Breaking A Bad Boy Page 11

  Flicking her thumb across his crown, she replied, “I’m not arguing that point. We were meant to fit together. Question is…when are we going to slide the key into the lock?”

  CHAPTER 8

  RORY DIDN’T RELENT. Hard-on fully visible, hugging his lower belly, and him reclining, meeting her gaze.

  “Not soon enough¸” he replied, clenching his jaw.

  She watched him hoist his jeans up his muscular legs and over his narrow hips. “Don’t I get a kiss goodbye?” she squeaked.

  “My eyes are up here, darlin’,” he growled. “We have time to run out to Evermore before the barbeque.”

  “I need to change,” she said, pouting. “And I drove. So should I meet you there?”

  “How about if I follow you back to your place and then we travel as one tonight?”

  “Deal. Let me lock up,” she replied. “Give me a sec.” Sommer walked naked toward the storage area in back, careful to the stay out of sight from the front door.

  Anyone passing by had a view into the ante room, but not down the hallway or over to her corner of the ink studio. She spread the damp towel on the edge of the sink. She’d get the used towels together and take them over to the Wash & Fold down the block tomorrow. Laundry, then she’d run some errands she’d put off. Now with some of the dough from the tattoo today, she could get some badly needed supplies. Like freaking ink. She’d sweated while working on Vince, worrying she’d run out. Not that she couldn’t borrow from Rachel, but still, she didn’t want to ask for the umpteenth time. Grabbing her bag off the hook, she started to compile a list in her head of things she needed to get done.

  She waltzed back down the hall and suddenly had a thought: sex in her workplace? Check that off the list. She giggled, thinking where on her list of errands she might fit Rory…say, tomorrow around lunch. She should start a new list—of firsts. I can call it my dirty laundry list! One that has nothing to do with towels or clothes. First time to have done Rory, using her breasts, which were now a shade or two pinker where he’d rubbed between them. She could still feel him thrusting along her skin—and a shivered unleashed from her belly, making her nipples peak and ache.

  God, she and Rory were on edge. Not a first. He sported hard-on after hard-on. And she with her skin tightening and the space between her legs pulsating. She bet by tonight, she’d have a couple more scorching items to add to her dirty laundry list. At least she hoped so.

  Threading her arms through the beaded curtain, she hesitated, seeing Rory with his arm bent behind his head, lounging on the recliner, and her tattoo never looked better. “I should get a photograph of you like that for my Facebook page. Might be killer for business.”

  “Wouldn’t mind trading…if I could get a photo of you for my personal stash.”

  She dropped her bag and picked up her jeans, cocking her head. “Sexting?” That would definitely go on my DLL.

  “We have a whole world waiting for us,” he said. “Do you realize that?”

  “I get the picture and it’s pretty dang hot, cowboy.” He tried to catch her, but she lifted up and got away. “Need to be quick, if you want a piece of this pie.”

  Rory rolled upward, his boots thudding, one by one onto the floor. “Oh I’m quick. But I like a challenge. Don’t tease me unless you want that to go both ways.”

  “I was just thinking about our fast-growing list of firsts. I’m calling it my ‘Dirty Laundry List’ or DLL for short.” Tugging on her jeans, she stood in front of him, and leaned over, placing her palms on his chest. “And I’m not teasing. Thought we already established that.”

  “You. Not tease. Me?” His lips quirked into a grin. “Girl, that’s one of your specialties. If you don’t get your way.”

  “That’s so not true. I want to do so many things with you.”

  “As long as they’re on your list,” he retorted. “You’re going to have to learn to cooperate and compromise. Bend a little if you want satisfaction. In the end, sugar.”

  She turned her T-shirt right-side out and pulled it on. No bra, and her pierced nipples stood out and captured Rory’s undivided attention, evidenced by the way his gaze had fallen well-below her own eyes. She snapped her fingers. “What were you saying about eyes up here?”

  “You just made my point…with yours. No bra. Another form of torture. Are you ready, my little temptress?”

  “Hey, you don’t wear a bra and you’ve got nipples. I should have the same privileges.”

