Her mother had stopped speaking to her sister after that. So Kendall had been surprised by her mother’s out-of-the-blue request for her to spend the summer with her aunt. The question of why had infected Kendall’s brain afterwards, keeping her awake at night. In the end, it had all come down to one simple word. Money. With her mother, “the” Vivian Edwards, an old-school supermodel, it was always about money. Her mother could forgive any grudge, slight, or infraction if money was attached to the end of the line.
Her aunt was losing money, and it was disappearing faster than it should be for a widow living alone. Money from her husband’s life-insurance policy and proceeds from some device Uncle George had invented, patented, and sold to a company.
It was her daughters’ money that was disappearing, was the way Kendall’s mother probably saw it, and no way would she put up with that. So what if Vivian had made more money than she knew what to do with. There was no such thing as too much money in her mother’s world. No, Lark and Kendall stood to inherit, and this potential inheritance must be protected. That was the conclusion Kendall had come to after she’d done some investigative work of her own. Vivian had driven up to visit herself, and apparently the answers she’d received from her sister weren’t up to snuff, so she’d asked Kendall to make the trip.
“Coopersville, here I come,” Kendall said in her car. She’d broken up with her boyfriend of three months, Houston Black, an ex-NBA baller and businessman extraordinaire, so her aunt’s invitation to visit, or her mother’s push for her to visit, whichever way she wanted to view it, had come at an ideal time. She was thankful to get out of Dodge.
She had started to look forward to her trip too, regardless of the whys. A summer spent resting, relaxing, and getting to know her aunt, with maybe a side serving of sleuthing. Those were the only items on her agenda.
She’d learned from her limited research that Coopersville, Texas, was four square miles of small town, population approximately three thousand, with one of everything—one high school, one middle school, and one elementary school. It had been founded by the Cooper family, hence the town’s name. The family-owned quarry had been the major, and only, source of employment for the small town until the cement plant had arrived in the early 1970s. All that was left was the cement plant, which was humming along quite nicely, she’d learned.
Coopersville, Texas, did have other notables, and chief among them was its reputation for being inhospitable to people of color, particularly if said people of color thought to stick around past sundown, which was one for the history books. It was hard to fathom that such prejudices still existed in the year 2013.
People were always singing the praises of small-town life. Countless newspaper articles, movies, and books extolled the quality lives to be lived in small-town America. Stories crammed full of the quirky and the quaint, all ease and welcome, all occupied with an odd assortment of colorful and funny characters posing as residents.
But not all small towns were created equal, and as with Coopersville—or, at least, the Coopersville of the past—there were plenty little towns that were small-minded, suffocating, and dangerous.
Coopersville was famous for a few other more uplifting things. Number one on that list was its close proximity to the one of the largest state parks in Texas. Two, it was home to a golf course, which she was itching to play, a chance to test her ability and skills with a golf club. It was no longer private, so maybe that meant that it was also no longer off-limits to colored people.
And finally, the town was famous for its beer, homegrown and brewed, served at the famous Coopersville Brewpub Cooperative, owned and operated by the only remaining Cooper, one Barnabus Lee. Her mother had advised her to begin her search into her aunt’s finances there, to look into this B. L. Cooper person. It was not her first choice, beer. Yuck, she thought.
“Hello, whoever you are,” she said, interrupting her musings to focus on the fine specimen of man who was standing outside at a gas station, pump in his hand, refueling an old grey truck. She was thirty miles away from the turnoff that would lead her to another turnoff, which would eventually bring her into the heart of Coopersville.
Her new single status, along with the free and breezy summer feeling, had her stopping to check him out. He was just plain old beautiful, and out here in the sticks too. He deserves a second look, she thought. And why the hell not?
Yeah, yeah, he was a stranger, and she wasn’t so desperate she was about to pick up strangers at gas stations, but it wouldn’t hurt to get an up-close and personal look, ’cause he was yummy gorgeous. Plus she could always refill her gas tank—it was unsafe to drive on an empty—okay, half-full—tank, and it was also a wise decision to take advantage of the cheaper gas prices outside of the town. “Yeah, yeah, whatever,” Kendall said out loud in response to her pitiful excuses for stopping.
She passed the first entrance into the station and pulled into the second, driving around the side and over to where he was parked in front. She slid her auto into the bay next to his truck and switched off the ignition. Turning her music down, she ran her eyes over him again. Yep, up close, he was the same kind of fine. Sexy, curly, dirty blond hair cut short, jeans that hugged in the right places, and a nondescript T-shirt covering his chest. Not too tight, but snug enough for her to get an idea of what lay underneath it. He wore sandals on his feet, which were just as gorgeous as the rest of him.
Overall, a very nicely put-together package, she thought, great ass and thighs, and she laughed, ’cause that sounded like something you’d order at a your local KFC. “One ass and two thighs to go please,” she said into the emptiness of her car. She loved it when a man had a nice ass and thighs; they were hands down her favorite parts of the male anatomy. Think cowboys, either type—the ones that road those bulls at the rodeo or those who played for the Dallas Cowboys. Both were filled with more than their share of highly respectable asses attached to some highly respectable thighs.
