Sweet & Wild

by Viv Daniels

  “Was it a bone?” Jeffrey asked, his nose wrinkled. “I can’t deal with seafood. The bones, and the…smell…”

  I took a big gulp of my chardonnay, though there was nothing else blocking my esophagus. He. Was. Planning. Our. Wedding. And he was picking the location based on what would look best in the newspaper!

  I swallowed thickly then took a deep breath. “Maybe we’re getting a little ahead of ourselves.”

  “You’re right,” Jeffrey said, and slumped back in his seat. “We should wait and see where I propose to you, first. It could be even better.”

  I stared at him, agog. “That’s not what I—”

  “It’s just that I really think this is the right fit, you know?”

  No. I didn’t know that. I didn’t know that at all.

  “It’s rare these days to find someone with the same goals as you, don’t you think?”

  “I don’t want to be a lawyer,” I blurted.

  “Of course not!” He laughed, a big, jolly belly laugh that instantly grated on my nerves. “Who wants you to be a lawyer! Trust me, Hannah, if I wanted to marry a lawyer, I could have found one at Yale. Place is crawling with career women.”

  Career women? My dinner sat forgotten on my plate. I wasn’t sure I could trust myself with food right now. Or utensils and their lovely, sharp, pointy edges.

  “No, I wanted an undergrad. Preferably a senior so she’d have a whole year to plan the wedding and help set up our house while I study for the bar, but you look pretty sensible. I bet you could do it in six months.”

  I didn’t know where to start. I wasn’t sure which statement to tackle first. “Jeffrey, I think there’s been some sort of misunderstanding.”

  He frowned. “I’m sorry. I was given to understand that you didn’t…wait, do you have a career in mind?”

  Actually, no, not as such.

  “Because there’s nothing wrong with doing that, at least for a few years. You’re only twenty-one, after all. We can wait to have our first kid if you’d feel better about working a while first. Say, twenty-six?”

  “I—” I had lost the power of speech.

  “I can tell you right now, I want four kids. I know you come from a small family, but I think big looks better. In campaign photos and such.”

  “Campaign photos?” I managed to croak.

  “For when I run for office. You know, the politician, his smiling wife. The four adorable kids…”

  I felt hot, then cold. “This is all a little overwhelming,” I said. “I thought our moms were just setting us up on a date.”

  “Well, yeah,” he said. “I told my mom I needed a pretty girl with a good family name who hadn’t bought into the whole feminist myth about her career. I’ve been burned by that before.”

  “You have?” I was on autopilot right now, my guts churning as I tried to retain an appropriately country-club facade of pleasant, ladylike charm. Feminist myth about her career. Holy hell.

  “Yes.” He sighed. “There are a lot of women who waste all this time on school or trying to have a career only to give it up when they realize someone has to keep the house and raise their husband’s children.”

  “‘Their husband’s children?’”

  “But your mother told mine that you have no aspirations.”

  My stomach stopped spinning. It felt like the whole Earth had stopped spinning.

  “Can you excuse me for a minute?” said whatever final shreds remained of my cotillion etiquette. “I think you were right that the fish was a bad choice.” I dashed from the table and walked as quickly as decency would allow to the ladies’ room. The country club ladies’ room, where the long, mirrored table was fronted with a row of plush pink velvet cushions, upon which the country club ladies would sit and fix their lipstick and powder their noses and make themselves perfect before they returned to their country club husbands and their country club lives. Maybe they’d gotten married there, too.

  When I was young, I used to stand in this room and watch while my mother powdered her nose. I used to think one day, I’d grow up and be just like her.

  And apparently, I had.

  She’d said I had no aspirations. She’d offered me up like a fatted lamb to be slaughtered by that pompous prick and his slimy schedule. This wasn’t a date, it was a business merger. The photogenic, unambitious, no doubt fertile Swift girl with her inoffensive Canton B.A. who could be married off to a young man with a…

  A sob rose in my throat. A good major, a good career, and a good bank account. Everything neat and orderly and planned out like clockwork. One more year of law school, a year of clerking, a wedding, a house, four kids, and a political career. Just needed to find the smiling blonde wife to slot into the role.

