Dirty South (A Blue Collar Bad Boy Romance) (6 page)

Chapter Ten

I begrudgingly told my father about my date with Vernon, and
now he's standing in my doorway, sipping a whiskey and watching me put on
earrings.

"I always pictured you with a nice boy like
Vernon," he muses. "And an MBA to boot!"

"What about you?"

"What about me?"

"Were you a 'nice boy' when you were his age?" I
tease him.

"Of course I was!" he replies indignantly.

"Not according to Mom, you weren't," I reply with
a smile.

"Tara doesn't have a leg to stand on!" he snaps. I
look at him for a moment. His cheeks are red like they sometimes get when he's
had too much to drink. In moments like this, I know he's in danger of losing
his temper.

"Alright, Daddy," I reply simply.

"It's different, you know, for women," he grumbles
to himself. I feel a flash of annoyance, but I don't reply. There's no sense in
arguing with him. The doorbell rings and I grab my clutch.

"You want to see Vernon before we leave?" I ask.

"No, no, that's alright," he replies, and I wonder
if he realizes he's a bit unsteady on his feet.

"I'll see you later then." I almost tell him not
to wait up, but I think he'd explode. Mrs. Hunt has already opened the door
when I walk down the stairs, and she and Vernon are standing in the hallway.

"Here she is, then," Mrs. Hunt says as she heads
off down the hallway after giving me a little smile.

"You look beautiful, Callie," he says almost
shyly.

"Thank you," I reply. I feel it, too. I'm wearing
my favorite deep navy wrap dress, with a neckline that dips a bit too low to
make it appropriate for day time. With my patent leather heels and diamond drop
earrings, I feel perfectly ready for a night of jazz in a dark club.

Vernon escorts me down to his car and opens the door for me,
and we head over to the restaurant. I smile as we chat about our similar
upbringings, and I wonder if Vernon and his friends, from one of the all-male
high schools, dated the popular girls from my school. It's only a short drive over
to the waterfront, and a valet takes his keys as we arrive.

We follow the hostess down to the cellar floor, where wine
racks against the walls and the low lighting gives the place the feel of an old
speakeasy. The music hasn't started yet, giving us time to order. I glance over
my menu at Vernon. He is certainly handsome, with a straight nose and a cleft
chin. He and Lynn have the same eyes, though hers have a much more mischievous
glint to them.

When the food arrives, it's heavenly, a mix of upscale and
classic down-home Southern cooking. I take a bite of crawfish etouffee as the
lights dim, and a pianist and singer take the small stage. She's dressed in a
long, silver dress that looks like liquid in the spotlight.

"Good evening, folks," she says in a low, earthy
voice. "I hope you don't mind if I try out something new tonight. I've
been thinking a lot about love, in all its different forms." A couple
slinks through the crowd toward the stage, clearly here for the show, and not
for dinner. "Sure, love can be romantic, but it can also be needy, hot,
obsessive, and of course, gone in a flash. This first song is one of my
favorites, made famous by the great Billy Holiday, though we're going to take
it a little faster than she did. Here's 'Don't Stand a Ghost of a Chance,"
she finishes as the piano starts an up-tempo introduction.

I glance around the room as she sings, my foot tapping, and
my gaze falls on the table to the left of the stage where the latecomers sat.
Oh
great,
I think as I recognize Virginia's haughty profile, upturned toward
the stage. I hope I don't have to exchange pleasantries with her after the
show. I've avoided her so far since I've been back in town, and I'm not eager
to catch up. I smile, wondering if she even remembers me. I'm sure she figured
much larger in my life than I figured in hers.

The man sitting next to her reaches out and grasps her hand,
intertwining his fingers through hers and resting them on the white linen
tablecloth. I frown. Is it my imagination, or does that hand look familiar,
somehow? I shake my head, and focus back on the singer. Her voice isn't
classically beautiful, but it has a grit to it that makes you believe she's
experienced everything she's singing about.

As the piano strikes the song's last notes, she nods to her
left. "I just have to take a minute to acknowledge someone special in the
audience tonight. Most people don't know this, but there was a huge collection
of original, handwritten scores that were sitting in a conductor's basement not
too long ago, and no one had the time or resources to make copies. And this man
stepped in, bought them all, and had digital copies made and put online, so
that musicians around the world could enjoy them. Mr. Boone Tillman,
everyone," she says, leading the audience in a round of applause as he
nods modestly.

I nearly spit out my vodka and pink lemonade. I knew there
was something familiar about him.

"This one's for you, Boone," she says, and
launches into Cole Porter's 'He's a Right Guy'.

"You alright?" Vernon asks, leaning over.

"Fine. Just went down the wrong pipe," I reply
weakly. He nods and sits back, while I begin to nervously tear my napkin to
shreds under the table. I can't get caught here, now, on a date with Vernon and
with Boone on a date with Virginia. But I also don't want to abandon Vernon so
early on in our date, especially after neglecting to call him back last week.
This is what I get for not being honest in the first place.

As the show continues, I'm mercifully safe in the low lights
and with Boone seated in front of me by the stage. Even if he did look back
toward me, he'd only see darkness. But as the singer starts on a song about
heartbreak, I know the show is almost over. I don't want to hurt Vernon's
feelings, but I have to do what I have to do.

