Chapter 7
Chapter Seven
STARLING
I love Nora.
I love her and want to be patient with her as she works through her fear of all things furry and feathered but damn…her timing sucks.
For a second there, I was positive Christian was about to kiss me.
The shine in his bright blue eyes, the softness in his expression, the way his full lips parted ever so slightly as he dipped his head closer to mine—all signs pointed to a lip-lock and hopefully a vow to teach me all the Secrets of Sexy Times before he leaves town.
Now, instead of making out, we’re making haste toward the kissing booth, which is clearly unstable and not built for a grown woman to climb on top of it. It’s wobbling back and forth, making ominous creaking sounds as Carolina backs away, moving out of the path of whatever disaster is about to unfold.
“You take care of the cat, I’ll get her down,” Christian says.
“On it,” I say.
Christian makes a beeline for Nora, while I hurry over to the cat’s owner. On my way past, the cat—a fat black Persian wearing an eye patch, a pirate hat, and a fake peg leg—yowls and takes a swipe at me, making me grateful for the heavy skirts protecting my ankles.
“No, Killer, don’t scratch,” the owner—a scrawny brunette dressed as a pirate wench—says without any real conviction. She’s watching Nora climb the walls without any sign of compassion, either.
If anything, she seems amused by the scene she’s caused.
“Hey there,” I say, forcing a smile for the woman, though I can already tell we aren’t going to click. Anyone who would bring an aggressive animal into a public place—or force a cat to wear a costume that is clearly driving it batshit crazy—isn’t my kind of people. I motion over my shoulder toward where Nora is still hyperventilating atop the kissing booth. “My friend is really anxious around aggressive animals. Would you mind giving her some space and coming back to the kissing booth with your cat a little later?”
The woman shifts her flat brown eyes over my shoulder then back to my face without a spark of empathy. “Sounds like a her problem, not a me problem, and I want to get Killer’s picture at the kissing booth before it gets crowded.”
The cat hisses and takes another swipe at me before rolling onto its back in the gravel and thrashing his head back and forth in an attempt to dislodge his hat.
I clench my jaw and nod as patiently as I can, considering this wench’s lack of compassion for both Nora and her distressed pet. “I get it. Just give us two minutes, okay? I’ll get Nora out of here and you can be first in line.”
“Please, don’t make me,” Nora squeaks behind me. “I can’t get down, Christian. I just can’t.”
“It’s okay, don’t be scared. I’ve got you. I won’t even let your feet touch the ground, I promise,” Christian murmurs in that deep, soothing rumble that always puts the skittish new dogs at the shelter at ease.
But when I sneak another peek over my shoulder, Nora is still clutching the pillar of the rickety booth, shaking her head back and forth as tears stream down her face. “I can’t.”
I spin back to the wench and her cat, who is now batting his claws at the leash in a hopeless attempt to free himself from his torture. “Look, I’ll give you twenty bucks, okay? Just to go and come back later. Easiest money you’ll ever make.”
The woman arches an over-plucked brow. “Can’t get much with a twenty these days.”
“Okay, fine, forty,” I say, fighting the uncharacteristic urge to wipe the smirk off this jerk’s face with a flick of my fingers to her stubby little nose.
“A hundred,” she counters, summoning an outraged huff from my chest.
“A hundred?” I ask, incredulous. “You want a hundred dollars to do the right thing for a fellow human being? Something you should do just to be a kind and decent member of the community?”
The woman’s smile widens. “There it is. You always did think you were better than everyone else, Starling Baxter.”
What the hell? Who is this woman?
My jaw drops and my eyes widen, but before I can speak, a shadow falls across my face.
“Everything okay over here, Raney?” a voice twangs in a thick Southern accent.
The wench—Raney, apparently, a name that still doesn’t ring any bells for me—grins up at a man the size of a small mountain, the one currently providing shade for her, myself, and the still-yowling-and-thrashing cat. “Yep, it’s all good, Blinky. Standing my ground, like I always do. You know me, baby. I don’t let nobody push me around.” Her gaze slides back to my face, cooling several degrees as she adds, “Especially uppity little girls who like to tattle to teacher.”
The words send a lightning bolt of comprehension through my head.