  “Fine. You win.” He scrubbed a hand over his face. “Won’t get me to touch that one. I’m afraid you’ll shed your shirt and go topless. Are you hungry?”

  “Starving,” she whispered, seizing her bag and breezing by him. “Don’t forget cowboy, I haven’t got any panties on either.”

  “Damn, you’re well beyond teasing. C’mon let’s get you changed and then maybe, we can go get something to eat.”

  “YOU want to come in or wait here?” Sommer asked, looking up at Rory after he lowered her from his truck. They stood on the sidewalk outside her mom’s home.

  Rory’s brows drew together. “I’ll wait here and come say hello when you’re ready to leave. I need to make a call over to my cousin and light a fire under him. It won’t be pretty,” he said.

  “Be back in a few.” She smiled when he opened the front gate to her yard and tipped his hat.

  Humming, she entered the house and stopped in the small entryway to gauge what Momma was up to this afternoon. All was quiet…almost too quiet. Usually there was a low hum of white noise in the form of the television. “Momma?” she called out and walked forward.

  Sommer went through the living room and poked her head into the kitchen. The back door was shut, and the curtains drawn across the windows. She turned around, wondering if her mother was even at home. Oh please, she prayed. If only Momma would get out. Agree to do more than sit and wait for Dad, who wasn’t coming back. A sharp twinge knotted in her chest as she walked into the hall and toward the crack of light coming from her mom’s bedroom. “Momma? Are you in there?”

  Outside in the hallway, she faced her mom’s closed door and lightly knocked. “Hello?” From inside, she heard the rustling of papers and a glass knock over.

  “Sommer. You’re back,” Momma said. Sounded like ice, along with liquid were spilling onto the floor. Then her mom’s voice hiked upward. “Dammit to hell!”

  She stiffened at the cranky sound of Momma’s voice. The door of the bedroom flew open, and her mother appeared on the threshold. For a second, Sommer had trouble computing her mom’s state.

  Usually her mom dressed in wrinkled clothing that she’d worn for a couple of days until Sommer harangued her enough to bathe and change. But today, Momma’s face was done up, her hair was fixed, and she wore a summer dress. One Sommer had never seen, and looked out of character for her mother of late—pretty and feminine. Tiny bows and buttons ran down the cream-colored bodice that spanned the front above a red floral print background.

  “Wow. You look nice. Are you going out?”

  “I got a date,” Momma announced proudly. “He’s coming in about an hour.”

  “A date?” Sommer repeated. “As in a man?”

  “What other type? Goodness gracious, don’t acted so shocked. Aren’t you happy that I’m getting out? You’re always preaching that I’m wasting my life on the sofa. So, I’m going out.” Her mother picked at a piece of lint on her dress and smoothed the material along her waist—repeating the gesture several times.

  “I’m overjoyed. Who are going out with?” She watched her mom. Her color was high and Momma’s eyes flitted around, hardly focusing on anything for more than a millisecond, if that. She’d been through this before. Lots of times since her dad left. Ideas that came and went with her mom were a dime a dozen, but occasionally something stuck. And those few ideas weren’t what Sommer would classify as reasonable, and although they didn’t happen often, when one did, it was worrisome.

  “His name is Harvey. No Henry.
Oh my. I’m so nervous. Henry Smith or Smite.”

  Her insides twisted. Oh dear Lord, the last time someone came visiting when her mother was in this state, it cost Momma and her a couple thousand dollars and an attorney. Her mom had signed papers to second mortgage the house and give the funds to a fraudulent investment scheme finagler. If she came barreling at her mom, Momma would clam up.

  She inhaled, forcing lightness into her voice. “Is Henry from Annona?”

  “Yep. Around here,” Momma said, resting her hands on her hips. “Oh he’s not like your boyfriend. Rich and well connected. But he’s nice.”

  “Momma, nice is what matters.”

  “Easy for you to say. Did you give Rory an answer? Are you going to marry him?”

  Her mother raised an eyebrow. This flip-flopping of moods had the ability to unseat Sommer if she didn’t remind herself that she was talking to her mother. “No. I didn’t. And you asking me every day isn’t helping me decide, either. Please, Momma. Let’s not get into it, today.”

