her eggnog and hand it to her.

  After she scoops up School Bus, we walk into the bedroom.

  “Take some sips of that—more than a few. I have some thoughts of my own to share.”

  She raises an eyebrow. “Thanks for this, by the way—I guess you don’t skip a beat, do you?” She drinks the whole glass in a long gulp and sets the duckling on the bed.

  “I’ll try not to skip a beat. I’d like not to with you.”

  Dragging the towel over her body, I place scattered kisses as I make my way down then back up her length.

  After dividing her hair in my hands, I braid it, wondering about the last time I did this. She was the one who taught me to braid grass.

  I grab the down comforter that’s slumped over a wicker chair and lie next to her, covering us both. Sloan rests her head on my chest and places the duckling between us. It’s about the sweetest damn thing to see her this way.

  “Now, listen to me. I became a man when you broke me. Because, when you’re broken, the really good shit starts happening. All the parts of you that feel like they’re dying eventually get trampled over by the parts of you that are growing. I don’t want to hear this crap anymore; that you think you’re not enough or might be my worst nightmare. As far as I’m concerned, you’re my whole ball of wax.”

  He has such a good moral compass. Funny thing is, the portion of the general public that lives in Idiotville, who’ll likely judge and label him for his career choice, will never know these amazing things about him. He’s labeled in a world that’s considered dirty. A world polluted by so-called sin. A world so offensive to many that the mere mention of it could make one question the company of the person who’s bringing it up.

  To me, though, he’s all warm lips and devotion, inking his words across my mind and into my heart. I’ve shared one piece of my whole story with him, and I know that, maybe for now, he’ll feel satisfied.

  I want to believe I know what he’s going to tell me, so I prepare myself by trying to locate my restart button. Hoping my brain will stop feeding my mouth the bullshit it keeps barfing all over him.

  I came home in the first place for a restart. I was too close to everything. I thought maybe an ocean away from my grief would be enough of an expanse. How could I have ever thought that would work? An ocean is just an expanse of time. Time holds memories. Memories are not easily escaped.

  “Cricket, the Department of Internal Emotions called. They are mandating an official stopgap on your being a victim to them.”

  This makes me laugh. “Did the Department of History call too? Because, the truth is, I’m a prey to that as well.”

  “Can I help free you?” he asks as he strokes the duckling.

  “I don’t know if I’ll ever be free. My story has more to it, as you’ve already identified. You’re trying to free me… Shit, Hawke. I know it’ll only hurt you. I can’t afford to ruin you again.”

  “You are one ballsy little shit. Always have been. Who the fuck do you think you are that you have the power to steer us off course? That’s one mighty big ego you’re sporting these days if you think you can strong-arm fate.”

  I snort out a laugh that wakes my duckling into a fit of quacks. “Fate? You think we’re destined by fate? Are you going to get spiritual on me now?”

  “You don’t think we’re destined by fate?” He cups my cheek in his hand.

  “If that’s the case, then I’d better brace myself for a collision.”

  “You’re damn right you better, because it’s about to get fatal. My heart will be crashing so hard into yours it might just kill us both,” he says, then slams a kiss on my lips.

  After some deep kissing I say, “I’m starving. You? This is getting too heavy, and I need food.” I’m done with this topic; it’s going nowhere fast. I take hold of School Bus, turn over, then sit at the edge of the bed.

  “Excellent strategy of avoidance. Looks like that hasn’t changed, either. Junk-food binge? You still like all that?”

  I look over my shoulder at Hawke. “I’d do anything for that.”

  He kisses a trail across my shoulders as he whispers against my skin, “I’d do anything for you.”

  “Cracker aisle first.” I step onto the end of the shopping cart as Hawke pushes us through the deli section.

  “Spray cheese, crackers?” He chuckles as we head down the aisle o’ crappiest food. “Lots of uses for spray cheese. I could decorate then eat you like a Vegas buffet.”

  “That sounds raunchy. Vegas is gross. But I would let you spray-cheese me if you promised to use your tongue like a paintbrush.” I jump off the cart to toss a few things in.

  “Is there any other way to use a tongue?”

  We turn the corner and hit the canned fish aisle.

  “Vegas is not gross.” He snickers. “It’s awesome. You ever been there?”

  “I don’t need to go there to know. Just like I don’t need to eat a tarantula taco to know I won’t like it.” I step back onto the cart.

  “Snob,” he says, pointing to the little jars of cheap caviar I adore. He tosses a few in the cart.

  “I’m not snobby, I’m discriminating. You don’t have to experience something to have a point of view about it.”

  “Discriminating—ppfft. Same as snobby.”