"Vernon," I whisper, leaning over, "I'm so
sorry, but I'm not feeling well all of a sudden. I just have a terrible
headache."

"I'll take you home," he immediately offers.

"No, it's alright. I think I need some fresh air and
it's such a short walk home. I'll call you tomorrow."

"Alright, if you're sure," he says. I get up and
squeeze his shoulder, then quietly as possible make my way toward the exit. I
head upstairs and then pause as the singer introduces another song. My bladder
is about to burst, and I should have time to duck in the bathroom before I head
out.

Of course he had to be here with Virginia
, I think to
myself. If I can ignore the jealousy that's bubbling up inside me, and the
image of him taking her hand that's on constant replay in my mind, then maybe I
can see tonight as a positive. Clearly Boone's moved on, or he was just feeding
me another line in the first place.

I wash my hands quickly, and then hurry out the door. I can
still hear the music as I head out the front door of the restaurant with a
smile to the hostess. I turn right on the sidewalk, intending to walk along the
river until I need to turn toward home, when I see Boone standing about ten
feet in front of me, talking on his cellphone.

"You and I both know that this property's not going
over one-fifty," he's saying. I quietly spin around, moving slowly the
other direction down the sidewalk so that I don't catch his eye with any quick
movements. "I'm going to have to call you back," I hear him say. I
pick up my pace, getting out of the light cast by the restaurant's awning and
crossing the street.

Is that the sound of footsteps behind me? I'm about to turn
around when I hear his low voice at my shoulder.

"Not so fast," Boone growls.

Chapter Eleven

"Boone! Fancy meeting you here!" I say, feigning
surprise.

The moon glints off his eyes as he narrows them
suspiciously. "Where are you coming from?"

"I...um..."

"Because I don't think a woman wears a dress like that
unless she's on a date."

"You were on a date, too," I counter.

"So you were watching me."

"You happened to be seated in front of me, that's
all," I reply, taking a deep breath.

"You with your boyfriend?" he asks, cocking his
head slightly.

"No," I reply with a frown. Why would he think
that? "You with your girlfriend?"

He laughs. "I don't think so."

"Oh, really?"

"Not that kind of guy. Thought you knew that."

"I guess that I had gotten a different
impression," I say, feeling slightly miffed.

"Sorry, didn't mean to lead you on," he replies.
"I guess I just can't help myself sometimes. Hope there are no hard
feelings."

I swallow the little ball of pain that just rose in my
throat. "Not at all. I left because I didn't want to lead you on,
actually."

"You don't need to worry about that," he says with
a smile, a dimple appearing on his right cheek.

"Is that so?" I ask, an image of me wrapped in his
bedsheets springing into my mind unbidden.

The light seems to flicker in his eyes. "I wish I'd
known that's what was troubling you," he says, sliding an arm around my
waist. "I'm all for something casual."

My mind whirs. If he doesn't have any emotional investment,
then maybe I'm off the hook for lying. My entire body throbs as he moves in
closer, pressing himself against me. He's been my fantasy for years...can't I
allow myself just one night?

"Later tonight, then," I whisper, looking up at
him.

He nods. "Your place or mine?"

"Yours." The word is barely out of my mouth before
his lips are covering mine. I practically collapse into him, and quickly wrap
my arms around his neck to keep myself upright. His hands grab my ass and I
swear I almost tear my dress off and throw him down on the sidewalk to have my
way with him. Somehow, my conscious mind interrupts to remind me that we're in
public.

"Send me your address when you're home. I'll meet you
there," I say, pulling myself away from him. He nods, and I straighten my
dress as I turn around and hurry away, feeling like my knees are about to give
out.

When I'm about a block away from the restaurant, I hear the
crowd begin to emerge. The show must be over. I feel a pang of guilt over
Vernon, but not so much for Virginia. I speed up a little, making my way
quickly back home.

I stop on the front porch with my hand on the knob. I don't
want to go in and risk waking up my father, though there's also the possibility
that he's waiting up for me. Either way, it's safer to stay outside. I take a
seat on the porch swing and inhale deeply. Through the trees, I can just see
the fountain in the middle of Forsyth Square glowing ghostly white in the
moonlight. I wonder where Boone is right now, and if he's kissing Virginia
goodnight.

I know what I'm doing is impulsive, and probably immoral,
but I've been a good girl almost all my life – can't I allow myself this one
night? To actually have sex with Boone Tillman... my body shivers at the very
thought. A horrible idea comes to my mind: what if it's not as good as in my
fantasies? I've dreamed about it for so long that I must have built it up to
impossible heights. Or what if it's me? What if he's disappointed by my body,
or my... performance?

I've only had a few sexual partners, none of them
particularly memorable. I've never even had an orgasm with a guy, though I've
read that's a common problem for women. I lost my virginity right at the end of
my senior year of high school to a boy at a neighboring school up in Maine. We
were dating and I think we were both just curious. We broke up when we both
left for different colleges, and then I slept with a couple guys in college,
though neither of those relationships lasted longer than six months.

