First thing in the morning, I hid them behind my teacher’s desk, determined to not let anyone see them. I figured if anything maybe they’d all just forget it was even my birthday. That was impossible, however, since our birthdays were in circles all over the walls of the classroom. It just so happened that I got one of those creative teachers that year. The others before hadn’t cared enough to show the dates off to the class.
Lunch came and went, and then it was nearly time for afternoon recess. The day was so close to being over, and I’d nearly made it free and clear! And then she spoke…
“Class, Clyde has brought a treat in for his birthday. I’ll let him pass it out so you can tell him thank you.”
I cringed a little and climbed to my feet. My palms were a bit sweaty, but I had to go up there and pass them out. My momma would have my hide if I disobeyed the teacher, but I was certain that once everyone saw what was in my box, they’d tease me. I’d be known as Clyde the horse lover who brought cookies like a girl or something equally as ridiculous.
Picking the box up from beside her desk, she pulled the flaps back to peek inside, and her eyes lit up like she’d seen gold. “Oh Clyde, these are amazing! You make sure and tell your momma thank you. These are so much less messy, and she’s done a wonderful job on them.”
My cheeks heated, and I swallowed before replying, “Yes ma’am.” Taking the box from her, I slowly made my way up and down the rows of desks, handing each kid a napkin and a perfectly decorated horse cookie, each time holding my breath. This is as bad as having my mom make those gross chocolate zucchini cakes without frosting. These people are going to outcast me so fast my head will spin.
Turns out, I was a fool for being nervous, for doubting my momma in the first place. Everyone in the class said my mom made the best cookies they’d ever tasted and asked if I’d bring some more when she made her Christmas cookies. My best friend even stood up and started shouting, “Happy Birthday,” in the middle of the class until our teacher threatened to keep him in for recess.
That was the day I learned to never question my family’s motives, especially my momma. I learned they’d always have my back, and that’s when I promised that I’d always do my best for them in return.
Bo Peep nudges me, looking for attention and the memory of third grade fades away. I treat the shiny black horse to a carrot and a nose scratch before it’s time to move on to the next stall.
Kill them with kindness and bury them with a smile.
—Southern Quotes
Shyla traipses on over, plopping down next to me on the small dock at my family’s pond. She has a lot of nerve continuing to show up here at the house—uninvited and unwelcome. I don’t care much for visitors as it is, especially not her.
“Hey, Clyde.”
“Hmph,” I grumble and stare out at the water, attempting to ignore her so she’ll leave.
“Well, aren’t you just sweet as sugar today?”
Sweet enough to give you a stomach ache. “What do you want Shyla?” I cut to the chase, not in the mood to deal with her. “And don’t come around here spouting off about my land. It’s mine.”
“You know that’s why I’m here.”
“Then leave. I’ve given you my answer. It won’t change.” I don’t waste time with rolling my eyes or giving her anything more.
She busily pulls off her socks and boots, rolls her jeans up a few times, and dips her feet into the water, copying me. By doing that, she’s basically telling me she’s too damn stubborn to listen to me. I don’t know if it’s that or the fact that I paid enough attention to notice her toes are painted bright yellow that has my resentment flaring to life.
“Sure is a pretty day. I forgot how nice it was to come sit out here.” She smiles with her face tilted up toward the sun. The light bounces off her fair skin, making her appear nearly angelic, and I grit my teeth at the sight.
“That’s what happens when you leave for years and don’t visit,” I reply harshly.
So maybe I’m still a little burned on the fact that not only did she break my heart, but she never even stopped by to try and see if I was okay. She was gone for years. Now she expects to show up like we’re friends? Not happening.
She swallows but remains quiet. Kicking her feet softly, spreading the water around in little circles, she nearly touches my leg. I can practically feel her she’s sitting so close. Something has to be done. She doesn’t get to just appear out of nowhere, looking perfect, acting like we’re old buddies with no repercussions when we’re not. I don’t want anything to do with her ever again. That ship has sailed.
Getting to my feet, I take a step back and shove her tiny body forward before she has a real chance to react. She goes in the pond like a sack of potatoes, surprised enough that she dips completely under water before shooting up spitting water.
She’s furious; her cheeks are fire engine red, and her hair is matted to her forehead. It’s the most fun I’ve had in a while, and at her expense, it’s even better. Growing up with a house full of brothers there were always pranks happening to someone, but we’ve gotten older and learned our lessons in paybacks.
“You!” she shouts, and I have to turn around to hide my mischievous grin. “You think you’re so smooth, Clyde Owens! That was just plain rotten.”
Chuckling to myself, I turn around just in time to catch her walking out with an evil smile on her face. In the next blink, she’s peeling her shirt over her head making me catch my breath.
Idiot.
I’m an idiot for provoking her, and at the same time, a genius. Shyla shirtless is a sight to behold—her creamy skin and round, full breasts. Fuck my life. She’s gorgeous. Not that I care one bit because I don’t.