  And Mom was so excited about tonight. So pleased to find a place for me. So eager to tell a total stranger that her daughter had no aspirations.

  In what incredibly fucked up world was that a plus?

  Unbelievable. Unendurable. I plopped down on the velvet cushions and let my head fall into my hands. And also unavoidable. I’d done this to myself. Because Mom and Jeffrey were right. I had no aspirations. I had no plan. I wasn’t a career woman like Tess, who awed and inspired Dylan in their work. The two of them were this perfect scientist pair, like some sick reincarnation of Pierre and Marie Curie sent to make me feel bad about myself. What did I have to offer a guy, other than to mold myself into a puzzle piece to finish off his grandly-imagined plan?

  One tear dropped onto the marble countertop, and then another. Great, now I was messing up my face. I reached into my purse to grab my tissue and tried to dab at my eyes without smudging the mascara. There. I took a deep breath. Stop crying, Hannah. Stop crying. Just humor this guy until you get home.

  And then humor your mother.

  My eyes watered up again.

  I could not go home. I grabbed my phone and opened the message app, typing:

  Hey.

  Boone replied in seconds:

  Hey, you. I’d almost given up on you.

  Well, almost was better than entirely given up. I typed back.

  ME: Sorry about that. Are you in Canton right now?

  BOONE: Yes. What’s up?

  ME: Can you come pick me up?

  BOONE: Wait a second. Is this a booty call?

  I groaned through gritted teeth.

  ME: If I say it is, will you come?

  BOONE: I’d come either way, Hannah.

  A sound burst from my lips, not quite a sigh, not quite a sob, but a little of both. It echoed around the empty bathroom, and I clutched the phone to my chest in relief.

  BOONE: Are you at your house?

  ME: The country club.

  BOONE: ?

  ME: I’ll explain when you get here. You know where it is, right? Can you meet me out front of the clubhouse?

  BOONE: Ten minutes.

  Ten minutes. Ten minutes to my rescue. I could put up with Jeffrey for ten minutes.

  I took my sweet time in the bathroom (five minutes) then finally emerged and walked in a slow, stately manner back to the table (one minute). Our plates were cleared, and Jeffrey was consulting his phone.

  “Hey there,” he said brightly when I arrived. “All better?”

  “All better,” I replied. I sat down. I unfolded my napkin. I could do this.

  “Great.” He shook his head. “It was probably the fish. I never eat fish.”

  “So you said.”

  “Anyway, I ordered dessert, if you’re up for it. The pecan pie here is great.”

  I looked at him for a moment, a sort of strange, hysterical laughter bubbling through my chest. No, I could not do this. “Are you kidding me? You just…ordered dessert for me?”

  “You were in the bathroom.”

  “I’m allergic to nuts.”

  He blinked stupidly at me. “Oh.”

  “Yeah.” I set down my purse and my phone and leaned my elbows on the table, pillowing my chin in my hands. My cotillion instructor wo
uld be so appalled. “I hope that isn’t a problem. A genetic flaw introduced into your bloodline.” Ooh, Bloodline. Nice. I could totally work with that.

  “Well…”

  “Oh, and I should probably mention that I also have a thyroid disorder. I have to take a daily medication.” I shrugged. “But it could have been worse. For about a week last year before we figured out what it was, I was afraid it was cancer. Cancer would probably be a deal breaker, huh?”

  It was Jeffrey’s turn to gape at me.

  “It’s good we’re getting to know each other like this, don’t you think, Jeff? Do you go by Jeff?”

  “Not usually, no.”

  “That’s fine. It can be a little pet name.” He could order me nuts, and I could call him whatever I damn well pleased.

