Drunk on You

by Teri Anne Stanley

  She’d apparently swept his earlier grenade under the rug, for which he was grateful. What he wasn’t so comfortable with was the knowledge that she could pick it up and pull the pin when he was least expecting it.

  Playing along, he said, “Sure.” He could put on his social skills for a couple of hours. Hell, he could even wear a USMC sweatshirt. Lesser of two evils. Anything to avoid being shut in this camper with Allie any longer than he had to.

  He followed her into the living area, and she asked him if he minded prepping the appetizers. “I guess so. Since I can’t go outside to split wood or hunt bears, I’ll be your kitchen wench.”

  “You’ve never in your life chopped wood, much less hunted anything,” Allie said.

  “Not true. I’ve even got a Boy Scout badge to prove it. The wood chopping part. I’ll give you the hunting point.”

  The next half hour was cool, all things considered. They brainstormed easier, more rough-around-the-edges foods that would go with flavor-boosted white dog, but thankfully quit when the ideas degenerated to chocolate-covered hash browns and lemon-vanilla hamburgers.

  He almost preferred the times when he was painfully aware of how physically attracted he was to her, because this whole fun domesticity thing? It was making him think crazy shit.

  Allie gathered an assortment of Rainbow Dog flavors and put them in an old-fashioned wire milk-bottle carrier. “Can you get this with your crutches?” she asked Justin, as he stood and tucked the damned things under his armpits. Just a couple more days and he’d be allowed to put weight on the foot. He was tempted to be a rebel and go early, but the thought of backsliding in his recovery and needing Allie to help him bathe for another week was too damned appealing. For the sake of sanity and world peace, he’d be medically compliant.

  They strolled to Maureen and Marty’s campsite on the adjacent lot, which seemed to be party central. There were at least twenty people present, gathered at the enormous grill that folded down from the back of their fifth-wheel travel trailer. Folks milled about, poking at the fire or arranging food on a couple of portable tables.

  “We’ve brought the party,” Allie said, and indicated Justin’s burden. Justin handed Allie the liquor to set up on the drinks table and quirked up his mouth while he dug in the pocket of his shorts and produced a pint of Angus’s Single Barrel. “Thanks for having us,” he told Maureen. “I hope this is an appropriate hostess gift.”

  “Holy shit,” the minister said. “Of course it’s appropriate. I’ll be right back.” She disappeared into the camper, either to stash her prize or to give it a taste.

  Allie nudged him. “Well, honey, you sure know how to make yourself welcome.”

  “Yes, sweetiepoo, I do,” Justin said.

  “Hey, boy, get over here. Pinky here spent some time at Lejeune. He wants to bore you with his stories.”

  Allie had a glint in her eye that he didn’t trust. He thought he saw her finger twitch on the pin of that grenade when she rose on her tiptoes to lay a big smoochy kiss on his lips. “You go on, hang with your boys. I’ll be over here with the ladies, finding out which tricks will keep our marriage from going stale.”

  …

  “Your man looks a lot more comfortable now,” observed Maureen, handing Allie a plastic cup. The ladies had grabbed the Pink Dog and turned it into the most amazing frozen concoction. Allie had begged for the recipe, typing it into the notepad on her phone—right after asking for a refill.

  Justin was splayed in a folding chair that she’d fetched for him, his head tilted back with laughter at something one of the old guys said. One of his big arms was slung over the back of the chair as he leaned toward the speaker.

  “He does look pretty amazing,” Allie said, then blushed.

  Maureen’s friend laughed. “You can say that again, sweetheart. I hear it’s supposed to be warmer tomorrow. I might need you to ask him to come over and help me in the yard. He can leave his shirt in your camper.”

  “You did notice the bum leg, right?” Allie asked.

  “He can help by providing aesthetic improvement.”

  All the women laughed, and the men turned to look.

  “You better marry that boy for real soon,” Maureen said. “He’s a keeper.”

  Allie stared at her new friend. “I—”

  “Honey, neither one of you is wearing a ring,” she said.