I pull my shirt free, flinging water everywhere, stopping ankle deep in the pond. I’m sure that I look like a hot mess, but this man wanted to shake me up, and he got his wish. Now it’s his turn to be shaken. I unlatch the button on my jeans, and he spins back around.
“What’s wrong Owens? Never seen a naked woman before?” I holler, wanting his attention on me again. I revel in it.
I know the answer to my question; he’d seen me many times when we were dating. It was one of my favorite things to do with him, in fact. The man knows just how to move those hips of his—especially naked.
“Nope,” he mutters and begins to walk away.
“Hey! Get back here, Clyde. It’s rude to leave a woman wet and without clothes.” I rub it in even more. He’s always been a gentleman when it comes to women, so I know it has to be striking a nerve.
“Wet?” he practically growls, storming back toward me.
“Yep.” I hiccup, my stomach suddenly a box of nerves.
“I’ll show you wet, Shyla,” he promises, his lips so close that they nearly touch mine, his breath whispering over my mouth. He—so near—has me drawing in a quick, surprised breath. It’s been forever since he’s been that close.
My scream’s caught in my throat as he lifts me like a rag doll and tosses me back into the middle of the pond.
“Shit!” Finally breaks free when I surface again, feeling like a drowned rat. This time he’s nowhere to be found, already having made it down the hill toward the house or barn, wherever he went to hide out.
“Asshole,” I breathe, treading water. It’s only five or six feet deep, but the mud and grassy texture on the bottom grosses me out when my feet touch it. I can’t help the giggle that springs free from the entire situation. This was the last thing I was expecting to happen today; that’s for sure.
Driving home in wet underwear is seriously going to suck, but I don’t see that stubborn man offering me a towel anytime soon.
He hates me, and I dislike myself for hurting him. I had to do it though. He thinks I walked away from him without a care, but I was broken. Our plan was to go to college together here in Alabama where he’d gotten a scholarship to play football. My heart and mind were all set on him being my forever, then reality stepped in.
&
nbsp; Only a handful of colleges accepted my entry and offered me a scholarship. My folks couldn’t afford my school at the time, so I had to go where they’d least be hit with the burden, and I could work to help with the brunt of it. In the process, it wrecked our world.
Clyde was always so smart; every college in the country would’ve gladly accepted him. Half of the teams courted him as soon as they were able to offer up any type of promise. Alabama gladly did—with open arms, at that, and a fully paid ride as long as he played football for them. I couldn’t take his dream away from him. But I couldn’t take mine away either. I deserved it just as much as he did.
So when Alabama denied my application and no others nearby would offer me even a partial scholarship, I had to make the tough choice to go away for college. I couldn’t be truthful about it with him either. Clyde would’ve moved Heaven and Earth for me if I’d have asked him to. He’d have turned down Alabama without another thought and gone to school anywhere I did. Alabama was a family tradition for him. I couldn’t ruin it, and with his parents passing, I’m glad I didn’t.
So I did what I had to and became the villain in our story. I told him I’d changed my mind and that I wouldn’t marry him. It physically hurt my body when I said those words aloud to the man I loved and would ever love. I didn’t know it then, but I do now. I’ve never stopped loving him, not even the tiniest bit.
It took everything in me not to come running home when I found out his parents had died in that car wreck. I had to hear from my parents and friends instead of getting the call from Clyde. I wanted to be there for him—help him through their deaths—but I couldn’t. If I left school, I’d have failed and allowed everything I’d worked for to slip away.
Not only that, but I don’t think he would’ve welcomed me.
I had to do something for myself as selfish as that may seem to some. I knew I could never live with myself if I attempted to exist off Clyde’s accomplishments without having my own. He’s a strong man—always has been—and I needed to be a strong woman to be with someone like that. He’d have happily let me stay home while he worked tirelessly to support me, but I didn’t want that for him. I could never expect a man to do that for me, although, in a sense, he’s always watched out for me while I was growing up.
He doesn’t know the truth—the real reason why I left—and he may never know. It’s something I have to deal with for the rest of my life. But now, well, things have changed…time has passed. We’ve both grown up a lot. I got my degree in business with my real estate license and a decent career along with it. He’s raised his brothers and does one hell of a job taking care of his family’s ranch.
Knowing all of this and being here, I can’t seem to stay away from him. I told my boss that Clyde turned down the proposal from the very beginning. I knew he would as soon as the idea was brought up to me. It hasn’t stopped me from coming back to see him though.
Over and over I keep presenting him with the same terms, hoping one day I’ll break through the barrier he’s put up. I just want to see him smile and hear that laugh of his I love so much. The laugh I’ve missed over the years. I couldn’t care less about him selling his property. I knew there wasn’t a chance, but it gives me a good excuse to stick around.
I’m a terrible person too, because each visit, I lie to him. I pretend like we’re going to bother him until he gives in and sells. Truthfully, I keep coming back just to see him and nothing more. Being away at college made it easier to forget the kind of man he is. His presence is intoxicating, the type that will swallow you up, enveloping you in warm fuzzy feelings.
