Leave the Night On

by Laura Trentham

  “Aren’t you working tomorrow?” he asked.

  “Screw work. I wanna have more fun.” The hands she slipped to his waist stole all moisture from his mouth. Were the confusing signals for the benefit of the crowd? Was he supposed to play along?

  “Well, I have to work, and there’s nothing worse than hearing a metal grinder the morning after a late night.”

  “I’m surprised you’re being so sensible and bo-ring.”

  He didn’t rise to take her bait. “You’ll thank me in the morning.”

  “Will I?” Something in her eyes shifted and smoldered and he thought he might burn alive, but her easy-going smile doused the flames. “Fine then, let’s go.”

  She led the way to the door. They got separated by three people heading to the pool table they’d given up, which afforded Wyatt a clear view of Butch openly admiring her ass.

  “Eyes on your own paper, Butch,” he murmured on his way by.

  “No crime in looking, now is there?”

  For the second time that night, Wyatt considered the merits of rearranging a friend’s face.

  Sutton put her arms out and tilted her head back, stumbling into him. “Isn’t it a beautiful night?”

  The moon shined through a few wispy clouds, the stars only slightly dampened by the parking lot lights. It was beautiful, but not as beautiful as she was. And that was the problem.

  He opened the door to the Hornet and she slipped in, sending him a smile that crimped his insides. His crush on her when they’d been kids had been epic. He’d never imagined getting a shot with her as an adult, yet already he sensed them barreling toward an ending.

  He got them on the road. She rolled her window down and closed her eyes, the wind tossing her hair around. His gaze went back and forth between her and the road. The bridge over the river seemed to symbolize the differences they would never be able to reconcile.

  When he was beginning to wonder if she’d dozed off, she leaned over the console.

  “Can I ask you a question? Something serious?”

  “Alright,” he said cautiously.

  “Do you find me doable?”

  His hand jerked on the steering wheel and sent the car skidding on the shoulder before he righted it. “Do I what?”

  “Find me doable? Because that no-necked bouncer and those two brothers did.”

  He choked on a gulp of air. What was happening? Had he crossed the river into the Twilight Zone instead of into Mississippi?

  Her voice was as bland and conversational as if discussing commodity cotton prices. “Because I find you doable. Very, very, very, very doable.”

  Her string of “verys” slurred together. She was drunk, which meant her thinking was impaired. Or … he glanced at her. Maybe, just maybe, the whiskey had stripped away her social niceties like turpentine to peeling paint, and she was being honest.

  She snaked her free hand to the back of his head, threaded through his hair, and tugged. Lightning zigzagged through his body, striking somewhere between his legs, and for the first time in years, he ground his gears on his next shift.

  “You have a fine ass, Wyatt Abbott.”

  “I do?” The words coming out of her mouth stymied his thought process.

  The smile that turned her lips wasn’t anything he’d seen before from her. It was a dangerous smile. A smile that revealed the sensuality she kept locked away. He would sell his soul for the key.

  “All this stuff with Andrew and Bree and you has made me realize something.” She made a disgusted sound, let go of his hair, and slumped back in the seat. “I’m beige.”

  “And that’s bad because…?”

  “Beige is blah and boring and nice.”

  “Nice is not a bad thing. People like nice.”

  “Tonight is the craziest I’ve ever gotten, and that’s just plain sad. I’m sick of being a goody-two-shoes.”

  “You’re not a goody-two-shoes.”

  She turned back to him, her eyes flashing in the passing streetlights. “I want more.”

  “Okay, we can hit another bar one night this—”

  “No.” Her confidence seemed to dim, and she chewed on her thumbnail as if in deep thought. Finally, she balled both her hands on her lap and said, “I don’t want to fake date you anymore.”

  Her words rushed over him like tsunami, tumbling his insides. One minute she was calling him doable and declaring his ass was fine, the next telling him she didn’t want to see him again. He’d gone into this knowing it was temporary. Just not this temporary. He’d been counting on having until the gala to prepare himself for the final act. But this was good. It would be a relief not to have to pretend with his family, with her, or himself.

