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

by Unknown

  Fletch tips his beer back for a sip, then drags his hand across his mouth. “I saw him tear out of here in his pickup maybe fifteen minutes ago.”

  “As in out of the driveway? You saw him leave?” My spine stiffens as he nods.

  “Like a bat out of hell,” he says, cringing.

  “Damn. Okay, thanks.”

  “You all right, Sloan?” Huxley asks as he pats my shoulder. “You want me to text him?”

  “No, he meant to leave without saying goodbye. Whatever.” I shrug as my stomach sinks.

  What have I done? I make my way to the backdoor via the kitchen, my eyes stinging with reality. Open champagne bottles dot the countertops as I pass through. I snag one to find it empty, then discover another that’s half full. I’m not sure where I’m going, but staying here isn’t going to cut it. A walk in the rain with champagne and a heavy heart? Why not?

  A strangled noise comes out of my throat as the screen door slams behind me, catching the tail end of my dress. Lace shreds off the hem when I jerk the fabric. Dammit! “Hawke, where are you?” I growl as I march down the stairs. Have I chased you away already? You only know half the story and you’re gone. Maybe the whole story would have hurt too much anyway.

  I tip my head back and drink long swallows of champagne while sauntering over to an empty bench. Wash the guilt down, bring the memories up. Slumping onto the wet bench, I nestle the bottle between my legs then yank a plump fruit off the tree above me. HHS, I scratch into the clementine peel. Hawke Holten Slater. The sweet scent of the initialed rind scoots up my nose and gives a free rein to my tears. Closing my eyes and leaning my head against the tree, I travel back to our first time in the clementine orchard. The night Hawke took my virginity.

  I was inexperienced, but I was ready for him, and there’s no question he was ready for me. We had discussed the idea of doing it for months. I even went on the pill with Mama’s blessing. My only apprehension was the size of him. He laughed when I measured his erection,a week before we had sex. Laughed his ass off.

  “Eight motherfucking inches! And apparently these things don’t stop growing until you’re twenty-one!” he yelled while fist bumping the air as my eyes bugged out of my head.

  The only things that had ever been in me were his fingers, tampons, and the speculum from my gyno appointment. None of which were anywhere near his length. My response was silence for a full minute.

  “You will never be able to get that in me,” I said, ogling his erect penis.

  “Oh, yes I will. You’ll be wet as fuck, don’t worry, it’ll slide right in,” he answered, giving me a confident nod and wrapping my fingers around his girth then pumping it as he squeezed my hand in his tight fist.

  One week later under a full moon and a canopy of clementine-filled branches he proved his point.

  We had each thrown back a shot of tequila. His idea, as my guts were tied in fretful knots. I wanted him, but that didn’t make the butterflies and stabs of panic slow.

  The scratchy wool blanket itched my bare back as I looked up at him hovering over me. “Remember what I told you?” he said as his eyes raked over my bare chest.

  Words seemed to catch in my throat. “You mean the part where you said not to worry?” My cherry wasn’t the only thing that was going to get popped. My bottom lip was well on its way too. I was gnawing it to shreds.

  “Well, yeah. But I also mean the part where I said you’ll be wet as fuck. I’m gonna make that happen, then I’m gonna fuck you real slow afterwards.” His fingers shook as he slid my cotton panties down my thighs. His breath quickened and his tongue circled his parted wet lips when he rounded my ankles. Once he tossed the panties aside, he knelt between my legs then pushed them apart. His gaze sank, exploring my vagina. My hands moved fast to cover my mound. But not as fast as my heart was pumping. Holy shit, we were really going to be exploring on this level? I had seen him naked many times, but this was something we had never done.

  “I don’t know, Hawke. It’s a little private.”

  A smile curled at the corner of his mouth as he peeled my fingers away and pinned my hands next to my hips.

  “What? I can’t stare between your legs, but you’re okay with my cock entering you tonight?”

  I cleared my throat, then answered him in a cracked voice, “Good point, so…you’re going to lick me?”

  “Yes I am. And you, Cricket, are going to be chirping your ass off begging me not to stop. Believe me, I’m just prepping you.”

