by S. M. Shade
He purses his lips, but stares straight ahead. “That’s one thing that threw me off on day one when you stumbled into my room half naked—I mean, it’s one reason I didn’t recognize you at first. I wasn’t aware anything happened to your arm.”
Pretty sure that’s code for “what happened to your arm?”
“Anyone related to my mother pretends it doesn’t exist. She refuses to accept that I’m less than perfect. You should see her face when I make one-arm jokes. She thinks I’m being insensitive. Um… it’s me who’s missing an arm, so I’m not sure how I’m insensitive.”
His lips twitch. “So it doesn’t bother you?”
I shrug, still jogging—a little slower. “Not anymore. Well, it’s annoying to do things one-handed, for sure, but this new arm may solve all that. The stares used to bother me, but they don’t anymore. Mom wants me to wear a fleshy, realistic prosthetic and a long-sleeved shirt to keep others from being uncomfortable. She also wants me to nix the jokes because of the discomfort it causes too. You only get one chance to live. Why waste it pretending to be something you’re not for the comfort of others? It’s easier to love the things that make you different, than to be miserable over the things you can’t change.”
“Good philosophy,” he says without looking at me.
“I’m awesome like that,” I remind him, smirking when he snickers quietly.
The finish line comes into sight, and we both pick up our pace, turning it into a sprint. I can tell he’s holding back, but I’m running with all I have. The red team is coming in from a different angle, but we beat Anderson by at least thirty feet, and we both toss our batons into the basket before I crash to the ground.
Roman drops beside me, sitting down while I heave for air, but I notice Anderson is sweating profusely as he zips by and keeps running toward the porta-potties that are placed outside on this end of the property. We’re pretty far away from the house, and a slow grin creeps over my face when he leaps into one and slams the door.
The laxatives have done their job.
“Want some water?” Roman asks me.
“Sure,” I tell him, but my eyes are on the large tractor and chain, probably what they used to haul the porta-potties out here.
Honestly, I’m surprised my mother doesn’t have gold-plated restrooms down here just for the wedding.
As soon as Roman goes to the refreshment table, I jump to my feet and hook the chain to the back of the blue beast that Anderson is inside of. Since I can’t have this tied to me, I eye the Mulder kids, who are probably plotting someone’s murder. Everyone knows they’re evil.
Skipping over to them, I smile over at the oldest, who glares daggers at me. “Have you kids seen the guys who run that tractor?” I ask innocently.
“What’ll you give us if we tell you?” the twelve-year-old boy asks, crossing his arms over his chest.
“Nothing. I just wanted to let them know they left the keys in the ignition on that tractor.”
I point at it, just in case they’re stupid. Something sinister flashes in their eyes as they all exchange a look, and I hide a shudder. Seriously, these are the creepiest kids ever.
“We’ll let someone know,” the boy lies, and I thank them like I buy it.
I make it back just as Roman walks over with a bottle of water, and he eyes me like he’s suspicious this time. Probably because I’m smiling like a little girl with a big fat secret.
“What have you done?” he asks me.
“Nothing. Thanks for the water.”
I snatch the bottle from his hand, but he tugs me back to him. When I look up at him, confused, he cocks an eyebrow at me.
“About that wooing,” he says, reminding me we’ve been playing this game.
“About that, you see, I was just kidding. You’re too close to my mother for me to play with, and I don’t really see us being compatible,” I tell him, patting his chest gently with my robo hand.
Just as I’m about to pull away, he shoves a hand in my hair, and his lips are on mine, silencing every thought in my head. My lips part on their own accord, and his tongue takes advantage, sweeping in and stealing the rest of my sanity.
Those butterflies I’ve been ignoring burst into flames as everything on my body starts to ache and crave more, and I drop the water to wrap my arms around the back of his neck and pull him closer. When I moan into his mouth, he smiles against my lips and pulls back suddenly.
My eyes are still closed, and I’m leaning forward against vacant air when he releases me completely. Slowly, my eyes peel open, and I see him smirking at me. Again.
