Trailer Park Heart
Page 34
A door opened somewhere nearby and socked feet padded our way. Jamie looked up and smiled that same dreamy smile again.
“What are you saying about me?” Jason demanded.
I half-turned around on my bar stool to wave awkwardly at him. Suddenly I felt like I’d been caught somewhere I didn’t belong. Like I was seventeen again and Jamie had invited me over to break into the liquor cabinet, but her parents had shown up mid-heist.
Logically, I knew it wasn’t the same thing, nor would I get into trouble for being in a house the owner had invited me into. But I couldn’t shake the vibe that I didn’t belong.
It was like when I was driving through town and the sheriff pulled up next to me. I always had to double check my seatbelt and turn down the radio. Like he was going to arrest me for being an irrationally paranoid person.
“Hey, Ruby,” Jason said, smiling kindly.
I was surprised he knew my name. “Hey.”
“You’re covered in paint,” a deeper voice said from behind him.
I turned fully around and found Levi standing just inside the kitchen, his shoulder perched against the wide arched entrance to the kitchen. Seeing him there, without shoes on, dressed in faded blue jeans and a worn Nebraska Cornhuskers t-shirt, he somehow managed to steal my breath and send my heart into a flurry of nervous skipping.
“What’s up, Cole?” Jamie chirped. “How are the boys doing?”
She meant the Huskers. Both Jason and Levi grumbled something unhappily without giving an actual answer. I wondered what kind of husband Jason was when it came to the pride and joy of Nebraska. Did he shrug off a loss like a rational thinking human being? Or did he sulk and pout about it for the entire week?
He walked around the island and rubbed Jamie’s shoulders, kissing her temple tenderly. He seemed like one of the good ones.
“Where are the kids?” he asked.
“Watching a movie,” Jamie answered. “Sufficiently sugared.”
“Max is probably passed out by now,” I murmured, brushing at my forehead again, self-conscious about the paint now. “He’s not used to so many snacks.”
“Oh, god,” Jason groaned. “Don’t tell me you’re one of those gluten-free, non-dairy, granola moms.”
Shaking my head, I said, “I think granola has gluten.”
Jason made a face. “You know what I mean.” Taking a few backward steps, he added, “I’m going to go check on the kids. Make sure that Max kid has his hands where I can see them.” He winked at me, letting me know he was kidding.
“See, I told you he was completely unmanageable when it comes to Harper.” Jamie laughed, following after him.
Levi and I were left alone and suddenly the gigantic open space of their house felt tiny. This kitchen, that was the same size as my entire home, felt too small to take a breath, let alone hold both Levi and me.
“Did you do those?” he asked before I could jump down from my stool and flee. Sorry Max, find your own way home!
I glanced at the painted soup cans and shrugged. “Jamie wants to make it the most epic first grade Halloween party of all time. I’m just her minion.”
His mouth split into a grin. “Do you mean you’re the only person still willing to help her?”
Shrugging, I wondered if that was true. Did all the other moms know better? Was it less about real friendship and more that I was the lone remaining sucker? “I had fun,” I admitted honestly.
“Looks like it,” he said, walking toward me. “You have some…” Reaching around me, he grabbed a paper towel from the counter and folded it over the side I’d used to clean the edges of my cans. He wiped it along my nose. His smile ticked wider. “It’s kind of everywhere.”
He stood close, his muscular thighs pushing into the side of my softer, squishier one. I decided I should do some squats this week. And maybe go for a run. Or take up yoga or something—anything. He should not get to look like that, while my tummy had never quite recovered from having a baby. I mean, what was that pooch? And how did I get it to go away? Besides doing sit-ups. What I meant was, how did I get it to go away without really sweating or putting in a strong effort?
Not that I was so much bigger than when I was in high school. Less gangly and more filled out for sure. But my hips had widened after Max. And the baby pooch that didn’t want to disappear. My thighs were thicker, but I blamed standing for hours on end at the diner. And my boobs were definitely bigger. Which would have been awesome if I hadn’t nursed Max. Now they were a voluptuous DD, but also weirdly flat on the top. And wrinkly. And stretch-marked.