  “I’m the least snobby person ever! We are having a junk-food buffet for lunch. A snob would never do this.”

  “So, would a snob go to Vegas?”

  We turn down the candy aisle. I hop off the cart to grab a mix of treats.

  “No way. A snob would not go there.”

 
; Hawke puts one foot on the cart then skates it down the aisle, nearly plowing into two elderly ladies, who yell at him. He immediately jumps off the cart and apologizes, naturally charming them in seconds by ripping into a bag of our chocolate kisses and giving them each a handful. I walk past them, expressing regret for his act of gracelessness. Then I go around the corner, skip down the soda aisle, and find him with a six-pack of Dr. Pepper in his hands.

  “Good. Then you’ll come with me,” he says after plunking it in the cart.

  “Why of all the places in the world would you want me to go there with you?”

  “Because”—he winks—“I want you by my side for it.”

  “It? What is it you plan on doing there? Big-time slot winning? Are you a gambler too?”

  “Winning, yes.” He pauses as he eyes up the potato chip selection. “The Adult Entertainer of the Year awards. Lots of them,” he says with an obscene arch of one eyebrow before thrusting his tongue into his cheek.

  We both crack up.

  “Is it like the Oscars?”

  “Pretty much, just no snobs,” he answers, ramming his shoulder into mine. “These, right?”

  “Hmm. Tempting.” I nod at the bag of frosted animal crackers, thinking about Vegas. “I may need to go anyway if I’m going to do the film on you and your fancy-pants career. Research!”

  “You think you’ll really want to do that with me? The film? It would mean long hours, lots of time together. You might have to sleep over. A lot. Might need to fuck me. A lot,” he says in a soft voice against my ear as we close in on the register. “We’d have to do lots of experimenting. Would you want that?”

  “I think I’ll call the film Bad to the Bone. Or Big, Bad Bone. And, I know what you’re asking, fancy pants.”

  “You do, eh, Cricket? You think you know me that well? It hasn’t been forty-eight hours. It’s been a decade.”

  “Yup. No question.” I bag the food as it comes down to me on the belt. Experimenting. Yeah…

  “Prove it, girl.”

  We exit the store, and I’m laughing at him and myself all the while. I’ve got his number, all right. We hop into the truck, and I wait for Hawke to back out before I tell him. I know I’m right.

  “You meant anal.”

  “Not just a pretty face, are you?” Once we’re past a stoplight, he grabs my waist, pulling me against his side. “Have you done anything along those lines?”

  “Can’t say I have. I’m not innocent—I just haven’t experimented much.”

  I laugh and cover my cheeks as they heat up. “I have no doubt I’ll be getting one hundred percent of the daily minimum requirement in the sex department from you.”

  “Forever and ever. Amen,” he says. “So, is that a maybe? As in, maybe you’ll try some stuff with me that’s not currently on your menu?”

  “Maybe.”

  His eyes flash to mine with an amused glint. “I’m feeling like uncooked bacon. You could eat me raw, but I’d be a thousand times tastier in your hot oven. Burned.”

  “Is that a prelude to a fuck?” I ask as I knuckle his ribs.

  “I think so, darlin’. I’m about to turn you into the eighth deadly sin.”

  We spend the afternoon watching the weather go in circles from stormy to sunny. I love finding out little things about her that I’d missed over the lost and last years, things she’s become—or, in some cases, become more of. The grown woman version of the quirky, sweet girl I fell in love with has me beyond captivated all over again. Sometimes, she’s so quiet about things I could hear an ant crawling on cotton. When she gets that way, I crave all of her. Even the parts I don’t know. Seems funny to want something you can’t see, can’t understand, or have zero proof of. Faith.

  I need her. Even if she doesn’t seem convinced of it. I love her that much. Hopefully, the intensity I feel is mutual.

  “Bullshit. There is no way you have four twos. By the way, we forgot the meat group for our feast,” Sloan says, eyeing me up as she stuffs a cracker in her mouth.

  “Shoot! You’re right. The jerky.” I grab the pile of cards for a reshuffle. “My fault—I was distracting you too much. If you’re dying for some, I’ll throw my chorizo on the table.”

  “What are you, twelve?” she says, laying her cards down after flashing me a grin.

  She crumbles half a cracker in her palm then kneels and sprinkles the crumbs into the roasting pan School Bus is swimming in. The duckling immediately goes to the floating treats and nibbles at them. She loves taking care of that duckling, I can only imagine the kind of mother she was.

  “Are you a prude now too? What’s become of you?”

  “I’m not a prude. I’m calling bullshit again. You suck at this game. There is no way.”

