Batter of Wits: An Enemies to Lovers Small Town Romance (Donner Bakery Book 5)

by Smartypants Romance

  "Of sorts," he answered. He reached past me and yanked open the passenger door, then tugged me closer, still holding onto the front of my shirt. He devoured my mouth with greedy, sucking kisses, taking and taking, giving me air when I could hardly breathe through the wall of intensity building between us.

  My ass met the edge of the truck bench and Tucker lifted me so that I was perched on it. My legs split open so I could hold him closer, my arms python-tight around his neck and shoulders. Back, back, back, he tipped me until I was laid out on the bench. With a groan, I stretched my hands above my head.

  "Do you remember what you told me about the day we met?" he asked, eyes pinning me in place, an arrow to the blood-red center of a target.

  I laughed under my breath. "I said a lot of things, Tucker."

  His hands fisted, he braced over me, a looming shadow that that made my body buzz with anticipation. Whoever, whatever caused this, I wanted to send them a freaking thank you note.

  "You know what you said, Angry Girl."

  At the nickname, I bit down on my bottom lip and grinned. It was so hard for me to focus on anything with him over me like that. He was between my legs, but not touching me, both of us fully clothed.

  I wanted all the clothes off.

  All the skin and hands and body parts interlocked in the best possible way.

  I wanted this truck bench to be forever christened with me and him.

  His nostrils flared, a bull about to charge, as he looked down the length of my body. "You were wearing something an awful lot like this." He pressed my leg up toward my chest, braced against his side, and the brush of his dress pants against the skin of my thigh felt positively sinful. "Something simple that shouldn't have been as sexy as it was." His hand tightened on my leg when I tried to hook it around his back and pull him in more tightly. "And those boots," he growled. "What'd you say, facing me like you were on that road?" he asked again. "I know you know it."

  After a shaky inhale, I licked my lips. "I said that if I wanted to screw someone I just met, it was my prerogative."

  "Good girl."

  "Do I get a reward for guessing right?" I went to unhook his belt, but he gripped my wrists and tossed my arms back up over my head. I raised an eyebrow but complied instantly. Tucker had a secret bossy side, and I was not mad about it.

  His hands moved to the neck of my tank top. "If you love this shirt, speak now or forever hold your peace."

  My lips stayed shut, and my reward was a satisfying rip and tear of the cotton, exposing the bright blue bralette to the cool air of the garage. He shoved it up while my lungs heaved. Tucker dove down and sucked at my chest angrily.

  I'd be marked from this. But I already was, in ways that he never could have imagined.

  If he wanted me to keep my hands off him, he shouldn't have been as good as what he was doing, because I gripped the back of his head and writhed underneath him. "Holy shit, Tucker," I groaned.

  "Shorts. Off. Now."

  He ripped at his belt buckle while I tore at the buttons of my jean shorts. Shucking them down my hips, I got caught on his giant, tree trunk body pinning me to the bench. With a laugh, I tried to push him up. "Move, I can't get them off."

  "You were so mouthy," he said, drawing a hand down the line of my chest. "So angry. Full of fire and heat."

  My frantic movements stilled as he reminisced. There was a far-off quality to his voice, even as his hands touched my bare skin.

  "It made no sense, that when you said it, I'd picture it immediately," he said, eyes locked on mine. "I pictured you like this, just for one split second and it was gone."

  "I did too," I whispered.

  Dark-edged pleasure crossed his face. "What was I doing to you, Angry Girl?"

  He used his hands to pull down my shorts until I could pull one leg free.

  "Take your shirt off and I'll tell you," I taunted.

  Tucker laughed, and it was edged in something dark and delicious. "Oh no, right now isn't when you get to tell me what to do. Next round can be yours, but this," he used his fingers until I cried out, arched up, tightened and then moaned when he pulled away, "this is mine."

  He gripped my wrists and pinned them to the bench above my head, kissing me deep and hard, tongue sliding relentlessly. He pulled back and whispered dirty things into the skin of my neck, things that turned me mindless with want. And just like that, me wearing a torn shirt and a shoved-aside bra and my boots, he screwed me on the bench of his truck.

