by Tara Sivec
I never saw the picture, and I always just assumed Mrs. Hastings forgot to get it developed. I also assumed that in the photo, Clint would be giving me a dirty look, or rolling his eyes at me, or flipping me off instead of looking at the camera.
Ember has been cut out of the photo on his screen, so it’s just the two of us. And instead of Clint looking at me like he wants to strangle me, he’s staring at my profile with a soft smile on his face. He’s looking at me the way I look at tacos, and chocolate chunk ice cream, and Louboutin shoes, and everything else I love in this world.
What the hell?
“Why is this on here? Why is Ember cut out? Why is this on here?” I ask, my voice getting so loud and squeaky that I’m surprised the window in the room doesn’t shatter.
“Press any key. When the password box comes up, type in Brooklyn18,” he instructs.
I rapidly do what he says, fully prepared to scoff at him when it doesn’t work, because why in the hell would he use my name as a password?
As soon as I type it in and hit enter, the lock screen goes away. And once again, I’m staring at the same picture of the two of us, because it’s also his wallpaper on the main screen.
“What the hell, Clint?”
I look up from the laptop to find him standing with his hands shoved in the front pockets of his jeans, with the same soft smile on his face as the one in the picture.
His eyes stay glued to mine as he slowly withdraws his hands from his pockets and takes one step closer to me.
“You’ve been my password since I got my first computer. I always change it to the current year. And that photo has been my background picture on every laptop I’ve ever owned.” He shrugs.
Fucking shrugs. Like this is no big deal and I hear this kind of shit from him all the time.
He takes another step, and I start breathing a little faster.
“Why?” I whisper, my throat clogging with emotion.
Another step, and I have to wipe my palms against my jean shorts because they’re sweating so badly.
“Come on, Brooklyn. I know you’re smarter than that,” he says with a damn sparkle in his eyes, taking another step.
You’re damn right I’m smarter than that. But my brain is not computing what is happening, and I think I smell smoke. My brain has lit itself on fire.
“Fine. Why that picture?” I ask stubbornly, not exactly ready to delve into all the reasons why he uses my name as his password and a picture of us on every computer he’s owned.
“It’s a good picture.”
Yet another step, and I have to press my palm against my chest, because my heart is beating so fast I’m afraid it will explode.
“One of my favorites, actually.”
Two more steps, and he’s only a foot away now, and I’m pretty sure I might be having a heart attack.
“Do you forgive me for acting like the biggest asshole in the world?” he asks quietly.
“I believe the exact title was biggest jerk in the world,” I reply like an idiot.
“Is that a yes?” He smiles, making butterflies flap around in my stomach.
“Sure. Why not? I mean, you obviously have stalker tendencies, so I don’t want to do anything to set you off,” I tell him nonchalantly, even though teenage Brooklyn is screaming inside.
Oh, who am I kidding? Adult Brooklyn is about to have an orgasm if he keeps looking at her like that.
“Brooklyn?” he mutters, his face completely serious and not even hinting at a smile over my stalker joke.
“Yeah?”
“Shut up.”
I should be offended by that and tell him off, but there’s no time. Before I can take my next breath, he closes the distance between us, wrapping his hand around the back of my neck, and yanks me toward him.
It all happens so quickly and so fluidly, in one flawless movement that feels like it was choreographed right out of a Hallmark movie. A really, really dirty Hallmark movie. He moves forward, he jerks me against his body, his hand clutches tightly to the back of my neck, his other arm wraps around my waist, and his mouth crashes down against mine. My mouth opens with a gasp against his lips, and he takes that opportunity to push his tongue inside.
Now, let’s get something straight here. I’ve fantasized about kissing Clint Hastings ever since I first realized that kissing a boy wouldn’t give me cooties. In those fantasies, it was always a little awkward. A lot of teeth clacking against each other, confusion about which way we should tilt our heads, plenty of drool, and Clint moaning into my mouth about gigabytes and hard drives, which would ultimately force me to punch him in the nuts and ruin the moment. But you know, it was still a daydream about Clint’s mouth on mine, so it worked for me.