  “Get me wet then split me in half? Okay, lumberjack.” Heat stormed into my cheeks as his throat bobbed up and down.

  “Don’t be nervous about me looking at you or putting my mouth on you,” he said as his gaze fell between my legs again. Then he let go of my hands and opened my lips with his fingertips and licked a line from my ass to my clit that had me gasping.

  “Okay, holy shit. I believe you.”

  “Thought so.” He chuckled, then got comfortable and busy.

  That night was something, all right. After the beautiful orgasm-inducing performance with his mouth, he took my virginity. My chest was rising and falling so rapidly as he entered me that we stopped for a second so he could coach me to breathe.

  “Sloan, look at me. Open your eyes and take a breath.”

  Every fiber of my body was on fire as words jolted from my throat. “Hawke, I just need a second to adjust, don’t stop.”

  “You’re so tiny but if you breathe and keep focus on my face we can do this, okay?”

  Tears pricked my eyes when he kissed my forehead. He was so tender and sensitive. Hawke loved me with his eyes searching my face, his hand caressing my cheek as he eased his way inside me inch by inch.

  “Okay?” he asked when I gasped. He was all the way in. I didn’t know how it was possible, but we were fitting together. I shouldn’t have been surprised that my body would accommodate his. I had already learned that was how we worked. Always fitting together.

  The back door slams, jolting me out of my moment.

  “I’d like to meet him behind the barn,” someone says. Her voice is one of those grating types that makes me want to clip her vocal cords. I’d call her accent Fargo-meets-Joisey. Cigarette stench mingles with the earthy pregnant air as I eavesdrop.

  “He’s man candy and cock,” another girl answers, which cracks them up. Same kind of voice again—lots of wrong-sounding vowels and such. Plus, this one has some Bahston mixed in.

  The Fargo-Joisey starts in again. “I would die to have him fuck me.”

  “Are you seriously going for a one-nighter? Tonight?” Bahston asks.

  “Hell yeah. Why would I not? I’m sure he fucks anything with two legs. I happen to be a hottie with two legs. Come on. He’s a porn star!” She sings that last bit and I grind my teeth so hard they may chip.

  “Does he have a girlfriend?” Bahston says, cackling.

  I shrink down on the bench as my body trembles with nervous energy.

  “I doubt it. Who would ever want to date a porn star?”

  “But you’ll screw him?” Fargo-Joisey screeches.

  “Not just screw him! I need to know what that famous nine inches tastes like.”

  “You’re such a slut.”

  “Yeah, a slut you cannot wait to talk to later on for an update.”

  I’m in judgy mode. I’m judging judgers. Worse yet, I cannot wait to see them. I need to see exactly what hunters who want to shame then fuck my Hawke look like.

  I crank my head up for a peek. I don’t know who’s who, but I do take pleasure in the eyeful.

  Suddenly toxic has a new face.

  My heart races as they go back in the house minutes later. Walk, just walk, I think as I scoot off the bench and tiptoe barefoot across the wet grass. “Where the hell am I going?” I whisper through a strangled sob. And what have I done?

  The crowd of chattering guests dashes into the house as the sky opens up with cracks of thunder smacking their way across the mountains, chasing wild stabs
of lightning. The jog to my truck is a quick race through puddles. A minute later, I’m heading down the rain-soaked driveway. I bump through potholes as the cattle herd bolts toward the barn. We haven’t seen rain like this in I don’t remember how long, but at this rate, there’ll be no outdoor reception, which is all Fletch and Coco wanted.

  I’m thinking as fast as I can. The hardware store will be closed—everything, for that matter, will be closed. I have one chance with this idea, and who the hell knows if Trucker is still in these parts. I head to what was his place years ago, hoping he’s still in business.

  Trucker Manfield, circus tent maker extraordinaire. An eccentric old fart and then some. A good guy no less, and definitely my people.

  The ramshackle old warehouse is on the outskirts of town—this side, luckily. I’m there in ten minutes. His pink, rusted-out pickup still sits in its same spot to greet me, along with the load of old circus paraphernalia scattered about helter-skelter. I worked for Trucker in high school, sewing awnings and tents on industrial machines. If he’s around, and willing to let me, I can zip together a life-sized awning in a half hour or so. I figure it’ll give the wedding-goers a chance to at least be outside and Coco, who was insistent on no tents, to not be eating her shorts. Dress.

