Chapter 34
Thirty-Four
S hock reels through me as I gawk at Mr. Highly Memorable.
“Butch?” It comes out as a question but there’s no question it’s him.
“You all know each other?” Gus asks.
“We met once,” Butch says, coming to the rescue. Not only have all words escaped me, but I’d rather not admit how we know each other… one glorious, breathtaking afternoon of hedonistic sex . And I’m damn glad neither of these men can see the images flipping through my head right now.
Mr. Afternoon Delight extends his hand, and I grasp it, the initial jolt almost making me flinch.
I’m reminded how big he is—all of him—hands, height, dick.
.. Heat engulfs me, and I step back as if burned.
Holy... I clear my throat, choking on the awkwardness and hoping I’m not seven shades of red.
Stealing another glance at Butch, my pulse races, recalling how his touch made me see stars.
He scans me top to bottom and one side of his mouth lifts, like he’s remembering too.
Goddamn, he’s handsome—and filling out that black T-shirt nicely. My gaze shifts to the white letters rippling over his chest: Mopar: You’re with us or you’re behind us .
“Guess you got the job, huh?” His eyes narrow. “Magazine, right?”
“Good memory.”
“Damn good.” The satisfied smile on his face makes my entire body flush. Again.
Oh my god.
His expression morphs to one of understanding. “You’re here to do the article?”
“Right again.” I will my heartbeat to slow the fuck down.
“How about that,” he muses. “What are the odds?”
About a million to one. I should make a trip to Atlantic City and bet my savings. “Yeah, yup, for sure.” Great, now I sound like a blithering idiot. “Your dad was just giving me the official tour.”
“Don’t let me stop you. I look forward to catching up with you later,” he says, a knowing grin on his face.
What does that mean? I absolutely cannot fixate on any of this now. Turning to Gus, I plaster a smile on my face, trying to exude the energy of crack reporter . “Please continue.”
Gus navigates through the remainder of the tour, pointing out projects in progress and acknowledging the handful of workers he employs. When we land back in his office, I pull out my tape recorder and notepad and begin firing off questions.
The phone on his desk buzzes, and I pause the interview while he answers.
“We’ll head over, my love,” he says. Hanging up, he flashes a grin. “Lunch is ready. Let’s grab Butch and you can meet my better half.”
His obvious affection for his wife is just as endearing in person.
I brace myself for coming face to face with Mr. Lumberjack again—and the entire luncheon stretching before us. My nerves wrestle like a bucket of snakes.
“Butch, lunchtime,” Gus barks .
Judging by the size of Butch’s beaming smile, he’s only too happy to join us.
“My son will fill you in on other projects this afternoon. He manages the day-to-day operations now. I mostly just get in his way.”
“When is the last time you held a wrench, old man?” Butch teases, knocking his shoulder into his fathers’.
Gus gives him a sidelong glance. “Watch it. I can still tan your hide with one hand tied behind my back,” he threatens good-naturedly.
Butch leans closer to my ear, speaking loud enough for his father to hear. “We’ll let him believe all the lies he needs.”
Gus guffaws. “You might be younger and stronger, Junior, but I’m smarter—and not afraid to fight dirty.”
“Don’t I know it.” Butch grins down at me, all six foot four of him or whatever he is, as we reach the walkway to the farmhouse.
“Junior?” I inquire, directly to Mr. Hamilton. Butch groans.
“I’m Augustus James Hamilton Sr., and this chip off the ol’ block is Jr. I’m more handsome, of course.”
I can’t stifle my delighted grin. Butch is Augustus . But now I’m confused. “So, why Butch?”
“It’s a nickname,” Mr. Tall, Dark, and Emerald-Eyed interjects. “Common ’round these parts when you share the same name.” He leans closer to my ear, whispering, “And preferable when you don’t want to be called Augustus.”
“I doubt I can resist.”
“Sure you can, Gold Rush.”
I like the sound of that leaving his lips—in fact, all his nicknames for me—and for a second his lips are all I fantasize about as we stare at each other like two hungry wolves. My gaze darts forward, attempting to douse the rising inferno this man creates with one heated look.
The splendor of the family’s well-tended garden consumes my full attention, then the grand porch as we ascend its wide, painted stairway.
Matching color bathes the floor while a light shade of blue dusts the beadboard ceiling.
A swing for two hangs from one end, with ample inviting furniture arranged stylishly elsewhere.
Potted plants add to the ambiance, and I surmise it’s all the work of the woman I’m about to meet.
