by J. L. Fynn
“Ready for dessert?”
“Are you ready for dessert?” I shot back.
“I could be persuaded. They make a mean bacon pecan pie.”
This girl was ridiculous. “Maybe in a little while. Didn’t you say something about shuffleboard?” I asked, trying to deflect the conversation away from more food.
“Yeah! You ready to play?”
I honestly didn’t know if I was, what with the burger baby I was carrying, but what else was I going to do? I walked up to the bar and ordered us a couple more beers, then followed her over to the far wall where an indoor shuffleboard table made its home. It was a long, wooden board with gutters around each edge. Its top was sprinkled with some sort of powder, and there were red and blue pucks littering its face. Tracy collected the pucks and brought them over to one side.
“You want to be red or blue?”
“Does it make a difference?” I asked.
“Not really.”
“Well, blue then.”
“You know the rules?”
“Why don’t you refresh my recollection?” I’d seen these boards in bars before and they always looked fun, but I’d never actually gotten around to playing.
“Basically, you just wanna get your puck as far down the board as possible without it falling off,” she explained.
I shrugged. Sounded simple enough. “Ladies first,” I said, stepping aside to offer her the spot at the end of the table.
“Why don’t we do a practice round since you’ve never played before?”
“I never said that.”
“So you saying you have?”
“I never said that either.”
“You’re impossible.” She nudged my arm with hers, sending shivers through me.
“That’s what they tell me,” I said, flashing her a playful grin.
She adjusted her shirt, re-covering the little bit of her midriff that had begun to show, but revealing more cleavage in the process. She leaned over the board. Standing next to her, the view left little to the imagination. She had to be doing this on purpose. At her height, she barely needed to lean at all, but she was practically bent over the table cueing up her shot. I swear the girl was fucking with me.
And I didn’t mind a bit.
We both shot all of our pucks one after the other. One of her reds hung precariously off the end of the table but managed not to fall off.
“That’s sex points for me,” she said, then jabbed her finger into my shoulder with a wicked smile. “And none for you.”
I cocked an eyebrow at her. “Sex points?”
“Six! Six points. You have a dirty mind, Jimmy,” she tried to look disapproving, but the corners of her mouth twitched and her cheeks flushed red. “What’s your last name anyway?”
“Reilly,” I said without thinking. I should’ve given her a fake one but between the beer and the flirting my brain was addled.
“Jimmy Reilly. I like it. It fits you.”
“I certainly hope so, since it’s the only name I’ve got.” Aside from all the ones on the stack of fake IDs in my glove box, anyway.
We moved down to the other end of the table and started shooting a new round. I noticed two guys, both wearing pastel polo shirts and slack-jawed expressions, watching us. I wasn’t sure if they were eyeing Tracy or the shuffleboard table, but either way I didn’t like it.
After draining the last of their pitcher one nudged the other and they both walked over.
“Hey,” the one in the LSU hat said.
Tracy smiled in greeting, but I ignored them, hoping they’d go away.
“Can we cut in?” the other one said, this one in nothing but dirty jeans and a stained wife beater.
“We’re sort of in the middle of a game,” I said, collecting the blue pucks on my side of the table.
“Yeah, well, we’d like to join you,” LSU Hat said.
“Sorry, it’s a two person game,” I replied. I glanced over at Tracy who was grinning up at me. Was she enjoying this?
“We could play teams,” Wife Beater chimed in.
“Sorry,” I repeated, sliding one of my pucks, not even sure if it was my turn.
“It’s not nice to hog the table,” Wife Beater said.
“Maybe we oughta go,” I said, lowering my voice so only Tracy could hear me. Spending time with a country girl was bad enough, but I didn’t need to get into a scrape with these assholes too.
“Sure,” Tracy said, a hint of a smile still on her lips. She put the puck in her hand back on the table and linked her arm around mine.
