The XOXO New Adult Collection: 16 Full Length New Adult Stories (290 page)

“What about you? Your list is complete too.”

“Nah. I’m gonna fly an airplane.”

I glared, but Casey had grown immune to that long ago. I huffed. “Fine, I’ll add something to the list.”

“Kissing. Add kissing.”

“Only if you do. And I get to pick who.”

“Go for it.”

“Kiss Jenny Matthews. For real this time.”

He grinned. “What else does it say?”

I looked back at the list, shoving aside thoughts of kissing. For now. “Learn to shave my legs. Build a tree fort. Beat Casey in a creek race.”

Casey hooted. “Not in this lifetime.”

I scowled.

The tree fort had been something just for my dad and me. I’d purposely waited until Casey had been away at motocross camp the summer before we graduated. I hadn’t wanted his help; it made checking it off the list less exciting.

As for the creek race, I’d come close many times but never actually won. It was the only item on the list yet unaccomplished. “Whatever,” I muttered. “It’d be different now.”

“Are you challenging me to a rematch?”

I blinked. I hadn’t been, really, but I couldn’t back down now. I sat up straighter, exuding confidence that wasn’t actually there. “I could beat you in a creek race with my eyes shut.”

We both looked up at the sound of footsteps in the doorway. My stomach leapt at the sight of Ford. I hadn’t seen him since I’d walked out of his greenhouse days ago. He hadn’t been at dinner the past few days nor had he been to see Mazie for lemonade refills. I wondered if it had something to do with our last exchange when I’d turned him down for a date—or whatever it was he was offering—but always followed it up with a stern lecture to myself. Whatever kept him away wasn’t my problem. He was a guy working for my dad. And I was a girl who didn’t know what she wanted.

But standing there in the low light of the hallway, he was just as gorgeous as I remembered. Maybe more today, with his T-shirt clinging to his abs and his jeans slung low on his hips.

“What’s a creek race?” Ford asked. He held a half-filled water bottle in one hand and with the other, he swiped his damp hair off his forehead.

“What’s up, man? You look a little warm,” Casey said.

Ford took a swig of the water. “Something’s wrong with the ventilation inside my greenhouse. On top of that, it’s damn hot out there. The devil decided to rain humidity and the fire of hell down on your little farm this week.”

“Who you tellin’?” Casey asked.

“Can you take a look at the system for me?” Ford asked.

“Sure thing,” Casey said.

“So, what’s a creek race?” Ford repeated.

Casey and I shared a look. “It’s sort of like our version of a triathlon,” I explained. “We made it up when we were kids and it became its own thing. If you can do the creek race,” I shrugged, “you’re cool.”

“And if you can win the creek race, you’re a rock star.” Casey winked.

“I take it you won a lot?” Ford asked him.

Casey raised his fists over his head. “Undefeated champion of the world.”

“That’s because you haven’t done it lately,” I said. “You probably can’t even see your feet with that beer gut in the way.” A blatant lie. Casey was chiseled—even I could see that and I wasn’t looking. Not in the way other girls looked at him.

Ford snickered.

“City life’s made you a shit-talker,” Casey said. “Let’s see if you can back it up.”

I stuck my chin out. “Name the time and place.”

“Friday. After work. Usual spot.”

“You’re on, country boy.”

“I’m gonna kick your ass, city girl. Winning creek races is what I do.”

“This is somethin’ I’ve got to see,” Ford said.

“Bring beer. I want a cold one in my hand for my victory dance,” Casey told him.

“And if the lady wins?” Ford asked, one brow raised. Sweet Lord, he was sexy when he did that one-brow thing.

Casey’s eyes took on a mischievous glint. “Tell you what. Ford takes the winner out for a drink. Winner’s choice,” he said.

“Deal,” Ford said, and damn if his expression didn’t match Casey’s as he looked at me. I felt beaten already, though we hadn’t even raced yet. And with Ford as the prize, I was almost scared to win. But I wasn’t going to back down, either.

“Deal,” I repeated.

