Unfinished Business (23 page)

“A pocket knife.”

Like anybody cares, Dorst. Guys can be so stupid.

“Yeah,” my brother says, “he looked pretty tough. I wouldn’t mess with him.”

Nick is looking at me out of the corner of his eye, addressing the twin idiots, “You talking about that little guy in the brown suit?”

“Yeah, you saw him?”

Nick is chuckling, so I smack him with my mini clutch. “Shut up.”

Our little scenario has got the full attention of my brother and Dorst. Their glazed over gazes are fixed on Nick.

“What’s up, man?” they ask in unison.

“Whatever.” I wave my hands at Nick. I could get all embarrassed but decide it isn’t worth the effort.

“He was checking Hayley out.”

My brother is delighted. “Ohhh, Hayley…”

What losers, really.

I push my brother away from his car door and reach under his seat for the bottle of Wild Turkey that from past experience I know will be there.

“Who says?” he whines, when he spots me unscrewing the cap to take a swig of the half full fifth.

I ignore his lame protest with a smile and after drinking enough to burn my throat, pass the bottle to Nick, who uses it to salute. “Thanks, man.”

Realizing he is outmatched, my brother goes along with it, like it was his idea.

We stand like that, enjoying the low budget combination of Insane Clown Posse and Wild Turkey long enough to empty the bottle. With the cheap courage of the whiskey fortifying me, Nick and I agree it’s time to head back over to the lingering cluster of well-wishers and double-check the directions to the reception.

* * * *

After the mercifully uneventful buffet dinner, Nick and I pick at the cake on our plates while the farmers trade horror stories.

“Too much rain.”

“Not enough rain.”

“Rain isn’t what it used to be.”

“1982 was a good year for rain.”

“Prices too high.”

“Prices too low.”

“Prices aren’t what they used to be.”

“1998 was a good year for prices.”

“Kids too busy.”

“Kids too lazy.”

“Kids aren’t what they used to be.”

“1975 was a good year for kids.”

Finishing up with those exciting topics, leaves a lull in the conversation. The men stare at each other and look helplessly around the room wondering where their wives are and how much longer they have to sit around in their starchy Sunday best.

One of the men zeros in on Nick. “What kind of work do you do?”

While Nick answers their questions about who he is, who he knows, where he lives, how come he never played ball, basketball, or wrestled, and why he prefers Fords over Chevys, I watch the sea-foam dresses gyrate gently as the bridesmaids and groomsmen slow dance.

There has to be a way out. I wait for one of the country folk to take a breath and cut in to ask Nick if he wants to dance.

He hops to his feet.

“Trying to rescue me from the old timers?” he asks, as he sets one hand on my waist and pulls me so close I can see the cute dimple that only shows up when he almost smiles. The weight of his body against mine makes my pulse stall, then skitter and all of a sudden I’m wondering why we haven’t had sex again. Then I’m wondering when we will.

I glance up and our gazes connect. Suddenly I’m shy. More shy than when we were naked, screwing like bunnies.

“I don’t need saving,” he says into my ear as he settles his palm on the small of my back.

Electricity makes my skin fizzle.

Moving us toward the center of the dance floor, he whispers, “Did you hear what they were saying about using GPS for harvesting? Pretty interesting.”

I have no idea what he’s talking about.

I tip my head and gaze sideways at him. “Be quiet and dance. It’ll keep you out of trouble for a few minutes.”

“I didn’t realize I was in danger of getting into trouble.”

Is this the same Nick? Because all of a sudden he doesn’t look, or feel, the same. Not at all.

I stare at him, and he stares back. Maybe that friends with benefits sex thing really is a myth because right then I don’t feel like a friend.

When the song ends, Nick pauses to ask me if I want to go sit down. And for the first time in quite a while I’m happy with what I’m getting so I stay curved in Nick’s arms and ask, “Want to keep dancing?”

His eyes flash in the glow of the rented disco lights and that dimple is back. He pulls me against him, and I melt, my soft curves matching the firm lines of his chest. We dance for most of the song in silence. The time spent wrapped in his arms gives me a chance to consider about what I want from Nick. Sex. Yes. Obviously. Friendship. Oh course. As always.

Those together require total honesty, but each on their own…maybe not.

“Tell me what you’re thinking.”

