Remember Tonight

by Chelsea Landon

  As George Strait sings through the speakers near my head about long lost love gone forever, the fire lights the cab of his truck giving me little guidance but it’s enough to see he wants this. His chest is rising and falling a little faster, one hand on the steering wheel, the other around the back of the seat giving me another invitation. When his eyes find mine, they’re lit with anticipation.

  I’m sitting on my knees on the bench seat facing him, my hands move up muscular legs to his gold buckle. He has to be stupid if he didn’t know what I was doing getting in here with him. When I look up at him, his expression tells me that he knows more than I’m giving him credit for. It’s that look that lets me know. I think he knew when he saw me by the fire I’d be on my knees although he’s probably too much of a gentleman to say so.

  My hands work on his buckle, the clanging brings his eyes to mine sending a spark straight to the one spot where I know he will be shortly. It sends my heart racing and my hands shake for a second.

  It’s a brief moment, the slightest pause and it looks as though he might stop me, he wants to but he doesn’t. I smile letting my sea green meet diamonds, giving him permission for whatever he’s asking for. My cheeks flush, warmth spreading. With a nod, his left hand wraps in my hair, gentle but firm. My heart gives a kick when I know he’s not going to stop me. I see it. He’s bringing me along for this ride.

  “You done this before?”

  My stomach jumps a little at the first sound of his voice. It’s softer than I imagined but has an edge, a rasp I didn’t expect.

  Turning my head just slightly, I nod. It’s better that he knows. Once I give him the answer, it could go either way.

  His expression offers me nothing right then so I continue. I know what I’m doing. I’ve done this so often it’s almost natural for me.

  With my hands on his waist, his buckle catches my eye. It’s gold and has a bull rider on it with words I can’t make out given my blurry stare.

  When I have his belt and his zipper undone, my fingers work toward the edges of his black boxers. My stare catches his, still no emotion is offered for me, only that fire lit stare. He squints a little, his head tipped to one side but says nothing.

  Just as I get one hand inside his boxers and his hard length, his hands are on mine, stopping me. “How old are you?” He’s looking for the truth, the blue stones capturing me inside their spark.

  “Eighteen. . .” It’s a lie, but I’m close enough. What’s a few days?

  “You lyin’?” his brow arches.

  “No,” I say immediately trying to ease his worries. I’d never tell anyone and I think that’s what he’s asking.

  I think he knows I’m lying, but I don’t think the whiskey in him cares enough to make him stop. He gives up caring and helps me out by pushing his jeans and boxers down around his ankles and then leans back against the seat. He tips his hat up slightly but not enough that I can see his eyes, just shadows, and his lips, but it’s enough. I’m not going to be looking at him anyway. I’ll be busy.

  My hands run over him, he’s hard, bigger than I expected from his size but enough that I know I’m not getting him all in my mouth without gagging. When my lips touch him, he’s quiet but I feel his leg tense under my right hand that’s resting on his thigh.

  I hear his head hit the back window when I go all the way down, my lips at the base of him and then sliding back up slowly. I twist my head to the left to get a peek at him. His head is bent forward now, still shadowed by the hat but it’s the tiny flickers of orange and red from that fire that gives me what I’m looking for. His hooded eyes are on me now and judging by his expression, he’s enjoying what I’m doing.

  He’s all heavy breathing and white-knuckle gripping, barely able to stay still until he’s shaking and pushing my head down harder. I let him, it’s sexy and I’m giving him what he wants.

  I like it when they don’t say anything. I don’t need that shit where they’re talking and telling me how sweet my mouth is or how wet my pussy is for them.

  I prefer this right here. I’m not here to talk, I’m here for pleasure, his and mine.

  Callan doesn’t last long, maybe five minutes, stopping me once, trying to make it last I assume and then pushes my head back down. Again, it’s sexy and not forceful. It’s just enough that I know he doesn’t want this to end.

  I feel his legs start to tense, the muscles flexing under my palms, a soft groan leaving his parted lips. Angling my face, I watch him come, his body hunched forward as he cradles my head in his lap, eyes closed and face contorted in pleasure. When I feel him start to pulse, he makes another throaty noise that’s sexy as hell. I let him come in my mouth and I kind of like that he didn’t ask. He didn’t need to.

