Sweet
Page 45
Boyce
Brittney plopped a shot of Cuervo down on the bar in front of me. “Where’s Pearl?”
I asked if she wanted to come along. She said no—as usual. “We’re roommates, Brit, not married.”
“You wish.”
“What?”
“Oh, c’mon, like you haven’t thought about it. Or at least one part of it.” She grinned. “And y’all would make some cute babies.”
My mouth dropped open like I was bent on catching flies, and an image flashed through my mind like a video clip: I opened a door and a kid ran up and attached itself to my leg—a kid that looked like Pearl the day I met her. I closed my eyes briefly to clear it, but that image stuck like it’d been welded to my brain. “The hell? Why would you think a guy my age would be thinking about shit like that?”
She snorted. “If a girl like Pearl Frank doesn’t make you think of putting a ring on it, you’re a bigger idiot than I thought. Best fish or cut bait, Boyce Wynn, before that girl gets a better offer.”
I scowled, no retort coming to mind—a damned unprecedented state of affairs for me.
“I’m just sayin’! No need for a hissy fit.”
My teeth gritted. “Subject change. When’s the last time you’ve had your tires rotated?”
She arched a brow.
“You said your truck was shaking? Having the tires rotated and balanced would be the easiest, cheapest fix if that’s the problem. Unless you’ve had it done lately.” I sipped the tequila, back on solid ground.
“Well, hmm. I got new tires for graduation.”
I put the shot glass down. “As in four years ago?”
“Boyce, tires ain’t in my wheelhouse. I know beer and liquor. I know how to make my grandma’s pecan pie from scratch and biscuits and gravy that’d make you cry they’re so good. I know good boys and bad boys and how to turn the former into the latter. I do not know tires.”
I held up a hand. “Bring it by tomorrow, late morning—but text me first. Thompson and me are going fishing early.”
“Rick?”
“Naw—Randy. I haven’t seen Rick for a while. Last I heard from Randy, Rick was living somewhere outside Houston.”
Her mouth tightened. “Me neither. Not that either of them were geniuses, but I’da never thought Randy would turn out the levelheaded one of them two. He was one crazy motherfucker, and now he’s selling T-shirts and making jewelry.”
A guy two stools down was trying to get her attention by waving and clearing his throat.
“Well. Enough reminiscing—I got drunks to serve.”
“Hey!” the guy said.
“Keep your shorts on, sweetie—I’m coming.” She slapped the bar. “See you tomorrow, Boyce. Oh—Jesus, I almost forgot! My great-great-aunt—the one who runs the inn? Her front-desk girl is preggers, and she’s just been put on bed rest. She needs somebody smart who presents well, won’t steal shit, and can work weekends. I figured Pearl fit that, so I called Aunt Minnie and she was all over it. Tell her to stop by tomorrow if she’s interested.”
• • • • • • • • • •
By the time I returned home, it was raining. The trailer windows were dark, so I toed my boots off on the stoop and went inside in wet socks. Pearl was asleep on the sofa, sheet pushed to her waist, wearing one of her old dance troupe T-shirts. I couldn’t resist the urge to wander closer and stare at her for one short minute. Curled on her side, knees tucked high and hands folded below her chin, she sighed in her sleep. Her hair was loose and wild, covering the white pillowcase.
Goddamn Brittney and her talk of rings and babies when just trying to get this girl to be seen in public with me was as good as repeatedly bashing my head against the wall. When I could lose everything I’d built in the two shakes it would take Barney Amos to find the mother who left me with a man who talked with his fists.
• • • • • • • • • •
When I woke, I assumed it was because of the crack of thunder that shook the trailer, and I turned onto my side, prepared to sink back into sleep and hoping this shit let up before five a.m. Otherwise, my fishing plans were screwed.
The flash of lightning seconds later lit my room through the open blinds of the single window. One second, maybe two—just long enough for me to catch sight of the figure in the doorway.
“Pearl?” I leaned up on an elbow.
“Is it always this loud during storms? Or should we be concerned?” Her voice was reed-thin.
Dr. Frank’s place was a stone fortress compared to this tin box that was designed to be pulled off its foundation, loaded onto a set of wheels, and moved on a whim. Besides that, the Frank place was on the bay side of the island. They didn’t get the brunt of storms rolling in from the gulf like my neighborhood did.
“It’s always this loud. Nothing to be worried about.” Just as I said that, thunder from that last strike roared and the vibrations shook the floor. Pearl jumped visibly, and I bit the inside of my cheek to keep from laughing. “C’mere.” I scooted into the center of the bed and held the sheet up.
She hesitated, wheels grinding away in that brain of hers. I couldn’t accuse her of overthinking. I wanted her, and I could tell she wanted me from the looks she’d been trying to mask over the past week. I was all but daring her to cross that line and let me give us both what we wanted. I wouldn’t make the first move, though, even if she joined me. The power of whether we just fell asleep or whether I kept her wide-awake for the next hour or three was in her hands.
I wouldn’t make the first move, but I’d damn sure make the second.
Lightning lit the room again—several seconds of it—multiple strikes. The next crash of thunder would rattle the walls for half a minute straight. She paused for all of about one second before crossing the room and sliding under the sheet, but she hugged the edge of the mattress with her back to me, no part of her body touching mine. She curled up like she had been on the sofa, waiting for that first loud, angry clap and the echoing bellow just behind it.
I dropped the sheet over her just as the boom came like a rifle shot, transforming into a wind-powered rumble that rocked the trailer and everything in it. By the time the last of it faded, her back was pressed against my chest, her hips tucked against my abdomen. My arm lay across her rib cage, but my hand rested against the mattress in front of her. I made no move to reposition closer or farther away. A few more similar strikes ensured she didn’t leave, though none were as bad as the two or three that had sent her scurrying to my door.