I don’t want to think. I tip back, look into his eyes and smile. “Me too,” he says.

Am I blushing? Good God.

“You want more from me than that. I know it.”

I do my best to lift one eyebrow, doing what I can to look seductive and mysterious.

“Give me a chance,” he says. “I’ll prove it to you.”

“Are you prepared for safe sex?” I ask.

He drops his hand and smacks his back pocket. “Want me to prove that to you too?”

The truth tumbles out before I have a chance to edit it, “Yes. I do.”

* * * *

“Hey.” Nick is kicking some dusty pieces of hay that have probably been in the hay loft since I was in middle school. “I like this place. It’s pretty awesome.”

I look around the hay loft of my family’s barn, trying to see the planks, piles and mess through his eyes. There hasn’t been much use for the loft for years, ever since my dad gave up on the idea of raising cows. Or, to be more accurate, calves. But there is enough old stuff that it looks authentic. A couple of buckets, a rake and—the hay. The moonlight is coming in through the windows at the end, stretching across the wood planks. Some ancient garden tools are piled in a corner. I suppose it might look kind of awesome. Like some country music video.

The setting might look casual and laid-back but between Nick and me there’s a weird, awkward silence that kind of makes me mad. Mad for no good reason, I know. But mad still the same. I’m fighting against something I can’t see or understand and somehow he is part of it.

“Why?” I ask. “Why do you like it? What is there to like?” I wave my arms and spin, looking around at everything that represents my life. Pitchforks, dust, wood, empty feed sacks, junk nobody wants and other random, country stuff.

“I like that it reminds me of you.”

That is the worst thing ever.

“I don’t want anything to do with any of this.”

“You are this.”

“No. I’m not.”

The two of us are standing in the center of the hayloft, he’s looking me up and down and I’m frowning as though my life depends on it. It’s probably not the expression he’s expecting. Maybe he thinks I should be grinning or wearing some totally sappy expression. One by one the vertebra of my spine straighten and I glare at him, challenging him to do something but I don’t know what.

He shrugs off his jacket and drops it. Then he runs his fingers down the buttons of his dress shirt, loosening each one with a sharp twist of his fingers. Once it is totally unbuttoned, he tosses it aside, sending a small puff of dust upwards. Even though it’s a bit chilly, he whips off his white T-shirt, creates another puff of dust when he throws it down, then grabs his belt.

His hands linger on the buckle, and I take a long look at his knuckles before lifting my gaze. Remembering how it feels to be pressed against him makes my nipples tighten and my body starts to quiver. He can make me quiver harder, I know. So hard I shake.

Heart thumping, blood pounding, I look him over. He sees me watching him and smiles as he pulls his wallet out. One of his eyebrows tips up as he slips a packet from inside it and holds it up. The gold letters on the dark square blink in the moonlight. “You still want to do the friends with benefits thing?”

“Are you asking me if I want to have sex with you? Here? In the hayloft?”

The buckle of his belt jangles faintly as he unloops it and lets it hang over his zipper. “What do you think?” he asks, the one eyebrow still cocked and a smile lingering on his lips.

“I think you want to know if I can be as hot and wild as a romance novel heroine.”

“I already know the answer to that.” He unzips his khakis and kicks them off. Standing in front of me in only his briefs he adds, “What if I told you I didn’t want to be your friend?”

I make a point of looking down at his crotch, playing along with his game. “You sure look friendly.”

That slanted smile doesn’t reach his eyes. “What if I want to be your boyfriend? What would you think about that?”

The questions hang between us.

I don’t want to admit it, even to myself, but I like the way he looks, standing there in my barn. It’s like he belongs there. He’s as rugged and strong as the wood, as solid and purposeful as the structure. He’s there to do a job and right now that job is fucking me.

There have been guys who wanted to have sex, like Clifford, but Nick is looking at me like he wants to have sex with
me
. Does that make him my boyfriend? Whether we admit it aloud or not?

We could already be having sex. But he’s waiting and I owe him a response. A truthful one. “I don’t know what I think.”

He props his foot on a wooden crate and leans forward. “I’m willing to start with what I can get.” His biceps bunch up, reminding me of how his arms feel when he pins me down. “But that’s not where I want to end up.”

