Slow and Steady Rush: Sweet Home Alabama

by Trentham, Laura

  “An e-reader’s convenient, Miss Esmeralda. Anyway, I thought the Falcon library was setting up a digital stock of books to lend.”

  Miss Jane piped up from the end. “Ada had taken the reins of that. With her gone, I’m afraid we don’t have the expertise.”

  “I could help.” The words were out of Darcy’s mouth before she realized the implications. “I mean, you know, if I can fit it in.”

  Miss Constance laid a dry, cool hand on Darcy’s knee and squeezed. “You would be such a boon to us, dear.”

  The band processed on the field, playing the Falcon fight song rambunctiously and mostly in tune. Over speaker static, a sonorous voice announced the teams. The cacophony saved Darcy from having to speak again.

  The opposition ran to their sideline accompanied by a few good-natured boos from the Falcon faithful. The stands erupted when the Falcons ran through the band to the near sideline. Darcy stood and whooped with her hands cupped around her mouth.

  The coaches were dressed in khakis and navy golf shirts. Robbie paced up and down the sideline, a headset around his neck, giving last-minute instructions or maybe pep talks to the boys standing in clumps of palpable energy.

  Once she retook her seat, Miss Constance leaned closer. “The team we’re playing thumped us 45–7 last year and made it to the playoffs.”

  Darcy scanned the far sideline. The visiting players chest-bumped and slapped each other’s helmets in a primitive show of confidence and strength, but they didn’t look any bigger than the Falcon boys. Darcy’s stomach tied itself in a million little knots, and she fidgeted, a fist covering her mouth. She was nervous for Robbie and Logan, for the boys on the field she’d come to care about, for the entire town.

  Falcon won the coin toss and opted to kick off. Tension escalated, building to a crescendo. The thud of the ball against the kicker’s foot popped the balloon, deflating the pressure.

  The game, the season, was underway.

  The teams exchanged touchdowns and field goals. Miss Constance pushed up and banged her cane on the rail at one blatant no-foul call on the visiting team, threatening to come after the referee. Darcy was half-amused and half-afraid the sassy old lady might leap onto the field and tackle the poor man. Miss Esmeralda offered her reading glasses as the referee passed close to their seats.

  “You ladies are going to get us thrown out.” Darcy’s scolding was ruined by her grin.

  Miss Esmeralda sat tall and straight on the bench. “As if they’d dare. I’m a Hancock, don’t forget, Darcy Wilde. Why my family—”

  The horn sounded halftime. The teams had battled to a tie, and Robbie led the Falcons into the locker room.

  “Can I get drinks for anyone?” Kat asked.

  “I wouldn’t turn down a Coke.” Darcy leaned against the rail to face the ladies and catch the slight breeze. She wasn’t sweating so much as sticky all over from the humid night air. The other ladies requested tea, and Kat went to stand in the snaking line.

  Miss Jane nodded. “Coach Dalton made a good call with Hill.”

  Miss Esmeralda sniffed and pursed her mouth. “Maybe we’d be winning if he’d started McGee.”

  “Lord have mercy, will you let it go. Hill won the job. You read the paper.” Miss Jane rolled her eyes.

  Darcy looked to the tower lights. Hundreds of bugs flew around the bright halos. Contentment spread through her, warming her in a different way than the humid night.

  Kat returned with drinks and pom-poms before the second half got underway. The game was hard-fought, and the teams exchanged scores time and again. In the final thirty seconds, the visiting team kicked a forty-five-yard field goal to win by three. Even though the Falcons had lost, excitement buzzed. They had almost beaten a state powerhouse.

  Miss Constance said, “Well, I’ll be a chicken’s mama. That was a fine game. Sports radio picked us to lose by four touchdowns, you know. Maybe Coach Dalton is the answer to our prayers.”

  The Falcons celebrated their near victory by pouring a vat of ice water over Robbie. The boys rushed the field as if they were the winners, holding their helmets in the air. The local station commandeered Robbie for a sideline interview. His shirt was plastered to his torso, and Darcy stared, her heart skipping and leaping.

  “Maybe,” she whispered.