She got out of her car and walked around to the back passenger side, where her gas tank was located. She was decked out in a soft, summery halter dress—pink and short, stopping mid-thigh—that made her feel extremely feminine and sexy, paired with matching pink sandals. Yes, she had shed her professor image this morning for summer, just like a butterfly sheds its cocoon.
She didn’t do conservative, professor-style clothes anywhere other than at the university and its environs. She was there to teach, not to get the new college students all stirred up, so she dressed accordingly, following the professor dress code of plain shirts, skirts, and slacks—okay, with some hint of personal flair, but all her body parts were totally covered when she was at work.
She input her PIN number and put the gas pump’s nozzle into her car’s gas thingy. She set it to continue on without her and headed toward the convenience part of the convenience store. She was thirsty and ready for her stroll by, and as she neared his truck, she put a little more swing into her step, but not too much. She didn’t want to give him a heart attack or some such thing.
He was sort of bent over, with one hand on the pump and the other on his truck, and she admired his body up close as she passed him. He was in shape, muscles rippled underneath his T-shirt, and she could see a bit of skin at the waistband of his jeans, which hung a little low. Trim waist, arms with guns—must be active, she thought. She checked out his rump again, and yep, still there, and still very, very nice. He looked to be in his early thirties, close to her age, or so she hoped. She smiled.
He smiled too, met her eyes as he checked her out from over his shoulder, eyes that did the once-over, from head to toe, then back up. He didn’t even try to hide it. Oh…She squealed in pleasure—internally, of course—pleased by his confidence, and moved closer to the doors, hoping he was paying attention to her back view. It was just as impressive as her front.
She stood at the counter, waiting her turn, and tried to act all nonchalant when he came in a few minutes later. She watched him head over to the drink s
ection, where he picked up a bottle of Coke, and then it was back over to her at the counter, where a small selection of candy waited, a last-minute impulse for those who were impulsive. She selected the plain M&M’s, continuing with the impulsive theme she’d been working all day.
He was standing behind her in line now, and she could feel him at her back. He smelled like the outdoors mixed in with some fresh, clean-smelling scent of cologne. She moved up in line, the next to be served.
“Hey, LC, what are you doing here?” the man behind the counter asked, looking past her. He wore a dusty T-shirt and a baseball cap, had that little patch of hair on his chin that was scraggly looking.
“I had to run up to Austin yesterday, so I spent the night. I’m heading back home this morning,” he said, and Kendall put a name to a face. LC.
“How’s business?” the man asked.
“Good,” he said, and it was her turn. She handed over her money.
“I’ve got to get up to play some golf soon. You’ll have to give me that password again,” the man behind the register said, laughing. “You try and get too clever with those password questions of yours, and I ain’t into golf as much as you are.”
LC, aka the cute dude behind Kendall, laughed. Could laughs be sexy? They could if they were delivered like his—low, slow, and scratchy. What the hell is scratchy? she asked herself, chalking her loss of brainpower up to standing so close to him in line. She paid for her water and candy, took her change, and left.
#
Cooper followed her with his eyes as she walked out the door, watching her small but lovely ass make its way back over to her car.
He never let the opportunity to study butts pass him by, and he had been impressed with hers, half in love with it already as it had sashayed past him earlier on its way into Walter’s store. She was a very pretty girl, with long hair swinging from a ponytail, resting just at the top of her shoulders. He’d followed her into the store with his eyes, cataloging her slim figure, small waist, and shapely rear. He’d been enchanted by the movement of her round—but not too round—rump, just big enough for him to hold one cheek in each hand, a gig he was always up for.
He’d continued to watch the sway and shift of it as she moved. The soft material of her dress enhanced the rise and punch he felt from taking in the sight of her bum bum, as his old Brazilian friend used to call it. He loved him some bum bum or badonkadonk, which was the preferred moniker of those who lived in the dirty south. He liked his full, round, and free of clothes.
He’d read somewhere that men were attracted to butts because they resembled breasts in some way, and added with curvy hips, they were a sure sign of fertility. Wide hips made baby-making easier for women, and men were always in search of mates to make babies with, a characteristic fundamental to their DNA. Who knew? All he knew was that he liked hips with curvy asses attached to them. Always had, always would.
Walter, the man he knew behind the counter, cleared his throat, pulling Cooper’s eyes to his. He smiled. Walter laughed. “LC,” he said, shaking his head. “After all these years, you haven’t changed, not one bit. All that money, and you’re the same ass hound you always were,” he added, taking Cooper’s cash.
“Yeah, but why waste your time looking at that?” someone other than Walter said. Cooper recognized the voice. He’d grown up with the guy. Jeremiah stood at his side now, looking out the front window at the African American woman who was making her way back to her foreign car.
“Don’t tell me you’re doing those now,” Jeremiah said.
“Not enough going on in your own life, huh? You think you need to have your nose in mine?” Cooper said as he glanced at the big man standing next to him. In fact, Cooper had not dated any African American woman before. But that was his business, and he didn’t appreciate being told what to do or how to live his life by anyone, especially not someone like Jeremiah.
