Redneck Romeo (The Culture Blind Book 1)

by Xavier Neal

  “Mary, Jimmy, Sherry, Tim, these are my best friends, Cordie and Audrey,” Carly introduces without removing herself from my arms.

  Everyone busies themselves exchanging handshakes or waves while I slip off the float.

  “Your boyfriends here too?” Jimmy casually questions. “You wanna call them over and race like your friends did? They beat us but….” He tries to find a hopeful smile. “You never know. Mary and I could get lucky one of these times.”

  “This one was your fault!” His wife fusses as she accepts a bright green frozen drink from her friend. “All you had to do was stay on the float! How’d you even fall?”

  “You were rocking it!”

  “We don’t have boyfriends,” Audrey sweetly inserts.

  Sherry sends her a questioning look. “Oh….Are you two….?”

  “No!” Carly’s friends retort in unison.

  She turns to stifle the sound of her giggles against my chest. The combination of our freshly finished kiss and her warm breath on my skin has my dick doing unwanted pushups. Before I have the chance to maneuver myself and hide the situation, she brushes against it, receiving a thoughtless groan in return.

  Her eyes slowly drift to mine revealing a heated glaze.

  My cock thickens at the same time my tongue swells, leaving me completely incapable of speaking.

  Is there any possible way I can convince her to ditch them and follow me somewhere, anywhere we can go do somethin’ about that look and my now painfully hard dick?

  “Earth to Carly.” Cordie stomps her foot. Our stare soars up to her and she sighs, “Do you think you can fit a little girl time into your schedule, or are we about to become The Good, The Bad, and The Hunky?”

  “Leave them alone,” Audrey softly defends.

  She’s an attractive woman. In any other circumstance, she would’ve been what I spent my night hangin’ out with. I have a feelin’ our tastes are similar, and it’d be an effortless thing. She would by definition be my type. Little makeup, a bit shy, and a body it wouldn’t be a chore to enjoy. The simple black and red bikini is flatterin’, but it doesn’t make her standout. Nothin’ about her does. She strikes me like the type of woman who’s so constantly unnoticed that as long as I remembered her name she’d feel special. Havin’ two larger than life best friends probably doesn’t help. Logically speakin’, she would easily slide into the persona I used to picture my wife havin’.

  Not anymore.

  Not ever again.

  Audrey coos, “They’re cute.”

  Carly’s cheek rests against my chest. “We are cute together.”

  My thumb strokes her back in quiet agreement.

  “Ugh. Fine. Whatever,” Cordie snips. “If you and The Incredible Hunk would like to join us, we’re getting drinks from the bar and then spots in the water. The area closest to the stage is starting to fill up and I want a good view.”

  She quickly nods and peers up at me. “You wanna come with us or go find your brother?”

  “Baby, I plan to be stuck to you like butter on a baked potato.”

  The expression receives a snicker and shake of the head. “What a weird phrase. What if I don’t like butter on my potato?”

  “Then I don’t think this is ever gonna work,” I playfully taunt.

  Her body presses firmly against mine and my softening cock returns the other direction. “You sure?”

  A groan, much too loud for public, is robbed from my throat.

  I swear this woman is gonna be the sweet death of me.

  My hand slides itself down to the curve of her ass. “You can have anything you want on your potato.”

  “And if I don’t like potatoes?”

  “Then I’ll make sure to only eat ‘em when you’re sleepin’.”

  She lets her head fall to the side on another snicker. “Why do I get the feeling you’re the type of guy willing to do anything for the woman he loves?”

  “Because I am. And I’m right here, baby. Willin’ to prove it.”

  “Carly,” Cordie complains once more.

  Instead of questioning my comment, she slips her hand in mine, and tugs me closely behind. “We’re coming. We’re coming.”