  Kat poked her in the side. “Let’s go.”

  “I’m going to wait for Logan. See how he’s doing, give him an update on Ada. I’ll catch a ride with him.” Darcy tried to keep her voice even and causal. “You mind seeing the ladies to their cars?”

  “’Course not. I’ll call you tomorrow.” Kat gave her a quick hug and herded the ladies through the crowd.

  Several women waited outside the locker room door. Most were mothers, who hugged their sons as they trickled out. Sheila and a couple of her friends stood to the side, reapplied lipstick, and primped. Was Sheila waiting on Robbie?

  Old insecurities battled in Darcy’s chest, and instead of waiting with the other women, she retreated to the underside of the bleachers. She scuffed her sneakers together and flapped her damp T-shirt in an attempt to air it out.

  The stadium lights powered down, leaving everything in deep shadows. Sheila’s two friends wandered off, but she waited with purpose. Were Sheila and Robbie hooking up? And why did the notion make her want to rip the woman’s bleached hair out of her head one handful at a time?

  Robbie and Logan walked out together with their heads close. Avery trotted behind them. Robbie’s hair was damp, maybe from a shower, maybe from his dunk in water, but he’d changed into jeans and a fresh red polo.

  Sheila butted between them, wrapped her hands around Robbie’s forearm, and pressed her boobs against his bicep. Darcy nearly gagged. Robbie stopped to listen and even leaned in a little closer as if Sheila was the most fascinating woman on the planet.

  Tossing her silky blonde hair from side to side and arching, she stood on tiptoes to whisper in his ear. He nodded once. With much hip swiveling, she walked toward the parking lot, her heated glances in his direction crackling the night like lightning. Robbie watched until she was out of sight. Darcy’s stomach felt electrocuted by nerves.

  An engine revved, and the taillights of Logan’s truck made the turn onto Main Street. Dammit. How had Logan slipped by her? Because she couldn’t take her eyes off the train wreck that was Sheila and Robbie.

  Her only way home was Robbie. Or she could walk, which seemed more and more appealing. Avery sensed her first, dropping his stance and growling. No use in hiding now. She stepped out of the bleachers and held her hands up as if they had caught her stealing.

  “Hey. It’s only me.”

  “What are you doing here?” While the question wasn’t exactly warm, he sounded more surprised than anything and the too-serious cast of his face lightened.

  “I wouldn’t miss the first game of the season. I came to cheer you on.” As her admission settled, she added quickly, “And Logan and the boys, of course.”

  “Of course. Speaking of, Logan already left.”

  “Yeah. Unfortunately, I didn’t see him until it was too late.” Because I was staring at you and Shelia, she added in her head.

  “How’s Ada?” he asked.

  “Improving every day. I’ll head back tomorrow and hopefully, we’ll have her home by the end of next week.”

  “Great news.”

  Silence built between them. Avery shifted on his haunches and looked from her to his master, giving a soft woof.

  “I don’t suppose you could give me a lift home. That is”—Darcy swept her gaze over the opposite parking area, but Sheila’s BMW was gone—“unless you had other plans. I can walk.”

  “Walk back to Miss Ada’s on a narrow two-lane road in the dark with all the traffic out? Are you crazy?”

  She shrugged and kicked at a clump of dandelions. “Some would say, yes? I don’t want to be an inconvenience.”

  A small, exasperated laugh made her look up. His lips curled up in the slightest of
smiles, but it warmed his expression. “Of course, I will drop you off.”

  What did he mean? Drop her off before he went to go meet Sheila at the Tavern? Or were they rendezvousing at her house? He tossed his duffle in the back, opened the passenger door, and gestured her in.

  Once again, Avery took the window seat leaving her between man and dog. He stopped on the lane in front of the house.

  Darcy dug her fingernails into the thick leather of the seat. “It’s getting late, you know. You going to head home? Because there might be drunk drivers out and . . . they’re calling for thick fog tonight.”

  “Are they?” He swiveled to face her, his wry amusement visible even in the dark.

  “Yep.” It was a possibility, much like getting hit by a convenient asteroid.

