Sweet Talk Me

by Kieran Kramer

  He kissed her deeply as he unhooked her bra.

  Sweet heaven! Her naked breasts felt so good, especially with his hand cupping the right one, caressing it with his thumb.

  “Uh-oh,” he said.

  They both looked down between them. There was a flash of pale gold, and then her bra was gone.

  They laughed. He encircled her waist while she wrapped her arms around his neck, and they kissed and laughed.

  Kissed.

  And got quiet, except for the soft, smacking sound of mouth against mouth.

  He extended his arms on either side of her and grasped the board behind her. She clung to his neck and wrapped her legs around his waist, tantalizingly above his erection. He lifted himself higher so they could meet at that sweet spot …

  And it worked. They made love in their clothes, kissing all the while. True grew angry that she was trapped inside her stupid, evil shorts, but the frustration made her come hard—a rapturous, transcendent feeling, in water, no less—her moans swallowed by Harrison’s mouth.

  “There,” he whispered, his mouth curved in a smile. He kissed her tenderly, then wiped her hair back off her forehead.

  She floated, her legs uncurled from his torso, and started to cry. Just a little at first.

  He gathered her head to his neck. “It’s okay, sweetheart. It’s okay.”

  She cried harder. “No, it’s not. I’m getting married. And all I can think of is that I just had an orgasm in Biscuit Creek. With you. And you didn’t, which doesn’t seem right. But you’re not my fiancé, so why do I care? Why am I even here?”

  She wouldn’t tell him that it was the first satisfaction she’d found with a guy—Dubose being her only other lover—since prom night, all those years ago.

  Harrison chuckled softly. “Hey, I’ll survive. And I’m not sorry it happened. Don’t you be, either. Think of it as a little release. You’ve had a lot going on. And it breaks my heart to see you go through it all on your own.”

  Panic made her tremble. The water seemed too vast now. Maybe a shark was lurking nearby, lured from the ocean by a shrimp trawler. Maybe it was exploring Biscuit Creek the way the dolphins did.

  The current was beginning to move, ever so slightly.

  “We have to get home.” Weezie would be waiting. So would Gage. And she still had a lot to do for the wedding.

  “Whoa,” he said, “stay calm.”

  She swallowed. “I will.” She didn’t have a paper bag to breathe in out here. But she could cup her hands.

  “Let me help you get your shirt on,” he said, “and then I’ll push you back up. Do you think you’ll be able to paddle?”

  “I’ll have to.”

  He winked. “Good girl. The rhythm will help you settle down. And don’t worry. The current’s going with us. So even if you get into trouble, I gotcha.”

  “Okay.” She let him help her with her shirt. And when she grabbed the side of her board to get on it, he pushed her from behind, help she accepted gratefully. Her wrists and hands were still trembling.

  You’re fine, she told herself. Harrison was acting so calm about what had happened. Her embarrassment had worn off, but her guilt remained.

  He got himself in order, too, rebuttoning his sopping shirt, and when they stood and paddled off, a sense of normalcy returned to True. The V between her legs felt warm and heavy. But she focused on paddling. Harrison was right—rowing did help her feel better.

  All the same, things had changed in a big way.

  “I-I don’t think you’d better come to the wedding, after all,” she said eventually.

  “Agreed.” His tone was firm but friendly. “I’ll tell Weezie I have to leave town.”

  True hurt inside for Weezie. And herself. But it couldn’t be helped. “As for your staying at the house—”

  “I’ll move out tomorrow morning if that’s okay,” he said. “I need a little time to prepare Gage and Weezie both. I’ll make something up about having to have more peace and quiet to write my music.”

  “Good idea.” Neither sibling, as they both knew, was great with change. Even a little transition would help.

  Harrison steered toward the entrance to the small, winding path they’d taken through a finger of the creek. True followed.

  “This afternoon,” he said, “while I’m at the construction site, I’ll work on finding a place I can stay without a whole lot of fuss. Though, hell, I might as well stay in the trailer.”