“Yeah. Not compatible at all. I totally agree,” the cheeky prick tells me before turning and walking off.
Everyone is gawking, but I’m still cemented to the ground, trying to keep from falling. I definitely need a change of panties now. His tongue is amazing, and I bet he could give some majorly awesome orgasms with it.
While my head goes to all kinds of sexy thoughts, I barely recognize the sound of a loud engine roaring to life until there’s a louder, masculine screaming sound—if there’s such a thing.
My head darts around just as the Mulder kids start dying laughing, driving off on the tractor, and the porta-potty rolls five or six times before Anderson manages to break free and roll on the ground, slathered in something that might look like mud, but isn’t.
Covering my mouth, I rein in the laughter that tries to break free, and my eyes land on the familiar blues as Roman turns to give me the did you really just do that? look.
And the sabotage has begun.
A whistle and some chuckling behind me remind me that I’ve also been sabotaged. Time to change into something that will not show my underwear by the end of the night.
Chapter Seven
Henley
I’m tempted to hide out in the room for the rest of the day and nurse my stinging backside, but it’s clear Lydia would like to be alone, so I reluctantly take a seat outside to watch the Wedding Olympics. I ignore the snickers and murmurs from the guests seated around me. No one has asked me what happened at the zip line, but it’s clear from all the nods and smiles I’m getting that everyone knows. Whatever, they can all kiss the fattest part of my red, swollen ass.
“Hey, Little Chicken, how’s your ass?”
Davis takes a seat beside me, and I try not to grin at the nickname he gave me so many years ago. Henley got shortened to Hen, but Davis had to take it a step further. I always pretended to hate it when I was a kid, but secretly I loved that he had a special name for me, no matter how ridiculous.
“Don’t call me that, and quit thinking about my ass.”
His dark eyes are alight with humor as he grins at me. He may have grown up, but that boyish, crooked grin hasn’t changed a bit, and apparently it can still send butterflies scattering through my body. I want to hate it, to hate him after all the pain he put me through, but I can’t seem to manage it.
“I thought you might need this.” He produces a thin cushion for my chair.
Great, I feel like an old woman who has to carry a donut pillow around. It’s not a donut pillow, but still. “Thank you,” I mumble, dropping it onto the chair and sitting back down. “Why aren’t you running the obstacle course? Scared to get dirty?”
“I thought you could use some company.”
“What are you doing, Davis?”
“At the moment, I’m sitting next to a grouchy, beautiful woman.”
“You know what I mean. There are plenty of available women here.”
“That’s true,” he says, restraining a smile as he lets his eyes sweep across the crowd. “And I’m sure they’d fall at my feet if I gave them a chance.”
“Glad to see you haven’t developed a self-esteem problem over the years.”
“Confidence has never been an issue.”
“No, your head has always been swollen with self-importance.” I can feel him looking at me, but I keep my eyes on the obstacle course.
“It only sw
ells for you, baby. And from the noises you make when it does, I know you appreciate it.”
A grin creeps onto my face. “You’re impossible.”
“You’re beautiful.”
“Stop saying that.” I decide to cut through all the bullshit. “Look, we only have a few more days and we’ll both go back to our lives. If you want to do the fuck buddy thing while we’re here, I’m game, but stop with the compliments and lines. I’m not as gullible as these plastic women.”
His long fingers brush a lock of hair behind my ear. “I call it as I see it, Hen.” I squirm, trying to get comfortable. It has to be ninety degrees and the heat isn’t helping the prickly feeling on my ass cheeks. My discomfort doesn’t escape his attention. “Let’s get out of here. I know something that’ll help.”
I’m in no position to argue, so I take his offered hand and let him lead me toward the back of the house. “Where are we going?”
He gestures toward the pool. “Everyone is at the obstacle course. We’ll have it to ourselves.”
“I’m not wearing a swimsuit.” Or panties, for that matter. The chafing was just too much to bear, so I settled for a silky pair of running shorts. I feel half naked with nothing underneath, but it’s much more comfortable.