  The awkwardness grew, yet Darcy couldn’t seem to make a move out of the cab. She wanted to ask him inside, but he’d already turned her down once.

  “Okay, well, I know you’re tired and I have to review the game and stuff so. . .” Did his ‘stuff’ include Sheila?

  Halfway past Avery, she took a deep, shuddery breath and laid a hand on his forearm. “Everyone is really excited about the rest of the season. Even though you lost, you played a hard game. All heart.”

  “It was all the boys, not me,” he said gruffly.

  “You’re not giving yourself enough credit. Part of the reason they played so hard was because they look up to you and want to make you proud.” With that, she slipped out of the truck and jogged to the front door.

  His truck idled out front until she had let herself inside. She peeled back the curtain on the narrow slit of a side window and watched him drive on.

  Her gusty sigh ruffled the thin fabric. She’d half-expected him to whip the truck around and head back out. With relief unknotting the tension across her shoulders, she trudged upstairs to shower.

  What did she want?

  She knew what she didn’t want. She didn’t want Sheila to ensnare Robbie just because she was brave and Darcy was a coward. She wanted to be the one sharing Robbie’s bed. Her body thrummed from a combination of arousal and embarrassment.

  Darcy’s experience with men was limited. Her list of boyfriends would fit on one side of a Post-it note, and the break-ups had offered more relief than angst. The sex had been mundane and unextraordinary. Nothing like what was described in the books she’d read since she was a teenager.

  She’d never propositioned a man and had never had a one-night stand. The thought of doing either, or maybe even both, made her stomach churn and her face heat to a few degrees shy of the surface of the sun.

  After drying her hair, she strapped herself into the sexiest underwear set she owned and covered them with a low-cut tank top and short-shorts. Slipping on flip-flops, she stood on Ada’s front porch and peered toward his house. A beacon or signal from the Fates would be appreciated.

  A shooting star streaked across the sky.

  “Holy shit,” she whispered.

  She wasn’t superstitious, but she’d read enough romances to recognize a portent. It seemed like an impossibly long trek down the lane. When Robbie’s farmhouse came into view, a dog barked, shortening her stride. Avery.

  Robbie stood at the top of the porch stairs, a shoulder propped on the whitewashed column, his finger hooked around the neck of a beer. She blew out a long breath and rubbed the palms of her hands over the back of her shorts.

  Was she actually doing this? What if he didn’t want her? What if he laughed in her face? Then she’d walk straight into the woods in search of a wild pig to gobble her up.

  * * *

  Robbie’s gaze travelled down tanned legs in the shortest shorts he’d ever seen. Legs he constantly imagined wrapped around him. Her tank top revealed more of her breasts than it concealed, and black lace peeked over the top.

  “What do you want?” His words were ill chosen, his tone contentious. He was locked in a dark battle with his own demons, craving something that was sure to destroy the carefully constructed barrier between his past and present.

  “I-I think I made a mistake.” She whirled and took two steps away.

  He leapt down the porch steps, but she stopped and turned around before he got close enough to grab her hand. No way in hell was she going anywhere.

  She continued in a shaky voice, “No. I came here because . . .” Was it the moonlight making her look so pale and fragile? “I like you, Robbie. I mean, more than like . . . I—” She hummed and looked to the sky, seeming to find something in the blackness that steeled her resolve. Her gaze dropped back to his, strong and steady. “I want you.”

  The three words hung in the air like the fog along the tree line.

  Jesus, he wanted her too. He wanted her sexy little body under him, over him, around him. He closed the space between them to three feet. The scent of honeysuckles wafted from her skin and her hair, surrounding him and crumbling his weak defenses.

  The rise and fall of her chest marked time. Her voice sounded pained and thin. “Do you even want me a little?”

  He almost laughed, but didn’t want to hurt her feelings. “You have no fucking idea how much I want you. I think about getting your legs around me every waking second of the day. The picture of you naked in the river will haunt me forever.”

  “That’s really sweet.” A tentative smile tipped her lips as if he’d given her a flowery compliment.

  “It’s not really sweet. It’s very dirty.”

  “Yeah, that too.” Still smiling, she tipped her face away.

