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I sneak a look at Ender, who's got a shit-eating grin on his face.
“No shit?” he says.
Before he can say anything I don’t want him to, I change the subject.
“So Tay, how’s the new sexmobile? You two give it a go yet?” I say, referring to Jesse’s clown car.
This works. Everyone starts cracking jokes about Jesse and his car and the attention is off me for the rest of the night.
When I wake up Monday morning, I shower and put on real clothes; jeans and a button-up. I’ve spent more time in sweats in the last few months than anything else. I sit on the couch downstairs in the barn and google the bakery. They should be taking orders for lunch deliveries in twenty minutes. I don’t even turn on the television. I just sit there, nervously bouncing my leg up and down, watching the minutes tick by.
I hit call at the exact moment the clock on my phone shows ten-thirty. Bea answers on the third ring.
“Bea's Bakery.”
“Hey Bea, it's Emmett. Can I put in a delivery order, please?” I say, making an effort to keep my tone controlled.
She takes my order and lets me know it will be delivered in about an hour after she takes my credit card info to pay for it. I end the call and relax into the couch and wait some more. Wait to be able to see her.
When I get restless, I decide to google the church Aubrey goes to. But I hit a road block because I can’t for the life of me remember the name of it. I know it’s a person's name. Only, I can’t seem to remember the name itself.
I decide to take a chance looking up phrases like “Sheridan mega-church” and “Sheridan cult”. Eventually, I find an article from a blogger that looks promising.
Johnson Church–that’s the name of it.
The article doesn’t outright call it a cult, but definitely alludes to the fact. There are even a few quotes from the church founder himself, Josiah Johnson. What an arrogant prick, naming the place after himself as if he’s some modern-day god. I read through the entire article and while it doesn’t ease my worries, there’s nothing mentioned that seems too nefarious. Sure, they seem like a definite group of zealots, but there’s no mention of sacrifices or forced marriages.
Maybe Aubrey told me what she did because she wants nothing to do with me–that would be a first.
If she wanted nothing to do with me, then why did she come to the football game on Saturday and why did she let me hold her hand? Just thinking back to the feel of her hand in mine sends a shiver up my spine. I don’t think I’ve ever held anyone’s hand for that long that wasn’t family. I didn’t even know holding hands could make my dick hard–but it did, and I was thankful for the blanket we had covering us.
I’m so lost in thoughts of holding Aubrey’s hand and how soft her skin was that I don’t even realize how much time has gone by until I hear the crunching of gravel. I twist around and peer over the couch out the open barn doors and there she is; copper strands of hair blowing in the wind that peek out from under her helmet.
I wait on the couch, out of view until she parks the moped and gets off. She’s still got her helmet on and is rummaging in the attached basket, looking for my order, when I walk up next to her.
“Hello beautiful,” I say, and she actually jumps.
A small squeak of surprise comes out of her. I chuckle to myself and lean against the open barn door, crossing my arms across my chest. She still has her back to me, her hands in the basket full of the deliveries she needs to make. Slowly, she lifts her hands up to her helmet and pulls it off, her hair falling loose down her back.
She’s dressed the same as I’ve always seen her. Plain jeans that fit loose and are an inch too short, but her shirt is fitted and shows off the curve of her waist, the short sleeves showing more of her toned arms than I’m used to seeing. Aubrey turns to face me finally, a scowl on her face that I meet with what I’m hoping is a sexy grin.
“Don’t call me that,” she says, setting the helmet down on the moped seat and turning back to the basket of orders
“What? Beautiful?” I say, pushing off the barn door and walking up behind her.
When there are only inches left between us, I keep my voice low, ducking my head so my lips are closer to her ear.
“Do you prefer gorgeous?”
Aubrey goes rigid, then quickly spins around. When she does, her eyes don’t hide her surprise at how close I am. She shoves a bag at my chest with both hands.
“Your order,” she says.
I grab both her hands easily with one of my hands, gently holding her hands and the bag in place. She looks up at me through her bare lashes, her bright green eyes difficult to read.
I smile down at her and reach into my pocket, pulling the hundred-dollar bill out and holding it up between us with two fingers.
“Your tip, gorgeous,” I say.
