The Stars in the Sky (Giving You ... #2) (21 page)

"Itsogood," I groaned and I grabbed the cone from him. He had bought his own chocolate cone to eat.

As I licked my ice cream, Will watched me, paying attention. I played it up, giving my ice cream cone lots of tongue action, moaning and dribbling cream on my face. What can I say, as usual, it was fun to goad him. A patron or two noticed. But all he did in response was to narrow his eyes and ask me quietly, leaning over, cool lips brushing against my ear, "How much more of our two weeks do we have until I can get you naked and fuck you?"

My response was to lean back in my chair, grin at him, lick my ice cream all the way around the tip, and then slurp it up loudly, never losing eye contact with him.

He groaned and went back to his own ice cream cone.

I'd driven Will to Santa Barbara in my biodiesel Mercedes Benz, windows down, hair blowing, sunglasses on both of us. He dutifully sat in the passenger seat, but he didn't belong there. As a feminist, I didn't want to admit that, but he was not used to being driven; he was used to driving and he was used to driving in his big ol' truck. It was funny how much that little thing pushed his boundaries. He made no comment, but I could tell that he was uncomfortable. I did, however, let him befoul my radio with country music.

As we drove, we talked about the ranch and about the Headlands Program and the fact that there had been no major aftershocks from the earthquake. While Will was still Will, meaning not a chatterbox, he answered my questions, most of the time with more than one word, and asked me plenty of questions about where I lived in Santa Barbara and where we were going.

The clock hit lunchtime once we got there and I drove him to a vegan cafe. He looked especially pained when he reviewed the menu, but he ordered pasta with vegetables and ate it.

Then we went to the ice cream shop.

Once I finished my cone, I needed to go run a few errands.

The first place we went was my apartment. I had a tiny studio downtown, with not much in it. Even though it ate into my paycheck to pay the rent all summer, I didn't want to let it go because it was in such a great location. I packed a bag of more clothes, checked my mail, and grabbed a few other things that I had forgotten.

As I did this, Will looked around my apartment. I decorated in early stereotypical hippie, with tie-dyes, tapestries, paisley prints, candles, scarves, and incense everywhere. I had photographs of my friends, especially Amelia, crammed on every surface, and my refrigerator covered with art from the preschool where I had worked. Will walked around slowly, looking at all of it and not saying a word. Once I packed up, he carried down the heavy case and I carried a box and a bag of stuff. We put them in my trunk, and headed to Tri-County Produce, my favorite grocery store, which was supplied by local farms.

As we walked in, I immediately saw an ex-boyfriend, Jeremy, who Amelia called Man Bun, working there.

Oh shit.

Awkward.

Well, he was one of the many guys before Will. There were lots and lots of them, and they just didn't do it for me. Not like Will. Man Bun, while cute, was boring. Not an ounce of originality or enthusiasm about anything. He’d probably smoked out all of his brain cells anyway.

Still, I couldn't ignore him.

"Hi, Jeremy, how are you?" I asked, as we walked down the bulk aisle.

"Marie. Hi," he said, enthusiastically, and then he did a doubletake when he saw Will, who looked like a Burning Man god in that shirt. Man Bun recovered and asked, "So where have you been? I haven't seen you around in a while."

"I'm working up near Buellton," I said, "at Will's ranch. This is my boyfriend, Will Thrash."

Will's eyes shifted to me for a second at the word "boyfriend," but then he leaned forward to shake poor Man Bun's hand with what I was sure was a burly man death grip. Oh dear. Man Bun didn't wrestle bears in his spare time the way Will did.

"Will Thrash of Headlands Ranch?" asked Jeremy. "I think we're stocking some of your berries right now. Want me to show you?"

I nodded and we walked over to the fresh produce, which took up half of the floor space of the place and, sure enough, there were Headlands Ranch berries there. "I don't think we need to buy them, do we Will?" I asked.

"We've got plenty at home."

I thanked Jeremy, stocked up my vegan supplies, and got the hell out of there.

We filled up my gas at the lone biodiesel fuel station, Will looking at first repulsed and then slightly interested, and then we drove back to the ranch.

Home.

I let Will drive.

When we got back to the ranch, he parked, got out, went into his house without saying a word, and as I was taking things out of the trunk, he came back with something small, and put it in my hand.

"A car key?"

"Key to my truck. I'm not fucking riding in that again."

"Thanks," I said and kissed him. He helped me carry the bags to the bunkhouse bedroom and then left, whistling for Trixie, so that he could go and check on the fields. I dropped my groceries in the kitchen, and then went into the bunk room, where both Janine and Stephanie were sitting on their bunks, chatting.

I threw my keys and Will's key on the bed and my purse down, and then turned to unpack my new things.

Janine, noticing the extra truck key, asked, "Did you get another car?"

"No. Will gave me the key to his truck."

She looked shocked. "Did he really? Wow."

I looked at her questioningly.

She continued, with a knowing glance at Stephanie. "Well, it's kind of a joke saying, but if a cowboy gives you the keys to his truck, you know he's serious. It's almost more than an engagement ring."

Ohmigod.

Wine

I DRESSED WILL UP like a Ken doll today
, I texted Amelia.

Why the fuck would you do that? He's already Woody from Toy Story.

He is not. He's cooler, more like Johnny Cash, the man in black.

True. And?

I wanted to see if he would do it. I made him dress like me. Tie-dye. No Wranglers. He wore Levi's and flip flops and Ray Bans.

And?

He looked hot. But he didn't look like Will.

And?

I'm not going to do that again. He can stay the way he is.

And?

It was fun to try it.

And?

He's my boyfriend now.

