Rough Ride (7 page)
“Claimed.” Gretchen gave the magazine a blank look.
Tonya chuckled. “I swear that’s what the magazine says. And that’s what you did today. You teased with the kiss and then skipped out!”
Gretchen read the next step, and good God, it really said that. “Step four is to make myself available without looking easy.” She glanced up. “Really?”
Tonya nodded. “I love it. Let’s follow the steps. I’m sure some therapist or someone certified in human behavior likely created them.”
Gretchen just stared. “Have you been drinking?”
“Yes!” Tonya fell over into the lap of Flora with loud, drunken laughter.
Gretchen shook her head. “How do I make myself available without looking easy?”
Flora hmm’d. “Be around. If he asks for something, do it, but if he tries to get physical, then make up a reason to be busy.”
Gretchen shook her head. “He was supposed to be easy.”
“Pretend it’s a science project. You love testing crap out and seeing what happens. Assignment Name: Landing Lane. Objective: Land Lane.”
Tonya fell over on the carpet laughing. “Do EEEETTTT! Please. For us.”
Gretchen shook her head, because what did she have to lose. Just everything. Or maybe gain something back. It could be worth the tradeoff. Only one way to find out. On the upside, if it didn’t work out and she humiliated herself, he was leaving and she’d never have to face him again. “Fine. I’ll do it. Or I’ll try.”
She glanced up and saw the red light blinking on her answering machine. She crossed the room.
“
Hey, Ms. Gretchen. This is Jacob Iverson. My sink seems to be clogged. Do you have a plumber?
”
“You have got to be fucking kidding me.” Flora stood from the carpet and crossed the room to the answering machine. “What time did he send that?”
Gretchen lifted the phone and clicked through caller ID. “Um, about five thirty.”
She groaned. “I can’t believe he did this.”
“You know.” Gretchen said. “While I was at Lane’s this evening, he mentioned you stopped by the manor and left Jacob with his panties in a twist.”
She rolled her eyes. “He’s a moron. Not Lane. Jacob. And if he were to tell it, he’d probably say his panties
were
in a twist, if he was wearing any.”
Tonya sat up from the floor. “He’s a hot moron then. What’s wrong with him?”
“He’s sexy and charming and he’s knows it.” Flora faced a mirror on the wall and twisted loose ends of hair around her finger. “How does my hair look?”
Gretchen raised her brows. “I thought he was a moron.”
“That might have been a strong word. I mean, well. I don’t know. He’s an utter failure with these ridiculous pickup lines, but he’s still funny.”
Tonya scraped the inside of her pudding cup. “You just like his man legs.”
“His what?” Gretchen spun around.
Flora laughed. “It was before you got here.” She pulled out her cell phone. “Here. Man legs. Those could compete with Jason Aldean’s.”
Gretchen looked at the photo. It was grainy. A figure of a silhouette was in the center like a blob. “You can’t tell anything about this picture.”
Flora grinned. “If you had been there, you could see them. Trust me. Best looking pair of man legs ever. I’ll try to get another picture for you to see. Okay. Let me go see what he’s done to the sink.”
“How do you know he did something?”
Flora smiled as she headed out the door. “Because I know Jacob.”
“You just met him this afternoon.”
She laughed. “Read step one again, darling. I’ll be back when I’m done.”
“I’m not staying here all night so hurry up!” Tonya called then flopped to her back.
Flora laughed as she went out the door.
Pounding continued on Lane’s door. He cursed as he stepped from the shower and slung a towel around his waist.
Pound.
Pound.
Pound
.
Fucking brothers. Trent said he was stopping by and Grant had told him he was jumping in the shower so give him fucking five minutes first. He’d weed-eated in some nasty, dry shit today and he’d been so filthy, he’d nearly stripped on his porch.
He crossed through the living room, the towel barely big enough to wrap his waist, and left a huge gap all the way down his leg and hardly covered his junk. If it’d stop that nonstop pounding, so be it.
He tugged the door open. “Wha—”
Gretchen stood there. Her eyes big and walking down the front of him.
“Gretchen.” He straightened and held the worthless towel together with both hands. “I…I thought you were Trent.”
