Chapter 12
CHAPTER
TWELVE
Dean and Hudson stand in front of my booth, Hudson wearing an uneasy smile, and Dean a sympathetic one. I let out a sigh.
“It’s fine that she didn’t come. I’m not spiraling out.” I keep my focus on the belt I’m making custom for Dorthea, the woman who runs the fudge booth. Using my creaser, I smooth the edges of the belt, rounding them out for a finer finish.
There’s no movement in front of me, so I carefully place the creaser on the table, releasing the slack on the belt. I take my hat off, and move my fingers through my hair. It’s damp with sweat, and this random fall heat is irritating me. So are my friends, hovering over me like I’m a damn eggshell.
“You sure, buddy?” Dean hedges, reaching out to run his fingers over the designs etched in the belt. I slap his hand away.
“That’s not done, I don’t need your finger oils all over it. And buddy? ” I repeat, shaking my head. “She’s a teenage girl. Dr. Tanner says this is all normal. I’m fine, seriously.”
Dean still gives me that weird, sad, conciliatory smile.
I wave my finger at him. “If you ever wanna swap woes over beers again, I’m not doing it if you’re gonna use it against me.”
He holds up his palms in surrender. “Fine, fine. Just checking on you.” A little boy runs by behind us, waving his shirt in the air over his head like a lasso, screaming ‘yee-haw.’ Dean shakes his head, and at this moment I’m glad he’s often easily distracted. “He seems pretty young to be hauling around shirtless and alone, no?”
Hudson leans back, hands on his hips, eyeing the little boy. “Ah, that’s Archie Holt. He goes to school with Bear. He’s… just a wild boy. All the Holt boys are a little wild.”
“Boone Holt is my boy!” Dean says, naming off the quarterback of his varsity team. “I didn’t know he had a brother that young. He’s got a younger brother at Bluebell High, that I know.” He smiles. “Well, more Holt boys for future Bruiser championships.”
Archie runs by again, this time with a piece of fudge in his death grip, melting between his fingers. A moment later, Dorthea chases after him, sending dust up around Hudson’s and Dean’s ankles, from the commotion .
“Archie Holt, you cannot steal!” Dorthea hollers.
“Damn,” Dean says, “Dorthea can really fucking run, eh?”
Hudson nods, both of their heads bobbing as they watch the chase play out. “Gotta be fast around sticky fingers.” He turns back to face me, smiling as he extends his hand. I shake it. “Have a good market today.”
My gaze slides to his booth–Gray Farms Flavored Milks–and spot Dolly there, smiling, a line of customers wrapping their booth. “You, too. Keep one of those Chocolate Caramel milks aside, I’m gonna grab it on my way out.”
He tips his hat. “Will do.”
He and Dean wander off, and I’m just about to settle into my booth and continue working when something shiny and yellow catches my eye.
Hair.
Riley’s hair. Flaxen beneath the sharp glint of the sun, she flips it over her shoulder, loose waves tumbling down her back. A groan rumbles through my ribcage when I take in the slender curve of her body in that form fitting pink sundress. Shapely calves give way to strong thighs, a plump ass and tits that make my palms throb to hold them.
I adjust myself below the table with one hand, because five seconds of looking at Riley Rivers has my cock hard.
The look on her face last night when I found her in my closet. The mortification and rambling was cute as hell. And the way she called me sir. It just fell off her lips, like it came from her gut. It was fucking hot, and even though I’d just tugged one out in the shower moments before, I’d be lying if I said I didn’t do it again, two more times, replaying her expression as she looked at my dick… not once, but many times.
I know I’m big. It took my wife a long time to be able to handle me inside of her .
Miss Riley Rivers seems like she may be up for the challenge.
I wonder if she thinks about that day behind the barn, with the splinter, as often as I do.
In the shining light of Saturday, with Riley in a killer sundress, laughter on her lips and a smile in her eyes, I can’t stop seeing her bent over my leg, my flogger marking her bare ass. My booth is empty, and I take this moment to approach her and talk about last night.
Not the seeing my cock and running her face into my naked chest part. More like, picking up my sulky teenager and bringing her home when Jo Jo never even called me. I owe her a thank you for that—and I’d like to see how Jo Jo is doing at cheer.
Those are the reasons my boots are eating up gravel in the direction of Riley Rivers. Those are the main reasons, at least. Truth be told, I just want to talk to her.
I know I don’t need to be wanting to talk to Jo Jo’s twenty-something cheerleading coach. Jesus I almost feel perverted for it. And Jo Jo respects and adores Miss Riley. It’s clear. Hell, she tells this cheerleading coach more than she tells me. And she called Riley last night to get her after something clearly happened. She didn’t call me. She didn’t text me. I wasn’t even a consideration. That means Jo Jo trusts Riley.
I should not fuck with Riley. I should not throw their relationship into jeopardy, because if I like Miss Riley, Jo Jo surely will not. That’s how her mind works. Dad and dad’s likes are bad; everything not related to dad, good.
I know it’s a phase, but until this phase is over, I ought to keep away from Miss Riley, and let Jo Jo have her as her safe, trusted adult.
