Chapter 13 #2
“Hey.” Oaklee slips her arm back around my waist, and I reflexively drape mine around her shoulders. My sister and her friend walk over to their cooler and then toward a group of women from town. “Wyatt plays guitar?” she asks, her eyes wide with anticipation.
“He does. Learned when he was a little shit of about seven. His grandpa played all sorts of instruments and taught him.”
“He even plays the piano, but don’t tell him I told you,” Cam adds.
“Why not?” she asks, turning her attention to my younger brother.
“Because he says it’s not cool enough,” I reply with a chuckle.
“I think it’s very cool,” Oaklee says. “Do you play an instrument?”
“Nope,” I answer. “You?”
“Oh, no. I thought about joining band in junior high like all my friends, but we couldn’t afford an instrument.”
“I’m sorry,” I find myself saying, feeling terrible for the little girl with a shitty homelife.
“Nothing for you to be sorry about,” she states with a shrug.
“It is what it is.” She takes a deep breath before adding, “I’m sure my grandparents would have done what they could to rent me an instrument, but I could tell it wouldn’t have been easy.
Their finances were already stretched pretty thin, with adding a third mouth to feed and care for.
They did what they could, and I’ll always appreciate that. ”
I reach down and take her hand, giving it a gentle squeeze.
“Cade, get your ass over here!” Wyatt hollers from the log he’s using as a bench.
“Ready for this?” I ask, glancing down at her.
“Ready for what?”
“Singing.”
Her eyes widen. “I don’t sing either.”
“Cade!”
I exhale and shake my head. “Well, unfortunately for me, I do. Come on, let’s go over with the rest of them.”
Leading her to the group, we walk around the perimeter of the circle until we’re behind Wyatt. “’Bout damn time,” he mutters. Then, he glances up at Oaklee and flashes a blinding smile. “Hey, Oaklee. Did you know our boy here can sing?”
“I’ve heard recently,” she replies, squeezing my hand now in support.
“Well, he sounds a little like George Strait, only he’s uglier.”
Everyone laughs at my expense, but I don’t give a shit. I could be the butt of every joke told for the rest of the night, and I’d still be having one of the best nights of my life. Having Oaklee here—showing and sharing with her my favorite spot—has been pretty damn remarkable.
Wyatt strums a chord, the song already taking shape. He starts singing “That Summer” by Garth Brooks, and a few hum along. Wanting to keep Oaklee close to the fire, I move behind her and rest my arms over her shoulders. She leans back, her head pressed into my chest. It feels so fucking good.
So right.
We sway to the music, both of us listening to the song, which quickly turns into a second, and then a third. They’re all ones I’ve heard before, but listening to my friend sing and play guitar never gets old.
Eventually, he glances back, and I know what’s coming. All eyes seem to be on Oaklee and me as I release my hold on her and move around to sit next to my friend. “All right, boys and girls, how about a little Kenny Chesney?”
He starts playing the opening chord to “She Thinks My Tractor’s Sexy,” and I belt out the words like I do any other time. Only this time, I feel Oaklee’s presence behind me, feel her eyes boring into my head.
By the time the song is about done, several of the guys are singing along and a couple of the ladies are dancing. In fact, I’m pretty sure I know who is dancing. It’s my sister and Sommer, twirling each other around as if they’re on the dance floor at a wedding reception.
We play and sing a few more songs before I get up and return to where Oaklee stands. She snakes her arms around my waist and yawns. “Ready to crash?” I ask, my heart thumping a little harder in my chest at the idea of getting her into my tent and in my arms.
“Yeah, I think I’m tapping out,” she says, giving me a sheepish grin with gazed-over eyes.
“All right, let’s go,” I say, taking her hand and walking away from the crowd.
“Cade, where the hell are you going? We have one more song!” Wyatt bellows.
“You can do this one without me,” I holler, not stopping until I reach my tent.
It’s far enough away from the fire that we no longer feel any of the heat, but it’s a little quieter. Not that anywhere would be quiet right now, not with all the singing and carrying on happening.
I bend down and lift the zipper, stepping aside to allow her to enter first. The windows are open now, but I know I’ll be closing them soon. It may be September, but the nights still get cool. However, it’s perfect sleeping weather, outside in the tent in the fresh air with a blanket.
It’s pretty damn close to heaven.
I flip on a battery-operated lantern and catch Oaklee’s eyes zeroed in on my bedroll. It’s not as comfortable as an air mattress, but it sure beats the hell out of sleeping on the hard ground.
Since she doesn’t have anything to change into, and frankly, I never really bring anything to sleep in, I point to the bed. “Have at it.”
She toes off her athletic shoes and slowly climbs beneath the blanket, making sure to only take a corner of the pillow.
I pull my flannel off, tossing it in the corner of the tent and zip up the door and windows, leaving only a sliver open to ensure we get a little fresh air.
“I can close that all the way if you get too cold,” I tell her before bending down and unlacing my boots.
Finally, I turn off the lantern, crawl onto the bedroll, and lay my head on the pillow. She wiggles toward me, shifting to her side, so I do the same. “I had the best time today.”
“I’m glad,” I reply as the opening notes of “Friends in Low Places” comes to life.
“You have a beautiful voice,” she murmurs, listening to the chaos erupt that usually ensues with the song.
“Thanks. I like to sing.”
“You can do it anytime you want,” she tells me with a smile.
My grin matches hers. “Just say the word.”
We lie there for several seconds, humming along to the song until it finally ends.
“Cade?” she asks after a minute of silence.
“Yeah, beautiful?” I whisper, letting the heat of her body soothe my soul. I never knew lying beside a woman like this could be so damn comforting.
“Remember when you told me you’d kiss me when I was ready?”
My heart starts to beat harder, my breathing lodging firmly in my throat. “Yeah, I remember.”
“Well,” she starts, placing her hand on my arm and sliding it up to my shoulder. “I’m ready.”
“For a kiss?”
She nods. “Yes.”
We’re already close, but I go ahead and lean toward her a bit more until our mouths are aligned. My brain shuts off and the alcohol swims through my veins, mixing with lust and anticipation. I suddenly feel drunk, but I know it’s not from the beer. It’s Oaklee. That’s the effect she has on me.
I focus on her lips, on the way they part as her breathing picks up. Her tongue darts out, licking at the plump bottom lip in preparation.
She wants this.
She asked for me to kiss her.
“It would be my pleasure.”