She licked her lips as her gaze landed right on his hardening cock under the paper-thin towel that was probably see-thru too. Two days ago she’d walked out of his place. There’d been nothing left on his porch yesterday and he’d thought that was it. He clearly thought wrong. And now she stared toward his chest. Which was better than his dick.
He adjusted his hold on his towel to try and hide his interest. “Um, what’s up?”
“I….” She swallowed and held out the item in her hand. “I made you some pecan pie.”
“But you don’t like pecan.”
She blinked. “I know. That’s why I made it for you. This is actually my eighth pie since the other night. Tonya insisted I bring you one, since I got on the whole baking pies kick because of you.”
Tonya?
He would never understand women. “Sure. Thanks.”
She lifted the pie out higher. “So here.”
He stared at the pie, determining how well his towel would hold up if he let go and risked holding it with one hand. “Um.”
She frowned and stared at the perfectly crispy, sugary top. “Is there a problem?”
“No, I just…give me a sec.” He fumbled with the skinny ass towel, trying to get it in one hand. Damn it, he was standing in his doorway, wrapped in a towel in the middle of a trailer park with a hard-on.
She angled the pie aside and stared toward his hands wrestling with the thin towel. “Are you too big for your towel?”
Christ. Hell yes, right now, definitely yes.
He wadded the ends in one hand. “There. Now I’ve got it.”
She shook her head and stepped in. “Let me just put it on the counter for you. It takes over an hour for one of these to bake. Would be a waste if you dropped it to hide your man bits.”
“My man bits?”
She sat the pie on the corner, her back to him. “Yes. Your…man bits. And the pie is still a little warm. Would be a shame if it splattered down the front of you.”
There was no missing the laughter in her voice. “And on my man bits.”
She faced back to him, her hands going behind her back, her blue eyes large and blinking in that innocent girl way. “That too. And I don’t like pecan pie, remember?”
His mouth fell open. There was no operation on his jaw to pull it back shut or make words since it was open.
She swallowed and walked past. “Anyway, I’ll see you later.”
“You’re welcome to stay.” And then maybe his brother wouldn’t, but he didn’t need Gretchen here either. Fuck.
She smiled. “Thanks, but I have plans with Flora and Tonya at the diner. I was just swinging that by real quick so it’d still be warm when you got it. Tonya says they’re better warm.”
Tonya again. “She’s right. Thanks. And tell Tonya…I said thanks.”
“You bet.” She turned and headed out the door, passing his brother as he came inside.
Trent shut the door behind him and winced. “Damn dude, that was painful. You’re an embarrassment to the Iverson name.”
“Piss off.” He started toward his bedroom, but knowing his oldest brother, he grabbed his pie and took it with him.
“Asshole, make sure you don’t get any crumbs on your man bits. Remember, she doesn’t like pecan.”
“Shut up.” He kicked his bedroom door closed, sat the pie down and then crashed on his bed for a minute. The heavy sugar and toasted pecan scent filled his room and left his stomach rumbling. Thing was, he wasn’t sure if it was for the pie or her. He hadn’t been expecting her and then she was just there and staring at him. And then she was gone. Like the other day. Kissed hot and heavy and then she left. He scrubbed over his face with his hands and dressed.
He came out of his room and found his brother sitting on his kitchen counter, drinking one of his cokes. “Ready?”
“For what?”
“To go to the diner.”
Lane blinked. “I’m not going to the diner.”
“Why not? Your woman’s going to be there.”
“She’s not my woman.”
Trent’s brows pumped. “She wants to be.”
He grabbed a coke from the ‘fridge. “But she’s not going to be.”
Trent slid off the counter. “Come on cranky ass. Let’s go.”
“I said I don’t want to.”
“Quit being a pussy and get your damn shoes on.”
“Why do you care?”
“Because you’re pathetic.”
“I don’t want her.”
Trent shook his head. “Liar, besides, I told Jacob I’d go to the diner and I don’t want to sit there watching him make moony eyes at Flora all night.”
Lane’s brow lifted. “Flora?”
“Don’t act like you don’t know, now come on.”
All right, so he’d noticed his brother panting over Grant’s plumber. “Fine.”
“You can microwave your pie when you get back and it’ll be all warm and fresh again.”
“It’s not the same.”
Trent stopped him at the door. “Who shit in your Wheaties?”