I’m meeting the parents of my one-night stand. Can this day get any more surreal?
Butch opens the door, holding it for me to walk through. I scarcely have time to take in the foyer when a woman bursts forth, wiping her fingers on a skirt apron, a welcoming smile on her face.
“I’m Jerri Hamilton,” she says, extending her hand. It’s clear where Butch inherited those beautiful green eyes. She’s striking, and between her and Gus, their son got the best of both parents.
“Jacqui Hall. Thank you for inviting me to lunch.”
She waves a hand. “It’s my pleasure. You’ve come all this way to write about my two favorite men. And lord knows they will bore you to tears talking about cars. I’m sure you’re ready for a reprieve.”
I laugh. “Actually…”
She tilts her head. “You’re a car gal?”
“Yes, ma’am,” I admit a tad sheepishly. I sense Butch’s eyes boring into me. “But I’d love to hear about your garden and this gorgeous home.”
“How long you staying? I can talk about that for hours.” She smiles, her southern lilt adding a layer of warmth.
Mrs. Hamilton steers us to the informal dining area off the kitchen, and Butch holds a chair for me, the same as his father does for his mother. Yep, surreal.
A sizable lunch spread fills the table on both sides of a lazy Susan holding condiments and an open jar of sweet pickles speared with a miniature serving fork .
“Butch and Jacqui already know each other,” Gus says as he swipes two pieces of fried chicken from the oval platter.
“Really? How and when did y’all meet?” Jerri asks, offering me corn bread.
“Um…I was in town for a job interview, and he happened to be in Richmond at the same time.” I take a warm square and pass the basket to Butch, who smiles like he has a million secrets.
“ Jacqui ,” he emphasizes, throwing back that he knows my real name, “and I met at a bar and wound up talking for hours. Once she stopped that incessant foot-tapping, if I recall.”
I kick him under the table, attempting to wipe that incessant smirk off his face.
“Green beans?” A serving bowl balances on his huge hand, and I accept it with a saccharine smile.
“Isn’t that something?” Jerri muses. “Small world.”
“This is delicious,” I say, steering us off the topic. “If it’s not too personal a question, how did you and Gus meet? He said his family has lived here for generations.”
“I love a how-you-met story,” Butch interjects, resting his chin on his hand. “It’s the kind of thing you can’t wait to tell your kids someday.”
While his parents stare adoringly at each other, I shoot him a death glare. He fights a laugh, toying with me and thoroughly enjoying it.
“It’s actually a funny story,” Gus says, only too happy to regale us with it. “Jerri worked at the local diner, and the first time I saw her, I became a smitten fool. When I asked her on a date, she turned me down flat.”
Jerri’s grin serves as corroboration.
“I went in there every day for a month. You know how much pie I ate? Gained five pounds trying to woo my future wife.” He chuckles to himself. “I asked her out each time, and each time, I struck out. Can you believe that? A charmer like me?”
“Why did you say no?” I ask Jerri.
She wrinkles her nose. “He was a mechanic. I had lofty goals and assumed he wouldn’t be a good provider.”
“But then I found her stranded on the side of a country road, blown radiator still steaming, and suddenly, I looked like a knight in shining armor.” Gus gets a devilish glint in his eye. “I told her I wouldn’t help her unless she agreed to a date.”
“Blackmail,” Jerri confirms.
“Leverage,” Gus corrects.
Jerri chuckles, eyes bright as she listens. In my periphery, Butch’s fondness for both parents is obvious in his expression…and my chest twinges.
“The rest, as they say, is history,” Gus concludes. “I’m more in love with this woman every minute, and I thank my lucky stars she agreed to be my wife.”
After lunch, Butch guides me back to the garage, chatting up the business along the way. The door snicks closed behind us, and I’m acutely aware we’re alone. The air couldn’t be more charged, and Mr. Lumberjack steals what’s left of mine.
“Not to be unprofessional,” he says, backing me against the wall, “but do you want to merge our lips together as much as I do?”
Yes. No. I shouldn’t.
“No,” I manage, unconvincingly.
“Really?” he purrs in my ear, and I gasp, my stomach somersaulting. “I’m getting mixed signals.”
My heart rate ratchets up forty notches, my chest heaving at his deep, toe-curling timbre .
The scruff of his beard grazes my neck. How I remember that welcome burn. “You sure?”
No, I’m not fucking sure. I want to climb that redwood and frolic in his branches.