Ford

“
I have a simple philosophy: Fill what's empty. Empty what's full. Scratch where it itches.
”
–Alice Roosevelt Longworth

––––––––

I
’d managed to stay away three days before I couldn’t avoid her any longer. In truth, I could’ve waited until Casey had left her office before tracking him down about the vents, but the opportunity to see her in those snug pants, hair stacked in that messy bun she always wore to her “office” was too good to pass up. And I was itching to see her, to renew the image of her face in my mind. If thoughts of her were going to keep me up at night—and it was clear by now that they were—I needed an updated picture.

I wasn’t disappointed. Her hair was piled high and her bare toes, painted red, were tucked up underneath her ass in that wheeled desk chair when I walked in. She was smiling at something Casey had said and the open way she held herself, without thought or care as to what anyone thought, made me jealous of their relationship for the first time since I’d met them. I wanted her to be that open with me. To talk that freely and smile that fully because of something I’d said.

It would be so much easier if I let this go. Moved on. Hunkered down with my plants. Which was exactly what I’d spent the past few days doing. Studying, take notes, recording progress. Testing. That poison ivy on Casey’s leg was healing nicely. I still owed him a six-pack for that, though.

But even after days spent away, she was still there. Etched into my brain. And each time I thought I’d pushed her out, she’d pop up again. Either in overheard conversation or a glimpse I’d caught walking from the house to her dad’s garage or the small shed turned office for Frank set in the center of the greenhouses. And each time, the bounce of her wavy hair or the shake of her ass was like a punch in the gut.

And now they were going to do a creek race? Did that involve bathing suits? Shit, I hoped so. I closed up shop and headed home for the night. I was so caught up in thoughts of Summer, bare skinned and bikini-clad, that I almost walked right into a tree. I swore and shifted left, heading toward home. I’d been so caught up with their wager, I’d made myself the prize. Only thinking of Summer and how if she won I’d get that date after all.

Fucking A. Casey was right. I had an itch.

Summer

"Our mothers always remain the strangest, craziest people we've ever met."

—Marguerite Duras

––––––––

I
held two fingers over the sprayer, pointing the half-empty can of air freshener into the corner where the filing cabinet stood. It was another attempt to mask the lingering smell of my mother’s perfume. My last one—very similar to this except it’d been the first half of the can and now I was spraying through the last half—had failed.

I’d sprayed until I couldn’t breathe and almost gagged on the droplets of scented liquid hanging in the air before I’d given up and bolted from the room. An hour later, I’d returned only to find a weird mix of the mountain berry-flavored freshener and my mother’s perfume, now stale, mingling together and stubbornly hanging on.

That was yesterday.

I’d quit early and hadn’t returned to the office until first thing this morning. I’d crept carefully to the corner, hopeful when the air by the door and my desk had both smelled clear. But when I reached the cabinet and inhaled, I smelled only the perfume. No trace of mountain berry.

This was ridiculous. What was it about that damned perfume that wouldn’t quit? Time for round two of mountain berry. And if this didn’t work, maybe I’d call a fumigator.

I sprayed until the can was empty, holding a bandanna I’d swiped from my dad over my face to mask the worst of it. I dropped the spray can into the garbage on my way out and closed my office door behind me, heading for the kitchen. If Mazie was cooking anything with berries, I’d vomit.

Bright female laughter made me look up, and I froze in the doorway. Mazie sat at the table in my usual spot, smiling and chatting away with her guest. Across from her, sipping on a glass of sweet tea, sat my mother.

When she caught sight of me, her smile faltered but she recovered quickly. “Hello, Summer,” she said.

“Cathy,” I returned, my tone chilly.

Mazie’s smile faded instantly, replaced by a scowl. She rose from the chair, heading for the hall I’d left behind. She stopped when she reached my shoulder and hissed, “She is your mother. Don’t you forget that.”

I ignored her and the pricks of guilt. Her footsteps faded as she left.

If my mother reacted to me calling her by her name instead of addressing her as “Mom,” she didn’t show it. Her expression was neutral, unreadable. I worked on doing the same with mine, but I’d never been good at hiding my thoughts from my face. I opted instead for anger.

She looked good. Shit, if I was being honest, she looked great. Her hair had been cut and colored, back to the lighter shade she preferred that left her just this side of blonde. Her business suit was pressed like new and as always, the simple yet elegant way she accessorized made me envious of her effortless beauty. But it was more than that. She had a glow in her cheeks, a spark in her I’d never seen. Not even before I’d left for school when I could remember happy times. Or maybe I’d been a poor judge.