  I turn four sevens over with a grin on my face.

  “How did you get all those sevens? Cheater!”

  “It’s the lucky number. I’m a lucky man. Seven, baby!”

  “Oh, right.” A dark glint rises in her eyes as she lifts her soda to her mouth.

  “Cricket, I’m so sorry.” I reach for her hand. “He was seven. Fuck.” What an idiot I am.

  “It’s okay. It’s new info for you,” she says, looking everywhere but at me. “I don’t want you to think every time the number seven shows up, I’ll freak, okay?”

  Right. That’s why I seem to suddenly no longer exist. “Hey, look at me.” I throw my cards down and sit next to her on the wicker couch. “I’m sorry. Please don’t shut me out. Things are going to come up. I’m going to learn who you are all over again, be patient with me, okay?”

  “Stop apologizing. You did nothing wrong. You’re just being a nice guy who sucks at playing cards.” She scratches a finger down the slope of her nose.

  “You think I suck at cards? The fuck I do,” I say, tickling her neck.

  “Suck. With a capital S.”

  “Are you okay? I mean really?”

  “Yes, I promise. I’m fine, now let’s play something else since we have time. Mama seems to think she needs no help with the wedding stuff. Coco tells me I have no choice in the matter.”

  “They need no help because they want us to be alone.” I waggle my eyebrows. “So, I’ll play anything you want. Strip poker? Anal? Oral?”

  “I’ve never heard of those last two card games.” She snickers as she squirts a squiggly pile of spray cheese on a cracker then feeds it to me.

  “Well, you think I suck at cards, so I tossed in some options I could satisfy you with.”

  “You think so?”

  “You wanna go get deliciously dirty or dine at the captain’s table?”

  Her face turns bright red and she bites her knuckle.

  “Tell me you’re not embarrassed. Christ, you’re adorable. You’re mortified you’ve never had anal sex? It’s nothing to feel weird about.”

  She nods, then tries to mask her redder-by-the-minute-glow by shoving a mouthful of frosted animal crackers into her mouth.

  “Welcome to the twenty-first century. I’d be more than happy to help you out with that.” I’m chuckling. I don’t mean to though. I’m not laughing at the idea that she hasn’t done it—hell, I’m fucking thrilled to be the guy who’ll take her virginity on the back side.

  “What makes you think I want to?” she asks as a smile flickers across her face.

  “Merely a guess, darlin’. Anal is twice as popular as cunnilingus. Looks like the bottom is tops for the ladies.”

  “I’m calling bullshit again.” She laughs.

  “I subscribe to the Journal of Sexual Medicine. I need to know what women like based on my viewership. Half of all women in their study claim that anal is a regular thing for them. Half.” I lie back on the couch and pull her body up onto mine. “You heard it here first.”

  “You are…just… I don’t have words,” she says, cracking a life-sized smile.

  “I have words. Two V-cards for me. Cha-ching!”

  “You’re calling it?”

  “Fuck yeah
I am. Only five hundred calories per serving.”

  “That’s a mighty large continent to be sinking into my tiny, little ass. You’re too big for that. I’d hate to call you gridlock, but, come on.”

  I laugh so goddamned hard I may cause a hernia in my abdomen. “Gridlock? God, I love you. I don’t want to point out the obvious, but all of this junk food you’re consuming is going to cause far more of a gridlock in South Town than I ever could.”

  “Damn. Good point. But still—I’d need convincing.”

  “Convincing? I want to remind you what makes us good together. We have that shove-all-the-food-off-the-table, I-need-to-fuck-you-right-now kind of love. I like your ass, darlin’. I’d like it even more if my cock were in it. When we do it—and, yes, we will someday—you’ll be swearing out my name as if I’m your only religion. I want to press my naked skin against your ass until you beg me to fill you. Over and over and over again.”

  I push her up to a sitting position, grab the bottom of her loose-fitting sweater, and bring it over my head. She tucks her head inside as well.

  “We’re like turtles,” I say, kissing her soft areola buds.

  “I suppose that could persuade a girl to be open-minded,” she tells me. “Sure, I can see your side of the argument.”

  “Yeah, I kind of thought so,” I answer as I trail my tongue over her chest to feel it pebble.

  Eventually, the sweater lands on the floor. The food does too. The table, though, gets covered with a whole new feast, a meal that has me smiling as I ask Sloan to lie back so I can use my tongue like a paintbrush.

  At five o’clock, Sloan and I drive up to the main house, where the festivities are well underway. With the wedding at seven, photos and all the pre-ceremony stuff are just beginning. As I’m talking with Fletch and a few guys, Sloan heads toward us.