26. Claire
26
CLAIRE
T hings I need to be doing:
Training for my show later this summer. Working with Calypso. Getting my rider’s legs back.
Things I’m doing instead:
Finding every deep, dark hiding place in the Preacher Ranch to recklessly, ceaselessly make out with Riley Ransom.
Every chance we get, we escape to Maeby’s Tavern. It feels like our own hidden utopia where no one can see us and nothing matters. Sometimes we get lunch or listen to music. But mostly, we go to the patio out back, with its long view of the mountains and woods. There’s a small shooting range out here with a BB gun that rests on a stump, a few plastic benches with overflowing ashtrays, and best of all: it’s almost always empty.
The perfect spot for us.
I should know better. But…
I’ve become addicted to kissing Ransom.
I like the way his strong arms feel around me. I like the way his tongue moves inside my mouth like it belongs there. I like his sighs much better in person than over the phone. I like the way how, when I sit in his lap, I can feel that hard, secret press of want against my hip.
It’s exhilarating.
We break for air. We catch our breath, lips barely touching, and I drop my forehead against his, shifting in his lap.
“Does it hurt?” I ask. “When you’re…like that.”
I glance downward and back up so he catches my meaning. Ransom lets out a light chuckle, and his face colors.
“Ah…hell. I don’t know how to describe it.”
I press a small, encouraging kiss to his lips. “Try.”
He throat bobs as he swallows. He thinks for a second, then says, “It’s feels like…I don’t ever wanna stop what we’re doing.”
I grin. “So don’t.”
We fall back into our kiss. His breathing deepens. I rest my hand on his thigh, on the crux between our bodies. Slowly, I nudge my thumb up the denim until I brush against the hardness of him. Curious, I trace the length of it.
He puffs hot air against my cheek. A low grunt escapes the back of his throat and lights me up from the inside, pouring heat into my blood.
“You’re killing me, woman.” There’s grit in his voice.
I nip his ear. “The correct response is, thank you, princess .”
“Thank you, princess.”
He scoops his hands over my rear and pulls me against him tighter. I squeak and push my hands against his chest for balance. When he kisses me this time, it’s rougher, untamed, and I laugh against his lips as I melt into his hungry affection.
The back door clangs open. Ransom and I instinctively stop kissing, and I straighten up.
Miss Maeby exits onto the back patio. She glances over at us as she takes her pack of cigarettes out of her pocket. “You kids not getting into any trouble out here, are you?”
“No, ma’am.” Ransom strokes my hip.
“Oh! Miss Maeby. I have a favor.” I pop off of Ransom’s lap (he grunts in protest) and rummage through my bag. I find what I’m looking for and yank it out before walking over to her. “Can you please sign my poster?”
I unroll it carefully, displaying my print of her Belleflower Queen poster. Each year has its own unique design. Hers has the words Maeve Belladonna Katherine, Queen of 1994, in fancy, looping font at the bottom. An image of her is illustrated on the cover—Maeby as she was then , Maeve Belladonna. Regal, really, with her chin cocked upward and the Belleflower Queen flower crown at a slight cant over her head, as though even the illustrator knew she would be a slightly off center queen.
Maeby stares at the poster. “You collect these, huh?”
“Just my favorite queens.” I smile.
Flattery, flattery, flattery. She doesn’t look impressed. “Uh-huh.” She lights her cigarette. The stench makes my throat contract, but I power through it.
“This is going to be my year,” I tell her.
It’s not arrogance—it’s confidence. A Belleflower Queen must be confident and self-assured in everything she does.
If anyone understands that, it would be another Belleflower Queen .
I don’t need praise, but I do expect a degree of courteous understanding— Queen sees Queen . Instead, Miss Maeby’s mouth twists, her expressing souring.
“C’mere,” she says, pushing her hand on my shoulder. She guides me down the patio, to the two-stall shooting range. Here, she takes the poster from me. She goes to the end, where there’s a board with cans with holes in them sitting on the bottom shelf. I watch as she takes out a few tacks, sticks the poster to the board, and then comes around back. She lifts the BB gun, aims it, and fires.
I jump at the blast. The pellet leaves a perfectly round entrance wound in the bottom right edge of the paper.
Maeby stares at the damage. There’s a strange, far-off look in her eyes. She takes a drag from her cigarette, and then holds the rifle out to me. “Your turn.”
I almost protest, but then I correct myself.
A Belleflower Queen wouldn’t shy away from a challenge.
She moves aside and I step into place. I line the rifle up with my shoulder. Just as Daddy taught me. I look through the sight. I take aim.
I squeeze. The rifle kicks against me. I look down at the range and I’m relieved to see I hit the target—a matching hole, side-by-side with Maeby’s.
Before I can give back the gun through, she surprises me. She puts both hands on my shoulders and turns me towards her.
“There’s more to life than being a fucking Belleflower Queen,” she says, looking me dead in the eyes. “Understand me?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Say it.”
There’s an intensity about her that tells me I can’t get out of this. So I repeat: “There’s more to life than being a Belleflower Queen.”
The hard edge of her mouth relaxes. She squeezes my shoulder. “Good girl. Now go get your poster.”
I retrieve it, untacking it from the wall. When I come back, Maeby has her pen out. She scribbles her signature in messy, looping letters, and then hands it back to me.
With that, Maeby heads back inside. I walk over to Ransom. He’s got his eyebrows raised.
“She’s a bitch,” I announce.
He lifts his hands. His I told you so gesture. “Told you not to ask her about it.”
I roll up the poster and set it back in my bag. “No, I mean… she’s a bitch . I love her.”
I sit back down beside him. He chuckles and puts his arm around me. A breeze kicks up and my skin breaks out in goosebumps. “Wanna go inside?”
“Please.” I pout. “And I need something to drink. Someone made my lips dry.”
“Aw. Poor princess.” He gives me another kiss and my heart flips.