I just want to chat with her a little about last night, that’s all .
Her blue eyes tug to mine the moment I approach, as if she may have spotted me coming over and got a little nervous. I think that’s cute, too. I tip my hat.
“Miss Rivers,” I greet her.
“Hi there, Mr. Turner,” she says, her cheeks flushing. She immediately brings her hand to her face, fanning herself. “Hot day, huh?”
Now I know it’s been years since I’ve been inside a woman, held a woman’s hand, dated, all that noise. But the flush of arousal isn’t something a man forgets. I widen my stance to give my dick room to calm down, because seeing her react to me is arousing.
“Yep,” I agree. “I just thought I’d come over and talk to you, seeing as how you and Jo Jo seem to have a bond.”
Her face relaxes at the mention of Jo Jo, and that does something to my chest.
“I like Jo Jo so much. She’s such a sweet girl,” she says, her eyes searching mine as the honest words tumble from her lips. I can tell she means them because Riley Rivers wears her exact emotions all over her face. A memory of her dropped jaw from last night flashes through my mind.
“How’s she doing, you know, with cheerleading? Moving up to JV was a big jump. She doing okay?” I ask her, and the way her face doesn’t rumple with confusion leads me to wonder if Riley knows how Jo Jo feels about me. Me not being in the loop doesn't seem to surprise her.
“Huge,” she says, sputtering on the word. “I mean, yeah, no, it’s a big jump. A huge jump is what I meant, that’s why I said huge,” she assures me, her cheeks and the tip of her nose ruby red as she smooths her palms down her dress. “Anyway, um, well–”
I save her, jumping in to pick up the end of that sentence. “I didn’t quite get much out of Jo Jo last night. She was supposed to be sleeping over at Alexa’s and… I didn’t expect her home. What happened?” I ask, a sliver of embarrassment worming through me at the fact I’m asking her about my daughter. “She doesn’t talk to me much,” I add, reaching up to grab at the back of my neck, attempting to knead away my own discomfort.
“High school is tough,” she says after a moment's pause, choosing her words carefully, so as not to bend Jo Jo’s trust, clearly. “But Jo Jo is tough, too. She’ll be okay. Last night was just… high school girl stuff.”
High school girl stuff seems like an answer that also means, you’re not gonna find out so quit asking.
“Nothing too serious I hope,” I prod.
She shakes her head, wisps of blonde hair falling over her eyes as a breeze rolls in from the pasture. She pushes her hair back, chewing the inside of her mouth a little before erupting into apologies. “I’m sorry about last night. When Jo Jo called, I was–I had a full— I mean, I just needed to run in and use the restroom before I drove back to my place and Jo Jo said down the hall and it was dark and,” she shakes her head, her eyes snapping shut for a moment as she forces a little exhale. “When I opened the first wrong door, I should have left. I’m sorry. And I’m also sorry for, you know, looking at… you, sir. ” She huffs out a breath like she’s glad she’s done with that speech, and though I know I ought to leave it alone, I cannot help myself. I really can’t.
“Jo Jo’s right, you know. You don’t have to call me ‘sir.’”
Her tongue darts out, sweeping along the swell of her bottom lip, her eyes gravitating to my mouth for a split second. “I don’t even mean to. It just… comes out.”
Our eyes lock, and my groin throbs.
She’s Jo Jo’s confidant, and Jo Jo needs that .
I do not need to go and get interested in this gorgeous young thing.
But here we are, me continuing the conversation even though I’ve already asked the allotted amount of questions I should be asking.
“What about you? How’s the school year for the newest health teacher? And the newest contributor to the Bluebell Leader.” My mind is still circling on I don’t even mean to. It just… comes out. Riley smiles, and I find myself wondering if she’d like the contents of my secret garage cabinet.
She blushes again, and the sweat rolling down her chest scrambles my brain a little. I’d love to catch that drop of sweat with my–
“You read that?”
I nod, tipping my hat. “I surely did. Read the Leader with my coffee in the morning.”
She nibbles her bottom lip, enticing my eyes to her mouth for a moment. “You’re not saying what you thought and that’s making me think you didn’t like it.”
“I liked it. And so did Coach McAllister.”
“Really?” her eyes light up, and she steps a little closer to me. “I think Coach McAllister hates me,” she says, her eyes wandering off into the distance for a moment.
“I don’t think it’s possible for anyone to hate you.” I don’t mean for my response to come off as romantic or flirtatious, but I know it must land that way when her eyes whip back up to mine.
Her smile is slow, and timid. “That’s not true. Lots of people hate me.”
I shrug. “Jo Jo seems to really respect you. So thank you for being there for my daughter.”
Her wide eyes search mine, and this time, it doesn’t feel heated or erotic but moreso, thoughtful. Finally, when I think my heart is going to leap out of my damn chest, she says, “You should ask Jo Jo what made her want to try cheerleading.” She smiles, dips her head, and walks off to meet up with a hoard of high school girls lined up at the manicure booth.
I go back to my booth and finish Dorthea’s belt, and when I’m done, rather than move through the next stack of orders, I start working on a new crop–not for a horse.