“Zero-zero-five-nine is the password to the course this month,” Cooper said, addressing Walter now, ignoring the man who stood beside him.
“We don’t like what you’re allowing to happen in Coopersville,” Jeremiah said.
Cooper turned to face him, and all hints of a smile disappeared as he gazed into the hard eyes of the other man. Six foot five, with a beard and mustache hiding his face, Jeremiah was three hundred pounds of pure muscle.
“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Cooper said.
“If you’re interested in her, then you know exactly what I’m talking about,” he said.
“You have yourself a nice day, Jeremiah,” Cooper said before turning to face Walter again.
“Hope to see you at the course soon, Walt,” he said, then left.
#
Kendall was still standing next to the pump, sort of waiting, watching from underneath her lashes as he made his way back over to his truck. Yep, same fine man.
He stood next to his truck now, eyes on her, and since she couldn’t think of anything to say that wouldn’t make her seem sketchy, she settled for a giving him another smile, hoping it was inviting.
“You live around here?” he asked.
“No,” she said.
“Too bad,” he said, smiling.
Pretty, pretty, she thought of his straight and even white teeth, the semi-full lips opened slightly over them, and the slight five-o’clock shadow on his chin. And, oh lord, really gorgeous green eyes.
Hell yeah, too bad, Kendall thought. She gave him what she hoped was a sexy and inviting pout. He laughed, and not the sexy laugh from earlier, this was a you’re-so-funny laugh, so maybe her pout had fallen short. She stood watching as he hopped into his truck and pulled out onto the road. Oh well, that was plenty fun while it lasted.
#
Cooper checked his rearview mirror and watched her get into her car and pull out onto the road behind him. She’d had to wait for two smaller cars to pass before the road was clear enough for her to enter.
He checked his mirrors every ten minutes or so, and yep, there she was trailing behind him, the two cars still in between them. He slowed down—why the fuck not?—forcing the two cars to go around him. That’s better, he thought when she and her little Honda SUV were directly behind him. She pulled up closer to his truck, and he met her eyes in the rear mirror and smiled, a big, high-wattage one. She flashed one back, and his grin widened.
They continued that way for the next thirty miles, trading glances and trading smiles, she trailing behind his truck. He stopped at the stop sign, his exit to the road that would eventually take him to FM 1341, the main road into and out of Coopersville. He stuck his arm out of the window and pointed to the sign that read Coopersville, 30 miles. He smiled at the thumbs-up she gave him.
He turned left, and she followed, riding his tail, and the possibilities of that image held like onto his mind with a vise-like grip. She was singing now; he could hear the music through his open window, some country tune. She flashed him a grin when she caught him looking back in his rearview mirror at her, which was often now.
It took about twenty-five minutes to get into the outskirts of Coopersville. The Brewpub stood on the corner of 1341 and Old Quarry Road, the first landmark into town. She was with him when he turned into one of the parking spots located out front of the Brewpub and parked. She didn’t stop, just waved to him as she passed.
He stepped out of his truck and walked into the street, watching her make the right turn onto Locus Street, which he knew took you to the mostly older residential part of the town. The university parking decal on her car’s window had given him his first hint of who she was, and the fact that she’d trailed him into town had been his second. He’d thought it might be the case, and now it was official. The professor had come to town.
#
Kendall lowered her window, letting in some fresh air, leaving the handsome stranger behind, hoping she’d have the chance to see him again. If she had anything to say about it, she would. From all outside appearances, he would be worth a search
and rescue. See, things were working out better than she’d expected. Houston who?
God, wouldn’t it be wonderful, a blessing really, if he were available to have some fun, a summer fling—no expectations, no demands. “Oh,” she squealed again at the thought of spending time with someone who looked as good as he did, and since she was wishing, how about if he could knock her socks off in bed? Wouldn’t it be great if he could make her come unglued, giving her the toe-curling sex that women bragged about, that she read about in romance books, when the guy never loses an erection, can go all night—you get the picture. She longed for anything resembling that.
She’d wished Houston, her ex-boyfriend, could have been different in bed. He’d been okay, and just okay—alright, not really okay—and although she had done the perfunctory ohs and ahs in the right places, at least she hoped it had been in the right places, she hadn’t really connected with him in that department. Not that it mattered to Houston. Was she there and ready when he wanted? So what if she didn’t climax. “I got mine, you should learn to get yours,” he’d often said, and he was so not the man for her.
Honestly, she and sex had only ever been okay. She wasn’t sure how much of that blame to shoulder. Maybe she was the problem—too unskilled, too unaware, too professorial, too reserved, not up for all manner of toys and tricks and getting other people involved in the bedroom, as it seemed everybody was doing these days. No way did she want some other woman lurking about in her bed with her man. She hadn’t grown or matured that much, didn’t think she ever would either. She had a this-is-mine, you-can-look-but-don’t-touch policy when it came to her men. She shook her head, trying to focus her attention on finding her aunt’s street.
Games We Play Page 2
