by Magan Vernon
The aluminum and polyester structure, placed in one of the taller oaks, was about six feet tall and six feet wide, so we could easily both fit in it. But I wouldn’t say that it was the most comfortable thing in the world.
“How much did you drink? I thought you could drink me under the table until I saw you go at it with Grandpa.” Eddie laughed, looking down at me where I sat on the floor while he was crouched, looking out the window.
“If I puke and scare the deer away, I’m sorry. Scotch and pumpkin pie don’t mix,” I said, holding onto my twisting stomach.
“Aw, when did Brookey get to be a lightweight? Maybe you should stick to wine.” He set his shotgun down and then slowly sat beside me, putting his arm around my shoulder.
I rested my head in the crook of his neck. “The only hard alcohol I’ve ever really drank was with you by the pond and a few stupid keggers in college. I’ve always been more of a wine or girly drinks girl. Drake tried to get me into bourbon tasting, but that stuff tasted like that fake blood from the Halloween store,” I said, whinier than I intended.
Eddie laughed, the low timbre vibrating from his throat and onto my forehead. “How do you even know what that tastes like?”
“I was part of the stage crew for Baylor’s production of Julius Caesar. That stuff is hard to clean off and gets EVERYWHERE.”
“Everywhere?” Eddie asked, his hand sliding down my arm.
“Are you really trying to put a move on me in a deer stand?” I asked, looking up to meet his beautiful brown eyes. I’d been waiting for this moment since he first came home, and now, I was afraid of puking all over him.
“If I was?” he asked, raising his eyebrows.
“I’d say for Country’s Sexiest Crooner, you’re doing a terrible job at seducing your drunk best friend.”
Eddie laughed. “Yeah. I’ll admit, I’ve been home over a month and haven’t been able to get you out of my mind. I guess I’ve just been too chicken shit to make a move.”
He tapped his fingers on my waist. “So you’re single. I’m single. You’re drunk in my Gramps’ deer stand.”
“And what does all of that equal?” I asked, trying to make sense of what he was saying.
“That I should do something I probably needed to do years ago,” he whispered as he turned toward me and cupped my face in his hands. His lips barely grazed mine then traveled down my neck. His fingers worked their way to the zipper on my coat, pulling it down and giving him access to my neck where he immediately left a trail of kisses. I bit my lip to keep from moaning as his tongue slid across my collarbone. I’d waited so long to have Eddie touch me, and now, I was afraid this was all a very drunken dream
“I’ve been waiting to taste you forever,” he whispered before nibbling at the sensitive skin.
“Then you should have done this sooner,” I murmured.
He laughed against my skin. “Probably.”
His hand moved lower, his fingers meeting the skin where my shirt didn’t hit the top of my jeans. Ever so slightly, he slid his hand up my shirt, tracing the lines of my stomach.
Grabbing the back of his head, I pulled his face to mine and kissed him with everything I had. I might have been kind of tipsy and in a tree but if Eddie Justice was going to leave again, I wanted him to remember me this time. I couldn’t go without tasting him.
I briefly broke our kiss only to whisper in his ear, “Still always keep a condom in your wallet?”
He raised his eyebrows, his eyes meeting mine. “Are you sure about this?”
“Eddie, I may be a romance writer and know I should have a way with words, but right now I can’t think of anything else to say, but to ask you to please fuck me in this deer stand.”
He grinned, shaking his head, and then leaned in to place a small kiss on my lips. “I’m not sure if this thing is sturdy enough for every way I would take you.”
I shrugged off my coat and lifted my shirt over my head. At least when I changed out of my dress, I still kept on the lacy strapless bra.
Eddie hovered over me before leaning closer and placed feather-light kisses on my collarbone, then down my chest to my stomach.
I moaned, leaning back and arching my hips forward. I thought this would be a sexy move until I heard a snap.
Everything went in slow motion as Eddie’s head flew up then his forehead smacked me in the face as the plastic wall of the deer blind fell over us, and I went back first to the ground covered in plastic pieces and a large camouflage tarp.
“Holy hell, are you two all right?” Gramps’ voice boomed.
Shit. I was still in just my bra and jeans, and Eddie was on top of me.
“Yeah, just leaned too far over,” I said, trying not to panic.
“Let’s get y’all out,” Tameem’s accent came through the plastic.
Before either Eddie or I could protest, both men were tangling with the plastic covering, and we rolled out, arms and legs splayed while on our backs.
I closed my eyes, hoping maybe this was a bad dream, even though I definitely knew it wasn’t.
Some sort of fabric was thrown on me, and Gramps whistled. “Well, now I see why you wanted to hunt so bad, Brookey, but you should have saved that for the back of the truck like most people do.”
“Gramps,” Tameem scolded.
I put on the camo coat that Eddie threw at me and then took his hand to help me up from the ground. I kept my eyes down; I couldn’t look at anyone.
“Um, I think I’m just going to head home.” It was all I could figure out to say.
“I’ll take you on the four-wheeler,” Eddie said, putting his arm around me.
“Don’t be fornicating on that, either. We wouldn’t want to have to save your asses out in the woods,” Gramps yelled, cackling as we walked away.