I’m addicted. I crave his cocky glare. It’s like a drug I can’t get enough of, and any chance I get to see him, I take it. I want him more now than I ever did, and I never would’ve believed that to be possible. I lie in bed at night, fantasizing about those hands of his rubbing all over me like they used to. I’d bet time and hard work have roughened them even more.
I wish this was easy like when we were younger. I could just write him a letter and draw hearts all around the page. He’d forgive me for anything back then it seemed, as long as I apologized with a sweet note.
Now, the man’s so stubborn I haven’t the slightest idea how to get back on his good side. He barely even speaks whenever I’m around, more like grunts and growls. I’ll admit even those sounds are sexy. They remind me of when we were naked together, panting, and sweaty from never getting our fill of the other.
Those were the good old days when I knew he loved me like no one else. I broke his heart, but he doesn’t realize I’ve had a broken heart right along with his. If it wasn’t for staying so busy at school, I know I would’ve caved and gone running back to him—begging, if needed. It sounds pathetic, but you don’t experience the kind of love Clyde gives and then not contemplate begging to get it back.
Part of me wonders what if? What would’ve happened if I showed up on his doorstep one night years ago? Would he have let me in? Or would he have given me the cold shoulder like he does now? I think his parents’ untimely death helped fuel his protective shell against me. Makes me sad knowing he was hurting so badly and I did nothing to help him heal.
I’ll go home, shower, and put some dry clothes on. I’m not someone who gives up easily, and Clyde Owens is my future, he always has been…he just doesn’t know it yet.
“Hey, girl.” My best friend Amber Jones plops down in the booth seat across from me.
“Hey, glad you could make it.” I grin, and she rolls her eyes at me. She loves the nachos here too much to turn them down. I know it as well as she does.
“I never turn down beer-thirty; you know this.”
It’s true, she’s never cancelled on me, and we’ve been friends nearly our entire lives.
Snickering, I shake my head. “I went ahead and ordered your draft.”
“Thanks. Nachos?”
“Yes, those are coming.” A snort escapes at her predictable question.
“This is exactly why I love you. You get my need for food and beer.”
“I think you were supposed to be a boy, but somehow your momma changed it last minute,” I admit, and she laughs.
I’ve been saying it forever, but it’s true. I’m pretty sure it’s why we’re such good friends. She’s more like talking to a guy without a penis getting in the way. I tease her, but nothing about her screams male besides her personality. She’s got the shiniest, long brown hair, bright blue irises, and a set of boobs that every woman wishes they had and every man wishes they could touch.
“So, tell me why you called beer-thirty.”
Sighing, I scrunch and then untwist the straw wrapper between my fingers, trying to think of what I want to say…what I need to say, out loud. It’s easy to have the thoughts all jumbled up in my head, but to talk about it is a different story.
“You remember I told you about the proposal I was given on Clyde’s land?”
I don’t have to say the last name. Everyone in town would know precisely which Clyde I mean. We were practically high school royalty around here—the star football player and the head cheerleader. Pahleeese, movies have pretty much been made about us.
“Yeah, and? I thought you said he’d shoot it down.”
“I did, and I was right. He literally crumpled up the written offer and threw it. That was a while ago though; I keep reprinting the same paper from my email and bringing it to the ranch. He keeps growling at it, crumpling it up, and chucking it away.”
She snorts, trying to hold back her laugh, making me smile at the noise.
“That’s not the issue. I was anticipating that part. I knew he’d probably throw it or burn it. The issue is the way he acts around me otherwise.”
“What do you expect, Shyla? You broke the dude’s heart in front of the entire town and then some. We all saw the devastation on the guy’s face that night.”
“Geez, please don’t hold back,” I reply sarcastically and wave my hand out to the side in a carry on motion.
“At least you don’t hate me,” I mutter as Sheila sets a heaping plate down in front of us with the best nachos around.
“Honey, who on earth could hate you?” she interrupts, and Amber crams in a chip loaded with black beans, taco meat, cheese, sour cream, olives, and guac. How she found the one chip in the pile with everything on it doesn’t surprise me in the slightest. She has a nose for food.
“Oh, it’s nothing…just a guy.” I shrug, but Amber sees straight through it, chomping away at the chips.
The waitress’ face lights up. “He doesn’t hate you; you just broke that poor boy’s heart.”
She’s fifty-five, thinks of us all as her adopted kids, and yes, before you ask, she was there at that very game. Everyone was. I’ll never live it down until I profess a public apology and shoot out five of Clyde’s children. I know it. Or if we move away. But Clyde won’t leave his family’s ranch, and I completely respect that. I could never tear him away from the last thing they left him with.
“You are sweet, Shy,” Amber agrees. “But that was pretty messed up. You can’t expect him to forgive you so easily.”
Ugh, these people are coming off my Christmas card list at this rate.
“She has a point, honey.” Sheila nods, chewing what appears to be a large wad of gum with her hand propped on her hip covered in leopard print leggings. They’re hideous, but she seems to love them, so whatever makes her happy.
3 Times the Heat Page 3