  “I—”

  “So let me tell you a few things about myself, Jeff. No, I don’t have a major yet. No, I don’t have a boyfriend, either, owing to the fact that my last boyfriend left me for possibly the worst person in the world that you can leave someone for.”

  “Another man?”

  Of course he would go there. I leaned forward and dropped my voice to a whisper. “Worse.”

  “I can’t—”

  “And I took it really hard. And I went off to Europe, and I really planned badly because that’s apparently what I do, is plan badly. We have that in common, I think. You, also, plan badly. I mean, you have plans, but they’re awful.”

  “Hey!”

  “So you know what? Screw plans. I’d rather have no plan at all than just be a part of yours.”

  My phone buzzed. I looked down at the screen and saw Boone’s gorgeous smile shining up at me.

  BOONE: Here.

  “That’s my ride.” I stood. “Thanks for dinner, Jeffrey. I assume you’ll be putting it on your parents’ membership?”

  He nodded wordlessly.

  “Fantastic. See you.” See you never. I turned and marched out of the clubhouse, head held high.

  Boone’s pickup was idling in front of the valet stand.

  “We really have to stop meeting like this,” he said as I climbed in the passenger side. “Rescuing you from fancy clubs.”

  “Very funny.” I slumped in the seat.

  “So. Where to?”

  I shook my head and looked out the window. “Away from here.”

  Boone chuckled and shifted into gear. “You got it, babe.”

  Ten

  I don’t know where I expected us to end up, but the edge of a public park, sitting on the tailgate of his truck and eating takeout burritos was not it.

  “Told you these were good,” Boone mumbled through a mouthful.

  “Of course, at ninety-five cents apiece, you have to wonder what’s in them,” I pointed out.

  “True.” He finished his and wiped his hands on a paper towel. “Still, beggars can’t be choosers.”

  Beggars. I bit my lip and put my burrito aside. There was so much I wanted to know about him. About his life when he wasn’t driving around rescuing me. “Were you still at work when I called?”

  “I was at your next-door neighbors’ house,” he replied. He was in yet another white T-shirt and a pair of jeans. Or maybe they were the same ones, freshly cleaned.

  “Aren’t they done with their roof repair yet?” I joked.

  He looked out over the park and shrugged. “There’s a lot to do over there.”

  Well, that was good. At least it would give Boone a steady income. Plus, he had whatever boat job had sent him to the yacht club.

  “Do you know them well?” he asked me now. “The Gardners?”

  “Not really,” I said, hugging my knees to my chest. The full skirt of my dress pooled around my ankles. It was still plenty warm outside, but now that night had fallen, there was a cool breeze coming over the empty playing fields and courts. I didn’t even have a cardigan. “They moved here while I was in Europe. My mom talks to Mrs. Gardner at the gym or something sometimes. Seems to like her. Why, are they awful bosses?”

  “No,” Boone said. “I was just wondering.”

  The slats of the tailgate were digging into my butt and I shifted on the seat. “I don’t think you ever know anyone in my neighborhood, really. It’s like everyone there is in the same show, and they’re all doing the same choreography under the lights and it looks perfect, but you have no idea what’s going on backstage.”

  Boone was silent.

  “And the money—the money is supposed to make it all run so smoothly, but all it really does is let you buy the most amazing, the most velvety, the most soundproof and lightproof and truthproof curtain so no one realizes all the chaos going on behind it.” I realized I was breathing hard, my hands clenched into fists, my eyes burning.

  Boone gave me a long look. “Want to tell me what happened tonight?”

  I sighed. “I was on a date.”

  “I don’t like this story already.”

  “It was stupid,” I said. “I did it to get my mother off my back.”

  “Yeah,” he admitted. “I know how that goes.”

  “And she was so excited,” I said. “She couldn’t have been more excited if she were the one going on this date. I think she thought that maybe this would—I don’t know—fix me. Fix whatever is wrong with me.”

  “What’s wrong with you?” He made it sound like the most ridiculous idea in the world, but I knew better.