  That was probably the wrong shit to say. Hell, everything that comes out of my mouth feels like the wrong shit to say. Everything is too honest. Too eager. I look like an over anxious moron ready to do whatever it takes to get his dick touched for the first time. The problem is…I don’t care, even though I know I should. I don’t mind makin’ an ass out of myself as long as Carly knows she’s got me. All of me. Whenever and however she wants me. I’ve always heard you know you’ve met the one when you’re knocked onto your ass. Well, I’m here. Completely dumfounded, out of breath, and bruised where the sun don’t typically shine.

  The four of us do a set of whiskey shots at the bar, grab frozen margaritas, and wade our way through the water to a spot Cordie deems perfect.

  I adjust the arm I have hooked around Carly’s waist. “So, last night, I discovered you know very little ‘bout country music.”

  “Next to nothing,” Audrey reminds from the other side of her.

  Carly twitches a glare.

  “The question is would you be willin’ to learn?” Her eyes meet mine. “’Cause if you are, it’ll be my pleasure to teach you, baby.”

  She has a sip of her drink. “You teach me about country music and I’ll teach you…?”

  I drop my mouth closer to her ear. “How the hell you got into that swimsuit.”

  Carly lightly laughs and bumps into me.

  “I’m kiddin’.”

  Kinda.

  “What do you wanna teach me? What do you think I need to learn?”

  “How about art?” She casually suggests. “How much do you know about art?”

  “Like paintin’s and stuff?”

  “Or sculptures. Or photography.”

  “Um….” I frantically search my memory for something I learned decades ago. “There was a guy named Monet, right?”

  Audrey girlishly giggles at my expense.

  “He cut off his ear.”

  “No. Van Gogh cut off his ear.” The correction is clouded with poorly covered sympathy. “Monet had vision issues. However, both are very famous artists and both were painters.”

  Embarrassment burns the back of my neck along with the hot sun.

  Wonder if this is how she felt when we were talkin’ about music yesterday. Wonder if she felt this…stupid. This…out of place.

  Carly’s drink free hand dips into the water to give mine a stroke of reassurance. “Wanna consider that your first lesson?”

  I nod sheepishly.

  “Maybe next we talk about Michelangelo? He painted but he’s also very well known for sculpting. Or maybe we can talk about someone more modern like James Nachtwey, the world famous photographer.”

  Her suggestions are said with such sweetness it doesn’t feel at all like she’s ashamed I don’t know the same subjects she does. The idea she wants to teach me as much as she wants to learn excites me in unprecedented ways.

  “Alright….”

  Carly’s beam shines brightly at my agreement.

  “Dependin’ on what songs are covered today will be how I decide who to teach you about next. Though considerin’ we’re drinkin’ margaritas, I feel maybe we should talk about Jimmy Buffett.”

  “Margaritaville!”

  Her squeak successfully causes me and Audrey to snicker.

  “Very good, baby.”

  “There you are!” Cody shouts as he approaches us from behind. “What the hell, Dusty? A little more fuckin’ warnin’ next time!” My brother pegs me in the arm. “You scared the livin’ shit out of me when you didn’t fuckin’ come back!” He immediately leans forward to apologize. “Sorry for the language ladies.”

  Audrey warmly smiles at the sentiment yet Cordie bites, “You do know this is the 21st century? Women cuss. We spit. We even wear pants to our jobs outside the kitchen.”<
br />
  “We were raised to be better gentlemen in mixed company,” I calmly defend.

  “I think it’s thoughtful,” Carly swiftly states, “but totally unnecessary, just so you both know.”

  “Is that not what I was communicating?” Cordie snips.

  “Drink more, bitch less,” Audrey bravely declares.

  Ha. Maybe she’s got a bit more of fight in her behind the fragile exterior. Still not the woman who has my heart in her hands, but at least now I can somewhat understand how they’re friends.

  Cody nails me in the shoulder. “Seriously, Dusty. Where in the hell did you go?”

  “Dusty?” Carly questions with intrigue in her eyes. “Family nickname or everyone nickname?”

  I hit her with a smirk. “Family, but you are more than welcome to use it too.”

  Her hips wiggle in what I hope is excitement.

  She could call me buck tooth Al for all I give a shit. As long as it’s addressed to me and off her lips I’m a happy man.

