A Mess of Reason (3 page)

“Yeah, I know it is. But I’m sad for you.
Well, if you ever want to liven things up, I’d be happy to be the
third wheel in your threesome. You know I love my kink. Would that
ruin my friend status, though?”

“No, it would not…but I promise you baby,
she wouldn’t do a threesome if it were climbing up her ass.”

“Wow, that’s a bummer…ha ha, get it?”

He tilts his head at me, then drags his
long, sculpted fingers over the thick stubble riding his jaw. Have
I told you about his hands? His beautiful man hands? And yes, I’ve
pictured them on my naked body more times than should be legal.
They make my libido go “Excuse me, you dropped something—my jaw.”
You feel my pain?

“Do I need to point my jokes out to you now,
too? Are you getting old or tired or are you just not spewing
enough semen out these days to keep your brain properly flossed?
Or, wait…oh no…am I just losing my touch?”

“No gorgeous, you’re not losing your touch.
I just don’t want to talk about Liberty. Let’s talk about you.
You’re my favorite topic. Enlighten me…” His hand sweeps across my
cheekbone, then under my chin… Oh, you love him, don’t you?

“Enlighten you with what, darling man? Do
you want to pick the topic or shall I spin the wheel for fifty
dollars and see where it lands?”

“What about you and big-nuts? You gettin’
all you need?”

He flashes his crooked smile at me while
giving my knee a ticklish squeeze. I could climb onto his lap right
now, move my panties aside—he could be in me in ten seconds, mach
speed. Do I sound desperate? Don’t think poorly of me. I’d do it—I
want to think I have that level of courage, the I’ll-Take-That-Dare
level—but the risk of him turning me down is paralyzing. The only
thing I seem to be able to move around him is my smart-ass
mouth.

“Eh, he’s a pretty good fuck as fucks go.
He’s not vanilla—more more like fifty-six flavors—so at least we
don’t get bored in the sack. It’s…you know…pretty good. I take care
of myself when it’s not.”

He grabs my thighs, making me gaze up and
down his delectable arms. I can’t not look. He’s mid-thigh,
squeezing my legs—and let me tell you, he could easily slide them
to my zipper and be in the midnight dip in seconds.

“I have to ask because you’re my girl. Are
you head over heels with him? I mean, he’s the one? All hearts and
rainbows? Tell me the truth, Tess.”

I put my hands over his and he scoops my
fingers into his palms. Inside I crumble as he takes them to his
lips, kissing each fingertip like he’s done a million times over,
but in this moment it feels so much bigger…and against my will, I
pull away. Because I know I can’t have him. When he does stuff like
that, it’s a wrench in my gut. I give a big Broadway laugh—he’ll
call me on it any second now, but I don’t know what else to do
except talk fast and avoid eye contact.

“Oh, you know. He’s a good enough guy. What
can I say?”

My chin is in his hand, as his thumb touches
my bottom lip. There’s no escaping his demanding vibe.

“You can look at me instead of avoiding my
eyes,” he says. “You can drop any more bullshit fake laughs. You
can tell me the truth because that’s what we do, remember? I’m your
Scout…you’re my Tess. Or what is it you used to say when we’d to go
out in my pickup truck down by the pond, just the two of us? I’m
the bit to your bridle. I’m the Jack in your Daniels….”

Would it be weird if I were shedding tears
right now?

“You’re the fruit in my pie…you’re the
sprinkles on my birthday cake,” I finish his sentence. We used to
do this and try to get to one hundred of them. Each of us
completing the other one’s sentence. And when we got there, we’d
entangle our arms, then do a shot of something, the way brides and
grooms do when they take their first sip of champagne post
nuptials.

“Looks to me it’s more like you’re the
chicken to my shit, sweetheart. Now who’s not spilling it?” He
grabs my waist, picks me up like I’m a two-pound kitten, and plants
me on his lap. He’s always done this with me, because since forever
he’s been big, muscle-y, and yummy. Me…I’m barely five-seven, a
little skinny scrapper. But now I’m so close that I’m flustered. Is
this what happens when you round thirty years old: you lose your
edge?

“What’s with the waterworks? You okay,
love?”

You must be wondering. Maybe I like pain?
Because I seem to be living the very act of it. I wish I could say
the tender strokes of his fingers wiping away my emotion-filled
tears felt soothing. But I can’t. His touch is so good it hurts me.
It hurts in that way that leaves you empty because you know you
can’t claim it and call it your own.

