Chapter 18
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
AC/DC, “HIGHWAY TO HELL”
The next morning, Isaac delivered baked goods and eggs to the farm stand just as I was getting everything ready to open it.
“My mom asked me to drop these off. She’s under the weather,” he said, sliding the two crates onto the counter before removing his hat. His hair was a little longer, and so were his whiskers. Isaac didn’t look twenty-four. He looked thirty.
It was the first time I’d seen him since the rodeo, and it was weird. He wasn’t under the influence and neither was I, yet part of me wondered if he remembered what happened. I’d been thinking about it nonstop. But what if Isaac offered to take girls to Nashville all the time?
“How are she and your dad?” I asked to avoid questioning him about his recollection of the rodeo .
Isaac scratched the back of his head and narrowed his eyes. “I just said she’s not feeling well. My dad is fine. Why?”
I unloaded the baked goods without looking him in the eye. “No reason. I just meant, like … you know … are they good? Do they ever fight?” I should have talked about Nashville. Suggesting his parents might have a rocky marriage wasn’t the best second choice.
When he didn’t respond, I looked at his focused eyes and twisted lips.
“Forget it. Thanks for bringing this stuff.”
“How are your parents?” he asked.
I returned a tight grin. “Fine.”
“Do they ever fight? What about you and Matty? Do the two of you fight?”
With a nervous laugh, I turned my back and arranged the loaves of bread on the shelves. “Sometimes we fight about stupid stuff, but it never lasts. We always make up. And I used to think my parents never fought, but I discovered Grandma Jacobson took us for ice cream when my parents needed to fight. So I guess it’s nice that they don’t fight around me and my sisters. Now that we’re older, they leave us home alone and take a drive when they need to fight. When they return, Dad does the best job of acting like nothing happened, but my mom is quiet for a day or so. I don’t think they fight about anything big like …” I shrugged. “No one is cheating on anyone.”
I said it, and I immediately turned to catch his reaction. But he didn’t have one. I didn’t touch a single nerve. So either he had no clue his dad was cheating on his mom, or he was a pro at hiding his reaction.
“Like you’re cheating on Matty? ”
My heart plummeted into the pit of my stomach. No, I wasn’t talking about me and Matty. It was easier to pretend that I was not cheating on him. We broke up, even if we weren’t telling anyone. So I wasn’t cheating on him—well, not anymore.
At least, that’s how I imagined it. I didn’t want to be a cheater. I wanted to be a strong woman who pursued her goals while being kind and considerate to those around me.
Kind to Matty, gently letting him go.
Considerate to my family, not jeopardizing their financial and living situations.
If I died, they would call me a martyr.
If I didn’t die, I’d be a saint.
Realistically, I was going to Hell as a sinner.
I cleared my throat. “If you think I’m cheating on your brother, then why don't you tell him? If I knew some guy was cheating on one of my sisters or on one of my friends, I’d tell them.” The second the words left my mouth, I felt a pang of guilt because I did know about someone cheating on someone I cared about, and I hadn’t told her. Violet had always been kind to me, like a second mom. I should’ve told her.
“Define cheating,” Isaac said.
We weren’t that different. Isaac liked to push boundaries and twist the rules to fit his own moral compass. But didn’t everyone do that to a certain extent?
“How do you define cheating?” I chickened out on giving him my answer because I was afraid to say it out loud.
“Sixty-nine.”
I gawked at him. The sex position?
Isaac smirked .
“What about intercourse?” I blurted out the question on reflex.
“Don’t say that.” Isaac covered his mouth with his fist and laughed. “Only sex ed teachers say intercourse.”
Heat crawled up my neck and consumed my entire face.
He shrugged. “I like to set the bar high.”
The only thing that counted as cheating was sixty-nine? That was a ridiculously high bar.
“You’re an idiot,” I muttered.
He chuckled, unloading the cartons of eggs and stacking them by the register. “I’m only trying to ease your anxiety.”
“Nice try, but I’m pretty sure you’re the only person in the world with that definition of cheating. You’re like the person who thinks calories don’t count if you stand while eating.”
He barked a laugh. “Who thinks that?”
I giggled. “My mom. She always skips dessert because it’s not good for her waistline, but when she’s making it, she’s taste-testing every step of the way. And one time, I saw her eating the center of a cake and covering it up with frosting.” As I grabbed two of the egg cartons, I peered at Isaac and his wolfish grin. “What?” I asked with a nervous laugh.
“I was just thinking I could eat your center and then cover it up with frosting, but I enjoy frosting, so I’d end up eating you twice.”
Splat .
I dropped the cartons of eggs at my feet, and a few of the cracked ones oozed onto the concrete floor.
“Dang it!” I lifted my sundress to keep it from getting dirty as I crouched behind the counter to pick up the cartons and salvage as many eggs as possible .
The farm stand opened in twenty minutes. That wasn’t how I wanted to start my day, and it was all Isaac’s fault.
“Just go,” I grumbled when he squatted next to me.
“I’ve got it,” he said. “Just put the rest of the cartons on the shelf before you get yourself dirty.”
The door chimed. It was just my luck; someone was early and didn’t read the posted hours. I quickly stood and batted the hair away from my face.
“Good morning, Sarah,” Mr. Cory said. “Have you seen Isaac?”
Isaac grabbed my ankle, and without ducking my chin, I lowered my gaze to him for a second.
He shook his head and pressed a finger to his lips.
“Uh, he, no. I mean, of course, he was here.” My body jerked as Isaac’s hand slid up my bare leg. So I cleared my throat. “He, uh, dropped off the uh…” I pinched my eyes shut for the briefest moment and swallowed hard. Then, my hand flew to my hip to stop his hand from pulling down my underwear.