I don’t want to talk, so I move forward and put my mouth on his. He kisses me back, deepening the kiss without even touching me, guiding my head back by applying pressure that makes me submit. He moves his tongue across mine. The motion is quick and simple but my whole body responds. My legs are shaky, my pussy is wet and my breasts are heavy.

When I start to pant he lifts his mouth and says, “Take your clothes off.”

I slip out of my shoes, kicking them aside to stir up my own cloud of dust. While he watches, I start on my clothes. In a very matter of fact way, I undress. It only takes a few seconds for me to be standing in front of him wearing nothing but my bra and panties.

“You look perfect.” He glances around us then looks up at the solid rafters in the ceiling. “Here, in this place. It’s you. And you’re mine.”

It doesn’t make sense to be mad at him for wanting me, the real me, the me who belongs in a barn, but I am.

Nick comes to me. The heat of his body warms my skin before his hands, and he reaches around to slide his fingers into my panties and grab my ass. He cups my cheeks with his fingers and pulls me to him. When I press my body against his, I feel the rigid line of his dick through the silky wet fabric. I roll my hips forward, doing what I can to get some pressure on my clit, and I take a deep breath of his familiar musky scent.

To get closer, I lift one leg and wrap it behind his back. Nick grabs my ass again, and I copy his motion and reach around to grab his too. He laughs and rocks forward a couple of times. Because I’m on one foot, I have to cling to him to keep from falling.

“Yes’m, ma’am, that’s the way I like it. Grab my ass, country girl.”

I don’t want to laugh, but I do. “I’m not a country girl.”

“Oh really?” He runs a row of kisses down my neck. “Seems to me like you’re about to get busy in the hayloft. That’s pretty country.”

I want to smack him but the goofy look on his face makes me laugh harder. “Stop it,” I manage to get out between bursts of laughter. Now is not the time to laugh but I am.

He takes my leg from behind his back and guides it to the floor. He steps back and lifts his hands. “Stop that?”

I move forward and get close enough so he can grab me again. “No. Not that.”

He puts his hands on my breasts and strokes the skin above my bra cups. My nipples respond instantly, getting harder and more sensitive. “If we were boyfriend and girlfriend, would you think you could tell me what to do?”

The light caress of his fingertips is making my nerve ending skitter. I can’t possibly think when he touches me. “Please stop talking and finish getting naked.”

“You first.” He reaches behind me and unhooks my bra. It falls to the wood planks with a soft thud. He puts his hands back on my breasts, this time lifting them so he can put his mouth over one nipple. The flick of his tongue is amazing. It makes a new wave of heat flare through me. Sure it starts where his mouth is, but it spreads through my whole body, flowing with such a crazy force I think I might forget to breathe. My muscles begin to twitch and tense.

After he moves his mouth to my other breast, I hear myself moan. He straightens and puts his hands on each side of my face.

“I like it when you lose control like that.” His voice is low and rough. It’s okay to lose control sometimes, Hayley. Especially when you’re with me.”

I’m starting to shiver but it isn’t from the cold. It’s from the electricity flashing through me, making my nerve endings fizzle with need. The crazed buzzing of my body keeps me from holding back the truth. I don’t want to be Nick’s casual fuck buddy. I want to be his girlfriend.

“Tell me what you’re thinking, Hayley.”

No. I can’t.

He’s still holding my face in his hands. I can’t look away, I can’t turn from the truth. But it scares me. Last time I thought I was in love, I wasn’t. Not even close.

Would Nick believe me if I told him that I’ve never felt like this? Would I believe myself?

“Tell me,” he says again and I can feel his need.

“I was thinking I want you to take your briefs off.”

He lets go of my face and drops his hands. We work together to yank off his briefs. He drops to his knees and pinches the waistband between his fingers. I think he’s going to pull them off, but instead he places his mouth on my stomach and kisses me so lightly I can barely feel the press of his lips. Still I weave from the roll of lust he creates. Seeing him kneeling before me, his mouth so close to my pussy, makes my legs weak. I reach for his shoulder to brace myself, and he angles back. Inch by inch he tugs off my panties, backs me up all the way to the opposite wall then presses my back to the wide, weather-worn trim around the window. The wood is smooth and solid against my back. I lift one leg and brace my foot on a low piece of trim.