This is nothing like my fantasies. I have been masturbating to all the wrong things for years.
There is no clacking of teeth, there is no drool I’ll have to wipe away later, our heads automatically know which way to tilt, and he doesn’t moan about computer bullshit. When his tongue swirls around mine, he just fucking groans into my mouth. The sound makes it feel like someone just sent a shock of electricity right between my legs.
My hands that are pressed against his chest, clutch onto handfuls of his flannel shirt and I tug him closer to me. Clint deepens the kiss, pushing his tongue more firmly against mine as he starts walking us backward until my back bumps into the wall behind us. His arm tightens around my waist and his hand moves from the back of my neck to smack against the wall above my head. I wrap one of my legs around the back of his, using my thigh muscles to pull him closer. He bends his knees and pushes his hips up between my thighs, making my toes leave the ground, and it’s my turn to groan around his tongue when I feel the bulge in his jeans rub against me.
His hips anchor me in place against the wall as he continues to slowly thrust his hips between my legs, his tongue moving through my mouth in the same languid rhythm. The combination makes everything between my thighs pulse and tingle, until I tilt my hips up, rubbing myself against him with each of his thrusts, wanting more, more, more. My hands let go of his shirt, and I move them out from between us to wrap them around the back of his head, clutching as much of his short hair in my fingers as I can, to keep his mouth firmly sealed against mine.
I’m so lost in this moment, and what Clint is doing to me, and how he’s making me feel so damn desired and wanted, and the fact that oh my God, Clint Hastings is kissing me and it doesn’t feel awkward. It just feels so perfect and hot! that it doesn’t register someone is shouting his name until he suddenly breaks the kiss, drops his arm from its tight hold around my waist, and quickly takes a few steps away from me.
My back stays pressed up against the wall, and I try to remember how to breathe normally again as I watch Clint adjust himself in his jeans before moving over to the doorway and shouting out into the store to one of the farmhands.
How am I supposed to breathe normally when my lips feel raw and bruised from that kiss, my legs are like jelly, and I’m so wet I might have to wring out my underwear and my jean shorts when I get home?
I vaguely register Clint telling the guy something about the truck out back and how many orders are going to Ohio, before I finally manage to get my breathing under control. The guy out in the store shouts a thank-you to Clint, and I can hear his boots thumping against the cement floor until they completely fade away.
Clint turns back around to face me, and I really wish I was doing something other than becoming one with the wall. Like, striking a sexy pose, or giving him a wink, or figuring out how to make my fucking legs work so I could saunter right past him and out the door, race back to my dad’s house, and analyze the hell out of what just happened with a nice, big bottle of tequila.
He just stands there staring at me, and after a few minutes, I can’t handle the silence any longer.
“What in the hell was that?” I whisper.
He just smirks at me, bringing his hand up and using the pad of his thumb to wipe my lip gloss off
of his bottom lip. All I can think about is walking over there, smacking his hand away, sucking that full lip into my mouth, and getting that glossy shit off myself.
“That was a long time coming, fancy pants.”
Chapter 16
CLINT
Honest Life
“Clint. Earth to Clint.”
My body jolts at the sound of my lead farmhand, Jake Masterson’s voice, hoping he doesn’t notice I wasn’t paying a damn bit of attention to what he was just saying. What’s a man supposed to do when the hottest woman he’s ever known is standing a few hundred yards away, in another pair of those tiny fucking jean shorts, and red cowboy boots that make her long, toned legs look even longer?