  When I know he’s finished, I sit up licking my lips, I give him one more look. He’s still hard, his jeans around his ankles as I reach for the door handle. He’s waiting for my reaction. I smile, that’s my reaction. I’m never one for conversation afterward and he doesn’t seem to like it either.

  Just as I turn away, long calloused fingers wrap around my wrist, gentle but firm. “Thanks, darlin’.”

  I smile but say nothing laying my shirt over my shoulder, not even bothering to put it on as I get out.

  My boots crunch over the gravel, as I walk towards Jessie's truck where she's passed out in the bed, curled up against a dark colored Carhart jacket I know is Cody’s.

  I lie next to her staring up at the stars in the sky that seemed to light the night a little differently than I’ve seen in a while. If I squint at the sky, the stars look like diamonds, little glitters of hope. And it’s then that the thought of Callan and his words, “Thanks, darlin’,” cause me to smile.

  I don’t feel guilty. Not in the slightest. I am who I say I am. Say what you will. There’s no one here to judge me because they’ve all but given up.

  I’m not their town princess anymore.

  I’m not the preacher’s daughter.

  I’m not a lover and I’m not a girl they’ll bring home to mama.

  I’m loud-laughing, fast living, stubborn, too mean, too much of anything most can handle.

  What I am is wild at heart, hazy thinking, hell-raising and a sinning soul. It may not have always been me, but it’s who I am now, take it or leave it.

  Some may call me a slut. That’s okay. I don’t care what they say or think. I don’t live by their rules or my dad’s. I’m living for this moment, this day, because who knows what we are promised tomorrow.

  I should know.

  I do know. Everything can be taken away from you just by the bend in the road.

  I smile thinking of Callan. It’s a memory I want forever and I don’t know why. It was just one night and I got hardly anything out of it but there was something about him I can’t shake. Rolling over, I contemplate going back to sleep since I’ve only had two hours of sleep, but living on a farm doesn’t lend well to sleeping in. I have chickens to feed, eggs to collect, cows to milk and stables to clean.

  When I’m finished with that, I take a shower because I smell like cow shit.

  I dry my hair, skip any make-up and pull on my jean shorts from last night and a tank top that’s wrinkled but one of my favorites.

  I pad down the hall, bare feet against a creaking wood floor. When I get downstairs, dad’s staring at me, giving me that fatherly disapproving stare he always has. Just one morning I’d like to not get that stare. He heard me come home at four A.M. when I tripped coming up the stairs.

  “I got a new guy coming over to help out this week.” He says digging into his breakfast sitting before him. “I’d like you to be nice to him, but, stay away from him.” The warning is distinct, meant to stand out over everything else he says to me. “He’s just payin’ off some debt Red James owed me. Fixin’ the barn and what not.”

  I give him a nod looking down at his breakfast. It’s biscuits and gravy, same thing he has every Saturday morning. It’s repulsive to watch him eat that slop so I gra
b an apple and sit down, not because I want to talk to him, but because Jessie isn’t here yet and I am hungry.

  He glances up at me and then to my low cut tank and cut-off jeans. And then his eyes fall away, disappointed. “Where were you last night?” his jaded blue eyes never move from his plate.

  I don’t respond but then I feel his stare on me when mom returns to the table with eggs and bacon on a plate.

  “I was at Harrison’s house.” I finally answer reaching for the bacon and setting my apple down on the white washed kitchen table my dad made last winter.

  Dad nods, his rough demeanor never breaking. My dad is never soft. I’m not sure I’ve ever heard anything nice said by him to me and I’m his only daughter. You’d think he would. He’s a hard-working man though and provides for his family. Always had. Anything we ever needed, we had.

  “Who was there? Was that Peterson boy there?”

  It’s like this every time I go out. He’s constantly wanting to know who I’m with and what I’m doing. He’s a parent. I get that. And the father of a daughter at that. I should be happy that he cares enough to question me. Jessie’s mom never asks and I know deep down that bothers her.