  Whatever happened to him, whatever made him feel like this was a necessary exorcism, might have worried the person I was before I loved him.

  Tucker was relentless, setting a rhythm that had the truck rocking in a way that would be lewd if anyone could see it. And just beyond the line of the garage was the bright sun. If we were past that line, the thing separating us from the darkness, we'd be in danger of public indecency.

  Neither of us would stop though. All I could do was hold on, because this was unyielding, unbending pleasure. His face was tight as his hips pistoned between my legs, sweat coating his forehead, teeth gritted and veins in his neck popping out.

  "Tucker," I warned, tossing my head back, when I felt the build crawl up my spine like the eye of a hurricane. It was a slow-moving storm waiting to slam into me and the anticipation had me coiling tighter and tighter.

  "Let it go, baby, I've got you," he said tightly.

  Hands trapped, body pinned and on the precipice of something massive, it made no sense that now was the time that I couldn't hold my heart in.

  I exploded, bright and fiery and hot, mouth open on a silent scream, when the words came tumbling out. "I love you, I love you, I love you so much."

  He took my words with a roar, with eyes dilated with pleasure, and he slumped over me with a heaving chest, finally letting go of my hands.

  My heart was hammering, partially as I came down from a walloping orgasm, partially because I did the one thing I vowed never to do, which was admit I loved him in the middle of good sex.

  Oh, the cliché made my soul shrivel up a little bit.

  I wrapped my limp arms around him and hugged him tight to me, pressing kisses to the side of his sweaty face.

  "Did I hurt you?" Tucker said, lifting himself up off me.

  I shook my head. "Are you kidding? That was amazing."

  He smiled, clearly relieved. I guess this wasn't normal for him, just like none of this was normal for me.

  When he didn't say anything else, I rubbed my lips together. Maybe he didn't hear me. The whole morning, I'd tried to think about ways to tell him about how I felt. The curse. Rose Buchanan and her own struggles with it. Blurting it out like that had not been in the plan, but I also didn't want to be that person.

  The one who had to ask if their partner heard the biggest thing I'd ever admitted to someone, body still thrumming because it could barely even be categorized as post-coitus. It was like, pre-post-coitus.

  "You gonna ask if I heard you or not?" he spoke into my shoulder, dropping a soft kiss onto my skin,

  The relief had me laughing. His body shook on top of me because of how hard those laughs shook my frame.

  Tucker lifted his head with a grin. "Oh, now it's funny."

  "I'm so relieved," I said on a gust of air. "Tucker, you don't even know how relieved I am. I thought I was going to have to ask. And I had this whole speech planned, and now I don't have to worry about it, because I'm the girl who blurted it out during sex."

  He straightened, an amused smile on his face, fixing up the front of his pants and turning so that we kinda sorta laid next to each other.

  "A speech, huh?"

  I nodded, tracing the line of his lips with the tip of my finger. "It wasn't very good, because … well, I kept going in circles when I practiced because it's not very easy to say."

  His face was soft and happy. He kissed my finger. "It's not?"

  I took a deep breath. "This is going to sound a little crazy, okay?"

  Ag
ain, he smiled, but he was listening, which was a very important step. "Okay."

  Everything I'd practiced circled around my brain like lazy buzzards, and nerves had my words jumbling together faster and faster, so I just … decided to say it. No over-thinking, because this was Tucker, and I loved him and we were meant to be.

  No sooner had I opened my mouth to speak, when the sound of a car door echoed through the garage.

  “Tucker?”

  His eyes closed. “Shit,” he whispered.

  My hands shoved at my bra, pulling it down over my chest. “Holy shit, is that your mom?” I hissed, not even remotely prepared to sit up and look, given I was naked from the waist down, save for my muddy boots.

  He exhaled, running a hand through his disheveled hair as he sat up. “Hang on, Momma. I need a minute.”

  “I reckon you do.”

  My face was blazing at the tightness in her voice, because there were two pairs of feet hanging out the passenger door, and she probably didn’t recognize my car.