  The combination of bold and shy drew him closer. How could he have her, yet not allow her to carve her name on the rotting wood of his heart? “You’re going to be gone in a few months, sweetheart. How about we keep this fun? We’ll go our separate ways at the end of your leave, no hard feelings? Can you do that?”

  “Can you?” she shot back.

  “Of course.” The lie tore from his chest.

  “My leave is up at Thanksgiving. I suppose we can keep this casual. A football season together.”

  “A season. That’s it. Are we agreed?”

  Her hesitation drove his heart rate faster until the pounding was all he could hear. Finally, she nodded decisively, and he swooped, wrapping her close in his arms and burrowing his face into her hair. Her sweetness was a balm to his soul.

  She latched her arms around his neck. He closed his eyes and skimmed lips across her temple, her cheekbone, her jaw, before finding her mouth. He flicked his tongue across her lips and nipped at the fullness. Her moan fed the smoldering passion of their kiss. There was nothing casual about the moment.

  He backed toward the stairs, still holding her tight, their tongues sparring in the most erotic fight of his life. His heels hit the bottom step. Banding his arms around her waist, he picked her up, climbed to the top, and pressed her against the column.

  He cupped her bottom and notched his thigh between hers. The length of his erection pressed along her hip bone, and her pelvis circled. The seam at his crotch felt ready to split.

  He trailed his thumbs under the hem of her shorts to caress the soft skin of her upper thigh and the curve of her bottom. How many times had he dreamed about her ass? Counting was beyond him despite his degree in mathematics, but he decided it was close to infinity.

  She exhaled his name, inciting a groan from deep in his chest. Stepping back, he kissed down her neck. Twisting her head, she exposed its long, graceful length and grasped his shoulders, pulling at his cotton shirt. His hands left her bottom to skim from her neck to shoulders, taking the straps of her tank top with them. He pulled the fabric under her breasts and exposed the black lace bra thrusting her breasts high.

  “Are you trying to give me a stroke?” He cupped a breast and thumbed her peaked nipple. He pulled the tip inside his mouth, lace and all. She arched and pressed into his thigh.

  He moved to the other breast. This time he shifted the lace down until her nipple jutted over the top. His mouth settled over the pink t
ip.

  He tugged her tank top over her head, tossed it away, and pulled both bra cups down until her breasts were on lewd display. The lowering of her zipper echoed. He pushed her shorts to her ankles, and she kicked them aside.

  He pinned her hands above her head on the column and stepped back. Her eyes drifted closed. As he had suspected, her tits were stellar. Like at the river, the wanton, erotic picture she made held him immobile, and he reveled in her wild beauty.

  His arousal ratcheted even higher, but with it came a certain poignant melancholy. This wasn’t forever; this was right now. He planned to take full advantage of his time with her.

  Her hands still trapped in one of his, she squirmed against the pillar, but not as a means of escape. Her legs spread wider, and she rocked up on her tiptoes.

  “Do have any idea how sexy you are?” He nipped at her earlobe, and she shivered in his grasp.

  “Touch me.” A hoarse sensuality inflamed her voice.

  Was she aware of how much power she wielded over him? He happily obeyed. Keeping his gaze on her face, he flicked one exposed nipple with his tongue. Her eyes opened into his, dazed yet determined.

  “More, Robbie. I’ve waited so long.”

  He inhaled sharply. Had she dreamed of him too? The thought nearly made him lose the tenuous hold he had on his control. Several deep breaths tamed the storm that raged. Only then did he move his hand between her legs. His fingers slipped over wet lace.

  They moaned in tandem, and he dropped her hands to cup her nape and kiss her, his tongue delving deep. He shifted her panties to the side and slid a finger through her soft, slick folds. She yanked his shirt up, and he broke the kiss long enough to rip it off.

  The lace of her bra and her hard nipples rasped against his bare chest. If this weren’t their first time together, he’d hike up her leg and press inside of her right there. Or maybe he’d bend her over the rail and take her from behind.

  He lolled his head back, gusting in great breaths of the cool night air. Although he wasn’t having a true panic attack, an anxious knot settled in his chest. He needed to be inside of her bad.