  I find Trucker inside the warehouse in the same clown outfit he’s always worn: striped pants, rainbow suspenders, bowler hat. No nose. He never did the nose, said it scared the kids. But he was always in full makeup, and years later, he’s still eating chunky soup straight out of a can. A decade sitting in a time warp.

  After a few minutes of catching up, not only does Trucker help me zip a mammoth awning together, he also loads me up with all the ropes and stakes I’ll need to slam it up. I see smiling faces in my future—at least a few of them.

  I head back out to the ranch, loaded down with the awning materials and a plan. Too damn bad I can’t come up with a plan to put a smile on Sloan’s face. Right now, I’m oil and she’s vinegar. And I love you is off the table. How do I get that back on the table? How do I get her to see me as someone she can confide in? Why can her family know things I can’t?

  All I keep circling back to is the most obvious answer: another man. The father of her child. Maybe I was too harsh, maybe I should have shut my mouth and not yelled at her when she said love was off the table. But a big part of me thinks she’s lying. Her voice was shaking and she kept pressing one hand to her forehead as if her head was spinning. As if she wasn’t thinking straight.

  When I turn into Moonstone Ranch, someone is walking along the puddle-covered drive, heading toward me. Someone in a long, ivory dress, drenched and looking like a muddy, grass-stained mess. Beautiful. Her glittered shoes are in one hand, a bottle of champagne in the other. Though I would say the bleak look on her face is anything but bubbly. I slow down and then stop two feet in front her. She doesn’t move an inch, though she does look at me. Her eye makeup is sliding down her face along with tears. For what, exactly? Or who?

  I throw the truck into park, get out, and walk over to her. She seems stuck in place, glued to that spot in the middle of the driveway, as rain dances through my truck’s headlight beams, which illuminate her.

  “Hey, why don’t you get in the truck?”

  She looks over to the left meadow. Then the right. I look as well. Maybe she’s searching for that other guy.

  “You okay?” I ask.

  “I’m fine,” she says through a soft sob.

  “Really? Is this what ‘fine’ looks like to you? Yes, you look positively celebratory.” I can’t not laugh.

  The left side of her mouth lifts then drops as fast.

  “Well, shit. If this is fine, I’d like to see mind-blowingly awesome.”

  “I thought you left,” she says in a quiet voice, looking up at me with the saddest look any human could paste on their face.

  “I did. Got what I needed. I’m back.”

  “I mean left.”

  I laugh again. This is too funny.

  “Gone back to LA? What, that would have mattered to you? Hell, I could have sworn you said just a bit ago that things were off the table—love and, well, us. Why the hell would you care if I did? I have a life there, to be clear. You are currently not in it. That was your own choice. So, now I matter? One minute, you could not give a shit. The next, you, what? Want to fuck me? Are you telling me you’re upset and walking down this driveway because of me? Now that is hilarious, girl!”

  She’s still for a few seconds. Then a meager, “I’m sorry,” comes out.

  “You look sorry. Sorry as hell. Christ, Cricket. Get in my truck.”

  “Are you mad at me?” she says as I hop in on the driver’s side.

  “Mad?” I slam my hands on the wheel in amusement. “I suppose, if I’m being honest, yeah, you’ve pissed me off today. I’m no question feeling pretty far outside of your current wheelhouse of need. You have your reasons.” I fiddle with wet strands of hair, moving them out of her eyes.

  “Can we forget that happened earlier?”

  “Forget?” I laugh so hard she gets out of the truck, slams the door, and marches toward the house.

  Barefoot, stomping through puddles. Adorable as all get-out.

  I charge out of the truck for the second time and block her way. She tries to walk around me. Please. Stubborn little shit!

  “You listen to me for a second. You seem to be running five hundred miles per hour since you got home. Running this way and that, into me, away from me.” I block her from passing on my left then sway to my right. “All the fuck over the place. You must be exhausted, and man, you are one confused little rabbit.” I grab her arms. “I’m not your toy. I won’t be that. Not to anyone. Based on your multiple conniption fits, today is obviously not the day for you to come clean, as we’re celebrating Coco and Fletcher. Soon, though. Real, real soon, we’ll sit down, and you, my darlin’, will tell me what in the hell is going on with you.”