  “You could do that.” She looked over at him briefly and smiled. Just a little.

  He chuckled. “What an irony. If I stay there, Gage is gonna want to come back. And then I’ll never get him out.”

  As he spoke so cheerfully about being kicked out of her house, she couldn’t help thinking how cute and sexy he was. What an upbeat, good man he was. And how skilled he was as a lover. The best she’d ever had. And she’d only been with him two times …

  Maybe the second time hadn’t even counted.

  Oh, yes, it did, her body told her.

  She was crazy to still be daydreaming about him—she must be totally out of her head, like millions of other women. He wove spells.

  “Shoot,” she said. “So maybe you should forget the trailer and find a discreet hotel. I’m really sorry it didn’t work out at my house.”

  “You’re the last person on earth who needs to apologize,” he said. “I’ll be out of the house almost all afternoon, unless you need more help with the wedding details.”

  “No. I’ll be fine.” Like hell she would. She was a total mess. But she’d never tell him so.

  “All right.”

  A few minutes later, they glided up to the dock and had no trouble getting themselves off the boards or removing them from the water.

  “You run up to the house and take a shower,” Harrison said. “I got these.”

  “Are you sure?” They were being so polite to each other.

  “Positive.”

  So she left him there, and while she ran, she wondered if she and Dubose would ever take out paddleboards, or make love in the waters of Biscuit Creek.

  No, her gut told her. No, it won’t happen, and you know it.

  She thought of Honey with her goofy hats and outrageous glasses. Honey dancing and playing her ukulele to no audience beyond two little girls and a wary nephew who wished she’d stop so that his very proper wife would get off his back. Honey, desperate to be loved and admired for who she was. Brave—but spurned all the same.

  True slowed to a walk and ascended the steps of the house.

  Poor Honey.

  She opened the screen door and walked over the threshold, shielding her breasts in her wet camisole in case Gage was downstairs. Weezie was on her date. True prayed it was going well and that Weezie wouldn’t be stupid, the way True had, and forget all common sense.

  But she also didn’t want to risk being Honey all over again. She didn’t want Weezie to, either. Somewhere there was a compromise, wasn’t there? Being who you were, yet not getting ostracized? Or shamed?

  True thought she’d found the answer, for her and for Weezie—just don’t share everything with the world. Hold some of yourself back. Even Harrison said he held himself back. He had his stage persona, but then he also had his private life.

  You didn’t hold yourself back today, her stricken conscience reminded her.

  No, she hadn’t. She’d messed up. But she wasn’t going to dwell on it. She’d start over. It was hard. But necessary. Look at Mama. She’d loudly proclaimed to the world through her words and actions that rules mattered—and then hurt Daddy so very much by breaking those rules and having an affair.

  But she’d gone on. Her marriage to Daddy had survived.

  The truth was, as much as True was tempted by Harrison, she was bound to Biscuit Creek. She had a sister to act as a pseudo-parent to—at least until Weezie got out of college—and no man was going to distract her from that duty. She had an estate to care for, too, and a town she loved. Mama and Da
ddy were buried here. So was Honey. So were all those other Maybanks that had come before her.

  She had Carmela and her church friends, as well as neighbors who’d helped her the last ten years stay afloat with one kindness or another.

  Harrison had his career. It would take him all over the world. He’d need to live in Nashville. New York. Los Angeles.

  A relationship between them would never work.

  By the time she was dressed again and ready to leave—she was stopping by the photographers, then visiting the manager of Booty Call, and after that, she needed to go wedding shoe shopping—Harrison was already gone. He’d merely washed himself down under the hose by the barn, according to a text he sent her. And then he’d helped an old lady who’d come to pick tomatoes—Mrs. Finch, the same one who’d told him all her ailments on another visit—and by the time he was done assisting her, he was dry enough to jump in his Maserati and go. He’d only come into the house long enough to pick up Gage, who’d been holed up in his room working on a puzzle.