“Dirty gypsy,” LSU Hat said under his breath. I heard him clearly but wasn’t going to say anything. Getting into a fistfight in the Village was one thing—Travelers would never call the cops on one of their own no matter how pissed off they were—but getting into a bar fight this close to home? Pop Sheedy would have my neck. And that would be a bowl of cherries compared to what Maggie would do.
“What did you say?” Tracy said, her eyes narrowing.
“Leave it. Let’s just go.” Oh God. Why did I go out with this girl? There was a reason Travelers had a rule against fraternizing with buffers, and this was precisely it.
“No. I want him to repeat what he said. Out loud.” She turned to look at them. “Like a man.” She was more than a head shorter than the guy, but when she raised herself to her full height I had to admit there was something almost intimidating about her.
“I called him a dirty gypsy,” LSU Hat repeated.
“Didn’t your mama teach you better manners than that?” Tracy demanded, pushing herself up on her toes to get in his face. “You’re one of the Breaux boys, aren’t you?”
“Umm, yeah,” LSU Hat stuttered. “Do I know you?”
“No, but I know your mama. She’s a nice lady. Comes into the hardware store every few months. I don’t think she’d take too kindly to hearing that her son was drunk and picking on a girl at the bar.”
“We don’t have any beef with you,” Wife Beater said.
“You’re damn right you don’t.” Tracy turned to me. “Let’s go, Jimmy. We have better things to do with our time.”
I was so shocked by the entire exchange I just blinked at her. Without waiting for a response, Tracy turned on her heel and stomped toward the door. I followed close behind her, like Yeats or Beckett trotting after Maggie.
We got out to my truck, and I paused by the passenger door. “Thanks for that,” I said.
“Oh, no problem. These local boys think they’re big and bad, but mention their mamas and they’ll shut up quicker than a broken bear trap.”
I understood the impulse. I grinned at her, amazed once again by what a fierce creature she was despite the small packaging. “You’re quite the little spitfire, you know that?”
“Spitfire?” She scrunched up her nose. “What kind of name is that?”
“You don’t like spitfire?”
She shook her head.
“Okay.” I looked up and tapped my bottom lip, putting on a show of coming up with the perfect name. “You scared the crap out them boys getting in their face like that. I’d say that makes you a real bruiser.”
“Bruiser?” Tracy chuckled. “You know? I like that.”
“Bruiser it is then.” I put up my fists and threw a slow punch that missed her face by a full foot.
She laughed again, swatting my hand away, and a piece of her golden hair fell across her face. By instinct, my fingers uncurled themselves and I reached out to tuck it back behind her ear. The second I realized what I’d done, I shoved my hands into my pockets to make sure that they kept to themselves from then on.
“About the, umm, gypsy thing…” I started, not knowing how I was going to end my sentence.
“Don’t worry about it,” she said seriously
“No, really. I—”
“I said, don’t worry about it,” she said, a little sharply, but soon her playful tone returned. “Actually, if you want to repay me for saving your ass, ther
e’s one thing you could do.”
As much as I knew I should find a way to politely decline and be on my way, I also knew no matter what Tracy asked, I was going to say yes.
CHAPTER FOUR
THIS WAS THE last place I thought I’d end up. Lying on the floor of Tracy’s trailer, my head underneath her sink.
She had a minor clog. Easy to fix. I just needed to pull out the U-bend, flush the crap out, and put the pipe back.
As good as Tracy was at defending herself (and me) at that bar, something told me she was equally capable of doing this on her own. Regardless, I was happy to do it for her.
“How’s it going down there?” Tracy called.
“All right, although my phone’s digging into my hip.” I dug the thing out of my pocket. “Here, would you hold it for a sec?”
I held the phone out to her, and I felt her grab it out of my hand. I saw her feet move back to the adjacent counter, then leap up out of sight.
As soon as we’d come into the kitchen, she’d hopped up on the counter to watch me work. Given how short she was, watching her get up there almost looked like U.S. Gymnastics: Kitchen Counter Edition.