  Except, her announcement made him feel like grabbing a six-pack on the way home and drinking himself into oblivion.

  “Whatever,” he muttered, turning onto her street and giving the car some gas so he could get the night over with as soon as possible.

  She grabbed his forearm, her thumb making circles on the underside. “I know I insisted on no lip-to-lip contact, but I haven’t been able to stop thinking about kissing you. When I’m working with little old ladies at the boutique, having dinner with my parents, trying to go to sleep.” She gave a feminine little snort that was the definition of cute. “Especially when I’m trying to go to sleep.”

  He pulled into her driveway and hit the brakes so hard he locked his seatbelt. How was he expected to operate heavy machinery in this state? He put the car in park and shifted to face her. “You think about me in bed?”

  “Yes.” She drew the word out with a hiss. “In bed. Out of bed. My fantasies are plentiful and varied.”

  “But you said you don’t want to go out anymore.”

  “No, I said I don’t want to fake date you. I want to real date you. Or at least, real hook up with you. I don’t want to flirt and dance and have fun out in public and not follow through.”

  It was like someone had plugged in twinkling Christmas lights inside of him, and he was the kid standing in silent awe. Speechless and overcome.

  In the silence, horror snuck into her wide eyes. “Ohmigod, you don’t want to. That’s fine. Not a problem. Forget I ever said anything. We can go back to the way things were and—”

  He put a finger over her lips to quiet the outpouring of words. “I never said I didn’t want to. Give me a second to process all of this.”

  “Thank goodness.” Her lips moved against his finger, and he dropped his hand before he did something foolish like trace his fingers over her lips. “I want you to show me … things.” She made a Vanna White–like gesture.

  Her words applied spurs to his heart, sending it into a gallop.

  She continued. “To be clear, I’m not looking for a relationship. That’s why this is so perfect, because I know you don’t want a relationship either.”

  The twinkling Christmas lights shorted out. “How do you know I want?”

  Her brow crinkled. “You never get serious, right? You’re constantly on the hunt for a good time. Well, me too.”

  He couldn’t even argue the point since it was true. Or had been. Problem was what used to qualify as a good time only managed to make him feel weary.

  “Do you ever think about kissing me just to kiss me and not because people are watching?” she asked softly.

  “Maybe.” His shrug reflected more hurt feelings than anger.

  This sort of proposition should have sent him into cartwheels. Instead he was acting like some needy asshole who required a helping of cuddles with his sex. That had never been what he was about. He was about exactly what she was offering him. No feelings to get hurt or heart to break. No strings, good-time sex.

  “Never mind.” She grappled the door handle. The brash confidence the alcohol had imparted seemed to be wearing off like a witch’s potion.

  The woman had been put through the wringer by her best friend and her fiancé. Despite her wishes otherwise, she was nice. And sweet. And cute. And unbear
ably sexy in a way she didn’t even understand. Not yet anyway.

  No way could he let this opportunity to be with her in whatever way possible slip through his fingers. While the ramifications went on repeat in his head, she slipped out of the car and headed to her door.

  He rolled down his window and shimmied half-way out to see her over the top. “Hey, Sutton!”

  She turned with only a slight wobble, jutted a hip, and set her hand on it. “What?”

  “For the record, I find you extremely doable.”

  “You do?” The hopeful, vulnerable lilt to her voice almost had him climbing out to sweep her into his arms and straight to bed, but he didn’t want her to wake later with alcohol-fueled regrets.

  “I do. Go sleep it off. We’ll talk about your doableness tomorrow.” He waited until she disappeared before backing up.

  With one last glance at her house, he drove off, knowing he would be dreaming about her and hoping she’d be dreaming about him. Whatever they were doing was like two tectonic plates shifting. He smiled in the face of impending disaster.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Sutton woke to harsh sunlight, a spinning room, and a mouth that felt stuffed with cotton bolls. She blinked up at the ceiling, willing her stomach to calm down. A banging and her sister’s voice calling her name came from the vicinity of the front door.