  Cody repeats his previous action.

  “Will you stop hittin’ me?!”

  “Then give me a damn answer!”

  “I saw Carly, so I went after her,” I state the obvious. “And I did warn you. I warned you last night that as soon as I had the chance I was gonna go find my girl.”

  “I thought that was jus’ the beer talkin’!”

  “It wasn’t.”

  Carly leans into me a bit more.

  “Is it weird it makes me feel better to know that it wasn’t just Carly talking crazy after the concert?” Audrey interjects.

  Our eyes swing to her best friend who hasn’t wandered off to flirt with the sound guy now on stage.

  “I wasn’t talking crazy,” Carly gripes.

  “You sounded like fuckin’ Shakespeare,” Audrey continues to confess. “We were convinced you were gonna wait on the balcony all night for him to climb it!”

  “And he would’ve,” Cody informs. “He wouldn’t have thought twice….”

  My eyes drop to see Carly’s cheeks are the same beetroot shade as mine. Relieved to know she’s behaving equally as outrageous I am, I let my lips land on hers.

  What’s so wrong with followin’ your heart instead of your dick? What’s wrong with followin’ that feelin’ in the pit of your stomach that leads you to somethin’ you know you’re lucky if you find it even once in a lifetime? Maybe that makes me crazy. Maybe it makes me stupid and reckless and selfish for believin’ that. But there’s somethin’ about the way this woman makes me feel whenever she’s nearby that I can’t ignore. Fuck. I don’t wanna ignore it. I do an awful lot for other people in my life. They say I’m givin’ to a fault. They say I’ve always been this way. When I was little, I used to let Cody have the rest of my lunch or snack ‘cause he always seemed like he was still starvin’ no matter how much he ate. I used to split my turkey and pickle sandwiches all through grade school with Michele Crown whenever her parents couldn’t give her more than some carrots and apple slices ‘cause money was too tight. In high school I was always the one to loan out a dollar or two for a soda to Daniel Davis. His parents rarely had the extra money to send him on the out of town football trips. They damn sure didn’t have soda or pizza cash to spare. Nowadays, I do things like watch my nieces almost every week so my brother and his wife can have a date night. Go grocery shoppin’ for momma when the Texas heat is too much or the winter a tad too cold for her sensitive skin. Let’s not forget, if I’m off of work I’m in the truck the minute my dad needs help sellin’ his meat or an extra hand ‘cause a pipe burst in the barn. Every moment of my free time is spent doin’ somethin’ for them or with them. And Cody knows it. It was the whole reason he was adamant about takin’ this trip and doin’ everything he could to assure I had a good time. For once in my life, I’m gonna do somethin’ for me. I’m gonna do whatever it takes to have Carly’s last name become mine.

  Chapter Three

  Carly

  Dusty: Have breakfast with me?

  There’s no hesitation in the swift movement of my fingers.

  Me: When?

  Dusty: Now?

  Me: Still lying in bed.

  Dusty: Wish I was lyin next to you.

  I press my lips tightly together to suppress a whimper.

  He’s not the only one making those types of wishes. I want him beside me or wrapped around me every chance we’re given. It’s ridiculous! I know it’s ridiculous, yet that doesn’t seem to stop me from behaving like a fifteen year old with her first boyfriend. And he’s not even my boyfriend! Or is he? He’s not. He can’t be. Knowing someone less than forty eight hours and calling them your boyfriend is beyond ridiculous. It’s grounds for a psych eval. At the very least, it’s reason enough to question how severe my attachment issues are. Before Dustin I wasn’t aware I had any. Now? A quick crazy test might be exactly what I need. If I were one of my clients, it would be mandated before I would continue to do my job.

  Dusty: Can you be ready in 10?

  Me: Yeah.