  True was glad. She hoped she didn’t have to see Harrison the rest of the night. She might make up some wedding excuse and retreat to her room. She could come up with something reasonable. She didn’t even know how she’d face Weezie. How could she ask her about her date with Stephen Tyler and not totally feel guilty for being a hypocrite herself?

  Carmela was the only one she could talk to.

  Those Gamble men, Carmela would say. What was a girl to do with them?

  True didn’t know. She really didn’t. So she called Carmela to ask her, but her phone just kept ringing and ringing. Which was weird. She usually didn’t have any customers and picked up on the first ring.

  Maybe that was a good sign, True thought, and set off on her errands in her ancient car. Any day now, the potholes in the dirt road leading to Maybank Hall were going to shake the muffler right off. For the last couple of weeks, she’d been looking online and in the newspaper for a new one.

  She slowed to a crawl and thought about how Dubose told her right before he left not to bother—that he was buying her a new car when they got married. “And I’m going to choose it,” he’d told her. “My wife won’t drive junk.”

  He was thinking of her when he’d said that, right? Thinking that he wanted to spoil her because he loved her … not because he cared about her making him look good.

  She pressed on her brake and took out her phone.

  Hope you’re doing well, she texted him, even as her entire body flooded with guilt. She was a cheat and a traitor. Thanks for the sweet offer to buy me a car, but I think I found the one I really, really want already, and I’m going to buy it myself. It’s a used GMC Terrain. Just the right size for me. And good on dirt roads. If I can’t get it, there’s a Honda CR-V that looks cute, too.

  She waited a good minute. No answer. You there? she texted.

  Finally, she got a reply.

  “Crap,” she said out loud, and took off again, the car body shuddering as she accelerated out of a pothole.

  Crappity-crap-crap-crap, the tires answered her on the pitted drive.

  She held both hands on the steering wheel—hard—and desperately tried to forget that Maybanks were born to play by the rules. But she wouldn’t be able to for long. Dubose had just called a car broker in Charleston. She’d have a new BMW sedan at her front door that evening.

  Wives of successful attorneys drive high-end cars, he’d chided her via text. Enjoy the Beemer and see you soon.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  That afternoon Harrison noticed that Gage came back to the trailer at Sand Dollar Heaven from a so-called errand on Main Street looking mighty pleased with himself. He had a light in his eye. And his hair combing didn’t meet his usually high standards.

  “Are you involved with Carmela?” Harrison asked him outright. To hell with hinting around.

  “Yes, she’s my girlfriend.” That was it.

  “No shit.”

  “Yes shit. As of today. I had to go apologize for … well, for not understanding how to act last night. We—” He hesitated. “She brought over that lasagna.”

  “I can guess the rest.” Harrison slapped him on the back. “Congratulations. This is why you need a new place to stay, so Carmela can come over. You can cook her dinner. And you two can hang out in the hot tub.”

  “I’ll accede that building the house was a good idea, after all.” But Gage still didn’t sound like a happy camper.

  “Is something bothering you?” Harrison asked him. “I know it’s scary to get into a relationship—”

  “How would you know? When have you ever been in one? If you have, you’ve never told me.”

  Well, dang. Harrison knew his brother wasn’t trying to be combative or insulting. He was just asking. “You’re right. I’ve gone out with a lot of women, but I’ve never stuck with one for longer than a month or two.” He’d never thought of it as a problem.

  “So you’re as stunted emotionally as I am,” said Gage.

  “Hey, wait a minute—”

  “It’s not Carmela. It’s my crosswords. I haven’t been able to come up with a single one since I moved out of here.”

  “That’s not good.” But Harrison refused to feel guilty. More than ever, Gage needed a house. “I’m having the same sort of block with my songwriting. Do you think you’ll adjust soon?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Maybe getting into the house will help.” It sure as hell better. Harrison was spending a small fortune on it, and unless Gage took him down in a mud-wrestling fight, he wasn’t going to let his brother help pay for it, after all. It was a gift. He hoped it would turn out to be a wedding gift, but he didn’t want to act desperate and jump the gun in that department. So for now, he’d say nothing.