  “Oh. Well, not everyone believes in—”

  A brunette with the raspy laugh of a smoker said, “Let’s see. Old-school Bluegrass bourbon distillery family? I’m guessin’ your ring would weigh more than you do, and you’d wear it gardening, cleaning the outhouse, and swimming in Lake Cumberland.”

  She was right. Even as broke as Justin was, and as unfathomable as it was that he’d ever ask his parents for money, she knew that there were diamonds in his mother’s jewelry box just dying to be made into engagement rings for her sons.

  “So what’s the story?”

  Allie had swallowed just enough of Alice’s Tennessee Poodle, as they’d decided to call the frozen drink, to tell them. “I’ve been in love with him since I was five. Maybe longer. He barely knows I exist.”

  “Ha!” someone said.

  “He knows you exist,” another woman said. “Boy can’t keep his eyes off you.”

  As if he knew they were talking about him, he turned his head and looked straight at Allie, unsmiling for the first time since they’d arrived.

  “He might know I’m here, but he doesn’t want to.”

  “Have you asked him?” Maureen touched Allie’s shoulder.

  Should she say it? “It’s not about him not wanting to, uh, you know—we’ve gotten pretty close a couple of times. But I think he’s just horny. Which would be totally cool…” Cheeks hot, she eyed Maureen, who had nothing but understanding in her eyes. “But I’m afraid that if I push for more sexy stuff, I’m gonna get my heart broken.”

  The women listened quietly, then one said, “Screw that. Life is short. If you don’t put your heart out there to get stomped on, you don’t get nothing. You got that karaoke machine, Maureen?”

  Oh, hell. This was not going to be good. “Um, I’m not sure what you’ve got in mind, but I don’t know if I want to—”

  “Yes, you do.”

  They were right. Her heart was already at Justin’s feet. She might as well gather as many good, sexy memories as she could before he tromped all over her.

  Maureen smiled, then said, “We’re not going to tell our men that you’re not really married. Let them torment your man a little longer with having to fake it.”

  Chapter Fifteen

  “Oh, hell no,” Marty said. The others looked around and laughed.

  “What’s going on?” Justin looked at the camper, and saw the minister carrying a— “Oh, hell no,” he repeated.

  Allie, who had wandered over a few minutes ago and sat down next to him, smiled and took a big drink of a sludgy frozen-daiquiri kind of thing.

  “Honey, I think it’s time for me to go to bed. You feel free to stay.” He patted her on the knee, found his crutches, and started to get to his feet. “Dinner was awesome. Thanks for your hospitality.”

  “Oh, no, my young friend.” An old marine, who’d been stationed at Camp Lejeune, put a hand on Justin’s shoulder, trapping him in his seat. “If we have to sit here for karaoke time, you’ve got to stay, too.”

  Justin turned to Allie. “You’re not gonna do this, are you?”

  She gave him a look, narrowed her eyes. “Why? Do you think I can’t? Can you sing?”

  He straightened, though he had a creeping suspicion his inability to back down from a challenge was about to get him in trouble. “Don’t you remember that band Brandon and Dave and I had in high school? The Charred Staves?”

  Allie scoffed, her sneer begging to be kissed into a laugh. “That was a death metal band. You screamed every song.”

  She was right. They really had sucked. He had to defend his honor, though. “And all
the girls wanted to go out with me.”

  “Because Donna Richmond told everyone that you went dow—” Allie’s hand clamped over her mouth.

  Oh God. Even Allie had heard that story? “She lied. I was— I’m not quite sure how she thought that was— Anyway, I can too sing.”

  “I bet you I’m better.”

  “I bet you you’re not.”

  “Shooee, Buddy. You just threw down one big fat hairy gauntlet, didn’t you?” Marty smacked him on the back.

  Allie snorted. Justin was beginning to think she might be a little drunk. He’d been so worried about keeping his own head about him, he hadn’t paid much attention to her consumption. He wouldn’t have thought he needed to.

  “Oh, yes, you did,” someone else said.

  “I think he’s scared.” That was definitely the Camp Lejeune guy.