Amelia?

That evening I leaned against a shirtless, boxer-clad Will in his bed, spooning, wearing a tank top and pajama bottoms. He hugged me close but did not let his hands roam. He didn't kiss me.

"Forgot to buy you Wranglers today," he murmured in my ear.

"That's because when we went to my apartment, I found a pair from high school and packed them up. I think they still fit."

"You used to wear them?" he asked, with some admiration in his voice.

"I rode horses when I was little," I said, "and I've always been a horsey girl." Then I admitted, "I think they'll fit. They might be a little tight."

"Lookin' forward to seeing that," he said. He ran his fingers down my bare arm and kissed me behind the ear, which made me sigh. His lips pressed against my skin as he asked, "What do you want to do tomorrow?"

"I haven't been to your winery yet."

"Take you after I do the morning rounds." Just then I heard Trixie whimpering from the kitchen. "Mind if I bring her up? Sometimes she gets lonely."

I loved having Trixie around. I wondered why he didn't do it more often. "Not at all."

He got out of bed, all golden muscle and sexy. I heard him go downstairs, open the kitchen door, and the next thing I knew, Trixie had bounded up and was on the bed next to me, wagging her tail.

"Settle in, girl," he said to her, and rubbed behind her ears. Then he leaned over me and kissed me, deeply, lots of tongue, my breasts against his chest, and just when it was getting good, he pulled away, with a pained noise.

I looked at him, breathless. He looked back at me, breathless.

How many more days? Why did I insist on this?

He let out a sigh. Then he rearranged us, with me tucked into him and Trixie curled at the foot of the bed, reached over to turn off the light, kissed my neck, said "Goodnight," and went to sleep.

It took me a while to fall asleep. Not because I felt uncomfortable, but because quite the opposite.

Sitting in the bunkhouse office, the next morning, I finalized the plans for the activities for the upcoming week. I started thinking about what the "anything" that Will was going to do to me at the end of it.

Then I got an idea.

I found the website and ordered, assured of discreet brown packaging.

And then I joined Will and Trixie in his truck.

We drove past the rows of crops in the fields, trees in the orchards, and grapes in the vineyards, ultimately pulling into the gravel drive of the winery, with olive trees, rosemary, and lavender landscaping.

We walked hand in hand up to the corrugated metal building, decorated in industrial chic inside.

A young woman with a nose ring, dyed black hair, and a lot of tattoos stood behind the bar.

So Will employed someone else who looked like me. Maybe he wasn't as pure cowboy as he seemed.

"Hi, Mr. Thrash," she said, smiling.

"Genevieve, this is Marie, my girlfriend." He wasn't shy about using that word. "Let her have a flight."

"Sure thing, Mr. Thrash. You too?"

"Nope, I'm driving and gotta do some more work later."

She set out six wine glasses and poured a healthy amount in the first glass, a dry white Central Coast blend, telling me about it. "All of our wines are certified organic." A group of people walked in and she excused herself to go serve them. I sipped the wine, which tasted lovely.

"So you can handle two edgy female employees?"

"Yeah?" he said, wary.

"I guess I expected you to hire all country girls, but you have a thing for tattooed ones too?"

He sighed, exasperated. "She's an employee and she's twenty-two. You’re my girlfriend, not my employee." I tipped back the last of the glass in a rush.

Genevieve came over and gave me another glass of white wine, describing it to me.

A strange mood, a funk, came over me. I needed to push him now. Stop pussyfooting around. I
had to know
if it was going to work between us. He seemed to think it would, but I wasn't convinced, and if I just tiptoed around our issues—his politics, my politics, my feminism, his anti-feminism—then we'd never get them resolved. Even though part of me just wanted to let these things go and let us off the hook, I knew that I had insisted on this period of time for a reason. And if it wasn't going to work out, I needed to know before I really got hurt. Before I really opened up my heart to him.

And I wanted to know more about his kink.

I looked at him, then I looked over at Genevieve, then I looked back at him. "Tell me more about the threesomes."

"This isn't the place, Marie."

"No one's listening."

I was right. We stood to the side of the bar as Genevieve helped the other patrons. They were noisy and there was no way that they were paying attention to us.

He looked really uncomfortable, but he started talking and I think it was because he knew that I’d bug him until he talked. "What do you want to know? There was a bar in college that I went to, a country bar, and a lot of times it was easy to pick up a woman and her friend." He paused. "You don't want to know this."

"I don't want to be in a threesome with you. I just want you. But it's hot and I want details."

"You don't want to know. That shit will only make you jealous and that's not a good idea. It's ancient history anyway."

I swallowed the last of the second glass of wine and Genevieve noticed, came over, and poured me the third glass. These were huge tastes, not the two fingers one normally got at a winery. I guess it helped if you were there with the boss.

"I don't talk about it. To anyone."

I looked at him.

"Christ, do you really want to know about the pussy that was before you?" he hissed.

Oh, no. He didn't say that.

He referred to other women as pussy. He just referred to me as pussy.

I got mad.

I knew I had some wine, although not that much, and I knew that I was being unreasonable. I knew I pushed him on it and probably for no reason other than I wanted to get this shit out of him.

I knew it wasn't fair.

But I didn't like being thought of as just a pussy.

That meant that deep down, he didn’t think of me in the way that I was starting to think of him. I was a convenient piece of ass to fuck.

I mean, really, I didn’t like him. We were too different. We’d never agree on the stuff that matters, even if we tried.

Right?

Fuck.

I’d brought this on myself.

"Is that what you think of me?" I hissed back, "Some pussy to stick your dick into? Is that what you think of all women?"