Raney is Geranium aka “Raney” Gerard. Growing up, she was two grades above me and should have had better things to do than tease a little kid. But she always made time in her busy “sneaking cigarettes behind the gym” schedule to make fun of the homemade bib overall outfits my mom made me.
And my pigtails and my pink backpack with the unicorn decals and the hint of a lisp I couldn’t kick until fifth grade and several years of speech therapy.
Back then, Raney was a good foot taller than I was and nearing the danger zone on the childhood obesity scale. She was massive, mean, and terrifying to my much smaller self. Gathering the courage to tell my mom about her bullying and let Mom book a meeting with the school counselor was one of the scariest decisions I’d made up to that point in my short life. I knew Raney would be livid with me and she’d probably get in trouble, but I truly didn’t want anything bad to happen to her.
I just wanted to be able to walk the halls without someone calling me names, making fun of my clothes, or throwing spitballs into my hair.
When she was sent to the alternative school for troubled kids, I couldn’t believe it. I’d never imagined that justice would be so swift and complete, but I’d be lying if I said I was sorry. The rest of my school career was infinitely more peaceful without Raney in the picture.
Eventually, I moved on with my life and didn’t think much about my childhood bully. On the rare occasions when Geranium crossed my mind, I assumed she’d probably left town, since I hadn’t seen or heard anything about her in close to a decade.
But apparently, she’s still here in Bad Dog and dating a man named Blinky whose blunt features bloom with recognition as he asks, “Is this the one? The girl who got you kicked out of normie school?”
Raney smirks harder, like she’s enjoying the punchline to a deliciously wicked joke—a joke that’s definitely on me, though I don’t understand how just yet. “Yep. This is her. Little Miss Perfect, Starling Baxter. But you ain’t so perfect now, are you?”
I frown. “I was never perfect, Raney. I was just a kid. So were you and everything that happened between us happened a long time ago. So why don’t we forget about the?—”
“Anna is one of my best friends,” she cuts in. “We do nails together in your rich bitch college town. She told me all about your boyfriend, Tyson. How you couldn’t keep him satisfied so she had to do the job for you.” She glances up at Blinky, laughing as she adds, “Tyson said this one was a real cold fish in the sack. Called her Ice Princess.” Her gaze shifts back to me, her eyes narrowing meanly as my stomach begins a prolonged, shame-filled free fall.
How could Tyson have done this? Not only cheated on me, but said such terrible things? Untrue things!
I wasn’t a cold fish.
Was I?
“Looks like you chose the perfect costume, princess,” Raney continues. “How’s it feel to know you’ll never keep a man ‘cause you’re such a stuck-up, clueless little virgin?”
“Hate to break this up, but we have to go,” Christian says from so close behind me, I flinch a little as he speaks. I was so consumed by the black hole in my stomach, I didn’t hear him cross the gravel. “Nora’s safe and the jousting starts in a few minutes. I know you didn’t want to miss it, babe.”
I turn to find him staring down at me like I’m the sun, the moon, and at least a handful of stars.
Before my “what the heck” expression can fully form, he takes my hand and leans his face close to mine, making my entire body tingle as he adds in a softer voice, “The sooner we film Matty’s ride, the sooner we can get out of here. I can’t wait to have you all to myself.” He shifts his gaze to Raney and her man. “Have a great day at the fair. Oh, and your cat chewed through his leash and made a run for it. Good luck with that.”
As he guides me away, I glance down to see that Killer has, indeed, made a break for it, leaving nothing behind but his tiny pirate hat and the frayed end of his lead.
Christian and I head for the jousting stands, leaving Raney cussing and Blinky calling, “Here, Killer, here boy. Where are you, buddy? Killl-errrr !”
Once we’re out of earshot, I murmur, “My knight in shining armor,” and will my flushed cheeks to stop burning. “Thanks for that. Pretending to be hot for my bod was a nice touch.”
He grunts. “Had to do something to take the wind out of that woman’s sails. What an asshole. Obviously not a friend of yours, huh?”
I snort-laugh. “Um, no. More like my nemesis. She bullied me in grade school. Made fun of my homemade clothes, my hair, my lisp…the whole works.”
“Fuck her,” he says, the heat in his tone surprising. “I bet your lisp was fucking adorable.”