  “I’m coming.” The words croaked out and she cleared her throat. She tossed off her covers and shuffled toward the door. Whiskey was the devil’s drink.

  Sutton cracked the door open, squinting against the sun. “What’s up?”

  “What’s up?” Maggie stuck her foot in the opening and forced Sutton to back up a step to make room. “What’s up is that it’s 8:30 and—” Her sister sniffed. “You smell like smoke and look like you slept in your clothes. You tell me what’s up?”

  Her sister looked ready to cast down a biblical judgment from on high. Sutton needed time to come up with an excuse. “Would you get some coffee brewing while I shower and change? Then, I’ll tell you everything.”

  The smile she used to cover the lie felt weak, and she backed out of the room before Maggie could expose the mile-wide fault lines. Telling her sister everything wasn’t an option, but lying didn’t settle well either. A half-truth then. When had she become so adept at dodging the truth? The hot water soothed the throb in her head to a dull ache. Hot coffee and painkillers should do the rest.

  Memories of the night surfaced. Not that she’d forgotten. She hadn’t been that drunk, just tipsy enough to throw herself at Wyatt and suggest a no-strings-attached fling. Did that qualify as courageous or stupid? She supposed it depended on what happened next.

  She scrubbed her hair clean, but nothing could scrub away her embarrassment. It was well deserved. She’d called him doable, for goodness’ sake. Like sticking a hand under her bed and searching blindly, she reached for whatever else was hiding under the familiar feeling.

  The one emotion she didn’t find was shame. Instead, an edge of excitement mixed with a thrumming arousal lingered like her hangover. Wyatt made her feel beautiful and sexy and want things. And what she wanted more than anything was him.

  More of his laughing eyes and slow-build smile that made her insides play musical chairs. The way he opened doors and guided her with a hand on her back. His body, hard and hot and sexy, and his hands, big and rough and capable.

  She rushed through her morning routine, pinning her damp hair into a twist and slipping on a sundress and sandals. Blessedly, her sister only side-eyed her as she poured a steaming cup of coffee and washed down two pain relievers with the first sip.

  Maggie enjoyed organizing the pretty clothes, but wanted none of the responsibility of balancing the books or paying off loans or worrying about inventory at the shop. She was reliable, but secretive, oftentimes distracted, and protective about her free time. Although she was still young and pretty in a buttoned-up kind of way, she didn’t date.

  That Sutton was aware of anyway. They had never been the sort of sisters who shared secrets. Especially secrets of the boy variety.

  “I went out last night,” Sutton said.

  Her Ms. Obvious statement was met with an eye roll. “With Wyatt Abbott, I assume?”

  She couldn’t get a read on Maggie’s mood or attitude. Defensiveness snuck into Sutton’s voice. “He taught me to play pool over the river at the Rivershack Tavern. It was fun.”

  “What about Andrew?”

  “What about him? I’m moving on.”

  “Rebounding, you mean.” Maggie chuffed and narrowed her eyes over the rim of her mug. “This breakup is temporary.”

  “No it’s not.”

  “A combination of cold feet and the fact you haven’t dated much?” The way Maggie said it made Sutton think she was repeating something she’d heard.

  “Is that what Daddy said?”

  “Andrew came by last night for a drink. He wants you back.”

  “That’s rich. More like he wants to make nice with Daddy so he won’t get all his cases thrown out. As if Daddy would be so petty and unprofessional.” Sutton made a disgusted sound and drank more coffee before she said something she would regret.

  Something on her sister’s face, part speculative and part angry gave her pause. Maggie had always been quiet around Andrew, and Sutton had suspected a wide streak of jealousy. Like poking at a tender spot, Sutton said, “Andrew is a jerk, you know.”

  “I know.” The unexpected strength behind those two words, as if Maggie was ready to go to battle for her, not against her. Maggie set her coffee mug down on the table and hugged Sutton. “I’m happy you finally figured it out.”