  “Being at True and Weezie’s house hasn’t helped,” Gage said. “It’s too bad. I like it there.”

  They looked at each other, and as usual, there was a wall between them. Not a big one, but enough that Harrison felt a strong sense of regret. He and Gage weren’t as comfortable as brothers as he wished they could be.

  Would it ever happen? Or were they doomed to have an awkward relationship always? He hoped not. It wasn’t like he had a whole lot of people to call family. Gage was it.

  “Hey,” he said. “I have to move out of Maybank Hall tomorrow morning.”

  “Girl trouble?”

  “What?”

  “You and True. You want her badly.”

  Harrison laughed nervously. “No, I’m not having girl trouble.”

  “Could have fooled me.”

  “Since when did you become so perceptive?”

  “I may be slow to, sometimes, but I pick up on cues just like you. And you’re attracted to her. Probably in love with her. And I suspect it’s because you’re comfortable enough with her to let your guard down, be your authentic self. You’re more likely to reach self-actualization—according to Maslow’s hierarchy—with her by your side.”

  “What did you just say?”

  “Google it.” Gage was dismissive. He picked up one of Vince’s blueprints and started examining the corner.

  “Damn.” Harrison cocked his head. “You’re a smart-ass now you got a girlfriend.”

  “Am I?” Gage chuckled.

  Further proof.

  “And you’re outta your frickin’ mind,” Harrison said. “I can’t focus on my songwriting at True’s the same way you can’t work on your puzzles because it’s a little crazy over there. Lots of dogs. Lots of … tomatoes. I was going to check into a hotel. But we have this trailer right here, so—I don’t know if I should ask this—you wanna come back with me?”

  “Damned straight,” Gage said right away.

  Whoa. Carmela’s feistiness was already rubbing off on him.

  “My only worry”—Harrison had to tread carefully—“is that you won’t be willing to give it up when the house is done.”

  Gage’s mouth thinned. “It would be difficult.”

>   “But maybe with Carmela in the picture…”

  “She’ll definitely help.” Gage looked at the floor. “I have to stay on track with my crosswords, though. I can’t lose momentum. I’m not looking forward to having to leave the trailer again.”

  “I’m sorry,” Harrison said. “I wish there was something I could do, man. But I don’t know what to say, other than time marches on.”

  “A sentiment made popular by Westbrook Van Voorhis, narrator on the March of Time radio and newsreel series in the first half of the twentieth century.”

  “I was just gonna say that.” Harrison punched his brother’s arm.

  Harrison brought Vince back with them to Maybank Hall for dinner—oyster stew, cheesy broccoli casserole, and corn bread from the Starfish Grill.

  Roger the busboy brought it out to the curb. “Nice dress,” he told Vince.

  “Thanks,” Vince said. “Nice paper hat. Could I have one, please?”

  “This isn’t Burger King,” Roger replied.

  “I know. But I’m from LA.”

  “That explains it.” Roger went inside and brought him a hat.

  Vince was fascinated by the whole southern experience. He wanted to stop at Southern Loot, but the NOPE sign was up in the window. That was Carmela no doubt recovering from wild monkey sex with his brother.

  All Gage said was, “She’s working on a new store concept.”

  “What’s wrong with that one?” Vince’s tone was wistful as they cruised by at ten miles an hour (the local police were hell on speeders).

  “If we got a lot of tourists here, she’d do fine,” Gage explained. “But we don’t. Biscuit Creek isn’t Disney World.”

  Vince whistled when he first caught sight of Maybank Hall. “Talk about authentic South. Am I on the set of Gone With the Wind? Is this Twelve Oaks come back to life?”

  “Twelve Oaks had imposing columns,” Gage piped up from the backseat. “This house is in the Federalist style but with a whimsical southern bent, as evidenced by the preponderance of porches, rockers, and dogs.”