  My father hated me, but that was okay, because I hated him a lot, too. And my mother wanted to put me in a box. And I had a sister I didn’t know. And she stole my boyfriend. And I had no idea what I wanted to do with my life. And I had sex with strangers. Or at least, I’d done it that one time.

  “I’m not who I’m supposed to be,” I said at last.

  “Who is that?”

  “Hannah Swift,” I said. “I’ve tried really hard to be her, and I think I may have been, once, but it’s just not working out.”

  He nodded, thoughtfully, but when he spoke, all he said was, “Swift. I was wondering what your last name was.”

  Way to change the subject, buddy. “What’s yours?” As long as we were sharing, I think it would be nice to know the full name of a man I’d slept with.

  His smile faded. “Smith.”

  “Boone Smith.” I tried the name out on my tongue. “Okay.”

  “Don’t like it?” he said. “Should I change it?”

  I lifted my chin. “Yes. I command you to change your name.”

  “No problem.” He grinned. “Any preference?”

  I cocked my head and pretended to consider it. “Lightningrod McHotPants.”

  “That’s a mouthful,” Boone said, skeptical.

  “You can just go by Rod.”

  “Rod, huh? I bet I could answer to that easily.” He winked at me. I leaned back to swat at him and he caught me around the waist. “C’mere.”

  And then we were kissing, and oh my, his mouth was nice. I’d never given much thought to guys’ mouths before, or what was preferable, but I think I liked full lips. Or at least I liked what Boone did with his. Something in the way he moved his mouth over mine, the way his tongue slid over the inside of my bottom lip, it reminded me of the other night, on this very tailgate, when his mouth had claimed much more intimate places on my body.

  Even now, when it was only mouth-to-mouth, Boone’s touch was sending sharp spears of arousal straight to my core. His kiss was firm, insistent, and supremely confident that anywhere he might wish this to go, I was more than happy to play along.

  And he was right. We were still sitting awkwardly side-by side, my body twisted halfway around to meet him. I clutched fruitlessly at the front of his T-shirt and he wrapped his arms around me and pulled me across his legs and onto his lap.

  “I—” said Boone as he moved his lips to my cheek —“have been thinking”—down to my jawline—“about this”—my throat— “all week.”

  “Oh?” I asked, but when he began to apply delicious suction to the sensitive spot
just above my collarbone it changed. “Ohhhh.”

  I arched my back as he continued kissing his way down the plunging neckline of my dress. His one hand was braced between my shoulder blades and his other came up to cup my breast through the shifting layers of silk.

  “Bra today,” he murmured.

  “What?” I opened my eyes and a second later, felt the flick of his fingers against the back clasp and my bra popped open. He eased a bra strap and the corresponding edge of the dress off my shoulder, exposing one breast to the night air.

  “Boone!” I reached for my strap, panicked, and he paused.

  “What?” he asked, a furrow appearing between his brows. “It was okay to take your clothes off out on the island, but not here in Canton?”

  “I just—” Well, honestly, I wasn’t sure.

  “No one’s here,” he said, circling the edge of his thumb around my nipple, which instantly hardened to a sharp little nub. “No one can see the things I’m doing to you.” He shifted slightly beneath me and I could feel his erection pressing against my thigh. He palmed my breast in his hand, cupping it as if it weighed much more than it did. “But you know, Hannah, I think you like knowing that someone might.”

  He dipped his head and closed his mouth around my nipple and my eyes shut as a thrill ran from my breast right down between my legs. I let my head fall back as he did the exact same dirty, delicious things to my breast as he had to my mouth. I didn’t protest as he shifted us so I was lying down in the truck bed again, or as he slid the other shoulder of my dress off so I was naked from the waist up, and started in on the other side.

  By the time he lifted his head, I was writhing beneath him, wet and aching. He moved up my body again, trailing hot, open-mouthed kisses along every inch of skin until he got to my face. But though I turned to meet his lips he leaned over and whispered in my ear.