Levi rested his hand on my shoulder to get a better grip on my paint-covered nose. “This reminds me of high school,” he chuckled. “I used to find you in the art room like this. Paint in your hair and on your face.” He brushed the back of his fingers against my cheek, demonstrating the exact spot I would habitually rest my paintbrush. “What I wouldn’t have given for you to let me do this back then.”
I rolled my eyes and yet remained completely still. “The only times you set foot in the art room were to torture me. Remember that one time you drew boobs on my self-portrait? Or the other time you replaced my art show entry with one of your originals?” It had been a ridiculous attempt at impressionism. Thankfully, Mrs. Perry had realized right away that it wasn’t mine and had given me time to track down my piece and replace it for the competition.
“I was flirting with you, Dawson.” I snorted and he added, “Okay, I admit, they were pretty bad attempts, but I was seventeen. I just wanted your attention.”
“You always had a girlfriend,” I pointed out.
His hand with the paper towel dropped to my other shoulder and he hit me with those serious, intense, sparkling green eyes of his. “Because you wanted nothing to do with me.”
I leaned forward, a teasing smile dancing in the corners of my mouth. “Maybe because you were always messing with my art.”
His smile was slower this time, wicked in the way it took its time lifting his mouth. “Maybe I still want your attention.” Just when my breath caught in my throat and I was convinced I would pass out before I remembered how to breathe again, he added, “Maybe I’m stilling messing with your art.”
His gaze moved to the counter and I followed it, noticing his poised fingers holding a paintbrush gloppy with black paint. His hand hovered near my freshly finished ghost.
“Levi…” I warned, my hand sliding down his warm forearm so as not to spook him. I circled his wrist with my hand, not able to touch my fingers together. “Don’t you dare.”
His rumbly chuckle vibrated through him. “Or what?”
“Or I’ll dump a can of paint over your head just like I did junior year.”
His gaze flashed back to mine. “You wouldn’t dare.”
I sat up straighter, letting him know I was serious. “Oh, I would.”
“You know I’m the one that got a detention for that paint stunt, right? You had the faculty wrapped around your finger back then.”
I rolled my eyes again. “I think they all felt sorry for me.” My words rang true, but I hated the way they sounded inside this wealthy home, across from this wealthy, spoiled rotten man. So, I quickly added, “Because I had to deal with your bullying.”
He shook his head, calling BS. “I wasn’t bullying you.”
“What are you saying about me?” Jason demanded.
I half-turned around on my bar stool to wave awkwardly at him. Suddenly I felt like I’d been caught somewhere I didn’t belong. Like I was seventeen again and Jamie had invited me over to break into the liquor cabinet, but her parents had shown up mid-heist.
Logically, I knew it wasn’t the same thing, nor would I get into trouble for being in a house the owner had invited me into. But I couldn’t shake the vibe that I didn’t belong.
It was like when I was driving through town and the sheriff pulled up next to me. I always had to double check my seatbelt and turn down the radio. Like he was going to arrest me for being an irrationally paranoid person.
“Hey, Ruby,” Jason said, smiling kindly.
I was surprised he knew my name. “Hey.”
“You’re covered in paint,” a deeper voice said from behind him.
I turned fully around and found Levi standing just inside the kitchen, his shoulder perched against the wide arched entrance to the kitchen. Seeing him there, without shoes on, dressed in faded blue jeans and a worn Nebraska Cornhuskers t-shirt, he somehow managed to steal my breath and send my heart into a flurry of nervous skipping.
“What’s up, Cole?” Jamie chirped. “How are the boys doing?”
She meant the Huskers. Both Jason and Levi grumbled something unhappily without giving an actual answer. I wondered what kind of husband Jason was when it came to the pride and joy of Nebraska. Did he shrug off a loss like a rational thinking human being? Or did he sulk and pout about it for the entire week?
He walked around the island and rubbed Jamie’s shoulders, kissing her temple tenderly. He seemed like one of the good ones.
“Where are the kids?” he asked.
“Watching a movie,” Jamie answered. “Sufficiently sugared.”
“Max is probably passed out by now,” I murmured, brushing at my forehead again, self-conscious about the paint now. “He’s not used to so many snacks.”
“Oh, god,” Jason groaned. “Don’t tell me you’re one of those gluten-free, non-dairy, granola moms.”
Shaking my head, I said, “I think granola has gluten.”