“Yeah, I’m still a sap. You know me:
wrought-iron spine filled with custard.”

“I’ll change the topic because I see this is
one we’re going to need to grease with more Jack, Johnnie, or
Jose…but just know, you will not be getting off the hook quite that
easily going forward, Miss Harlow.”

His tone matches his look: dead serious,
dark, deep, and syrupy. I wonder if that’s how he sounds when he’s
fucking her. Like when he says, “Hey baby, I want to go deep in
your ass. Turn over—hands and knees.” Pfft. Hardly. She’s a vanilla
fuck. That’s what he should be saying to me. ’Cause I’d be all,
“Yeah lover, lube up…let’s go.”

I nearly fall off the chair as he tickles
me. It’s a horrible abusive power he uses to get me to talk, and
usually it works. But being the good guy that he is, he lets me off
the hook about Creed. I’m so damn happy about it that I just let
him ruin me with his fingers until I can’t breathe.

“Stop…oh my God…”

“Magic word, Tessie girl. ”

“Please…uncle…fuck…stop!”

“Nope, the other magic word.”

“Stop, you cocksucker.”

“There’s my girl. I knew you’d come out to
play.”

“I think I just ruptured my spleen. Jeez,
Scout. I’m gonna be bruised tomorrow.”

“Speaking of ruptured, I think your tits
have grown.”

“No they haven’t; they’re the same. Why are
you looking at my tits anyways?”

“You’re lying. They are bigger—that’s why
I’m looking at them. Yeah, I’m checking you out.”

“I’m a grown woman now, not eighteen
anymore, so maybe I’ve filled out a little and I buy better
bras.”

“Yes, you are! B cup, even? I think so, mmm.
And you’re blushing again. So now that you’re a grown woman, you
blush, too? Am I flustering you with titty talk? My, my, how things
have changed.”

“I am not blushing, asshole. I’m hot from
all that tickling. Surely you know me better than that. I don’t
blush.”

“I’m just givin’ you shit, baby.”

But I know he’s not. He sees it, I feel it.
I’m blushing from head to toe inside and out. Every inch of me is
bright pink and sweaty. Shitfuckcrap. Thing is, I can’t help it.
What am going to do with him? How am I going to be by him all the
time, feeling like this? It’s as though the years we’ve been apart
have made me more in love with him. I thought distance
didn’t
make the heart grow fonder? I thought eventually my
heart would close up to the idea of ever having him as my own.

“Come here. “ He wraps his arms around me. I
sink into his chest…breathe him in and stay that way for such a
beautiful bit of time standing still.

“Tess, baby girl.” He’s
whispering…unraveling me. “All I want is for you to be happy.
That’s all I’ve ever wanted for you. I’m glad you found your guy.
I’m happy for you that you’re getting married if it’s what you
want. You’ll be a beautiful bride and you’ll have lots of gorgeous
babies someday. I just feel like a lucky bastard that I have you
back in my life.”

He peppers kisses on the top of my head as
we breathe each other in and my God, I feel my heart pounding like
mad—or is it his?

CHAPTER THREE

SCOUT

“So check this out, Tess said.” Think paper
doll, Scout, and you’re my new boy toy. I can graphically map any
outfit onto your body. I can’t wait to show you—I’ve been working
on all kinds of cool concepts along these lines.”

She’s talking a mile a minute, arms flying
about, giggly and happy as all get out.

I’ll do anything she asks, hopelessly
surfing for her love like a junk food binger. And right now, I’m
standing on a white photo sweep in only my black briefs while she
poses me for photos. Don’t get me wrong, she’s seen plenty of
me—we’ve gone skinny-dipping more times than I can recall. Mind
you, skinny-dipping to her is keeping her shirt on but stripping
her panties off. My definition is a bit more…oh…fleshy than
that.

“Spread your legs, further apart…more like
this. Man, Scout, for a rock star who can actually move, your
posing skills stink. Just copy me.”

The only legs I want spreading around here
are hers; the mere idea of it sends an endorphin blast straight
through me. I realize I’m dreaming, because after this photo shoot
I’m accompanying Tess to get her wedding dress fitted. I can’t tell
her no. She expects me to be there. Demands it. She has no idea
what it’ll do to me to see her—the girl I should be marrying—in a
damn wedding dress. A wedding dress that Creed, that thunder-cunt,
is going to get to peel off of her.