When she first got here, it was easy to ignore my old feelings for her, with her fancy ass dresses and expensive shoes, because she looked completely out of place at the farm. It was easy to remember that she was a New Yorker now, and still completely out of my league, especially when she looked so damn uncomfortable and out of her element no matter what she was doing. Whenever Mia would touch her, Brooklyn would hold her hands in the air like she had a gun pointed at her, with a squeamish look on her face, freaking out over whatever sticky mess my youngest would be wiping on her. Mrs. Sherwood told me she let Grace stay locked in her room for two weeks because she was scared shitless of her.
Now that she’s started wearing clothes more fit for farm life, and she’s relaxed around my girls, she just fits. I see her walking around the farm and can’t help but smile when she bends down and scoops Mia up without giving a second thought as to what might be on that girl’s hands. I watch the three of them sitting on a blanket, with Grace and Brooklyn’s backs resting against a tree, and Mia curled up in Brooklyn’s lap, with Brooklyn’s chin resting on Mia’s head, and I want to drop to the ground and cry like a baby at how beautiful the sight is. My girls never even had that when their mother was around. She never sat out in the yard with them and just talked. She never set up scavenger hunts around the farm like I’ve seen Brooklyn do a few times in the last few weeks. And she never played catch with Grace in the front yard, giving her pointers on how to stand and how to follow through with her pitch. Their mother lived here on the farm for six years, and never relaxed or even tried to fit in and be happy.
Brooklyn has been here a month, and she looks like she never left all those years ago. It makes me equal parts happy and scared shitless. Now more than ever, I don’t want her to go. Not just for my sake and all these fucking feelings I’m having for her again, but for my girls. I don’t want them to lose something that makes them so happy. I don’t want them to lose her.
“Seriously, are you going to keep staring at the nanny’s ass all day, or are you gonna tell me what I should do for these orders that are going to Idaho?” Jake asks, making me realize my eyes wandered right back over to Brooklyn when she bent over to scoop up a baseball from one of Grace’s wild pitches.
“I’m not staring at the nanny’s ass,” I grumble, forcing my head to turn back to him.
Jake just laughs at me and glances over to where I was looking.
“She does have a great ass,” he muses.
“Stop looking at her ass before I rip your limbs from your body and beat you with them.”
Jake looks away from Brooklyn and nods with a knowing smile on his face.
“It’s about fucking time. You and that girl have been circling around each other since you were kids. Did you make your move yet? I got fifty bucks riding on the night you drove her home from the Maple Inn. Shannon down at the Timber Diner picked this weekend at the opening celebration for the farm. I swear to Christ, if I lose to her, I’ll never hear the end of it, so you better have already made your move,” he complains.
“You have got to be kidding me,” I mutter.
Closing my eyes, I bring my hand up to my face and pinch the bridge of my nose.
Jake has been our lead farmhand since my dad ran the place. He’s in his sixties and still does more work than the men on this farm half his age. He’s a good man and like a father figure to me, since my parents moved to Florida, but Jesus Christ he’s the worst town gossip I’ve ever seen.
“In case you’re forgetting, White Timber is a small town. Nothing exciting ever happens here. Brooklyn Manning coming back home and taking care of your girls is the most thrilling thing that’s happened here since the time she flashed the entire town her Cookie Monster underwear at the Rotary Club dinner. Actually, that time Beth Ann Marcum got drunk on homemade moonshine her sister brought her from Tennessee, and went streaking through the town square is a close second,” he tells me with a chuckle. “So, seriously. Did you give her the business yet?”
“For fuck’s sake, I’m not answering that question,” I growl, dropping my hand from my face.
“Just tell me whether or not I’ve got a shot at the over/under. If it happened after the Maple Inn, and before this weekend, I get four hundred dollars. I get two hundred if you guys did some necking during that time.”
Part of me wants to scream, “Two hundred dollars is yours, my man!” and then make him give me a high-five. But the more mature part of me knows it wouldn’t be right to give Jake even more gossip he can spread around town. Also, it’s not 1963. People don’t say necking anymore.
I kissed Brooklyn Manning.