  In the Mize family, love—for their country, for God, for each other—was something that was understood and not normally demonstrated with hugs or words. Emotions were kept inside like a genie in a bottle. Which made her sister’s show of sympathy and support mean even more. Sutton tightened her hold around Maggie’s back and laid her forehead on her shoulder, tears springing to her eyes.

  “I never trusted him.” Maggie’s voice vibrated between them.

  Sutton startled back. “Why didn’t you say anything?”

  “You seemed infatuated, and Mother and Daddy were happy.” Her shrug was knowing, and Sutton wondered what else her sister had seen and understood from her position on the sidelines.

  “Have you heard anything else?”

  “Like all the stuff about you and Wyatt running around? Which I didn’t completely buy … until this morning.”

  Sutton swallowed, her mouth dry. “Has the talk been bad?”

  Another shrug from Maggie, this time accompanied by a glance away. “Some people have said some not very nice stuff, but who cares?”

  As much as Sutton tried not to care, she did. A little. But mostly she felt like someone who’d narrowly escaped a car accident. The minute she’d accepted Andrew’s proposal what had once only chafed had turned slowly suffocating. With Wyatt, she could breathe again, and the air was unexpectedly sweet.

  “I’m sorry if I’ve made things difficult for everyone.”

  Maggie waved her off. “Don’t worry about me. I tune it all out. How about you? Are you going to be okay?”

  She didn’t know what Wyatt’s answer to her proposition would be, but his parting words had given her hope. Whatever happened at least she was taking chances and going after what she wanted for the first time in her life. “I’m going to be better than okay.”

  Maggie nodded, her eyes singularly focused on Sutton. The experience unsettled her, and made Sutton realize the two of them co-existed all their years together, but hadn’t interacted on more than a superficial level. Until now.

  “Now then, I heard another rumor. Did you sell Ms. Eckert one of your dresses?” Maggie asked.

  Sutton bobbled her mug, dripping coffee on her skirt. “Where did you hear that?”

  “She was telling all the ladies during the Wednesday night potluck at church about the fabulous dress you des
igned. Several asked if you had anything else on the racks, and I had no idea what to tell them.”

  Maggie should play poker, because her expression was guarded and unreadable. Was she mad or hurt or both by the omission? “Wyatt talked me into putting one out to see what would happen, and then one thing led to another and Ms. Eckert ended up loving it.”

  “I’ve been wondering if you’d ever find the gumption to display something. How much did you charge her?”

  Sutton rattled off the exorbitant number that Wyatt had taken off a real designer’s price tag. Maggie’s jaw dropped. “Do you have anything else ready to sell?”

  “Are you serious?”

  “These women are willing to pay for a one-of-a-kind gown. Let’s see what you have.”

  Sutton checked the clock. “We’re going to be late opening up.”

  “I doubt there’s going to be an evening gown emergency at nine in morning in Cottonbloom.” Maggie’s laugh cracked like a slap against Sutton’s still aching head, but her sister’s reaction galvanized her courage and prodded her into action.

  Together they sifted through the clothes Sutton had finished and picked out several pieces to display in the boutique, including two gowns. The slight dissonance that was the soundtrack of their relationship had righted itself into a harmony that was as pleasant as it was unexpected.

  They opened the boutique by ten, and as she straightened the racks of lingerie in the back, her thoughts drifted to Wyatt and his crooked smile and teasing jokes. When she tucked the peach dress onto the sale rack, she thought about the way he’d charmed Ms. Eckert and Amy and pretty much everyone he crossed paths with, including her. She conjured images of him bent over her teaching her to play pool, the corner of his mouth twitching as if he knew exactly how badly she wanted to cross a line and kiss him.

  He made her want the naughty things that she’d spent a lifetime suppressing because she’d been taught achieving the label of “good girl” was valued. But by whom? Certainly not Andrew or Bree.

  Wyatt was helping her understand it was natural and more than okay to explore her desires. She wanted him to be her guide into a brave new world. The burning question was whether or not he wanted the job.