A Perfect Mess (12 page)

“I think my aunt has some apple pie in the fridge. Want some?”

Apple?
For a second I thought she read my mind. But no. Pie, that’s right. How perfect. “Sure.”

She disappeared into the kitchen as I got the fire going. I moved to the couch, settling into the cushions, staring at the flames.

I was ten years old the day my father left. Angry people had come to our tar paper shack to find him, bringing the steely-eyed sheriff with them. My mother had been interrogated, and she had cried. I remembered how her tears had cut through me, and I knew with the anguish of a small child when I learned that my father was never coming back. At the time I hadn’t known he was a con man. It was only later, when I had been “educated” by the town, that I knew what a no-account my father had been. He’d pulled off the biggest con of all, making his family believe he was going to stay and show the town that not all Outlaws were lying, thieving, good-for-nothing bastards.

The day he disappeared was the first time I had heard that phrase, but it surely wasn’t the last.

When those men had shown up, I’d run, small and scrawny, barefoot and dirty-faced, running like I’d been the thief they accused my father of being, shame burning in me. Running to escape the dark mark that always seemed to hang over us all. My feet slapping on the worn dirt path, I’d run into the bayou.

In the swamp I could be anyone, do anything. The possibilities were limitless, no expectations to live up to, no one to judge. I could conquer the water lilies, become king of the bullfrogs, be a pianist, a pirate, a writer, even a hero.

“Here you go. I put vanilla ice cream on it because I’ve never known a guy to turn down ice cream.”

“Thanks,” I muttered as I accepted the plate and fork she handed me.

She hesitated for only a second, then settled next to me on the couch. Not close like I wanted, but that was for the best.

She tapped through the menu of movies. “
Transformers
okay?”

I nodded. “Sure,” I said.

“Okay, are you all right? That’s three sures in row.”

I smiled. “I’m an agreeable guy.” I forked up a bite of the pie. It was delicious, gooey warm with the flavor of vanilla from the ice cream filling my mouth. “You didn’t want any pie?”

“No, I’m stuffed from the gumbo. Your brother is going to make someone a fine wife someday.”

I laughed out loud, almost choking on my pie. “I’m going to tell him you said that.”

“Go ahead. I doubt he’ll use his ass-kicking boots on a lady.”

“I doubt he will.”

We watched the movie in a companionable silence. Two hours of breathing in Aubree’s sweet scent, feeling her so close to me, close enough to touch. After the movie came to a close, she shut down her laptop and turned to me.

“Where did you guys learn to play like that?”

“Gypsies in the swamp.”

“Seriously?”

“No.” She punched me in the arm. “Ouch, that’s going to leave a butterfly kiss.” I mocked.

“Tell me. Be serious.”

“Serious is no fun. I don’t like accessing old memories a whole hellava lot.”

“I really want to know.”

“Do you really? It involves going into The Forbidden Zone.”

“I thought there were no secrets between us.”

I nodded. “Okay, but only if you tell me why you didn’t believe I was a no-account white trash in high school.”

She looked away. “Do I have to?”

“Yes. I’m going into The Locked Vault for you.”

“I have terrible childhood stories, too.”

“Great, we could one-up each other all night, then. The high school story is the payment or it’s no dice, sugar.”

“Then it’s no deal. I’ve got a great dream about chickens, though.”

“Aw, you knew you’d get me with the chickens,” I conceded the game.

The memory came after me like a demon with something I couldn’t refuse, painfully sharp and so bright. It had been such a good memory before my father had left. “His hand had been so big on the piano keys as his fingers rippled over the keys. I wanted my fingers to dance like that, too. I begged him every day to teach me, until he finally relented. He taught me on a really battered old piano he’d gotten from a junk shop. After…after he left, I couldn’t even look at the piano. I was so…so mad. I hated him, and it.”

“Is that the piano in Outlaw’s?”

“No. The piano my father taught me on? I set it on fire. I dragged it out of the house and lit it up and roasted fucking marshmallows.”

Instead of running screaming from the room, she curled her hand over mine, then threaded her fingers in between, tightening them briefly.

“You don’t think I’m crazy?”

“No. Well…”

I grabbed her around the neck and squeezed. “You’re going to pay for that.”

Once I had my arm around her, the silk of her hair flowing against my arm, I knew I was in trouble. She turned her face towards me. “Sugar,” I said, my voice stalling. “Don’t.”

“Don’t what?”

“Look at me like that.”

“I can’t help it.”

“All you’re feeling is sorry for me because of a sad childhood story. It’ll pass. I’m very good at manipulating people. I tell lies for a living and people eat it up.”

“That’s not it.”

“Sure it is.”

“No, Booker. It isn’t. If it was, then you’d have no compunction about taking advantage of the situation.”

Fuck logic.

“I like logic. It’s clear, concise, and hard to argue with.”

“I’m not the right guy for you. All we could have is a temporary situation. You’re a forever type of girl, Aubree, and I wouldn’t want you to be any other way. But you and me, not in the cards.”

“You think I wouldn’t take you up on that offer?”

“What? Why would you?”