Eddie and I rode in silence back to my house. It wasn’t until we reached the back patio and he turned off the engine that he finally spoke.
“Sorry about that,” he said, watching me stand up.
“It’s fine. My fault. I got a little too excited, I guess,” I said, trying to give him an out.
“I’d rather have you that way, than not care at all. I swear I think Mary liked looking at her phone more than she liked to look at me.”
It was the first time I’d heard Eddie talk about his now ex-fiancée. “Do you miss her?” I asked. Damn, maybe I was still too drunk to be asking those kinds of questions.
He blew out a breath. “I think I miss the companionship, but we both knew it was over a long time ago. I just don’t think either of us wanted to admit it, though.”
It was how I’d felt with Drake for a long time—like he was just my substitute, and now the guy I’d been dreaming about since I was a kid was staring me in the face. And possibly staring down my shirt, as well.
“I should probably go change before my mom sees us and wonders what the hell I’m doing outside in my bra and your jacket.”
Eddie smiled. “Probably the same thing my gramps thought.”
I punched his shoulder. “Shut up.”
He laughed then leaned in, placing a light kiss on my cheek. “I’ll text you when I get in and when I leave for Nashville, and do the same with that good night and good morning message, okay?”
“Okay,” I said, not able to hold in the giant smile on my face. I’d finally kissed Eddie Jahid after almost thirty years of waiting, and now he was leaving me again. Hopefully, this time it wouldn’t be for long. Otherwise, he’d just be leaving me with the memory of our kiss.
Chapter 8
As soon as I woke up on Friday, I sent a good morning text to Eddie. I did the same thing on Saturday, Sunday, Monday, Tuesday, and Wednesday. I had no idea when he was going to be back and hoped he really was coming back.
Renovations closed the Forever Sweet Bakery for now, so instead of driving into Rockwall or Wylie, I camped out on the dining room table with my laptop and a whole bunch of notes.
Sales were absolutely down the shitter. I’d tried listening to podca
sts, paying for ads, and doing giveaways, but nothing was working.
I was in a few groups on Facebook composed of different authors. I’d never met any of them in person, but we all had a common bond in writing and this crazy publishing world.
I sucked in a deep breath and got to typing.
Okay, honesty time. My sales suck. Like seriously in the toilet. I don’t have another job or another place to live than my old bedroom at my mom’s ... or grovel and go live with my ex. What the hell do I do to boost my sales?
There it was. Out there in the open for all of my author friends to judge me.
Seconds later, I had a private message from my author friend, Sydney Valdez. We private messaged on a regular basis, so it wasn’t out of the ordinary for her to message me something random like, “My girls use Herbal Essence shampoo (the original kind), and it smells so good. It takes me back to the 90s and the old orgasm commercials.” There were also other discussions about books, writing, and she was the only person besides my family who knew of my unrequited love for Eddie.
Yo. I’m making pasta salad, but I can take some time out to talk to you.
I smiled and typed my reply.
Is this to give me advice that I need to just write the next book and stop worrying?
I watched the three little dots flash on the screen to let me know that she was typing back, but they were taking forever. Finally, her response came through, and I had to scroll down a few times to read all of it.
Tough love, Brooke. I love you and your books, but we both know that you don’t love them. You’re kind of just writing whatever you feel like might sell at the moment, finding the cheapest editor and cover designer you can, and then throwing it up on Amazon. Why don’t you actually work on that book you’ve been working on for the past year about the girl and the best friend who finally find each other and fall in love? That’s the only one of your books I’ve actually wanted to keep beta reading #sorrynotsorry.
I frowned and typed back.
My books aren’t that bad, are they?
They’re okay, but you know they lack heart. You’re embarrassed to even promote them. And now that you have your real-life muse around, why not use him?
I sighed. Sydney was probably right. She usually was.
I closed out of my Word doc for “Cupcake Confessions” and opened the Word doc I hadn’t opened in months. The one titled “Rumor Has It.”
Justin Edwards was my first love and the last guy I ever made love to.
Holy hell, I wrote those words a long time ago, when I never actually thought I’d see him again. I was just daydreaming one night, after a few glasses of Rose and a Disney movie marathon, when the idea came to me. Now, I had to actually work on it.
I sucked in a deep breath and then pulled up my playlist for the book. The first song that came up was “When I’m with You,” the song that Eddie had told me he wrote for me.
Without thinking of anything but his crooning voice and smile, my fingers started flying across the keys. This was the first time in a long time that I was enjoying and loving every word I typed.
Morning turned to afternoon, and I wouldn’t have even noticed the time, had I not heard a loud bang and then look up to see Clay with his hand on the table. “That must be some book. I’ve been yelling your name for like five minutes.”
I took out my earbuds and saved my Word doc before exiting out of it. “Hey. Yeah, I finally got inspired. What’s up?”
“So Christy said something today, and it got me thinking,” Clay said, taking the seat across from me and folding his hands on the table.
“Christy? The ranch owner’s daughter who you’re always complaining is a royal bitch,” I asked, raising an eyebrow.
“Yeah, that one.”
“And why do you suddenly care what she says?” I asked.
He sighed. “Can I just talk to you without being interrogated?”