  “But one day you will, and I want to be sure to hear the news.”

  “Gosh, I promise I’ll tell you.”

  Momma snorted. “There’s plenty you do but don’t tell me about. Remember, I got married in white because I didn’t need to keep secrets. Sommer, I hope you will too.”

  She closed her eyes and tried to count to ten, but aimed for five. “Momma, let’s stay focused on you.”

  “I hope you say ‘yes’ to Rory. And soon, ‘cause it would help me move on with life. Do you realize that?”

  “Whether or not I get married has nothing to do with your life. Don’t put that kind of pressure on me.”

  “I just mean, if I knew you were happy and settled, then maybe I could try spreading my wings, too.”

  How many times was her mother going to say these same words in different variations? Each and every day she asked if Sommer had accepted. What a mistake she’d made to even share that Rory had asked—and only because her Momma used to constantly remind her—pester her about the McLemore reputation. If only her mother and the world were privy to the truth.

  “Don’t wait on me, Momma. Why not pursue one of those hobbies you talk about? Or take up Aunt Belinda’s offer when she asks you over for bridge?”

  “Sweet Sommer, that’s what mothers do,” Momma said, smiling and added. “I need to get a towel. I spilled my beverage. I can’t possibly take those horse pills without something to sip.”

  Before her mother could rush by, Sommer reached out and steadied her. “I’ll go get a towel. Be right back.”

  “It’s only water, but I just can’t ignore it.”

  “Right. Should I bring you another glass of water?” She doubted her mother was drinking straight ice water, but miracles did occur.

  “Mmm. How about just some ice. It’s so warm,” Momma replied, her eyes wide in an attempt at innocence.

  “Ice. Can I get your glass?” Carefully, Sommer broached an ongoing sore spot and asked, “So did you take your medicine?”

  “I think…just bring another.” Her mother nodded, not really answering her question, and smiled. “I’m so pleased you’ll be able to meet Henry.”

  “Me too, Momma, but what about your medicine?”

  “Oh Sommer, I can’t remember and you know I can’t take too much. I don’t want to overdose and get sick.”

  Sommer walked back through the living room, the muscles in her shoulders and over her chest tangled into several knots. Instead of going to the kitchen, she marched outside and all the way to Rory’s truck. He was inside the cab talking, but once their gazes fused, he raised an eyebrow, and must have said goodbye to whoever was on the phone.

  Rory opened his truck door and stepped out. “What’s going on?”

  He’d been through some of the things that she’d battled with her mom’s various mental states. She’d learned years ago that she could trust Rory not to carry tales of what he’d witnessed. But dealing with it still hurt, a pinch to her chest that she had to always wonder what she’d come home and find.

  “My mom’s in one of her moods,” she began, glancing down at the pavement.

  “Want me to come inside?” he asked.

  She swung her head from side to side. “Maybe we should meet up later.”

  “Hey,” he began and pressed his fingers to her face, tipping up her chin. “Be straight with me. What’s up today?”

  Today. Bipolar mood swing? She didn’t know if this was another hyper episode of Momma’s mania, or if she had been drinking. It sure wasn’t her usual depressed state. “My mother has a date,” she said.

  “A date?” Even Rory repeated the idea—it was that farfetched.

  “That’s what I said,” she breathed out. “Could be a good thing, but it could also be another cycle. I don’t want you to pitch in and be forced to deal with it on top of all you have going on. She doesn’t seem strung out. Actually, she’s fixed herself up and looks nice for a change.”

  “And you’re worried.”

  She grimaced. “I don’t want to look for problems, but this is so unlike Momma. I need to see who this guy is. Someone named Henry Smith. I think.” She couldn’t bring herself to tell Rory Momma wasn’t even sure of the man’s name.

  “I don’t know anyone named Henry.” He inhaled. “Well, it’s a good thing we came home. We’re here in time to check Henry out.”

  “We?” She sucked in her bottom lip. “Hey, like I said, I’ll meet up with you later.”

  “Forget it. I’m here and I’m not leaving without you.”

