Chapter 28
Ali
After a playful make-out session that left Jake and me feeling like horny teenagers under the bleachers during a Friday night football game, we slipped into the shower together and forgot entirely about the rest of the world.
Then we got ready for the meat auction.
I dressed in the flannel shirt I’d borrowed from Jake’s closet.
I had to give it the “Ali treatment,” of course. As much fun as I was having pretending I was someone out of a nineties country song, I wouldn’t be me if I didn’t zhuzh my outfit up.
With some creative use of safety pins and fashion tape to fold down the collar, I started the buttons on the third one down.
This exposed my shoulders and décolletage beautifully.
I let the sleeves stay baggy, although I was able to fold and scrunch them to look intentional—not sloppy.
A front tuck finished the look. I made sure to wear my tightest dark jeans, a bold leather belt, and of course sparkly, open-toe stilettos.
Men have it so easy. He hardly had to try. A nicely fitting T-shirt, dark jeans, a backward ball cap, and poof—hotter than hell.
“Wow! You are going to be the best dressed there tonight,” he said when I walked out of the bathroom.
“Thank you.” I did a playful curtsy. “My lips are all swollen from all that kissing earlier. Gives me a nice pout.”
“Hmm . . . yes, very nice,” he said devilishly, moving toward me and placing his hands on my hips. He leaned his head down and gently kissed my lips. “Maybe we should skip this whole thing and stay in?” He started to push me toward the bed. We couldn’t get enough of each other.
I pulled my lips away, hating that I had to do it. “Boo! This might be my only chance at experiencing a true, authentic meat auction, and I will not miss it.”
“You do hear how silly that sounds, right?” he asked with a grin on his face.
I started to place small kisses along his jawline.
“Yes, I know.” Kiss. “But just think . . .” kiss “. . . how much hotter . . .” kiss “. . . our night will be . . .” kiss “. . . after we let the tension build . . .” I was at his ear and nibbled the lobe before whispering, “. . . at the meat auction.” I was like a seductress luring her prey.
His head tipped back. “You’re killing me.” His hands explored and cupped my ass cheeks.
“Okay. Okay. We should get going. The sooner we get this meat auction out of your system, the sooner I can get some meat action into it,” he mumbled.
“Blah. Bad joke!” I said, even though I was laughing along with him.
I couldn’t get enough of this side of Jake.
I always knew where I stood with him. He never expected me to be anything other than myself.
I didn’t even remember the person I was a couple months ago being humiliated by my boss and my boyfriend and my so-called best friend.
But here, now, today . . . I’d never felt more myself.
I wasn’t second-guessing what I said out loud or thinking about ways to make myself smaller to ensure those around me were comfortable.
Wherever I was, Jake met me there. Or let me be there. It felt so easy. Maybe too easy?
We arrived to a full parking lot. For a town of just three thousand five hundred people, according to the population sign I saw on the drive into town, at least two-thirds of those residents had to be right here.
The building had a curved roof. A sign on the outside read VFW Post, with a series of numbers following it. A wooden plank sign read Recreation Center over the glass doors that served as the entrance.
The interior sounds of crowd murmuring and music periodically faded and blasted as people walked through the doors.
I tucked my arm around Jake’s. It felt sturdy and warm.
“I’m so excited,” I squealed into our linked side.
We stepped inside and presented our tickets to an older woman at the door. Her voice was raspy and tired, like she’d smoked many cigarettes in her time on earth.
She explained the process and gave us our auction paddles. Another round of meats would be auctioned off within the hour.
The place smelled like greasy concessions—burgers, brats and deep-fried cheese curds. That and the tang of stale beer.
It was basically a small prop-plane hangar in size and scale.
Twinkle lights were strung along the rafters and around every support beam.
The yellow-toned little bulbs were working overtime against the dark wood interior.
And wood was all over the interior. The floors.
The walls. The ceiling. The bar. All dark cherrywood.
“Is now a good time to tell you that I don’t eat fried foods?” I whispered into Jake’s ear.
“They have other stuff on the menu. You’ll be fine. I don’t eat fried foods either.”
“Oh, it’s very obvious that these abs aren’t built on fried food.” I trailed my free hand down to the top of his stomach.