  All of a sudden Justin felt like he was being pushed around on the playground. And as such, he was going to satisfy his inner sixth grader by rising to the challenge.

  “Okay then, Mr. Drill Instructor. You first,” Justin said. “Unless you’re scared.”

  The other men hooted, but the old marine got up and swaggered to the other side of the fire, where he conferred with Maureen for a few minutes. The other campers rearranged chairs, getting refills on drinks.

  “What are the stakes?” someone asked. “You can’t have a bet unless you’re betting for something.”

  “If I win, you cut your hair,” Allie said, without thinking about it. She reached out and ran her fingers through it, grazing his scalp, sending tingles along his spine, straight to his groin. “You looked so much better with your marine-guy cut—this mess looks like you’re auditioning for a boy band.”

  Her hand froze at the back of his head, as though realizing how casually, how comfortably, she was touching him. Their eyes held. He didn’t want her to stop. He wanted her to keep stroking down his shoulder, along his arm to hold his hand.

  She jerked her hand away, reminding him they were talking about a bet: his hair.

  He didn’t want to have a fucking jarhead haircut ever again, but he was pretty sure he could win, even if he had to cheat and go for the humor vote. “Fine. And if I win, you have to make me dippy eggs for the rest of the trip.”

  “I hate making dippy eggs. It takes me three eggs to get one that works.”

  Justin just grinned at her.

  “Fine.” Her hands were back in her own space, waving his stakes away like it wouldn’t be an issue.

  “What are dippy eggs?” someone asked.

  “Dippy eggs,” Allie said, “are over easy for the vocabularily challenged.”

  “Just so you know,” Justin said, “the term comes from your side of the family.”

  “Whatever.”

  The sun had slipped below the horizon a while ago, and the last pink and gold rays of the day were fading from the sky.

  “Pretty sunset, huh?” Allie put her head on his shoulder. When did she get so close to him? How did his arm get draped across the back of her chair, over her shoulders, actually? “Uh-huh,” he finally muttered.

  She was really working the pretend-wife angle. He wondered if she was doing it to appease her sense that the minister would disapprove if they were living in sin, or if she just wanted to torment him. He was starting to think the latter. Her head turned, and she was close enough that he couldn’t see her eyes clearly. Her lips were pretty well defined, though. And then her tongue came out to lick the bottom one, dragging a groan from deep within him. Without thinking about it, he leaned in for a kiss.

  It wasn’t a sexy kiss. It was an affectionate, I’m-glad-you’re-with-me kiss, and his whole body sighed with that weird feeling he got whenever he smelled her after being away from her for a while. Peace?

  A screech of feedback jolted them both. The old marine grinned, giving the microphone a couple of practice swings.

  “Oh, Lord,” said one of the women. “He’s channeling Mick.”

  And sure enough, the guy went into a really, really bad rendition of “Jumping Jack Flash.” It was awful, but pretty funny, because he couldn’t have been less Mick Jagger had he been a four-hundred-pound woman.

  Allie laughed, her shoulder under Justin’s arm feeling right, and he decided, just for the next hour or so, not to get too twisted up in right or wrong or how much he was going to beat himself up later; he would just enjoy having his fake wife snuggled up against him.

  A small, dark-haired woman put out her cigarette and said, “Gimme that.”

  She sang “Redneck Woman” almost as badly.

  Someone with a little more inner tuning fork sang “Love Me Tender,” and then Marty sang a surprisingly elegant Bob Dylan song.

  “Okay, we’ve warmed up the machine and showed you ours. I think it’s time for the new kids to show us theirs. Who’s going first. Justin? Allie?”

  Argh. Justin was rethinking that whole alcohol-free evening. He wondered if he could get Allie to go first, if he could get enough shots into himself to be able to stand up there and—

  “I’ll go,” Allie said, turning to point a finger at Justin. “But you’re going down.”

  “Like with that girl in high school Allie was tellin’ us about?” someone called out. Justin had a feeling he was going down, but it was going to be more like a sinking ship and less like a high school kid trying to get a free anatomy lesson.

