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“I’ll have you know I have a fairly decent track record with my pickup lines.”
“I predict my clothes on your bedroom floor,” she says in a gruff voice, trying to imitate mine. “I fucking doubt it.”
“Speaking of Southern charm,” I say, pressing my body fully against hers as I run my nose up the side of her neck, eliciting a moan that rumbles through her chest and out of her mouth. “Aren’t Southern women supposed to use fewer cuss words and more bless your heart?”
She angles her head to the side, giving me even more access to her throat.
“God, I love the scratch of your facial hair on my skin.”
“I swear,” I threaten, needing to take a step back before the threat of an erection turns into a full-blown situation.
We aren’t at the clubhouse, and I have no place to drag her to take care of my growing need.
I clear my throat, running my hand down her arm to lock our palms together.
“I swear is something a lot of Southern folks say,” she says in an attempt to change the subject. I might’ve believed her if her eyes didn’t dip to the front of my jeans.
“Stop it,” I tell her, pulling her toward the grassy area surrounded with food trucks and tents full of crafts people are selling.
Her laughter draws the attention of several others as we walk through the town square.
I’d like to think I’d notice all the people waiting until we’re just past them to lean in and whisper to the others around them, even if she hadn’t mentioned that people do that all the time, but there’s a good chance I might’ve missed it. It’s hard to catch even now because she’s so distracting, not something I can really blame her for.
“Who do we speak to first?” she asks, pausing in the very center of the town’s square.
I spot several sets of eyes on us, and I feel like a specimen in a jar. I have no doubt folks are watching us like we’re about to do some tricks or something.
My eyes scan the crowd as I try to find someone familiar. The first set of eyes that I land on are Stormy’s. As someone who just recently ended up with a woman, who was, just one day in his life after his friends were killed, leaving him responsible for two little boys, I figure he might be my best bet today. If I could get anyone on my side, someone to hedge off anyone who wants to give me shit about my choices, I figure it might be him.
“Seriously?” Beth asks as I try to guide her toward Stormy, Mila, and the local people he’s talking to.
“What’s the problem?” I ask, my feet still carrying us in that direction.
“Go big or go home, right?” she asks, her face looking as if these are the last people she wants to speak with.
I pause, turning my attention to her.
“Kalen?” I ask. “Did you have something going on with him?”
“Not exactly,” she says. “Can we talk about it later?”
“You can guarantee it,” I say, unsure where that feeling of jealousy is coming from.
I straighten with confidence, this weird need to look bigger, seem stronger, hitting me as we approach the small group.
Beth, on the other hand, seems like she wants to shrink in size and slip away.
Chapter 6
Beth
“It’s going to be fine,” he assures me as he gives my hand a quick squeeze before slipping it into the crook of his arm.
Even with all the things we did last night and this morning, this somehow feels more intimate, and we’re simply strolling through the square arm in arm.
I pull in a deep breath as we approach Kalen, his wife McKenna, and a man and woman I don’t recognize. From the way the guy’s eyes are locked on my connection to Derrick, I have to presume that he’s one of the Cerberus guys, but I wasn’t introduced to anyone else at the bar last night. After Derrick approached with his beyond-ridiculous pickup lines, I couldn’t focus on anything else.
Nervousness nearly makes my feet stop moving, and I know I’d turn and run if he wasn’t urging me closer.
I didn’t really have a thing with Kalen Alexander. After a few drinks at the very same bar Derrick picked me up in last night, we made out in his truck. I know things would’ve gone further if we hadn’t been approached by Sheriff Hodson. It was a weird day for me, but I made it weirder by going to a local gift shop, The Devil’s Lettuce, and registering for a wedding. I stupidly named Kalen as my groom. I think it took less than two hours for Hippie Jones, owner and operator of the gift shop, to spread it all around town. My intrusive thoughts convinced me that Kalen, the guy I’d had a crush on for as long as I could remember, was my one and only true love. Kissing him was like a dream come true, and it just happened to coincide right at the height of a very manic episode.