“Really? What happened to the crazy girl who jumped a fence to swim in the closed county pool, fully clothed?”
Laughing, I shake my head. “That girl was drunk and under the influence of my stupid brother and his persistent friend.” It was one of the best nights of my childhood. We snuck out and Davis swiped a bottle of vodka from his father. We mixed it with some horrible canned fruit punch, and I got drunk for the first time. The county pool was right down the street and nothing sounded better on that humid August night. We got to swim for about twenty minutes before a security guard ran us off, cursing us and promising to call the police. Good times. Almost all my best childhood memories include Davis.
“I’m still persistent.” And apparently, I’ll still follow him anywhere. To hell with it, my T-shirt is dark blue, and I’m wearing a bra, so it shouldn’t show through.
After tossing our phones on a lounge chair, we wade into the shallow end. Cool water washes over my hot skin and the relief makes me sigh. So good. I dunk underwater, wetting my hair, before swimming toward the corner of the pool. Resting my arms on the ledge, I lay my head back and revel in the sensation of the sun on my face, the chilly water washing over my skin.
Davis surfaces right in front of me, and my eyes are drawn to his chest where drops of water dance across his sun-kissed skin. The boy I loved was attractive, cute. The man in front of me can’t be described as cute. Handsome, gorgeous, extremely attractive? Absolutely. But not cute. His dark hair appears black when it’s wet, a wild, overlong mess that somehow works for him, and coupled with the scruff on his jaw, gives him a dangerous look. And I know he’s dangerous to me, to my heart that took years to get over him.
Just for the rest of the week, I remind myself. I’m going to enjoy him until the wedding is over and then go back to my life. It occurs to me that while we’ve reacquainted ourselves with every inch of each other’s bodies, I know nothing about his life now.
“What do you do for a living?” I ask, as his hands rest on my hips.
“I’m a physical therapist at Nashville Community Hospital.” Nashville. That’s where he went when he left Pensacola? And we both ended up working in the medical field.
“I still live in Pensacola. I’m an x-ray tech.”
“I know,” he replies with a teasing grin. “Your brother and I still talk.”
Great, I wonder what else he’s told him. “Any kids? Ex-wives? Gay lovers?”
“No to all three. How about you? Are you seeing anyone? And if it’s a gay lover, please be as detailed as possible.”
“Sorry to disappoint you, but there’ll be no muff diving in my future. I just broke up with someone a few days ago, actually.”
His hands wander up my sides. “I’m sorry to hear that.”
“No, you aren’t,” I laugh as his fingers run over my ribs.
“Still ticklish, huh?” he teases. His rough palms travel around to my lower back and when I peek up at him, his lips land on mine. I can’t feel the cool water anymore as heat rushes through me, setting my skin ablaze. Why is it always like this with him? We can’t just kiss. We devour each other, our hands groping and caressing. We probably would’ve gone at it right there in the pool if a tiny voice hadn’t interrupted.
“I want to swim!”
“Okay, Nicky, I’m coming. Put your floaty on.” A young mother chases after her toddler, finally catching him and wrestling him into a lifejacket.
“Guess that’s our cue,” I laugh, pulling away from Davis and climbing out of the pool. “Let’s go see how the obstacle course went, then I need to get cleaned up. I told Kasha I’d do the egg toss and three-legged race.”
I try not to stare when Davis pulls himself over the edge of the pool, every muscle tightening, water pouring over his skin. I need to get a grip. I toss him a towel from the bathhouse and wrap another around me as we make our way to the large area roped off for the events.
We’ve just reached the end of the course when Davis exclaims, “What the hell?”
A scream that barely sounds human seems to be coming from a blue porta-potty a few yards away. A blue porta-potty that has somehow ended up on its side and is now rolling across the yard. “Someone’s in there!” I cry.
Davis points to a tractor being driven by a couple of kids. “They’re dragging it.” Before he can say anything else, the potty rolls again and the door pops open, leaving a thoroughly shit-soaked Anderson lying on the grass.