  She wiggles away from me in vain.

  “It’s either that or we’ll be living in the same damn neighborhood like strangers. I deserve more than whatever it is you’re thinking you want on the table. Even if love isn’t it. And, for the record, no, I cannot forget that happened. Not anything, for that matter. I will remember every damn thing that has gone on between us. Everything you’ve given and everything you’ve taken. You might consider that stance as well—might actually bring you some clarity. You are in serious need of some transparency from my point of view.”

  “I deserved that,” she says, wiping her face with the back of her hand, nodding. “I deserved every word of that,” she repeats.

  “I’m sorry I got angry before. I shouldn’t have yelled,” I tell her, swallowing hard.

  “I don’t blame you, it’s been a rollercoaster since I got home. But thanks.” Her fingers skate along her bottom lip.

  “Where’s our ring?” I ask, touching the finger it was on earlier.

  Her mouth quivers into an impossible-to-hide pout, though she certainly does try while walking away from me.

  “Where is it?” I ask again after I climb in on the driver’s side as she slams the door on her side.

  “I lost it. It slipped down the bathroom sink drain when I was washing my hands…and that’s when I realized how stupid… I’m so stupid.”

  I sweep her into a hug as her shoulders shake. She presses her face against my chest.

  “You lost it and you thought you lost me?” I whisper into her ear.

  “Yeah. Then I ran to find you and you were gone.” She softly cries. “I thought you’d left because of me.”

  I take her face in my hands. Her glittering eyes fill with worry.

  “Shit, no. I didn’t leave you. I wouldn’t do that to you. I went into town to get an awning at Trucker’s for Coco and Fletch. Though, with this rain, I’m not sure about it being such a great idea anymore.”

  “That’s where you went? To Trucker’s?”

  “Yeah. We sewed up a whopper tent
awning. He gave me all the stakes and ropes, but hell. Look at it out there. I’m not sure even Trucker the Clown could make a bride smile today.”

  Sloan’s face lights up in a little-girl-who-just-found-out-where-the-mama-cat-was-hiding-her-kittens way. And that smile, well…it does something to my insides. That smile could power all the fireflies in the world.

  Yes, I have things to glue together. Some pieces of my soul have gone rogue—rightfully so. My story has shitty parts. Shittier and crazier than most. I’m not saying they’re impossible to overcome, but they’re not snap-your-fingers simple. This is not a skinned-knee situation I’ve been living. It was an arc. A life-altering existence. I’m doing more than managing those parts these days—I’m reclaiming them.

  Hawke is next, he has to be next.

  The road has not been an easy one, but on it, I’ve found out all sorts of beautiful things about myself. One is forgiveness for me. Though I haven’t mastered it yet—guilt, I’ve learned, is a tricky bitch that can get the best of you in the oddest moments. Some people thrive on guilt. I’m doing my best to outwit it. Will I win? Can I strong-arm something that powerful? Something that can hold a heart and a soul hostage?

  “You’re a good man,” I tell him, then shake my head and smile.

  “Thank you, and you’re a good woman,” he says. “I need you to know and remember that. I realize you seem to be in the middle of some twelve-step program to find your voice. I don’t know where it went, but it’s in there.”

  Rain pelts the truck as we huddle in it, nerves tingle in my body when Hawke slips his hand behind my neck, and pulls me so close that his breath is on my face. So close that I’m a hurricane of butterflies inside.

  “Darlin’, you’re a mosaic of beautiful,” he says softly, his voice deep and honeyed. “You have grit. You’re spirited and alluring as fuck, romantic in the way you always see life through a unique lens. I know your backbone is ironlike, even though you’ve been acting as though it has some structural damage. All these years later, I still see you in there, the beautiful you. But there are newer bits too, some of them tortured by something or someone. There are layers in you, deep inside you, I’ve yet to touch and I’ve been wondering if I ever will get to. But when you smile and when you look into my eyes, I know you. And, even though your hurt parts are different than mine, I might know them, if you’ll give me the chance.”