I gathered her in my arms and held her close. “I’m sorry, June Bug.”
She threaded her arms around my waist and rested her head against my chest. “Did you go to prom?”
“I did.” I didn’t want to say prom had been great. I’d been crowned prom king, and my girlfriend at the time—a cheerleader—had been queen. High school had been like that for me—fun and easy. I’d been the football star. Everyone had loved me.
They’d loved GT, anyway. I wasn’t so sure about George.
“You had a perfect prom, didn’t you?” she asked.
“It was… yeah, it was pretty great.”
“I bet you were prom king.”
I laughed. “Can you read minds, too?”
“It doesn’t take a genius to know you must have been popular in high school. You’re terribly attractive, and fun, and clearly you were the star of your football team.”
“I’m terribly attractive, am I?”
“You must be aware of your substantial physical advantages. You’re tall, and your athletic prowess makes your body undeniably appealing.” She nibbled her bottom lip and her speech slowed. “You have those dimples in your cheeks when you smile. And those hands.”
I grinned down at her. “June Tucker, are you telling me you think I’m cute?”
“I very much enjoy looking at you, yes.”
Brushing her hair back from her face, I leaned down and kissed her forehead. “I think you’re beautiful. And I very much enjoy looking at you.”
I wanted to lean in and kiss her, like I’d done so many times before. But there was a right way to do this. If I wanted a base hit, I needed her to throw the pitch.
So instead of leaning in to capture her lips—taking what I wanted—I paused, raising my eyebrows.
“Oh,” she said. “First base?”
“It can be if you’re ready.”
“Yes. I’m ready. I’ve missed kissing you.”
“Oh my sweet June,” I said, touching her cheek and sliding my hand into her hair. “I have missed kissing you something fierce.”
Moving in close, I let my lips brush hers. Although this wasn’t our first kiss, it was a first. And I wanted to make it count.
I held the back of her head and slipped my other hand around her waist. Her lips were parted, open for me, her chin tipped up. I captured her mouth with mine, delving in with my tongue.
Our lips pressed together, tongues tangling. She tilted her head to the side and I slanted my mouth over hers. For a single heartbeat, she seemed hesitant, like she might pull away. But her body relaxed and the way she melted into me felt like huge win.
I held her head in my hand, my fingers tangled in her hair, and kissed the hell out of her.
Deep and slow, I savored that kiss. Savored the minty taste of her. The way she slid her hands along my shoulders and around my neck. I pressed her body closer and held her tight, heedless of who might see.
The breeze was no match for the heat between us. Her tongue was velvety soft, her lips warm and full. I kissed her until I wasn’t sure where I ended and she began.
It was, hands down, the best kiss I’d ever given. Or received.
We pulled back and her eyelids were heavy.
“Kissing you makes me feel like magic exists,” she said.
I touched her face, tracing my fingers across her cheek. “Kissing you is magic.”
So I kissed her again.
On the walk back to my car, I kept replaying what she’d said about her high school prom. I really did want to break that Hank Preston piece of shit’s nose. Or maybe his kneecaps.
But more than that, I thought about June missing out on things. That dance had mattered to her—it had meant something. I wondered if I could do something about that.
What would Bootleg Springs do?
And then it hit me. I knew exactly what Bootleg Springs would do. It wouldn’t be easy—this would take some work. I had some people to talk to—maybe bribe—so I could make it happen. But I was determined. I was going to make this up to June in a way she’d never forget.
26
June
My timer went off with a loud bing and I tapped my phone’s screen to turn it off. I’d given myself one hour to update my research into the Callie Kendall case. Time was up.
I’d found my relationship with George—as well as my other responsibilities and social encounters with my family—had taken precedence over my Callie Kendall research. I hadn’t made much progress, which was frustrating.
It made me wonder how my father had balanced his career in law enforcement with the responsibilities of a family. Had there been times he’d wanted to continue his work, but he’d come home to be with us instead?
Regardless, my timer had gone off, so I saved my work and closed my laptop. Jonah glanced over at me from the kitchen. I’d been so focused, I’d forgotten he was home.
“Hungry?” he asked. “I made extra.”
“As a matter of fact, yes,” I said.
He dished up two plates and brought them over to the table. “Chicken and roasted broccoli.”
“It smells delicious,” I said. “You certainly have a talent for cooking.”
“Thanks,” he said. “I like doing it. This is pretty simple, but hopefully the flavors are good.”
I took a bite of chicken. It was perfectly cooked—tender and juicy. “The flavor is excellent.”
We ate our meal in silence for a few minutes before a thought occurred to me.
“Jonah, you’re a man.”
He blinked at me. “Yes, I am.”
“Are you a straight man, or are you gay?”
“I’m straight,” he said, drawing his eyebrows together. “Is it not obvious? Why would you ask?”
“Well, the fact that you don’t seem to be interested in dating when most of the people around you are participating in long-term and committed relationships does raise the question of your sexuality.”