  AFTER meeting Henry, and talking with him for a good thirty minutes, Sommer discovered that her Mom had met him from a classified ad placed in the church singles newsletter. He wasn’t that different from Momma. But unlike her mother, Henry lived at home with his mother. Maybe he was like her, still living at home. What a thought!

  Out on the porch, she and Rory had watched them drive off. Momma and Henry had plans to head over to the diner and then to the movies. Nothing outlandish.

  Now, sitting inside his truck, she had the distinct feeling that the proverbial shoe was on the other foot; one more time as to who was the parent and who was the child. That moment when she and Rory had stood on the porch and waved, personified her existence. For years, she’d been the guardian for her mother. Would it be like this forever, where she was stuck from moving forward? What about Rory…what in the world did he truly think?

  “Thanks for staying and help grill Henry,” she said. “He seems nice.”

  As Rory drove, he glanced over to her, giving her a reassuring smile. “I’m sure he is. He works at a bank, goes to church, and lives at home.”

  She ran her hand down Rory’s arm, arriving at his long fingers resting on her thigh, and inhaled, suddenly realizing that they were already at the Double Diamond. She flexed her leg muscles, wanting to feel his fingers touching her again, and deliver her to the realm where no thinking was required.

  “Talk about busy,” she murmured as he parked. Loads of people were out tonight, and she’d expected it to be like all the other community barbeques—not this busy, where parking was at a premium.

  “Apparently, something’s up,” he remarked. Several grills were strung together along with the large blue commercial one that Hank ran. Billowing smoke rose above the crowd, and once they exited his truck, she was impaled by the scent of Texas BBQ.

  “Man, someone sure knows his beef brisket.” She inhaled a second and third whiff, trying to figure out which way to go as her stomach growled to get moving and not stop until she had a plate in her hands.

  “Hold on,” Rory said, pulling her back toward him. “I got some rope, just like I promised. Not too early to whip it out and demonstrate my tie-down skills.”

  “I’m hungry, so don’t try to get in between me and my lunch-slash-dinner.”

  “I offered to take you to lunch,” he snarled. “Even offered to make you a sandwich at your mom’s house.”

  “N
ot exactly my fault.” She stumbled against him, panting in her hunger and nearing a state of hyperventilation.

  “Point take,” he said then stretched out his arm. “Over there. You usually like Jake’s jerk brisket.”

  “Where?” She swung around but couldn’t focus on finding a target. Oh heck. Mix Cajun and Texas barbeque together, and she was in heaven. “I can’t see from down here. I need stilts or a ladder.”

  “But I don’t.” Rory took her by the hand and began to weave through the crowd. “This way,” he cajoled, and she followed.

  Mute. Salivating. Starving.

  “Hurry,” she groaned, pressing her forehead against his back and she trailed blindly after him. She stopped when he stopped, peeking around Rory’s arm and meeting Jake’s smiling face.

  “Well, hey,” Jake said with his chef’s hat on. “What’ll you have?”

  She felt lightheaded as she pointed to the grill. “Everything.”

  “You’re just a little bitty thing with eyes much bigger than your stomach.” Jake chuckled and asked, “What’ll it be? Ribs, chicken, brisket, pulled pork?”

  Rory nodded his head, drawing her to him. “Better make it brisket, slaw, mac-n-cheese, dirty rice, and a Bud. Everything times two.”

  She shifted from foot to foot while her mouth watered. When Rory passed her a beer, she chugged half on her empty stomach. Her belly promptly rebelled, twisting and gurgling loudly. But then after a few seconds, the world didn’t seem so sharp-edged.

  She sighed, “Thanks. I’m so hungry I forgot my manners.” She tapped her beer to his. “Happy Labor Day.”

  “Follow me,” he said, handing his beer to her and holding up their plates.

  He led them over to one of the several picnic tables set up under the tall pecan trees that overlooked the makeshift stage. Lights were strung around the parking lot, unlit since it was a little ways before sunset. The evening breeze wafted all around them, rustling the branches and in turn, the leaves shimmered. She smiled and nodded to several people who greeted them.