“You better be careful.” He sighed with a tilt of his head toward mine. “Unless you want to skip this whole thing after all. Let me take you back to the hotel room. I could just eat you for dinner. And we can order takeout for you to eat.”
I tsked. “That is very tempting. But then we’d miss our chance at winning the Meat Lover’s Mega Bundle,” I said, pointing to a sign that indicated tonight’s Grande Finale Cut.
“And dancing to the polka band. Isn’t that part of the full experience too?
” I asked, seeing the instruments on the stage at one end of the building.
“It is. There will be folks dancing,” he said with a sigh.
“Listen, if you don’t want to dance with me, it’s okay. I’m sure I can find someone else to swing me around the dance floor,” I said, baiting him.
“No way. You’re mine. I want my hands to be the only ones touching you. So I guess that means we are polka dancing.”
“Yay!” I hopped a little in his arms and went to break away from our embrace. He yanked me back into him.
“But . . . maybe let’s skip dessert and we’ll make our own out of each other instead?” he said before letting me loose.
“Deal,” I said with a wink.
It was six thirty on a Friday night. The place was boisterous with laughter, background music, and lines to the bar. Long communal tables filled the center of the space. It was a sea of flannel shirts and Green Bay Packers ball caps just like Shane said.
I felt my face beaming. I loved the energy of this experience. Jake had said this trip wouldn’t be much of a getaway, but it was. Coming here with him felt like we were a unit—an us—walking through every door, into every room.
And most of this was foreign to me. I was believing more and more that each small town in America had its own personality, its own set of quirks and charm. One just had to arrive, look around, and take it in.
There was no pretense about how you needed to act or a label to wear or status to be seen with.
“I’ll get in line to order food and drinks. Do you want to find us some seats?” he asked.
I nodded yes and squeezed his hand before letting it go and heading off in the direction of the tables.
“Excuse me, are these seats taken?” I asked a very nice-looking older gentleman. The only one, other than Jake, not wearing a Packers ball cap. This man was wearing a war veteran’s cap instead.
“For such a pretty lady, I think we can make some room.” He winked as he said it. His eyes sparkled against the leathered skin, his hand resting in the lap of a gorgeous older woman.
“Thank you. And thank you for your service,” I said, acknowledging the hat. He bowed his head in response.
“Good evening.” I heard a deep voice behind me. “You here alone?”
“Um. No. I’m not. My, umm . . .” I didn’t know how to describe Jake in that moment to this stranger. He wasn’t my boyfriend. Lover seemed too specific for this crowd. I landed on, “My date is over there getting us food and beers.”
He followed my gaze, and we both noticed Jake staring. Was he brooding? He didn’t look amused.
“Lucky guy,” was all the stranger said before nodding toward Jake and walking away.
Jake made it back to me with beers in hand.
“There are a ton of local and regional breweries, so I got a couple beers for us to try,” he said as he set the glasses down and took a seat next to me.
“I can’t believe you grew up with this happening in your town. It’s so exciting.”
“Yep. It was a thing. The best part was the party in the woods after, though. I bet a couple of kids are off getting the bonfire ready to go, somewhere in the woods, as we speak.”
“Huh? I can’t picture you as a teen partying in the woods,” I said.
“I was usually the designated driver and keeping people from littering the woods with their empty beer bottles,” he said.
“Yep . . . That tracks. Much more on brand.” I scrunched up my nose playfully and took a sip from my plastic pint glass.
“Having you here with me makes this more exciting than it would normally feel. Makes me more exciting,” he said with a wiggle of his brows.
I giggled because he made a joke, but honestly his words felt more meaningful than joking. His words made my heart swell. I liked hearing that me just being here with him made him feel happier. It wasn’t all one-sided.
It occurred to me that I could tell him that.
Even at this delicate stage of our relationship.
I could come completely clean about my feelings and all the ways this felt so different from my past disasters.
How I felt different from who I was. I felt the last shield of armor I normally wore around my heart fall away.
I trusted that telling Jake everything I was feeling would be okay.
Maybe we could work, somehow, long term.
I was thinking about all this and getting lost in finding the perfect words to use to express to Jake how special our connection had grown for me, when from behind me I heard, “Jake? Is that you?”