  My dad has no clue what I do when he’s not watching. He thinks I’m good like I’m some kind of pure virgin, but he doesn’t understand. Little does he know that I lost my virginity at fourteen and I’ve spread my legs for probably a dozen boys since then. But if he knew that, I’d be locked away. So he’s kept in the dark for his sanity and my social life.

  “Leave her alone, Adam.” Mom says running her hands down my back as she pours me a glass of milk. Her hand twists gently in my long blonde locks and then leans down to kiss the top of my head gently. “Remember to wear sunscreen at the lake.”

  I smile up at her and nod.

  “Answer me, Alanna,” Dad says, his voice stern paying no mind to mom.

  “No, he wasn’t there,” I answer chewing my third piece of bacon.

  Yeah, I’m lying but he’d have a heart attack if he knew I was messing around with Kasey every Sunday for the last few months. He doesn’t trust Kasey and he shouldn’t. No one should.

  Ten minutes later I’m on the porch waiting for Jessie to pick me up when I remember that I forgot my phone upstairs. When I’m up there, I hear a truck coming down our long gravel driveway and immediately I recognize who that truck belongs to. I remember the rumble from last night when he left. The truck has a very distinct throaty sound, a product of the big block under the hood.

  Holy shit!

  My shaking hands frantically grab at my blinds for a better look. Sure enough, it’s that black Ford. I watch the dust cloud as he comes down the driveway. It takes me a minute then he’s getting out and I know it’s him for sure.

  I can’t see his face, but I know that hat and walk. It’s Callan James.

  The site sends a spark through my veins, a reminder in the pit of my stomach of what I did to him in that very truck behind him less than twelve hours ago.

  He’s wearing that black cowboy hat, the one that kept shadowing his eyes last night and a dark gray t-shirt that meets a worn pair of jeans. I didn’t notice before but with one look at him, it’s obvious he’s a hard-working man. There’s probably dirt on those calloused hands that’ll never come off. When I watch him step closer to the house, it’s clear I want those calloused dirt-stained hands on me in any way I can have them. Everything about Callan screams to me, makes me want him in ways I probably shouldn’t.

  His head’s bent forward when he approaches my dad standing near the porch. When he gets closer to him, his head comes up and reaches out to shake dad’s hand while removing his hat with the other one.

  He’s polite, I knew that from last night. His country boy charm makes me want him. It’s an illusion though because I know under that, he’s trouble too.

  From my place at my window, I see Jessie’s truck coming down the driveway next, same dust cloud following behind her. She parks next to Callan’s truck wearing nothing but her bikini and her red cowboy boots. Never glancing at Callan and my dad, at least not noticeably, she comes inside the house, the screen door slamming behind her.

  I watch Callan to see if he looks, but he doesn’t. His attention is on my dad as they talk.

  Jessie comes in my room. “Are you ready and do you know him?”

  I smile knowing that would be her question. “Yeah. . .well. . .kinda.” I’m still staring out my window, watching them talk unable to turn away. My eyes don’t want to let the sight of him go.

  “You know he’s a champion bull rider, right?” Jessie rests her chin on my shoulder looking out the window with me.

  “I know he’s a bull rider based off the belt buckle I took off him last night but I didn’t know he’s a champion bull rider.”

  Jessie’s quiet for a moment, looking out my window with me. Then it hits her that I’ve seen his buckle. “How do you know what his belt buckle looks like and exactly why were you taking it off last night?”

  “Gave him a blow job in his truck last night,” I admit, still watching. “And you were passed out by then.” They’re walking toward the barn now, our vision cut off when they disappear inside the stables.

  “Nice. . .did he return the favor?”

  I shrug and turn around to reach for my bag on the end of my bed. “Nah. . .it was pretty sexy just doing that.”

  We’re walking downstairs when I hear dad come inside and that crackling voice Callan has. He talks slow as he’s introduced to my mom, a thick southern accent that rattles me even a day later. My breath catches as if the sound is something I’ve been waiting for.