My phone beeps with a new text, and my fingers shake as I
glance at it. Boone just texted me his address, and it's only a ten-minute walk
from here. I don't reply, figuring it's better to leave him guessing whether or
not I'll follow through. I stand, regretting that I'm still wearing my heels,
and start the walk.

My nerves only build as I head over to his place. I feel
like I need to take a long, cold shower. I mean, a booty call with Boone Tillman?
What am I thinking? Not that dozens of other women in town haven't done the
same thing, but that only makes it worse somehow. I don't want to string him
along because that would be unfair, but I still want to be special. Well, I
can't have it both ways! Despite all the misgivings rattling around in my head,
I still keep putting one foot in front of the other.

I check the street numbers of the houses I'm passing and
finally stop in front of Boone's. The house is a large English Regency like my
father's, though something about it looks newer. I wonder if he just finished
renovating. I wipe my sweaty palms on the sides of my dress, and head up the
steps.

I lift the heavy door knocker, and strike it twice on the
metal plate. A dark shape crosses the front window and my cheeks flush. Boone
pulls the door open and smiles as he gestures me inside. He's taken off his
suit jacket and unbuttoned his white dress shirt, leaving the ends untucked and
exposing the ribbed tank top underneath.

"Drink?" he asks, as he shuts the door.

"Please," I reply, my mouth suddenly feeling dry.
He steps around me and pushes open a door in the hallway.

"Just finished the wine cellar. Pick out what you
want," he says, nodding down the steps.

"If you say so," I smile, and head down. The left
side of the basement looks like a bachelor's paradise, with a pool table and
long leather couch, but I push open a door on the right that leads to a
climate-controlled room, covered wall-to-wall with wine bottles, and some on
racks in the middle.

"You're quite a mystery," he says, as I walk along
the wall, brushing my hand over the bottles.

"Am I?" I ask, genuinely surprised.

"You have no internet footprint."

"Internet footprint?" I ask, circling back around
to a bottle of red that caught my eye.

"There's nothing online about you. It's like you don't
exist."

"You looked me up?" I smile, feeling a small surge
of power. He shrugs. "I'm very real, I assure you." I hand him the
bottle I chose, and wait for his reaction. The corner of his mouth twitches as
he examines my face, trying to discern if I picked out the most expensive
bottle he has on purpose or if it was an accident. "You said to pick out
what I want," I point out.

"I did indeed," he says, turning around. I follow
him back up the steps and into the kitchen. "Where'd you learn so much
about wine?"

"My mother. She's spent so much money on wine that I
keep telling her to buy a vineyard. It would be much more cost-effective."

He laughs and takes a wine key out of the top drawer of the
island, then winces. "Maybe I shouldn't laugh."

"It's alright. I don't think she has any intention of
changing now. At least she's not a mean drunk. And at least I didn't inherit
the gene."

"My mom's got that gene, too. But she does in for the
harder stuff," he says, handing me a wine glass.

"Were you scared you'd get it, too?"

"When I was eighteen, I got my hands on a six-pack and
drank all of it. I figured I might as well test myself early, you know? See if
I liked it and if it was going to be a problem in the future so I could deal
with it accordingly. I puked my guts out and never had any interest in having
too much of it, or any other substance, ever again."

"That was very... strategic of you," I note.

"Well, I knew that making myself different than my
parents was going to take some careful planning on my part, yes."

"Is that what this house is about?" I ask, looking
around.

"What do you mean?" he asks with a frown.

"Sorry, I just... I mean, it's beautiful. Immaculate.
It just doesn't quite seem like you."

"Huh," is all he says.

I take a long sip of wine. "I'm sorry. I just don't
know how to do this."

"This?"

"You know... a booty call, one-night stand thing."

"We don't have to do anything if you don't want
to," he says.

I shoot him a look. "I'm here, aren't I?"

He laughs. "Well, first thing's first. Head back toward
the door and then turn right up the stairs."

I smile and take a sip of my wine, but do as he says.
"You going to walk me through a booty call step-by-step?" I ask over
my shoulder.

"Oh, yes, ma'am," he replies from behind me.
"Alright, so you're gonna wanna keep going up these steps here, and then
at the top of the landing take a right down to the room at the end of the
hall."

"Alright," I say, my foot landing on the
second-to-last step.

"And by now, you should be picturing my hands all over
you," he says. I almost spit out my wine onto his beautiful hardwood
floors. I hear him step up behind me, and begin to walk slower as I head down
the hallway, the door at the end looming large in front of me. "And how
you've never felt pleasure before like you're gonna feel tonight. And now
you're going to push open this door and step into the room."

I reach my hand forward and push the brass knob. I step onto
a lush carpet, my heels wobbling slightly, and walk forward into his bedroom. I
hear him shut the door behind me and turn around.

"Next, take a long sip of that wine," he tells me.
I raise it to my lips as he locks eyes with me. "Now put it over there on
that table." I head over to it and gently place the glass on the wooden
side table. "As you walk back over here, slowly undo your dress."

My breath catches in my throat.
Holy shit, this is really
happening.
And in all my fantasies, I never expected it to go down like
this.