“Is this better, your highness?” I follow
every move of hers while the photographer clicks away, chuckling at
our banter.

“Yeah…good job!” she says, clapping. “What
would you do without me? Do this with your hips, see…more like
this…just copy mine.” She’s wiggling around, making me nuts for
her. “How did you function before I moved back here? Now turn
around; I need some backside shots, too.”

“Damn, woman, you are bossy. And for the
record, I think I did all right without you sassing me around.”

“Sassing you around? Obviously you like it.
Oh…your glutes… My, my, still got that tight little quarterback
tail-end, don’t you?” She pats my ass, then fist bumps me in a
grandiose proclamation, nursing my insecurities. “Put your hands
up…like this…now spread your legs again,” she says as she smacks my
ass once again. I can live with this. “Just let me position you,
for heaven’s sake.”

“You keep that up, you’re gonna be in
trouble, Sass.” Her hands are on my right leg—the inside of my
upper thigh, to be exact—her palms dragging down to my knee as she
pushes my legs apart.

“Oh, please, you love my hands on your
ass.”

“I do like them there…just a little longer,
please.”

After circling around me like a shark, she
grabs the top band of my briefs. Her fingers steal just inside the
edge as she glides them around the front to straighten them. And,
as science has it…I’m hard. No one should be surprised by this
revelation. I’m certainly not. Like it or not, she’s gonna see it
in about ten seconds.

“Maybe we should get a room, sweetheart.”
Oh, my baby Tess… Her hands are back down between my thighs and she
tugs a tiny bit on the bottom of my briefs, her knuckles brushing
my balls. My very blue balls, that is. Then she comes around to my
front to start showing me how to pose again and, well, what can I
say? It’s not a light switch.

“Okay, now, do this,” she says as she puts
her hands up. Then she notices…it.

“Scout. Jesus. I think your undercover
career is over. So this is why all the girls are beating down your
door—besides your pretty face, that is. I mean, we’ve gone
skinny-dipping…I guess the water’s been cold. Holy Jonah and the
whale.”

“Gettin’ an eyeful, Tess? This shouldn’t
exactly be a spiritual crises.”

“Well, I practically tripped over it. Guess
I missed the warning sign. Roadblock ahead?”

“Baby, you had your fingers about two inches
from it thirty seconds ago—you might be my best friend, but you can
hardly blame me. It’s just what happens to cocks: they have a
seismic shift and go north when wandering fingers cross into their
territory.”

“Got it. Heat-seeking missile. Well, it’s a
good thing we’re onto the back shots, then. I’m not sure I know how
to graphically map over something the size of a small country
yet.”

I can’t help but wonder if she realizes it’s
all her doing this to me. Her hands, her heat, her eyes. Not to
mention the smile that’s plastered on her face, as if she just
caught the tooth fairy in action.

“I want you to come over later so I can show
you what I’m going to do with these shots. This, along with the
video stuff we did this morning, is going to give me a whole new
way to play Ken doll with you.”

“I’m starting to feel a little emasculated.
You want to play Barbies with me
and
I’m coming with you for
your wedding dress fitting? Where the hell is Roxanne in all
this?”

“She’s meeting us at the fitting; her dress
is ready, too. Just relax. Do you need me to take you for a bull
ride later so your nuts drop back down?”

You think she’s kidding? Nope. She was the
captain of our high school rodeo team, and yes, she won the bull
riding national championship her junior and senior years of high
school. There’s really no going back after riding a bull, now is
there?

“When’s the last time you rode?” I asked.
“Hell, your bull Legend died what, five years ago now?”

“It’s been too long. I mean, I could ride,
but I might get hurt. I have no interest in another shoulder
dislocation. Remember that really bad one before my championship?
You got to me before the clowns did. I swear it was like you
dropped out of the sky and pulled me out of that ring in seconds.
You were such an idiot to jump the fence—you could have gotten some
serious anal from Legend.”

“Idiot? I saved you. Jeez, Tess. I’m feeling
crestfallen. A little ‘thank you’ would be nice.”

“Oh, puh-leaze, you’re so soft. Well, I mean
technically not now. I thanked you. I’m grateful. I just…well, you
could have really gotten hurt.”