Brittney plopped a shot of Cuervo down on the bar in front of me. “Where’s Pearl?”
I asked if she wanted to come along. She said no—as usual. “We’re roommates, Brit, not married.”
“You wish.”
“What?”
“Oh, c’mon, like you haven’t thought about it. Or at least one part of it.” She grinned. “And y’all would make some cute babies.”
My mouth dropped open like I was bent on catching flies, and an image flashed through my mind like a video clip: I opened a door and a kid ran up and attached itself to my leg—a kid that looked like Pearl the day I met her. I closed my eyes briefly to clear it, but that image stuck like it’d been welded to my brain. “The hell? Why would you think a guy my age would be thinking about shit like that?”
She snorted. “If a girl like Pearl Frank doesn’t make you think of putting a ring on it, you’re a bigger idiot than I thought. Best fish or cut bait, Boyce Wynn, before that girl gets a better offer.”
I scowled, no retort coming to mind—a damned unprecedented state of affairs for me.
“I’m just sayin’! No need for a hissy fit.”
My teeth gritted. “Subject change. When’s the last time you’ve had your tires rotated?”
She arched a brow.
“You said your truck was shaking? Having the tires rotated and balanced would be the easiest, cheapest fix if that’s the problem. Unless you’ve had it done lately.” I sipped the tequila, back on solid ground.
“Well, hmm. I got new tires for graduation.”
I put the shot glass down. “As in four years ago?”
“Boyce, tires ain’t in my wheelhouse. I know beer and liquor. I know how to make my grandma’s pecan pie from scratch and biscuits and gravy that’d make you cry they’re so good. I know good boys and bad boys and how to turn the former into the latter. I do not know tires.”
I held up a hand. “Bring it by tomorrow, late morning—but text me first. Thompson and me are going fishing early.”
“Rick?”
“Naw—Randy. I haven’t seen Rick for a while. Last I heard from Randy, Rick was living somewhere outside Houston.”
Her mouth tightened. “Me neither. Not that either of them were geniuses, but I’da never thought Randy would turn out the levelheaded one of them two. He was one crazy motherfucker, and now he’s selling T-shirts and making jewelry.”
A guy two stools down was trying to get her attention by waving and clearing his throat.
“Well. Enough reminiscing—I got drunks to serve.”
“Hey!” the guy said.
“Keep your shorts on, sweetie—I’m coming.” She slapped the bar. “See you tomorrow, Boyce. Oh—Jesus, I almost forgot! My great-great-aunt—the one who runs the inn? Her front-desk girl is preggers, and she’s just been put on bed rest. She needs somebody smart who presents well, won’t steal shit, and can work weekends. I figured Pearl fit that, so I called Aunt Minnie and she was all over it. Tell her to stop by tomorrow if she’s interested.”
• • • • • • • • • •
By the time I returned home, it was raining. The trailer windows were dark, so I toed my boots off on the stoop and went inside in wet socks. Pearl was asleep on the sofa, sheet pushed to her waist, wearing one of her old dance troupe T-shirts. I couldn’t resist the urge to wander closer and stare at her for one short minute. Curled on her side, knees tucked high and hands folded below her chin, she sighed in her sleep. Her hair was loose and wild, covering the white pillowcase.
Goddamn Brittney and her talk of rings and babies when just trying to get this girl to be seen in public with me was as good as repeatedly bashing my head against the wall. When I could lose everything I’d built in the two shakes it would take Barney Amos to find the mother who left me with a man who talked with his fists.
• • • • • • • • • •
When I woke, I assumed it was because of the crack of thunder that shook the trailer, and I turned onto my side, prepared to sink back into sleep and hoping this shit let up before five a.m. Otherwise, my fishing plans were screwed.
The flash of lightning seconds later lit my room through the open blinds of the single window. One second, maybe two—just long enough for me to catch sight of the figure in the doorway.
“Pearl?” I leaned up on an elbow.
“Is it always this loud during storms? Or should we be concerned?” Her voice was reed-thin.
Dr. Frank’s place was a stone fortress compared to this tin box that was designed to be pulled off its foundation, loaded onto a set of wheels, and moved on a whim. Besides that, the Frank place was on the bay side of the island. They didn’t get the brunt of storms rolling in from the gulf like my neighborhood did.
“It’s always this loud. Nothing to be worried about.” Just as I said that, thunder from that last strike roared and the vibrations shook the floor. Pearl jumped visibly, and I bit the inside of my cheek to keep from laughing. “C’mere.” I scooted into the center of the bed and held the sheet up.
She hesitated, wheels grinding away in that brain of hers. I couldn’t accuse her of overthinking. I wanted her, and I could tell she wanted me from the looks she’d been trying to mask over the past week. I was all but daring her to cross that line and let me give us both what we wanted. I wouldn’t make the first move, though, even if she joined me. The power of whether we just fell asleep or whether I kept her wide-awake for the next hour or three was in her hands.
I wouldn’t make the first move, but I’d damn sure make the second.
Lightning lit the room again—several seconds of it—multiple strikes. The next crash of thunder would rattle the walls for half a minute straight. She paused for all of about one second before crossing the room and sliding under the sheet, but she hugged the edge of the mattress with her back to me, no part of her body touching mine. She curled up like she had been on the sofa, waiting for that first loud, angry clap and the echoing bellow just behind it.
I dropped the sheet over her just as the boom came like a rifle shot, transforming into a wind-powered rumble that rocked the trailer and everything in it. By the time the last of it faded, her back was pressed against my chest, her hips tucked against my abdomen. My arm lay across her rib cage, but my hand rested against the mattress in front of her. I made no move to reposition closer or farther away. A few more similar strikes ensured she didn’t leave, though none were as bad as the two or three that had sent her scurrying to my door.