  She marched to the karaoke machine with her fists clenched and back straight, a new recruit determined to pass inspection. “Just so you know, I’m only up here because my Hunk of Burnin’ Love over there doesn’t think I can sing. What he seems to have forgotten is that I was the Crockett County High School girls’ chorus captain for two years.”

  “Wait,” said the Redneck Woman. “I think we should get to choose the songs.”

  Great. Justin was really praying for the comedy vote now.

  …

  Allie watched Maureen and another woman go through the list of songs. “I think that’s going to be too hard,” Maureen said. “That takes a lot of range.”

  “You guys are making me very nervous here,” Allie said. “I’m going to need another drink if we don’t get this over with soon.”

  “She won’t know that one. She’s not old enough,” someone else said.

  Allie walked over to the screen and read the title. “I know it,” she said. She wasn’t quite sure it was appropriate, but…oh, hell, why not?

  She took the microphone and cleared her throat. “Okay, y’all need to imagine me in a long, frilly dress, and some seriously big hair, okay?”

  “Oh, dear Lord,” she thought she heard Justin mutter.

  “That would be Loretta Lynn, in case you’re not sure,” she said.

  She took a deep breath and began to sing “You Ain’t Woman Enough (To Take My Man),” belting out the words, hoping the gusto instigated by three Tennessee Poodles could balance out her lack of warm-up scales.

  The men were grinning, hitting Justin on the arm, but he was just staring at Allie, openmouthed, a half smile working its way into a real smile. She nearly lost her train of thought, seeing him watch her like that, as though he really, seriously did appreciate not only her vocal skills, but the musical selection.

  By the time the last line of the song faded into the night, most of the campers, including Justin, were standing, hooting, and clapping.

  Allie was immediately surrounded by the ladies, who said all kinds of nice things like, “We should just run you down to Lower Broadway and drop you off by the Ryman,” and “I sure ain’t gonna mess with your man. I’m officially scared of you,” and “Miss Loretta would give you the keys to the coal mine if she could hear that.”

  By the time she started back to her seat, Justin had his crutches under his arm and was making his way to the edge of the crowd. The energy of the night made her bold, and she stopped him with two hands full of shirt on either side of his waist. “You runnin’ away?” she asked. “Conceding that I am wi
thout a doubt the superior vocalist?”

  One of the men called from the circle of chairs, “Boy, you better make sure she knows you’re not payin’ attention to other women!”

  And someone else yelled, “You better prove it!”

  Justin’s eyes were unreadable in the dark.

  Allie froze, staring up at him, and the crowd faded into white noise around them.

  He dropped one of his crutches as he yanked her forward, completely against his hard chest, and bent his head to hers. Then he kissed not only the daylights, but the nightlights out of her as well.

  His mouth was firm and demanding, one hand holding her tight to him as he parted her lips with his own, licking into her mouth. He groaned as she twined her arms around his neck. Her breasts swelled, nipples peaking under the sweatshirt she wore, searching for friction against his body.

  Allie vaguely heard someone hoot and call “Get a camper!” as her world was thoroughly rocked.

  Coming up for air, Justin moved his mouth along her jawline and below, his teeth and tongue caressing her neck as he muttered, “Oh, hell, Allie.”

  She broke away to stare at him. He called her Allie. Not babe, not his girl. Allie.

  She bent to pick up his crutch and hand it to him. Everyone seemed to have lost interest in their interactions, or at least were pretending to give their intimate interlude some privacy, thank God.

  Justin didn’t meet her eyes as he said, “So, yeah. That was me trying to convince myself that I’m not lusting after you.”

  “I think that ship set sail in the hot tub last night.”

  “I’m going to go to hell,” he said, leaning his forehead against hers, but not touching her anywhere else.

  She laughed and felt happier than she had in years.

  Justin didn’t look quite so happy. He pulled back and searched her gaze, his eyes dark and bottomless. A reluctant smile crept across his face.

  They kissed again, and this time it was sweet and slow.

  “You gonna take me inside and take advantage of me?” she asked, finally.

  He sighed. “Yeah. I probably am. But I promised these people a song first, and I’ve got a bet to win.”