“Because I understand rules. I like them. They define things so there’s no guesswork. I have to go back to New Orleans. I’ve got graduate school in my future, maybe even a doctorate. I don’t know. You’ll stay here because the untamed freedom of the swamp is part of you. I’m okay with that. It would be hard. But I understand that about you.”

I wanted her and she was giving me the green light. But for some reason, I was still not confident it was the right thing for me to do. Sure, my dick was all for it, but again, that head wasn’t always reliable.

“We can take it slow, Booker. Explore and take our time.”

My chest heaved and I closed my eyes against the need expanding inside me. Go slow with Aubree? That would fucking kill me.

“Unless, of course, you don’t want to…”

“Are you nuts?” I turned towards her, clutching her upper arms. I carefully watched every change in her expression as I shook my head. “Don’t ever,
ever
believe that I don’t want you. That is not the truth, will never be the truth.”

She leaned towards me and did the darnedest thing. She kissed my cheek and my heart turned to pulp.

“Okay, now that’s settled, I’m going to bed. I’ve got to work tomorrow. You can choose one of two rooms upstairs to sleep in. I’m in the last room down the hall, and my aunt’s room is the next to last. So either the first or second bedroom would be fine. I think I have a spare toothbrush in my bathroom.”

I sat there dumbfounded until she came back. “Booker? Are you coming?”

“I’ve just got to take care of the fire. I’ll be up in a minute.”

“Right, the fire. Thanks.”

As I doused the fire in the fireplace, I remembered that burnt-out husk of the piano. What I hadn’t told Aubree was that I cried like a baby afterwards, on my hands and knees in the ashes and mud.

I’d been sixteen years old and had just realized that I’d still been expecting my father to come for us. But I knew then that he wasn’t ever coming back. He hadn’t wanted us, and that realization had been the worst pain I’d ever felt.

I wasn’t ready to tell her that. It would make me too vulnerable, too open. Guys hate that. I felt bad about it, but I figured when I was ready, I would tell her. If I was ever ready. So, I guess I kept my secrets bottled up because if I let them loose, I probably wouldn’t be able to stuff them back in, and no telling what would happen then. And I knew it would hurt, and I didn’t want to relive that pain. Not now. So maybe the secret protected me a little, and even though my conscience was still bothered, I felt a little better about my decision.

It wasn’t until I was in one of her soft guest room beds that I realized that Aubree hadn’t told me her chicken dream. I would have to worm that out of her. I wondered why she wouldn’t tell me how she knew in high school that I wasn’t such a badass. I guess she would tell me when she was ready. Yeah, I wasn’t so thickheaded that I didn’t learn something about myself tonight. And something about Aubree.

I couldn’t have been lying there for more than fifteen minutes when there was a knock on the door.

I sat up, my heart pounding in my chest.

“Booker?” Aubree said through the door.

“Yes,”

“May I come in?”

“Sure, sugar,” I scrambled under the covers since I only had my underwear on.

She opened the door and stood silhouetted against the dim light in the hall.

“Are you all right?”

“No, not really.”

This is a colossal mistake.

“Come here,” I invited.

She closed the door and padded across the room, then pressed a knee to the bed.

I repeat. This is a colossal mistake.

“Is this too…much?” she asked.

“Too much?”

“That I’m here in a bedroom with you after we just had that discussion about sex.”

“You wanted to go slow. Isn’t that what you said?”

“I said we could go slow, since I think you’re having doubts.”

“I’m not having doubts. I’m having a seizure.”

“What?”

“I’m kidding.”

Her brow furrowed. Then she tucked her chin, and her hand slid up to cover her eyes. A soft curse left her mouth. “This is so embarrassing.”

“Why?”

She brought her other knee up on the bed and rested there. She wrapped an arm around her waist. I’d expected her to be jumpy about being alone with me. We might have talked and made out, but she barely knew me. Why wasn’t she jumpy?

I couldn’t take my eyes off her. There were so many nights when I’d thought about her that this seemed more like a dream than reality. “What’s wrong?” I asked, continuing to watch her. She’d gone very still.

She didn’t answer, and after a moment, I realized she couldn’t. She was trying too hard to control whatever emotion had caused her to pull in on herself.

“Hey,” I said, moving closer to her and ducking my head to better see her face. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah.” The lie was barely a whisper. A tremor went through her. I saw it in the brief trembling of her shoulders, in the nervous adjustment of her fingers across her brow. “Yeah, I’m just peachy.”

She went to get off the bed and I reached out and touched her shoulder. She froze. Her head came up and our eyes met.

She was close, very close, her scent coming to me on the air, all warm woman and soft, sweet musk.

Intoxicating.

I found myself breathing deeper just to have more of her. Fuck. I was a moron, trying to breathe her in—but, man, I loved the way she smelled. I didn’t know what to make of the shadowed expression in her eyes.

“What’s wrong?” I reached out and gently brushed my fingers down her arm.

She hesitated before answering, her gaze dropping. “I shouldn’t have come in here. This could get so complicated.”

There was that jumpiness finally, but I don’t think it had to do with me. I think it was about what was going on with her.

I slid my thumb along the soft cotton of her sleepshirt, then the silken softness of her skin.