“Fine.” I held my hands up then closed my laptop. “You have my undivided attention.”
“I want to buy a house.”
“Come again?” I asked.
“A house. You know, I figure I’ll stay around here a while. I don’t know; maybe even go to school or something. But they have really good loan rates for veterans, and it would be a good investment to get a house in this really good North Texas housing market right now.”
I sucked in a breath. I’d never done more than sign my name on a lease, and that was in college. I never actually signed my name on the apartment in Austin because that was too much commitment. I just paid Drake a check every month. Now, my little brother was actually going to put down roots.
“That’s awesome, Clay. If you have the money and want to stay here, that’s great. Mom will love that.”
Clay ran his hand over his now red-tipped blond Mohawk. “Yeah and I think she would love it if you agreed to move into my house.”
“What?” I couldn’t have heard him right. Was my brother asking me to stay with him and in Friendship?
“I mean I’m not asking for you to help me buy the place. You can just pay me rent every month or help with the utilities and groceries or whatever. It’s the only way I can probably afford the place, and there is no one else I’d rather share a place with.”
“That’s a lot to think about, Clay. I mean you just got out of the Army a few months ago, I’m just getting used to things, Dad’s gone.”
“You can either dick around and make up excuses, or you can shut up and go see a realtor with me tomorrow after work.”
Finally, I smiled. “I guess I’m going with you to see a realtor. What can it hurt, besides us living together and killing each other?”
Clay grinned, putting his hand out. “Roommates?”
I rolled my eyes but then put my hand out and shook his. “Roommates.”
***
“I’m sorry, Clay. In your budget with acreage and within ten miles of Friendship, there just aren’t many options. The Dallas suburbs is a fast-moving market,” Richardson, our cartoonish looking realtor with a bowl cut and red mustache said from the front seat of his Honda.
We’d seen just about every trailer that was half-falling down and a few houses that smelled like mildew. I was starting to think this trip was hopeless, and we would both just end up living with Mom forever. That was what millennials did, right? They moved back home. We were just following the trend.
“Why do you need land anyway?” I asked Clay, turning from the front seat to look at him slumped over in the backseat.
“I don’t know. I just want room for things. Maybe I want goats or some shit in the future.”
“Goats? What in the ever loving hell would you do with goats?” I raised an eyebrow.
He shrugged. “More than you would.”
Before we could continue bickering, Richardson yelled over us. “Now, this last property is a little bit farther than you wanted, but still within the Friendship city limits. It’s two bedrooms on two acres with the opportunity to buy the other forty acres that’s currently being leased for farmland,” Richardson said.
Route 66 curved toward Rockwall and a large field came into view before we crested a little hill and saw a small, brick Texas ranch-style home. The little front porch had peeling paint, but otherwise, it didn’t look like it was falling apart. From what we could see from the road, at least.
Richardson pulled into the long driveway and stopped in front of a carport. I got out and examined the landscape. No garage, but there was a shed, and most of the grass was prairie grass with a few wild flowers. A metal cattle fence lined most of the property, and I caught a glimpse of an in-ground pool.
“A pool? How kept up is that?” I asked, following Richardson and Clay to the front door.
“The owners did disclose that the pool does need some maintenance,” Richardson said, typing in a code on a lockbox on the door.
“That’s cool. We can just call Noah,” Clay said.
“Does everyone know and hang out with tha
t guy?” I asked.
Clay laughed. “Don’t be jealous that I have friends who aren’t you.”
I rolled my eyes, and followed Clay and Richardson into the house.
Typical of a Texas ranch-style home, we walked right into the sunken living room. We took the few steps down to the dilapidated hardwood floors, and Clay walked over to the stone fireplace then looked out the sliding glass door. “Yeah, this is a good amount of land, and it shouldn’t take too much to get that pool fixed.”
I stood next to Clay, looking out the window at the overgrown weeds and cracked pool with tiles straight out of a grandma’s basement bathroom. Then I looked at my brother whose eyes, for the first time since he’d been home from being injured overseas, lit up and was smiling wider than I’d ever seen. This might not have been my dream home, but by the way Clay looked at the house, I couldn’t tell him that.
“What are you going to tell Mom when we buy this place?” I asked.
Clay shrugged, keeping his eyes on the pool. “I don’t know.”
“Maybe I can bring the idea up to her at bunco tonight.”
Clay turned toward me, raising an eyebrow. “You’re seriously going to bunco with Mom?”
“I mean it’s not like I have anything better to do and wine-drinking, bunco-playing Mom might take the news better.”
Chapter 9
“Why did our parents sign us up for vacation Bible school if we don’t even go to church?” I asked as Eddie and I sat at the end of the pew with the ten other kids from our sixth-grade class. Clay was a few rows ahead of us with the rest of his six-year-old friends, smiling and laughing like our parents didn’t just push us out of the house for a week.
“It was either this or find the closest crack house, I guess,” Eddie said, shrugging.
I shoved his shoulder. “Not funny.”
He smiled. “It’s not all that bad. Pastor Ginn said I could sing with the high school choir after arts and crafts, if you want to join. I’m sure they could use you as another baritone.”