  “If I wasn’t ready to die of embarrassment,” I whispered, pulling my feet up to feel for my underwear, if nothing else, “I’d probably find it hilarious that our interruption streak won’t die.”

  Tucker sat up, his face showing no sign of hearing anything I’d said. He leaned over and snagged my shorts from the garage floor. When he handed them over, I flipped to my back on the bench, scooting back so that I could yank them up without showing myself.

  When they were buttoned, I glanced down at my sports bra, bare midriff, shorts and boots with a heavy sigh.

  “I guess tearing the shirt is only sexy at the time, huh?”

  It was my last attempt to get him to crack a smile, but his eyes found mine, and they looked so sad that I sat up without a single thought of whether she could see me. I cupped the side of his face.

  “It’ll be okay,” I told him.

  “This isn’t how I wanted this to happen.” He pressed a kiss to my palm.

  I glanced out the rear windshield of the truck, relieved to find her back turned. My stomach bottomed out, because I was about to meet his mother for the first time. In my bra.

  “It could’ve been worse.”

  Finally, one side of his mouth lifted. “How’s that?”

  I leaned in and gave him a quick peck. “I could’ve been naked.”

  Tucker smiled, brief and small, but it soothed some of the nerves that I couldn’t control. I could only hope that she’d love me because I loved her son. He took my hand and lifted it to his mouth so he could kiss my knuckles.

  Then he slid out of the truck. I did what I could to fix my hair, because the woman was not stupid. Given the fact that we never heard her car pull up, I had a horrible suspicion that she arrived when things were … louder.

  When Tucker closed the truck door behind me, she turned, and I saw him in the shape of her eyes, and the curve of her chin.

  Those eyes started at the top of my hair and traveled allllll the way to my feet, a thoughtful frown turning the edges of her lips when she came back up.

  “I’m sorry to intrude,” she said, visibly curling her mouth in the opposite direction, even if it looked a little forced. “I tried to call but … you didn’t answer.”

  Tucker cleared his throat. “I, uh, I think it’s on the floor of my truck. Somewhere.”

  The implication had my cheeks burning all over again. I took a step forward, releasing my hand from Tucker’s to hold it out to her. “I’m Grace. Grace Buchanan. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

  I didn’t even need her to love me right away. The best I could hope for, with my skin burning hot and my brain buzzing with just how much worse this could’ve been, I only had one clear thought.

  Please, please don’t hate me forever because you found me screwing your son in his truck.

  Her eyes were wide, her mouth open slightly, as she shook my hand. “Glenda Haywood.” She blinked a few times. Glenda had the same affliction that I did, her thoughts played out over her face like I was watching a movie on a big screen.

  “Grace is,” Tucker started, then paused. I held my breath when he continued talking. Grace is what? “Grace is Glenn’s daughter. From California.”

  Oh. Okay.

  I had a blurry thought in my head that the angle I was standing wasn’t good if you needed to knee someone in the testicles. It was, however, fantastic so that he wouldn’t see the color drain from my face at the limp introduction.

  Grace is Glenn’s daughter.

  Not Grace is my girlfriend.

  Grace is what makes me happy.

  Grace is the one who has my heart.

  Anything. Anything other than Grace is Glenn’s daughter.

  My eyes were burning uncomfortably when I looked up at him, but he was eyeing his mother for her reaction.

  “Oh Tucker,” she said softly.

  But it wasn’t that soft, happy way that I was hoping for. I sniffed, tearing my gaze away from him and back to her. The thing playing over her face was clarity. Understanding.

  Like a puzzle piece was finally set in place.

  “This is why, isn’t it? It’s her.”

  “Momma,” he said, holding up a hand. “I broke up with Maggie because it was the right thing to do.”

  Her smile was soft too, like her voice, like the way she clasped her hands together. “I wish you’d told us. Everything would’ve made so much more sense.”

  I kept my eyes down as she said it, because I wanted to scream, did you seriously not see that he was unhappy? But screaming at the mom would come later, like maybe when he and I were married and she judged my parenting choices or something.