Jason made a face. “You know what I mean.” Taking a few backward steps, he added, “I’m going to go check on the kids. Make sure that Max kid has his hands where I can see them.” He winked at me, letting me know he was kidding.
“See, I told you he was completely unmanageable when it comes to Harper.” Jamie laughed, following after him.
Levi and I were left alone and suddenly the gigantic open space of their house felt tiny. This kitchen, that was the same size as my entire home, felt too small to take a breath, let alone hold both Levi and me.
“Did you do those?” he asked before I could jump down from my stool and flee. Sorry Max, find your own way home!
I glanced at the painted soup cans and shrugged. “Jamie wants to make it the most epic first grade Halloween party of all time. I’m just her minion.”
His mouth split into a grin. “Do you mean you’re the only person still willing to help her?”
Shrugging, I wondered if that was true. Did all the other moms know better? Was it less about real friendship and more that I was the lone remaining sucker? “I had fun,” I admitted honestly.
“Looks like it,” he said, walking toward me. “You have some…” Reaching around me, he grabbed a paper towel from the counter and folded it over the side I’d used to clean the edges of my cans. He wiped it along my nose. His smile ticked wider. “It’s kind of everywhere.”
He stood close, his muscular thighs pushing into the side of my softer, squishier one. I decided I should do some squats this week. And maybe go for a run. Or take up yoga or something—anything. He should not get to look like that, while my tummy had never quite recovered from having a baby. I mean, what was that pooch? And how did I get it to go away? Besides doing sit-ups. What I meant was, how did I get it to go away without really sweating or putting in a strong effort?
Not that I was so much bigger than when I was in high school. Less gangly and more filled out for sure. But my hips had widened after Max. And the baby pooch that didn’t want to disappear. My thighs were thicker, but I blamed standing for hours on end at the diner. And my boobs were definitely bigger. Which would have been awesome if I hadn’t nursed Max. Now they were a voluptuous DD, but also weirdly flat on the top. And wrinkly. And stretch-marked.
Levi rested his hand on my shoulder to get a better grip on my paint-covered nose. “This reminds me of high school,” he chuckled. “I used to find you in the art room like this. Paint in your hair and on your face.” He brushed the back of his fingers against my cheek, demonstrating the exact spot I would habitually rest my paintbrush. “What I wouldn’t have given for you to let me do this back then.”
I rolled my eyes and yet remained completely still. “The only times you set foot in the art room were to torture me. Remember that one time you drew boobs on my self-portrait? Or the other time you replaced my art show entry with one of your originals?” It had been a ridiculous attempt at impressionism. Thankfully, Mrs. Perry had realized right away that it wasn’t mine and had given me time to track down my piece and replace it for the competition.
“I was flirting with you, Dawson.” I snorted and he added, “Okay, I admit, they were pretty bad attempts, but I was seventeen. I just wanted your attention.”
“You always had a girlfriend,” I pointed out.
His hand with the paper towel dropped to my other shoulder and he hit me with those serious, intense, sparkling green eyes of his. “Because you wanted nothing to do with me.”
I leaned forward, a teasing smile dancing in the corners of my mouth. “Maybe because you were always messing with my art.”
His smile was slower this time, wicked in the way it took its time lifting his mouth. “Maybe I still want your attention.” Just when my breath caught in my throat and I was convinced I would pass out before I remembered how to breathe again, he added, “Maybe I’m stilling messing with your art.”
His gaze moved to the counter and I followed it, noticing his poised fingers holding a paintbrush gloppy with black paint. His hand hovered near my freshly finished ghost.
“Levi…” I warned, my hand sliding down his warm forearm so as not to spook him. I circled his wrist with my hand, not able to touch my fingers together. “Don’t you dare.”
His rumbly chuckle vibrated through him. “Or what?”
“Or I’ll dump a can of paint over your head just like I did junior year.”
His gaze flashed back to mine. “You wouldn’t dare.”
I sat up straighter, letting him know I was serious. “Oh, I would.”
“You know I’m the one that got a detention for that paint stunt, right? You had the faculty wrapped around your finger back then.”
I rolled my eyes again. “I think they all felt sorry for me.” My words rang true, but I hated the way they sounded inside this wealthy home, across from this wealthy, spoiled rotten man. So, I quickly added, “Because I had to deal with your bullying.”
He shook his head, calling BS. “I wasn’t bullying you.”