Giggles turn to uncontrollable laughter as Davis gazes at me with a confused look, a careful smile on his face. Kids or not, I know who did this. Kasha is officially my favorite person. “Christ, I can smell him from here,” I exclaim, trying to quell the laughter and catch my breath.
A small crowd gathers, but Anderson doesn’t seem to hear the laughter around him. Careful not to be seen, I take a quick picture with my phone, preserving the look of disgusted horror on his face forever. Davis can’t help but chuckle when I show him. “I take it you aren’t a fan of his?”
“He’s an asshole who screwed over my friend.” Glancing around us, I see Kasha heading away quickly. “I’ll talk to Kasha later,” I decide, tugging him back the direction we came.
He slips his arm around my shoulder and we start toward the house, Anderson running ahead of us like he stole something. “Remind me never to make you mad.”
“I didn’t do anything to him,” I point out. “Now, his stuck up bride, she may want to beware of me.”
“What did she do?”
“Just let us know how charitable they were being, inviting us lowly middle class peasants.”
“Uh-oh.”
“Speaking of, I wonder where they’re keeping the eggs for the egg toss?”
A mischievous look crosses his face and he grabs my hand. “Get cleaned up, and we’ll find out.”
After a warm shower and another coat of hydrocortisone cream, my ass feels much better. At least I’m able to wear panties. I throw on a pair of light cotton shorts, a sports bra, and tank top, and head to Davis’s room. We make our way to the massive industrial kitchen in search of eggs. The plan is to try to switch the hard boiled eggs meant for the egg toss to raw ones. Juvenile and not that creative, but funny nonetheless.
We locate a fridge stocked full of egg cartons, half marked For Egg Toss. As I pull out two cartons sitting on the bottom shelf, the little elderly lady working in the kitchen makes our devious idea ten times better with the following words. “Oh, not those, honey. They’re rotten. I meant to run them to the gardener since he uses them for fertilizer, but I haven’t had the chance. Stuck them in there so they wouldn’t stink the place up.”
With a smile, I grab the cartons. “I’ll drop them off for you. It’s on our way.”
&nbs
p; “Why, thank you.”
***
This is lining up to be the best egg toss ever. We form two parallel lines and the aim of the game is to toss an egg to your partner across from you. If your partner catches it, you both take a step back and toss it again. If the egg hits the ground or cracks, you have to start over. The first team to cross the finish line behind us, wins. Since they’re using boiled eggs, it isn’t meant to be messy and would probably be boring as hell, but Davis and I have livened it up a bit.
A bucket sits behind each team, filled with eggs. I was surprised we weren’t met with suspicion when we volunteered to fill the buckets, but no one really seemed to notice. Anderson is on my right, paired with one of Jane’s snooty friends, and on my left is Jane, partnered with a guy I don’t recognize. While we filled everyone’s buckets with raw eggs, we saved the rotten ones for Anderson and Janes’ teams. Their partners are collateral damage. Sorry about their luck. I didn’t have a chance to let Kasha in on my plan, and she’s way at the other end of the line with Roman. I hope she at least gets to see it.
Davis seems to be as excited as I am when someone blows a whistle for us to begin. We’re using raw eggs as well, since it would be obvious who switched the eggs if we were the only ones with hard boiled. Davis tosses it to me and I catch it easily, taking a step back before tossing it back to him.
After a few more steps back, I hear Jane squeal as she fumbles an egg and it ends up cracking on her knee. Whew, I can smell it from here. To her credit, she must think it’s a mistake, and carries on, choosing another egg and starting over. Trying not to laugh, I throw mine just a little too hard and it splats into Davis’s hand.
He raises an eyebrow at me, and I shrug as we both go back to our starting positions. “Not so hard,” he warns with a crooked grin.
“Is that what she said?”
“It sure isn’t what you said last night,” he retorts, and I resist the urge to throw an egg at his head.