“I guess that’s fair. Yes, I’m straight. I like women. But, to be honest, I don’t know if I’m sticking around. Not sure dating is the best idea right now.”
“Then I can understand your hesitation to pursue a romantic relationship. Although that’s not why I brought up the subject of your gender.”
“Oh, okay,” he said. “Why did you bring it up, then?”
“I need to know more about pleasing a man in bed. And by that, I mean sexually.” If George and I were going to go all the way around the bases, it would benefit me to learn more. And who better to ask than a man?
He blinked at me again. “Um…”
“You’re a male with the requisite male anatomy. And I would assume you’ve had sexual relationships with women.”
“Well, yeah, of course.”
“So what should I know about sexually satisfying a man?”
“Are you sure I’m the best person to ask? I thought women talked to each other about this stuff. Shouldn’t you ask Cassidy?”
“I could. But she’s female. She lacks the male perspective.”
“True,” he said. “Okay. Have you… had sex before?”
“Yes, of course,” I said. “But those experiences were less than satisfactory.”
“That’s too bad.” He paused, leaning back in his chair, as if he were thinking it through. “On the surface, men are pretty simple. You know how our anatomy works when it comes to sex.”
“You’re referring to the male erection.”
“Right.” He cleared his throat. “For most men, simply getting an erection isn’t too difficult. Hell, we can get them when we don’t want them.”
“I’ve observed this phenomenon.”
He smiled. “Yeah, I’m sure you have. An orgasm isn’t that different. From a physical standpoint, as long as the guy is healthy and functioning normally, it’s not difficult. But I don’t think that’s what makes sex really satisfying.”
“You’re saying good sex requires more than achieving climax.”
; “Absolutely. The orgasm is just the final note. The crescendo at the end. Don’t get me wrong, that part is great. And some guys think that’s all there is to it. But they’re missing out.”
“Missing out on what?”
He took a deep breath and his eyes seemed to focus on something behind me. “They’re missing out on the way her skin feels. Women are soft and pliable. They feel like silk when their body slides against yours. They’re missing the way her eyelids get heavy. How she moves with you, her body aligning with yours.”
I swallowed, my meal forgotten as I listened.
“Good sex isn’t just about the last thirty seconds,” he said. “It’s about the build-up. The anticipation. The touching and kissing. The need. It’s about connecting with that person in the most intimate way. You’re as close as two people can get, sharing an amazing experience together.”
My heart beat a little faster, the way it did when I was reading an erotic scene in one of the novels I’d borrowed from the library.
“If all a guy cares about is getting off, he misses the flush in her cheeks when she’s close,” he continued, still looking past me. “The way that pink will creep down her neck to her chest. He misses her taste, and the way she sounds when she moans his name. He’s missing the heat between her legs. The way she pulses and throbs around you.”
“Wow.”
Jonah blinked and cleared his throat again, his face flushing slightly. “Sorry.”
“Don’t apologize. That was very informative.”
He chuckled, pulling the collar of his shirt away from his neck. “This is just a little awkward.”
“This is helpful. Please continue.”
“Look, if you really care about someone, you’ll figure out the physical logistics together. Every person is a little different, and they like different things. But part of the fun of it is learning those things with each other.”
“You mean, it’s typical to spend time learning the specific physical preferences of my sexual partner.”
“Yeah and tell him yours. Communicate with him. Most guys love feedback.”
I tilted my head. “Do you mean during the act of intercourse?”
“Sure. Tell him what feels good. He’ll love hearing you tell him what you like. And he’ll do more of it, which is good for both of you.”
“Should I expect him to reciprocate with this kind of communication?”
“I think so.” He shifted in his chair. “Here’s the thing, Juney. If you’re worried you don’t know what to do, feel for how he responds. If he’s moaning or telling you it’s good or…” He cleared his throat again. “If he’s thrusting his hips harder, that kind of thing? Keep doing it.”
“The logic of that makes sense to me.”
“But don’t only concern yourself with making him feel good,” he said. “Sex is something you’re doing, and experiencing, together. If you’re too focused on pleasing him, you won’t enjoy it. And if he’s any kind of man at all, your pleasure will be a priority to him.”
I thought back to my physical encounters with George. That definitely held true. “So you’re saying good sex doesn’t require a specific set of skills. It requires both a desire to please the other person, and to participate fully in the act so you experience pleasure as well.”
“You have a way with making that sound very un-sexy, but yes, that’s basically it,” he said with a smile.
I nodded slowly, letting Jonah’s information sink in. “Thank you, Jonah. This was an informative discussion.”
“Sure, Juney. Just… maybe ask your sister if you have more sex questions?”
I went back to my dinner, still processing what Jonah had said. It did make sense. And it dovetailed with what I already knew about intimacy and sexual relationships. Even the fictional relationships I’d read in books showcased many of the characteristics he’d mentioned.
I still wasn’t sure if I was capable of that kind of intimacy. But now, more than ever, I wanted to try. Not just for George, but for myself as well.