Mr. Cory narrowed his eyes and shot his gaze to my arm. All I could do was freeze like a statue with a fake smile and my hand resting on my hip as if I had a little extra attitude with my boss.
“I don’t know where he went,” I squeaked as Isaac pulled my underwear down to my ankles and lifted one foot and then the other to remove them.
“When I find him,” Mr. Cory nodded at me, “I’m going to have him run the stand today.”
“W-what? Why?” I could barely speak because Isaac was kissing my inner thigh, just above my knee.
“Sweetheart,” Wesley said. “You’re burning up. You even have a little sweat on your brow. You must have the same thing that Vi has. Go home. Feel better.” He pivoted, and the doorbell chimed again as he exited.
“Jesus Christ!” I gasped. It was the first time I had ever used the Lord’s name in vain. “Isaac—” I couldn’t breathe. I was scared out of my wits, embarrassed beyond words, and aroused at the same time. “Stop! Get up. We almost got?—”
“Shh …” Isaac was kneeling before me, sitting back on his heels. He rested one hand on the back of my knee while his other guided my hand to the top of my inner thigh. “You like to watch, and so do I,” he murmured.
My tongue darted out to wet my lips as we peered at each other. “Isaac, we?—”
“Show me,” he tore his gaze from mine and stared at my hand.
This was so wrong.
Having sex with Matt in the middle of nowhere was wrong too, but touching myself while my boyfriend’s older brother watched was really, really wrong.
“Give me my underwear,” I said, taking a step back and cringing as I crushed an egg beneath my white huarache sandal. “Isaac,” my plea sounded like a childish whine, but at that point, I wanted someone to save me from the situation.
“I’m not giving them back to you,” he stood, “because you had no self-control, and now I’m stuck in this shed for the day.”
“Control?” I gasped. “You removed my underwear while your dad was right there! ” I jabbed my finger in the direction of the door. “Give them to me,” I held out my hand.
I wore underwear all the time, and most of the time, I wore pantyhose with dresses, so my body was used to feeling covered. But the first of July was hot in southern Missouri, so I opted for shorts or long sundresses, but I still wore underwear. Without them, I felt naked, as if I wasn’t wearing anything.
Everything felt exposed and a little breezy down there.
“No.” He crossed his arms over his chest, eyes alight with the spirit of Satan.
“Where are they?” I stepped forward between the broken eggs and pulled at his arms to look at his hands.
“They’re in my front pocket. You can slide your hand in there to get them. I’ll be more patient than I was with you at Matty’s game since my mom’s not watching.”
I glared at him. “You’re a pervert.”
Isaac glanced out the window to his left. I wasn’t the only one who didn’t want to get caught. He just hid his nerves better—but not completely. “Are you coming with me to Nashville on Friday?” He kept his focus on the window.
“We’re not doing … it .”
“Going to Nashville?” He shot me a quick glance.
Sex was a three-letter word, not a four-letter word. Why did it feel so forbidden to say? In my head, I was a fearless rebel. I dreamed of breaking all the rules.
In reality, I was a good girl with the occasional sinfully brave moment. I was average in school, average at breaking rules, and average at being a good girl.
Averaged sucked.
It was forgettable and uninspiring.
“I’m not having sex with you.” Okay, I went a little overboard with that emphasis.
Isaac lifted his eyebrows, rubbing his lips together to quell his amusement.
“Did I ask you to have sex with me?”
Dang it! I really wanted my underwear back. Confidence felt just out of reach with my lady bits airing out below.
“So you don’t want to?” I tipped up my chin, but my voice still trembled.
Isaac unloaded the rest of the egg cartons. “Most days, it’s all I want.”
“You’re messing with me.” I removed my dirty shoe and hopped away from the mess, stepping into the bathroom to rinse it off in the sink.
“Sunday Morning, you could wrap me around your little finger if only you knew how to wield the power I’m giving you.”
“Pfft.” I slipped on my shoe and turned the corner as he cleaned up the egg mess with paper towels. “I don’t believe you.”
“Of course, you don’t.” He chuckled.
“I’m leaving. Give me my underwear.”
“Nope.” He tossed the paper towels into the garbage can and stood, again peering out the window to check for Wesley.
“Why?”
“I’ll give them back to you in Nashville.”
I balled my fists, and his attention shifted to my sides.
“Use your power.”
His power, baloney, only made me angrier. As it was, I had to go home and not get paid for the day.
“Keep them, you perv.” I pushed him out of my way and grabbed my purse from the shelf under the counter.
“Singing is performing,” he said as I headed toward the door. “Performing is harnessing all of your power to be everything you are and everything you hope to be. Performing is finding courage in the face of fear. It’s raw vulnerability.” He grinned. “But it’s the best fucking feeling in the world.”
I didn’t let on that his words gave me chills. Music was my love language. Isaac spoke my language in a world where my averageness made me feel invisible.
“What’s your point?” I asked without turning toward him.
“You don’t deserve to be on a stage until you’re ready to harness that power, to take what’s yours.”
I opened the door and slammed it behind me, but I only got two steps before I turned and stomped back into the shed and straight to Isaac. He glanced over his shoulder as he stood with the freezer door open. When he started to turn, I pushed his back to keep him facing away from me. Pressing my chest to his back, I slid both hands into his front pockets, finding my underwear in one while my thumb grazed something else while searching his other pocket.
I was shaking, heart pounding. Yet, I mustered enough courage to lift onto my toes and whisper in his ear, “I’m going to sing with you on stage.”
His lips twitched. “Have Heather drop you off in the church parking lot at six a.m.”