Chapter 18
CLAY
The next night Clay was listening to a Red Clay Strays song drifting from the jukebox as he sat on a stool, his back to the wall in the games room of The Corral, watching as Dev taught Stevie and Mags some trick shots.
He’d known the women were going to be here tonight because when he’d texted Stevie at lunch to see if she wanted to do some stargazing tonight after the cookout she’d told him she already had plans in Redemption with his sister.
Which only meant one place on a Saturday might.
She had offered to meet him later, after she was back from town, and he was completely on board with that but when Dev had said he was meeting Ivan at The Corral, Clay hadn’t been able to wait.
Her when I do finally get to play inside your jeans, I’m not going to want to stop had been on his mind all day and there was no way he was going to pass up the opportunity to see Stevie a little sooner than they’d arranged.
Her hair was tied in two tight plaits that fell down her back and she was wearing fancy jeans with rhinestone hearts embroidered on the ass pockets and a T-shirt proclaiming Dolly Parton for president.
There were no buttons, no bows. No fringes.
No fake cowgirl bling. In fact, she looked very girl-next-door.
But hell if he didn’t want to demand everyone leave so he could lay her on that billiard table and love every inch of her body.
Two days of major league making out with no relief – other than by his own hand – on his side of the equation had him drawn tighter than a bronc rider’s saddle hitch. And the way she kept looking at him from under her eyelashes, like she could read his intent and she liked it, was hot as fuck.
Ivan plonked down on the stool beside him and took a swig from his beer, and they sat in silence for long moments as Stevie attempted a jump shot Dev had set up.
She executed it perfectly with a triumphant little jig before accepting high fives from both Dev and Mags, laughter glowing like fireflies from the pores of her skin.
‘You going to do something about that or are you still pretending there’s not a thing happening?’
Clay’s jaw tightened. Damn Ivan to hell. He might be a man of few words but he made the ones he used count. ‘There’s nothing happening.’ Not in the way Ivan was implying anyway.
‘You think because I don’t say much, I don’t see much?’
Glancing sideways at the guy who could usually be relied upon for silence, Clay castigated himself for being too obvious tonight. ‘We’re just… hanging out is all.’
Ivan nodded as he looked at Clay. ‘Uh huh.’
The uh huh was clearly code for bullshit but Ivan was not one to push. He just waited in silence with his big brooding presence making the other person nervous enough to fill it. Clay knew his game and Ivan didn’t intimidate him, but he was irritated.
‘She’s a music star from the city and she’s only here for two more weeks.’ Why did he even have to explain that? He may be up for being Stevie’s one and he might be developing a slight addiction, but that didn’t make their situation beyond her stay tenable.
‘You trying to convince me or yourself?’
‘We’re not a thing.’ They were a dalliance. A severely distracting one.
‘Right,’ Ivan agreed, heavy on the sarcasm, ‘you’re just hanging out.’
Clay rolled his eyes. ‘She’s easy to talk to.’
‘She’s easy on the eyes, too.’
‘It’s not like that.’ Except it was – Clay was just annoyed to be called on it. Because it was also about more than how great she filled out those jeans, and that was a problem.
Ivan shrugged. ‘Have it your way, bud. All I see is your mopey ass finally walking around with some strut again, which is about time. But I gotta think there’s a reason because I don’t think you woke up one day a couple of weeks ago and just decided to pull your head out of your ass.’
Clay grimaced. Of course, Ivan the observant had put two and two together.
‘We’re from two different worlds.’
‘She’s pretty down to earth for a big music star.’
‘She lives in Boston.’
‘Yeah… if only there was some kind of, I don’t know’ – Ivan’s brow furrowed as he rubbed at his beard like a television detective puzzling over some clue – ‘rapid transportation device that could make that distance seem pitiful.’
‘Funny,’ Clay muttered around the lip of his beer before taking a quick swallow. ‘Hilarious.’
‘All I’m saying is… don’t shut yourself off to possibilities by putting limits on them.’
Clay regarded him for long moments, wondering if that was how Ivan got through his tours. Had his survival depended on not limiting the possibilities in any given situation? Ivan didn’t talk about his time in the military and Clay didn’t ask, but something told him he knew of what he spoke.
Still… this was far too heavy for a Saturday night at The Corral. He quirked an eyebrow. ‘From which cereal box did we get that piece of advice?’