27
George
June Tucker was nothing if not single-minded. Whether it was dealing with a challenge at work or negotiating a deal for one of her Bootleg Springs business partners, she zeroed in on her objective and would not be swayed.
The same could have been said for her determination to find out the truth about Callie Kendall. She was convinced Callie’s story about living with a cult in a compound outside of Hollis Corner was a lie. And she was hellbent on proving it.
We’d looked at the possibilities from different angles. Was there another town with the same name? Had Callie been mistaken about where she’d been? From what we could tell, that didn’t seem to be the case. And the search for answers started to occupy more and more of that big brain of hers.
I understood. Callie Kendall’s disappearance had rocked her small community to its core. The satisfaction of the mystery ending had been tainted for June. It was an equation that didn’t add up, and she couldn’t let it go.
Which was why I found myself driving five hours out of Bootleg Springs on a Sunday, so June could see Hollis Corner for herself.
Following my GPS, I turned off the main highway and headed east. We drove for miles through nothing. Some farmland. Open fields. Empty space. An occasional homestead.
“I have to be honest, June Bug,” I said after yet another mile passed without seeing any sign of human habitation. “Callie’s cult might have been way out here. It’s isolated enough for a group that wanted to stay secret.”
“We’ll see.”
“What exactly are we looking for?”
“I want to see if there’s really a compound where Callie could have been living for the last twelve years. She said they moved, but the buildings must still be there.”
“And that’s going to tell you what?”
She shrugged. “I’ll know when we investigate.”
We got to Hollis Corner and drove around. It didn’t take long. There were houses, some in better repair than others. A bank, and a general store. A few other shops and a handful of restaurants.
June pointed out the window, a satisfied smile on her face. “There.”
On a corner, next to a dilapidated bowling alley, was a bar. Not just any bar. A biker bar.
Dozens of motorcycles were parked out front in rows. Glancing around, I saw bikes parked at other businesses, too. Some cars as well, but this was definitely biker territory. No question.
“Looks like you were right about the Free Renegades,” I said.
“Of course I was.”
“Where to now?”
“Let’s circle around outside town to see what we find.”
“Will do,” I said.
About ten minutes outside town we came upon a turn. June and I shared a look—I think we both had a feeling—and I followed the side road. It led past what looked like an abandoned farmstead to a gated gravel driveway. Up ahead, we could see a tall fence and the hints of a rooftop behind it.
“Do you think this is it?” I asked.
June narrowed her eyes. “Maybe. We need to take a closer look.”
We got out and I helped her climb over the rusty gate. It was secured by a chain and padlock that looked newer than the gate itself. But that didn’t tell us much of anything.
A fence surrounded the perimeter of the property. The gravel drive ended at a double-wide gate, but it was locked up with a padlock and chain, just like the gate at the entrance. June walked around, taking pictures with her phone.
“It’s impossible to tell if anyone has been here recently,” she said. “Those might be tire tracks, but there’s been too much precipitation. Are you tall enough to see over the fence?”
I jumped, grabbing the top edge of the fence, and pulled myself up. “Looks deserted.”
“No people?”
I lowered myself down, then brushed my hands together. “Not that I could see. Seems empty.”
She put her hands on her hi
ps and looked up at the fence. “I need to get in.”
“What?”
“Lift me up so I can climb over,” she said. “I need to get in and look around.”
“Has it occurred to you that this is private property? Those locks make it pretty clear whoever owns this place isn’t interested in people wandering around.”
“The likelihood of us getting caught is extremely low,” she said. “There’s no outward sign of habitation.”
I didn’t particularly like this, but she had a point. We hadn’t seen a soul for miles, and it was dead quiet out here.
“Okay.” I crouched so she could climb on my shoulders. “Just be careful.”
I stood, getting her close enough to the fence so she could scramble up and over. I heard her feet drop on the other side.
“You okay?”
“I’m fine. Are you coming?”
I did another pull up on the fence, then hoisted a leg over. Careful of my knee, I popped over the top and dropped down to the ground.
June brushed her hands together. “Ready?”
“Lead the way, Scooby-June.”
Inside the fence were a series of worn buildings with saggy porches and peeling paint. It certainly looked like the sort of place a cult might live. There were multiple buildings in various sizes. Some could have been living quarters, and others larger communal areas. Raised garden beds and empty chicken coops were on the far side.
We wandered around, but didn’t see any signs of recent habitation. One of the buildings was unlocked, so we ventured inside, but it was empty. Bare wood floors, no curtains or blinds on the windows. Nothing hanging from the walls or left behind in a cupboard or closet.
If Callie’s cult had been living here, they’d cleared out every last scrap they owned.
“What do you think?” I asked.
“It doesn’t look like anyone’s lived here for years,” she said. “But the yard and garden beds aren’t overgrown, either.”
Bourbon Bliss: Bootleg Springs Book Four Page 18