“Not really. I sounded like Daffy Duck. It wasn’t a cute lisp. It was a juicy one.” I pull my hand reluctantly from his. We’re getting close to the stands and someone we know could see us and get the wrong idea. “But thanks. I appreciate the support. And the rescue. Is Nora okay?”
“She’s fine.” He moves his hand to the small of my back, setting off the increasingly familiar “Christian is touching me” tingle explosion between my hips. “Matty saw we were in trouble and stopped by on his way to the stables. Seemed like he and Nora knew each other. She looked happy to see him, anyway, and didn’t hesitate when he offered to carry her across the grass to the stands. Though she did say something about squirrels when he showed up, so she might have just been delirious with fear.”
“Squirrel guy,” I blurt out as the pieces connect. “Matty’s her squirrel guy!”
“What?” He looks at me like I might be delirious, too.
“Nora met a cute boy in the park,” I explain. “He saved her from a squirrel and asked her to come watch him joust today. She said his name was Matty, but she didn’t remember his last name. She was too wonderstruck by his dreamy eyes to remember all the details.”
Christian sighs. “Gotcha. Well, as soon as I get Matty alone, I’ll nip that in the bud. The last thing Nora needs is a guy making her life more stressful than it is already.” Before I can assure him that Nora is definitely up for hot-guy-related stress or ask what’s wrong with Matty—he’s always seemed like a nice guy to me—he pushes on, “But first you and I need to talk.” As we move past the beer stand next to the bleachers, he darts to the right, curling his hand around my waist to pull me with him.
“Where are we going?” I ask, yipping in surprise when he drags me past the edge of the stand and into the cool shadows beneath the bleachers.
“I told you—” He spins to face me so suddenly that I have to brace my hands against his chest to avoid a full-body crash. “To talk,” he finishes, staring down at me with an intensity that makes me feel even more exposed.
“Um, okay.” I curl fingers into fists and take a step away, trying not to think about how nice his pecs felt beneath my fingertips. “What are we talking about?”
“What she said…was it true?” he asks, beginning to look genuinely troubled.
I shake my head slowly back and forth. “That Tyson cheated on me? Yes, I told you that before.”
“No, not that part,” he says. “The other part.”
I frown. “What other part? Because if you’re talking about the cold fish thing, I’d really rather not?—”
“No,” he cuts in, jabbing a frustrated hand in the general direction of my hips. “I mean the other part. The…virgin part.”
Shit. I was hoping he hadn’t heard that.
But clearly, he did, so…
I shrug. “Maybe. Maybe not. Can’t see that it’s any business of yours.”
“You basically asked me to be your fuck buddy until I leave town,” he hisses, glancing over his shoulder as if he expects someone to be eavesdropping on us under the bleachers.
I shrug again and cross my arms over my chest. “So?”
“So, you’re a virgin,” he says, motioning toward my hips again.
I widen my eyes. “And?”
“And that means I would have been your first,” he says. “That’s a big deal, Starling.”
My lips quirk up on one side. “Is it?”
“Of course, it is,” he insists.
“Was your first time a big deal?” I ask.
“Yeah, it was.” He stretches his neck to one side, seeming to think about it some more before he adds, “I mean, at the time.”
“How old were you?” I ask, cocking my head. “If you don’t mind sharing.”
“Fourteen,” he mumbles, seeming a little embarrassed by the number.
My brows lift. “Wow, yeah, I can imagine that must have been a big deal. You were practically still a child. No wonder that made a mark on your psyche.”
“I wouldn’t say it made a—” he starts, but I cut him off before he can finish.
“But I’m in a very different situation. I’m nearly a decade older than you were when you lost your virginity. I’m a fully grown adult with needs, and I’m tired of putting those needs on the back burner while I wait for a relationship-worthy man to come along. I’d actually like to have some fun and get really good at sex before that happens.” I let my smile widen as I take a step closer. “And that’s where you come in.”
He frowns harder. “Where I come in?”
Bracing myself to put it all on the line, I tip my head back, giving Christian a clear view down the front of my dress as I whisper in my most seductive voice, “Yes, where you come in and go out and come in and go out until we both feel so good, you’ll kick yourself for nearly letting this sexy, no-strings opportunity pass you by.”
For a second, I think Christian’s going to pass out.
His face goes white and sweat breaks out on his upper lip.
But he doesn’t pass out. He does something far, far worse.
He tips his head back and starts to laugh.