I. Fucking. Kissed. Brooklyn. Manning.
My inner teenaged nerd has been patting me on the back since it happened two days ago, saying, “It’s about bloody time, good chap! Cheerio, good on you!”
Don’t fucking judge me. My inner teenaged nerd has a British accent and looks like Alan Turing, a British computer scientist who was known as the father of modern computing and is one of my heroes.
Adult Clint, who is still kind of a nerd, but more of a badass cowboy now, has been giving me fist bumps and saying, “Shit yeah, brother! Let’s celebrate this with some beer after we round up the cattle, and then you can go fuck her up against the barn door!”
Goddammit, that kiss….
It’s all I’ve been able to think about since it happened. Every time I walk in my fucking office, my dick gets hard. Every time I see Brooklyn somewhere on the farm, my dick gets hard. Every time someone says her name, my goddamn dick gets hard. My dick is semi-hard right now thinking about the way she moaned into my mouth, how wet and soft her lips were, how her hips moved, sliding herself over the bulge in my pants, and how her tits felt smashed against my chest. If I don’t start thinking about something awful like puppies dying, Jake is going to spread that shit around the town.
To say I’ve been a little frustrated the last two days since I haven’t been able to spend time with her is putting it mildly. I’ve had a million and one fires to put out around here that I couldn’t push off onto someone else. I thought for sure her seeing the picture of the two of us on my laptop, and her now knowing that I’ve had a thing for her for a long time, as well as that mind-blowing kiss, would have had Brooklyn running for the hills and doing everything she could to avoid me.
Thankfully, the few times we’ve seen each other in passing, she’s given me that adorable smirk and made a smart-ass comment. My particular favorite was when she was out in the stables helping Grace with her morning chore of feeding the horses, and I had to run in there to grab something out of the tool box in the tack room. Brooklyn was sitting on a bale of hay a few feet away from Grace as she was finishing up and giving some love to one of the horses. When I walked by her, she was flipping through a medical book about horses we keep out there. She never looked up when I passed her, but in a low voice just for my ears, she said, “Taking a break from jerking off? Don’t forget to hydrate.”
Fuck. I need to kiss her again. I need to do more than kiss her. I need to strip her naked and find out what kind of noises she makes when she comes.
I also need to remember to hydrate. I’ve lost a lot of fluids in the last two days because of her.
“So, yeah. I’ll just figure out this Idaho pro
blem myself. You are of no use to me right now,” Jake says with a sigh, patting me on the shoulder before turning and heading off toward the store.
I should probably apologize to the guy, but I’m too happy that this now frees up some time for me. Turning in the opposite direction of Jake, I head over toward the front yard, smiling to myself when I see that Brooklyn is now alone. The girls must have gone inside, and she’s busy picking up the baseballs strewn all over the place and tossing them into the bucket she’s carrying. Once again, my dick starts swelling in my jeans as I walk and watch Brooklyn bend over, stand up, bend over, stand up. By the time I get to her, she’s turned around and sees me coming. She sets the bucket down next to the white fence that runs from the middle of the yard down to the road, rests her hands on the top of the fence behind her, and lifts herself up to sit on it.
Without any hesitation, I walk right up to her, set my hands on her knees, and gently push them open. Taking a step forward, I move to stand between her legs, running my palms up the bare skin of the top of her thighs as I go.
“Well, aren’t you a pushy bastard,” she quips, with a raised eyebrow as she looks up at me.
Yes. Yes, I am. I don’t really see any point in pretending like what happened in my office was a mistake or a one-time thing. There’s a saying that fits perfectly for this, considering where I live and what I do. Something about how there’s no point in closing the barn door when the horse has already bolted. Basically, what’s done is done. She knows about my favorite picture of the two of us, and my passwords. And after that kiss, she damn well better know how much I still want her after all these years. I can’t magically erase that memory from her mind, nor do I want to. It’s about fucking time I stopped being a pussy where she’s concerned and strap on some balls.