Hot tears welled and I blinked them back. How could she live a lifetime with a husband and daughter that so obviously didn’t make her happy like her new life could? What did that say about our family?

I still hadn’t moved from where I stood in the middle of the hardwood floor, the bandanna clutched tightly in my hand. I suddenly had the ridiculous urge to put it on. Even from here, I could smell her perfume. After what I’d just done to erase it back in my office, the scent made me furious. I tried holding my breath; I refused to move away.

“Would you like to sit down?”

“What are you doing here?” I asked without bothering to acknowledge her question.

“I stopped in to see your father. And Mazie. And you,” she added, although the last part was said with a noticeable amount of hesitation.

“I don’t want to see you.”

Her expression finally changed, giving away her thoughts. When it did, her brows drew together in a look of pleading and she leaned forward across the table. “Summer, I miss you. I hate that we don’t talk. Will you please just tell me what it is you’re so angry about?”

“I would think it’s pretty obvious,” I shot back. “Or is your list of betrayals so long, you can’t sift through it?”

She flinched. “I didn’t betray anyone,” she argued, but her words lacked conviction.

“So Dad and me—we’re no one now? I guess that doesn’t surprise me.”

“That’s not fair. You are very important. But I didn’t betray—”

“I’ve already heard the heartwarming details of you finding your true happiness—a new job, new house, new men—so you can save your breath. I have better things to do now. Like your old job, which went to shit thanks to you leaving, and taking care of your husband.” I spun on my heel and stomped my way toward the door, pulling up short when a body blocked my exit. I shoved a little in an attempt to push past whoever had interrupted, but the chest was solid—and purposely blocking me in.

“Move—” I began, and stopped when I looked up at my dad. Judging by the shade of red covering his face, he’d heard it all. And he wasn’t happy.

“Summer Elaine Stafford, you apologize to your mother right now.” Dad’s temper wasn’t easily lit but once you got him there, it ran hotter than a pig on a spit. And it was definitely there.

His tone always went deeper when he was angry, but I couldn’t remember ever hearing it quite that low. Shit, he was really pissed. Suddenly, I was eight years old again, facing the music for a broken window when Casey and I had played baseball with the turnips my dad tried that year. We never grew turnips again.

I took a step back and turned, ready to make whatever mumbled apology would allow him to let me pass. “Dad,” I began.

Mom was already there, abandoning her place at the table to join us in the foyer. “No, it’s okay, Dean. She should say what’s on her mind,” she said.

“That may be, but she can’t disrespect you in the process,” he said, a deep frown casting lines around the edges of his mouth like the ripples from a rock thrown into a pond.

“Maybe. Or maybe she can’t be any other way right now.” Mom looked at me with understanding. Which tugged at me—and then pissed me off. I stuck my chin out. “We did spring all this on her without much warning.”

“Try without any warning,” I muttered. Dad’s glare on me tightened. “Well, you didn’t. I thought everything was fine and then it just ... wasn’t. And she left you, Dad. Shouldn’t you be standing where I am? Telling her how wrong this is? How can you just be ... fine?”

“Summer, there are things you don’t know,” Mom began.

Dad cut her off. “Because they’re none of your business.”

“Dean ...” Mom trailed off and I wondered what they weren’t saying.

The first thing I’d asked when they’d told me they’d split was who had an affair. Not that I could picture it from either one of them, but it just seemed like the most logical explanation. They’d both been adamant that an affair was not the cause or even an effect of the divorce. And they’d said it with enough conviction, I believed it.

But, if not that, what else was there?

I shook my head. “I know the facts,” I said. “You were together. Married. You made it look like you loved each other. For years and years. I grew up thinking I should be like you, do what you did, have what you had. And then I find out it’s all been a lie. Because you don’t love each other.” I stared hard at my mom. “Or at least, one of you doesn’t. And then, instead of working on it, you just gave up. And you didn’t bother telling me, your only daughter, until Mom was already gone—and clearly happy with her choice. What am I supposed to say?”