“I knew you looked like someone who was good with his hands,” Tracy said.
“Well, I did meet you in a hardware store,” I said.
“Speaking of, how’s your daddy liking his new deck?”
“Oh, he likes it just fine.” I wished I hadn’t told her that stupid lie. Now I had to keep up the pretense that not only I’d built a deck, but that my da was still alive.
“You must have a pretty nice place then, being so handy and all.”
I tightened the pipes one last time, then scooted out from under the sink. When I stood, Tracy and I were almost at eye level with her sitting on the high counter.
I wiped my grimy hand on the front of my jeans. “Well, I guess I better take off.”
“Don’t you want to stay for at least one more drink?” Tracy asked. “I’ve barely gotten to know you.” She hopped down off the counter. “I defended your honor and you don’t even know my last name.”
I couldn’t help but chuckle. “Fair enough. So, what is it?”
“What?”
“Your last name.”
“Why would I tell you that?” she said. “I barely know you.”
She opened the refrigerator and pulled out a couple of beers. “Let’s sit down in the living room where it’s more comfortable.”
Without giving me an opportunity to object, she crossed into the adjacent room and plopped down onto the couch. I followed behind her and passed up on the worn recliner to sit next to her on the sofa.
For the first time, I really looked around Tracy’s trailer. Most of the furniture was worn and old, but it was all kept up nicely. Not a single item was out of place. There were afghans draped over the couch and chair, and there wasn’t a single speck of dust as far as I could see. It didn’t look like a place decorated by a twenty-one year old girl. More like the home of her grandmother.
“So, you live here by yourself?” I asked.
“Yup, just me. I keep thinking about getting a pet, but I’m not a cat person and a dog’s too much work. Especially since I’m hoping to move next year.”
“Really? Where?” Was that a hint of disappointment in my voice? I needed to get a grip. I’d only known this girl for a few hours, and after tonight there was no way I was going to see her again.
“Baton Rouge, hopefully. I applied to LSU, and I’ll find out in a couple of months if I get in.”
“Well, good luck.” College? I hadn’t even gone to high school. I wondered what she’d think of that, before I remembered that I shouldn’t care what she thought about anything.
“Aren’t you gonna drink your beer?” she asked, motioning to the second can on the table.
I picked it up, but didn’t take a sip. “You trying to get me drunk?”
“Maybe a little.” She winked.
And that was all it took to make me lose what was left of my sense. I set the beer back on the table and slipped my hands around the back of her neck, my thumbs pressed against her jaw. I drew her face to mine and our lips crushed together. For a panicked second I thought maybe I’d misjudged the situation. She didn’t respond immediately, but a moment later her lips opened, granting my tongue access. Her kiss was just as honey sweet as I’d imagined.
I ran my thumb across her cheek, then slid my fingers down her neck and to her shoulders, across the hollow at her collarbone. I felt all the blood leave my head and rush to lower extremities, which probably explained why I wasn’t thinking.
Tracy broke the kiss and moved away. Disappointment filled my chest, but only for the second before I realized why she’d moved. In a blink she was on my lap, straddling me so we were facing each other. She grabbed my tight shoulders and looked me in the eyes, catching her bottom lip between her teeth. I leaned in to kiss her again, but she pulled her head back, making a tutting sound. She leaned in again, but instead of my mouth, her lips found my earlobe. I felt her tongue flick against it followed quickly by a graze of her teeth. The feeling of her breath hot against my neck sent an electric hum through my veins, but I wanted to feel her mouth on mine. I was desperate to taste her again.
Finally, after what felt like an eternity, but was probably only a few seconds more, she brought her face back to mine and kissed me. Hard this time. It was the sort of kiss that left little to the imagination. The sort of kiss that you knew meant she wouldn’t mind if things went a little bit further. Or a lot a bit further.