  Dusty: See you soon baby

  And he calls me baby, a term which previously made my face scrunch in disgust, but now makes my heart pound so hard it knocks the breath out of me. The term of endearment has always had a way of sounding prosaic or, in other cases, blatantly disrespectful. I constantly tell my clients the importance of avoiding such titles, deeming them tiny traps that can have terrible effects on the relationship they’re trying to cultivate. Surprisingly enough, the way Dustin says it erases those thoughts. He calls me baby, and I would swear on my life, I’m the only person in the world he’s ever loved or will love. There’s this remarkable amount of weight and power the word holds when it falls off his tongue. It’s like he’s saying everything without saying anything….

  God, I am losing my mind.

  I turn my face towards Cordie’s bed, thankful to see her sleeping so peacefully.

  She’s been something else these last couple of days. Not sure if it’s too much sun or not enough dick. Normally, she’s a tolerable level of bitchy. Snide comments here. Sarcastic snaps there. However, those usually fall between lots of laughs and light-hearted conversations. Alcohol has a proven track record of making her more pleasant, but for some reason it’s failing on this trip. Miserably. She’s been downing shots of whiskey, great whiskey, and throwing back some of the best beer we’ve ever had, yet she’s still unhappy. Though…now that I think about it, she’s really only unhappy when Dusty’s near. Yesterday, after we spent a few hours in the pool with Dusty and Cody, I decided it would be a good idea for the two of us to split for dinner. As soon as we parted from him she was the Cordie we all know and adore. Smiles. Giggles. Flirting with the waiter. The bartenders. However, the minute Dusty found us at the concert her charm vanished and her cranky demeanor reappeared. Maybe she doesn’t like his personality? Maybe she secretly believes he should’ve come after her instead? Her body language is a consistent mixture of the two, making it even more difficult to definitively decide the source of her sourness.

  My attention shifts to Audrey who is lightly snoring on the pull-out bed. Guilt sweeps across me looking for a new place to call home.

  I feel like a shitty friend. I should be spending more time with her, making sure her mind isn’t wandering to her ex and his new bride. I should be searching for hot guys I know she’ll mesh well with and leading them to her. We should be dirty dancing together, so she gets the much needed, much deserved attention she secretly seeks. But then again, if I go down that path, I’m working. The point was to get away from work, not turn my best friend into a pro bono client. Maybe it’s best I don’t help her find a man to forget about her ex. Maybe that’s something she needs to discover how to do all on her own. Hmm. Perhaps the old proverb is true. Give a man a fish and feed him for a day. Teach a man to fish and feed him for a lifetime. I’ve spent months training Audrey on how to flirt. What to look for when flirting. How to flirt without sounding so desperate or needy. The right way to s
it to state she’s available and open versus how to scare men away with ankle crosses. I’ve let Cordie deliver lectures on makeup tips, wardrobe advice, and even bar scouting tricks. If she wants to eat, she has all the tools to make it happen. I can’t hold her hand forever….I mean part of me wants to. Part of me wants her in love like she was when we first met back in college. Part of me feels like I would give anything to bring that Audrey back. The not yet scorned or cheated on Audrey. The one who possessed faith in true love and would scold me for not being a believer. I miss her. She had a bit more confidence in herself. Smiled like it wasn’t a chore. Came out of her apartment for more than the occasional drink.

  The memories have me shifting my eyes to the dark ceiling.

  I can honestly say I’ve never had my heart broken. You have to be a certain level of vulnerable, which I typically am not. The way Dusty has me in knots is so abnormal, it feels like I’ve been drugged. This whole experience feels as if it’s one giant hypnagogic delusion constructed by my subconscious. Apparently, on a deeper level it registers how deprived I am of meaningful connections outside those I consider family. I’m aware of the importance in developing such relationships. I’ve lectured numerous clients on the negative repercussions that can come from an isolated existence, yet have never opened myself up to the possibility of something more than a one night stand. At least not before Dusty’s arms wound around me.

  Convinced it’s alright to sneak off, especially since they’re both sleeping, I quietly slink over to my suitcase. After using the light from my phone to dig out a swimsuit and dress to throw on, I quickly lock myself in the bathroom to freshen up. Once I’m finished, the plan is to slip out of the room and wait for him in the hall decreasing the chance of disturbing my friends.