  Jessie and I practically run right into him when we come around the corner. It takes him all of a half second for the grin to appear when he looks at me, remembering who I am.

  “This is my daughter, Alanna and her friend Jessie.” My dad says, gesturing to us as my mom excuses herself.

  Callan only looks at me, his brow scrunched as if he’s trying to decide what he’s going to say when he realizes Adam is my dad. More importantly, that I’m the farmer’s daughter.

  I reach out and offer my hand. “Nice to me you. . .” I wait for him to offer his name, though I already know it.

  I just want to hear him talk again.

  And then he does.

  “Callan James.” He says, shaking my hand. His thumb moves softly over my skin once and then back again as if he’s not wanting to let go right away.

  With his touch, pieces of the night flash in my head and I know they’re doing the same to him. I feel it in that touch. He grins and I see those eyes for the first time up close and not shadowed by his hat that’s being held in his left hand against his side. “Nice to meet you.”

  My dad clears his throat as Callan lets go of my hand running it over his slightly shaggy golden brown hair that’s a tad matted on one side from the hat.

  Jessie shoves her hand at Callan. “I’m Jessie.”

  “Nice to meet you too, Jessie,” Callan says, giving her a smile too but nothing like the one I got last night. I look over at her and see he has the same effect on her too. I want to laugh, but I don’t. I’m worried about what my dad is going to say next.

  And then as if he’s trying to ruin my life, my dad turns to Callan, “She’s seventeen so don’t even think about it.” And then walks into the kitchen expecting Callan to follow.

  Callan doesn’t follow him, his eyes scan my face, shocked, and then those blue diamond eyes turn cold, bitter, resentful even, and disappear with a heavy sigh.

  He remembers me alright, but now he also knows I lied to him last night.

  When they’re out of sight, I glare at my dad, flip him off behind his back and grab Jessie by the hand heading out the door.

  “I can’t believe you gave that guy head last night.” She’s tripping down the steps as I rush toward the truck. “I’m totally jealous of your mouth.”

  I feel bad that I lied to him and even worse at the look he give
me as we are driving away that I don’t even bother with a response to Jessie’s remarks. I feel like I just ruined my chances for a repeat performance by my tiny white lie.

  It’s a short drive to the lake, I’m quiet the entire way. Even a good hour into laying on the dock, I say nothing.

  Jessie hands me a beer as Turnpike Turnadours blares through my phone, the afternoon sun heats up the day to a scorching blaze. The dock is steaming as I dip my hand in the water to splash some on my burning face. My tight sun-kissed skin tingles with each passing minute, but I’m too lazy to get up and jump off the end of the dock. Jessie is too and at one point, she just rolls to her left and falls off the side of the dock into the water. We have that kind of easygoing relationship with each other. Sloth-like and barely able to muster the energy to roll sideways off the dock to cool our sun-kissed bodies.

  My mind keeps going back to that look Callan gave me and I feel horrible. I know why I lied to him, but he didn’t. Maybe I could just explain to him I’m only seventeen for a few more days.

  But then again, why do I care?

  It’s not the fact that he’s a bull rider that turns me on. There’s something about the way he looks at me that gets to me. It’s as if he’s looking at me like I’m not just a girl with a pussy he wants to fuck. Yeah, crass I know but those are the looks I get most of the time. When a guy looks at you a little different, you know the look.

  It’s like knowing the difference between winter and summer in Texas. The differences are obvious, when you pay attention.

  “Did you Google Callan last night?” Jessie asks wiping drops of water from her freckled up fair skin as she climbs the ladder to lay back down beside me on her stomach.

  “No. . .” But damn if I won’t be doing that right now. “I got home at four in the morning.”

  I’m a little surprised that Jessie doesn’t remember driving me home last night. But then again, I’m not.

  I’m intrigued by the thought of Googling Callan. With this mild obsession I have with him now, I can’t help myself so I reach for my phone in my bag beside me. Immediately the name Callan James loads hundreds of hits. I look him up on the PBR.com website. Big mistake because it only makes my obsession worse when I see pictures of him on a bull with chaps and that black hat.