I kissed her back, hard and rough. I ran my hands down her slim waist and felt a groan escape from low in my throat, even though my head was too cloudy with the taste and feel of her to hear it. She reached down to my pants and began to unbutton them, shocking me back to reality.
I picked her up by her waist and lifted her from my lap. Tracy let me move her back to the sofa, but gave me a little pout that demanded to be kissed off her lips. Somehow, I managed to restrain myself. “I better get going.”
“Having too much fun?” she asked.
“Something like that.” Her look told me I needed to give some sort of explanation. “We just met and all. Maybe this isn’t a good idea.”
“You’re quite the gentleman,” Tracy said, though it only half sounded like a compliment.
“I try.” I didn’t. Not usually. If we were out on the road and Tracy was just some buffer girl I met at a bar, I would’ve slept with her. I kept telling myself that Tracy was different because she lived so close to the Village, but deep down I knew it was more than that. There was something different about this girl. Something that made me want to take things slow. Be respectful.
And I wondered why the Sheedys liked to call me a pussy.
With a half-hearted smile, I stood up and started toward the door, but Tracy’s hand on my wrist stopped me. I thought she was going to pull me to her one more time. Was sure she was going to kiss me again. If she had, I wouldn’t have been able to restrain myself a second time, but that’s not what she wanted.
“You forgot something.”
“Yeah?” I asked.
“You never did get my last name. It’s Manning. Tracy Manning. So let’s not be strangers anymore, all right?”
I felt my cheeks blush and mumbled, “Okay.” I turned back toward the door, but she grabbed my wrist again, turning me around once again. “You forgot something else.”
“Yeah?”
She held my cell phone out to me. “Wouldn’t want to forget this,” she said. “How else are you going to call me?”
“Thanks.” I took the phone from her hand, purposefully brushing my fingers over her palm as I did. “See you around.”
“See ya.” She fixed me with a coy smile that was nearly impossible to turn away from.
It wasn’t until I got to my truck that I realized I’d never gotten her number. But it was for the best. If I had gotten it, I might’ve made a stupid mistake like actually callin
g her.
CHAPTER FIVE
“ANY WORD FROM the advisors about Shay?” I asked Maggie as she set two mugs of tea down in front of us. I grabbed my cup by the handle and took a small sip. Immediately, I felt more at ease. If one day I learned that Maggie slipped drugs into her concoctions, I wouldn’t be all that surprised. It was amazing how calm they could make you feel.
“No. Michael doesn’t want him calling back to the Village unless there’s a problem.”
“Michael” was Pop Sheedy—our clan leader. Only Maggie dared to call him by his first name. “That’s weird. Why wouldn’t he check in twice a week like we always do?”
Maggie didn’t answer. Instead she took a long draw from her mug. How it didn’t burn her throat, I didn’t know.
Maybe it did.
Ring. Our house phone, and we didn’t get very many calls.
Maggie and I looked at each other, but neither of us moved to pick it up. She was probably thinking the same thing I was. What if the call was about Shay? He’d only been gone a week now, but who knew what sort of trouble he was getting into up in Pennsylvania. We were both too afraid to answer and find out.
Ring. Maggie gave me one final look, then stood and picked up the phone. “Hello?” I watched her face closely. If anything happened to Shay, it’d show immediately. “Is everything all right?” She listened a short while, and the tension went out of her shoulders, then she handed me the phone. “It’s for you.” I gave her a look that asked what this was all about, but she just shrugged and shoved the phone at me.
“Hello?” I asked, no idea who’d have reason to talk to me.
“Hi, it’s Mary Costello. I have a message for you from your uncle.” Mary had been an advisor as long as I could remember. As long as Maggie could remember too, from what she’d said. I often wondered how old she was, but now certainly wasn’t the time to ask.
“And what’s that?”
“There’s been some tornados in Oklahoma, and Pop’s given him the go-ahead to find some roofing work over there, but he needs an extra hand. He wants you to meet him in Tulsa in a couple days.”
