M Leighton: Wild Child

“You’re not old enough for grandchildren, Daddy.”

“Of course I am.”

“You don’t look it.”

“If you’re sucking up, you’re off to a particularly good start.”

“I know. I got your stunningly youthful genes and a winning personality.”

“Let’s not forget a double dose of humility,” my father says wryly.

“How could I forget that?”

“How indeed,” he says with a roll of his eyes. “Well, this ought to give you girls enough energy to tackle any amount of wedding hoopla, so eat up.”

I glance over at Cami. She’s already put away a piece and a half of toast. “You don’t have to ask us twice.”

Dad winks at me and leans across the island to scrub my head, like he’s done for as long as I can remember. He’s one of the best things about coming home. This town isn’t exactly my favorite place, but there are a few positives. And two of them are in the room with me right now. If it weren’t for them, and Rusty, of course, I’d probably never come back.

Rusty, I think with an internal sigh as I take a bite of toast. The wild card in my future.

“Who the hell came up with this piss-poor idea?” I ask.

Trick pops his head up from under the hood of a ’67 Chevy truck. “It’s hard to say. My money would be on Jenna. This sounds like some wicked plan of hers, don’t you think?”

Giving it a few seconds’ thought, I have to agree. “You’re probably right. She probably read in some magazine or something that it would make sex better or some such bullshit.”

“That sounds like Jenna. And, while I’m all about great sex, I can tell you right now that this is needless on my part. I don’t think it’s possible for our sex life to get any better.”

“Same here. Jenna’s a damn hellcat in bed.”

Trick laughs. “I’m not surprised. I kinda get that impression.”

“Right. So what the hell?”

“Who knows? They’re women. I don’t think God Himself understands what they do sometimes.”

“Duuude,” I say, holding out my fist for Trick to bump. And he does. “Couldn’t agree more.”

“Of course, maybe Jenna wants to show you what you’re missing. You know, since you’re a pansy about telling her how you feel.”

“I’m not a pansy, you prick! Jenna and I are on the same page. We both know she’s not the kind to stay around here.”

“No, she’s not, but you always wanted to open up a garage somewhere near a bigger city so you could do high-end classic restorations. So what’s the problem?”

I shrug. “There’s no problem. Jenna’s restless. It is what it is. Sometimes people leave, no matter how much you want them to stay. Trust me, Jenna knows the score.”

“Man, I think you don’t know that girl half as well as you think you do. That or you’re just trying to lose her.”

“Now, why would I want to do that?”

“Hell if I know. You’re the one with the issues.”

“Issues? Kiss my ass. I don’t have issues.”

“Of course not. It’s perfectly normal for a guy to be so much of a pussy about telling a woman how he feels, that he dicks around until he loses her.”

“Actually, that probably is perfectly normal. That shit comes with having balls.”

“Or not having balls.”

“God, you’re ornery this morning. What’s your deal?”

“You think I’m looking forward to sleeping alone just because your girlfriend thought it would be a cool experiment?”

“Hey, we still don’t know whose brainchild this was. Don’t blame my girlfriend. It was probably your fiancée. You are getting married in a couple of days after all. Maybe there’s some kind of ancient superstition that Cami read about.”

Trick raises his head again. “Why are we still talking about this?”

“Because I’ve got blue balls already, that’s why.”

Trick quirks one eyebrow. “Well, then we’ll just have to make them suffer until they come begging for this stupid thing to be over.”

My grin is slow and I can see it reflected on my best friend’s face. “Oh, hell yeah we will.”

I like the sound of this already.

I can’t wait for Rusty to see what I’m wearing. I dressed specifically with torturing him in mind.

Cami and I made all kinds of salads and desserts this morning to bring to her house for the cookout slash bridal shower. It’s an unconventional event, but she wanted Trick to participate in everything with her. Therefore, the bridal shower now includes the groom, and tomorrow night’s bachelorette party will include the bachelors. Crazy as hell if you ask me. But she didn’t. She wants Trick around for all of it, and who am I to try to talk her out of it? Besides, she did let me plan the bachelorette party. That alone was worth a thousand other compromises.

There are already a dozen cars parked along the side of the road leading to Cami’s house, but someone put a saw horse on the side of the driveway where she usually parks. My guess is it was Trick, saving a spot for his fiancée. I won’t deny that it makes me a little green, what they have. I want it for myself. With Rusty. If he ever gets to that point.

And that’s a big if.

I get out and move the saw horse so Cami can pull in. We waste no time in loading up our arms and taking all the foil-wrapped dishes straight down into the back yard.

I look around as we walk, but Rusty is nowhere to be found. He and Trick must be doing some manly stuff inside. Whatever that may be. If I had to guess, I’d say it involves them pounding beer somewhere in the house.

Cami and I are setting dishes on one long, cloth-covered table when I see the patio door open and Trick emerge. I know Rusty won’t be far behind. And he’s not. He comes out next, holding a beer just like Trick. They’re both laughing at something. I turn to face him and wait for his eyes to find me.

When they do, I feel the warmth of the bright blue orbs and I smile when he stops dead in his tracks. Even from this distance, I can tell exactly where they are on my body. He starts at my feet, taking in my strappy, sexy platforms. Then he works his way slowly up my legs, making them tingle. I can tell the instant he gets to the ragged hem of my cut-off blue jean shorts. I can almost feel his fingers tracing the edge of them, teasing the elastic of my panties underneath. I squeeze my thighs together to stop the ache that started the instant I saw him. No sense in getting all worked up when I can’t do anything about it.

His eyes finally continue to rise, traveling over the slice of exposed skin on my stomach to the edge of my t-shirt and then stopping on my boobs. I see his chest rise and fall with his deep breath and my nipples pucker into points. Rusty’s mouth drops open a little bit and I wonder if he can see them through my shirt. I’m sure he knows they’re begging for his mouth.

When his gaze meets mine, I know I’m right. His eyes are shooting blue flames at me. And my body reacts accordingly.

Very slowly, he walks toward me. I can’t help but get excited as I watch him. His loose gait is like that of a lion, stalking his prey. And I’d love to be Rusty’s prey. For him to stalk me until he catches me, to grab me with his hands and hold me down so he can devour me.

Shit a monkey, woman! You’ve got to stop thinking like this!

Rusty’s body is almost as familiar to me as my own. As I take in his dark chestnut hair, sticking up at all different angles, his wide shoulders, encased in snug navy cotton, and the ripped jeans that hug his thighs so perfectly, I consider throwing Cami’s plan right into the toilet and asking Rusty to take me upstairs and let me give him a few more tears in his clothes.