‘It was a fortune cookie, asshole.’
Clay laughed and they both took a swig of their beers as Mags called, ‘If you two bozos have finished gossiping in the corner, we’re racking up.’
A few hours later with the bar empty and Beau once again suggesting they do him a solid and leave so he could close up early, they were out in the parking lot. A light breeze had cooled the night down and the sky had turned cloudy.
‘Hey, Mags,’ Ivan said, catching Clay’s gaze for a beat before transferring his full attention back to her. ‘Can I give you a lift home so we can discuss the changes I want to make to the shoeing regime at the ranch? Dev, you can drive her car back, yes?’
Clay narrowed his eyes at Ivan’s profile. What changes to the shoeing regime?
Dev shrugged amiably. ‘Sure. As long as Stevie doesn’t mind my company.’
‘I’ll take her,’ Clay said, ignoring the smirk on Ivan’s face. Stevie and Mags had arrived together in her car but over Clay’s dead body would anybody but him be dropping Stevie home. ‘Her cabin’s on the way to mine.’
Dev, along with the other hands, had a cot in the bunk house which was halfway between the barn and the main house. Stevie’s cabin wasn’t exactly out of his way but it made more geographical sense for her to go with Clay.
And when Stevie said, ‘Great, thanks,’ neither Dev nor Mags questioned it and within the minute everyone had gone to their respective vehicles and were departing the parking lot.
Clay was excruciatingly aware that eight nights ago around this time he’d also been giving Stevie a lift home from The Corral.
But this time they were alone although thankfully not squeezed together.
Given the number of times tonight he’d fantasised about laying his hands on her that was probably for the best.
Every time she’d leaned over the table to take a shot or snort-laughed at something Mags had said or fixed him one of her coy little side glances when she thought no one was watching, his need for her had grown.
The last thing he needed was any part of her coming into contact with any part of him if he had any hope of operating his vehicle safely, and yet the urge to reach across and slide his hand onto her leg was a thrum in his blood.
One he ignored as he curled his fingers tight around the steering wheel.
‘Do you mind if I turn the radio on?’ she asked.
Dragged out of the heated direction of his thoughts, Clay shrugged. ‘Be my guest.’
She reached for the button on the old-fashioned radio – no new-fangled system in this classic old car – just as a street light flashed by, glinting on the slim metal of her purity ring.
Which was like a bucket of cold water on those thoughts.
It was such a stark contrast to her essentially telling him she wanted to get her hands on his cock yesterday that he wondered whether she really wanted to break the commitment it symbolised.
If she really did want to lose her virginity, wouldn’t she have taken it off? As a signal to herself more than anything else? Or did she only think she wanted to lose it and what she really wanted was just to get a little more mud on her boots – in the sexual department?
Push the envelope a little without going all the way.
Which made him relieved they’d been taking it slowly. But maybe they should talk about it? And maybe as the more experienced person he should be the one to raise it?
The cab filled with Beyoncé’s ‘Texas Hold ’Em’ and she smiled and said, ‘I love this one,’ as she tapped out the rhythm on her jeans and sung along under her breath.
Clay’s heart did a wild giddy-up in his chest at seeing her in his passenger seat, loose and relaxed, her head lolling back against the rest, the regular flash of overhead lights lining the highway intermittently catching her soft smile in their golden glow.
It made him feel… all white picket fence. His girl in his truck after a great night out. Which was all kinds of stupid. She wasn’t his girl. As he’d told Ivan – she’d be gone in two weeks and they were on very different life paths.
But the feeling refused to disappear.
The song ended and Chris Stapleton crooning ‘Tennessee Whiskey’ oozed into the space, and Stevie sighed as she turned the volume up a notch.
‘I love this version.’ She rolled her head to the side, her gaze fanning his profile.
‘I know so many people who are purists when it comes to original songs but there are so many good cover versions of songs out there.’
The mellow music and her tranquil mood were having a soothing effect on the nag of Clay’s conscious, and he smiled as he looked her way for a beat or two before returning his attention to the road. ‘Yeah? Which covers are your favourite?’
‘Well, there’s the GOAT of course, “I Will Always Love You”.’
‘Yeah.’ He nodded. ‘Whitney did Dolly a solid on that one.’