Lane groaned and tugged on his boots. “Come on before I strangle you.”
Trent went out of the door. “Finally, I swear. I don’t remember you being this much of a cranky baby.”
His hands pulled into fists. “I’m not cranky!”
“You’ve been crying about having to be here since you drove into town and hell if I know why. I for one am enjoying the easier work. Maybe you should slow it down some, quit getting up so early.”
“I like working.” Wearing himself out until he was numb to the bone so that when his head hit that pillow, there was no time for guilt, only blessed black, heavy sleep. He pulled his door closed and followed his brother to his truck.
“Well while you’re working, Babycakes Grant keeps bugging us, asking what’s going on with you.”
“Why doesn’t he just ask me?”
“Since we shared a womb, he thinks we’re all freaky mind-connected like identical twins.” Trent swirled his fingers around his temples.
“That still doesn’t answer why he doesn’t just ask me.” Not that he wanted Grant to ask him. Lord, this thing with Gretchen had him so messed up in the head.
“Because you’ve been acting like a cranky baby since you got here. Get your head out of your ass, take a moment to enjoy some of this and you might like it, you know.”
“I don’t want to like it.”
“Do you need a bottle?”
“Shut up.” He wasn’t cranky. He was just restless. Ready to go. He stretched out in the seat and leaned on the door. “I like my life in Louisiana. I’m ready to get this finished for Grant so I can get back to it.”
“The single-wide you got down there that fantastic?”
“I live in a single wide here.”
“And it comes with a beautiful woman hand delivering you pie.”
He kept his mouth shut and stared out the window until they pulled in the drive to the diner. Cars were everywhere. The large front glass windows showed the inside was packed out. “What is going on?”
“Birthday party.”
Hell. “You didn’t tell me that.”
“You didn’t ask.”
“Who’s party?”
“No idea.” Trent pulled the keys from his truck and hopped out.
Lane followed after. “Then why the hell are we here?”
“Because we were invited by the town. And because Jacob wants to flirt with Flora and I suspect you want to piss and moan over Gretchen and it’ll be a lot easier if she’s in front of you.”
He shook his head. They were here. And people at the table by the glass already saw them. There was no turning back now. He walked in and the first thing he spotted was Gretchen walking between tables, an apron around her waist, a drink tray propped on her shoulder that was at least two sizes bigger than she was.
Oh boy. Gretchen slid her tray of drinks down on the nearby table, unloaded it and headed for the front door where Lane stood with his brother. She forced a smile as her night just got a lot harder.
“Hey boys. Didn’t know you were coming.”
The older one, Trent, smiled down at her. “Jacob was coming, said to meet us here.”
She nodded. “He’s already here.”
She weaved through the tables toward the back where Jacob was already sitting with their youngest brother, Grant, and his girlfriend, Rebecca Gable. “Okay, boys. What do you want to drink?”
She turned around to find they were trying to fit their big bodies through the packed room. She pushed her sweaty bangs from her face and took advantage of the few seconds to breathe. A few patrons stopped them for a quick chat and offered her a few extra seconds. Seconds she made use of by staring at Lane’s tight jeans and a fitted brown shirt that did nothing to hide the firm shape of his body. Then there was his work boots. God, what was it about work boots? They were big and bulky. The few times she’d walked in his house, she’d had to watch her step so not to fall all over them, but lord have mercy, they were
sexy
.
Not as sexy as him answering his door in that towel that didn’t even begin to cover or hide. Not even close. She groaned right there in the middle of the dining room. So much muscle and body. He had been wet from the shower and it’d taken all she had not say screw the pie and instead push him to the floor and do every dirty thing she could think of.
Then an image stuck. Of him in that towel, wearing those work boots.
Oh my, God.
Her tongue was thick in her cotton mouth. Stomach twisting and flopping around. Shit. Her heart was rushing and not at all because she’d been waiting tables for the last twenty minutes or so. Finally, they made it through and crashed in the diner chairs.
Lane eased up to the table. “It’s packed in here.”
“Harold Gregory’s birthday. It’s a tradition.” She put square napkins down for drinks and pulled the tall, slender menus from between the ketchup and the steak sauce. As long as he didn’t see her hands shaking, then she’d be fine. “What’ll it be boys? Want to start with drinks and an appetizer first?”