  Cart? Meet Horse. Please go back where you belong.

  Tucker rubbed his forehead when his mom spoke again.

  “Did Maggie know about her?” She didn’t wait for him to answer, voice rising as more words shot out of her mouth and landed somewhere in the vicinity of my heart. “Oh Tucker, I never thought you’d do something like this.”

  So, this could feel worse. Right at the moment where she insinuated that he cheated on his girlfriend in a tone rife with disappointment.

  “Momma, no offense, but I don’t have to defend my relationship choices to you, especially not when you’re making incorrect assumptions about what actually happened. I did not cheat on Magnolia, if that’s what you’re suggesting.”

  I wove my fingers through his and glanced up to his face. He was still looking at his mom, but he squeezed my hand.

  “You’re right,” she said. “I’m not asking you to defend your relationship choices, but I damn well expect you to explain to me why I had to find out this way. Your father and I have a right to know about things that will affect us the way this has.”

  My eyes shot to her.

  “Momma,” Tucker said, voice low and full of warning. I didn’t like it. I didn’t like any of this.

  “Don’t you Momma me, son.”

  My eyebrows popped up. This was pissed off southern woman in all her righteous glory—my inaugural experience—and it made me want to run in the other direction.

  “I will talk to you about this, but not right now, all right? It’s an awkward way for you to meet Grace, and I think she and I would like a few minutes to—”

  “Get dressed?” she added. “Your fly is still undone, by the way.”

  It wasn’t the way she said it that had my body recoiling, because her voice was as kind as possible in a situation like this. It was everything. Every part of this made me feel like I would escape my body if it were physically possible. Leave the empty husk standing in place next to Tucker.

  I was meeting the mother of the man I loved desperately, the man I wanted to spend the rest of my life with, and not only did my existence come as a complete shock to her, but I was half-naked and a presumed relationship-wrecker. She caught us screwing in his truck, in the middle of the day, and then he introduced me as Glenn’s daughter. If that didn’t scream casual, meaningless relations
hip, I didn’t know what did.

  Awesome.

  And even as I wanted to run, I knew that it must be equally as embarrassing for Tucker. If my own mom caught us like this, I’d want to freaking die. When his zipper was up, his belt firmly buckled, I took his hand again, and it was my turn to squeeze.

  Three times.

  He smiled down at me. Even if the edges of that smile were strained, it was something.

  I still wanted to knee him in the balls a little bit, but it was something that I held onto with a desperate grip.

  “I just wanted to check you on,” his mom continued. “You seemed so upset when your father said he was giving you the firm.”

  “He’s what?” I gasped without thinking.

  Tucker dropped his head. “Grace, I’ll explain later.”

  His mom gave me a confused look. “I—I’m sorry?”

  “I didn’t have a chance to tell her yet,” he told her.

  It explained everything. The edge in him. The way he asserted control. The desperate way he touched me.

  My heart broke for him, because it would feel like an anchor, tying him to a place that he didn’t want to be. Everything he didn’t want, handed to him like it was a gift. And he’d taken those frustrations out on me.

  The ramifications of what happened trickled in like a slow bleed, just one scarlet drop at a time. It was slow, and quiet, but there was inexplicable hurt in the quiet after each one.

  Instead of talking to me about it, he buried it deep and kept it to himself, smothering it with our physical connection like it was a medicine to fix his problem.

  I breathed slowly, trying not to let that train of thought hurtle recklessly through my head. I pulled my hand out of his and crossed my arms over my bare midriff.

  Stupid shredded shirt.

  Tucker gave me a look of pained understanding, and then shrugged his unbuttoned dress shirt off his shoulders and handed it to me. I’d never grabbed anything faster. My fingers were practically shaking as I did up a few buttons. It swamped me, almost covering the hem of my shorts, but I could’ve cared less.

  His mom looked even more lost now than when she showed up, and I couldn’t blame her. In some ways, my heart broke for her too, because she clearly loved her son, even if it wasn’t her place to question our relationship.