Then He Kissed Me: A Cottonbloom Novel (4 page)

“Fine. Come on then.” Tally walked into the night, the sound of bullfrogs and bugs drowning out the music of the bar the farther they moved into the parking lot. When she’d arrived, the sunset had been orange and brilliant, and she hadn’t given a thought to where she’d parked. Unfortunately, a broken bulb topped the nearest lightpost, leaving her car in deep shadows.

Heath didn’t try to touch her, but anxiety kept her on edge. Her past relationships had ended on a whimper. Either she or the guy drifted away, neither one of them invested or heartbroken. The animosity brewing with Heath was foreign.

“You have to stop calling and texting and stuff,” she said.

“Give us another chance. I can change.”

Even if she didn’t recognize his statement as a platitude, she wasn’t remotely tempted to give him another shot. A brain transplant wasn’t a viable option.

“It’s not you. Really. I’m superbusy with the gym and not interested in dating anyone right now.” She had no problems keeping secrets, but the outright lie squirmed her stomach. Instead of pacifying him, he bowed up, the muscles of his arms jumping, his entire body reflecting his agitation.

“Then who was the dude at the bar? Bryce said you were practically eye-fucking each other.”

How had she ever been attracted to him? Maybe a better question was why did she attract men like him? She needed to hang out somewhere besides dive bars and her gym. Try internet dating. Audition for
The Bachelor
. It offered better odds than Cottonbloom.

“You are being juvenile and jealous when you have no right to be.”

“What’s his name?” He grabbed her upper arm in a too-tight grip and pulled her between two cars toward a bank of pine trees that lined the lot. Unease rippled through her, leaving her knees wobbly.

“What is wrong with you?” She kicked his ankle with the toe of her boot, but he didn’t flinch or slow down.

“What’s his fucking name, Tally?”

Heath had been annoying since she’d dumped him, bordering on intimidating, but she’d never been truly scared of him. He had been like a constantly buzzing gnat. Now she realized he had a stinger. She could hold her own with most men, but he had spent a considerable amount of time training in her gym, and she wouldn’t stand a chance if things turned physical.

As she debated on how big a hit her pride would take if she called for help, a voice rumbled out of the darkness. “Unhand the lady.”

Tally looked over her shoulder. Nash stood between the cars at the bumpers, not ten feet away. Relief at someone coming to help mixed with worry over how Heath might retaliate, along with a dash of entirely inappropriate humor at Nash’s gentlemanly declaration. Heath turned, keeping her in his grasp, so she was forced up against the door of one of the cars.

She squirmed, trying to break his hold, but he was a grappler in the ring, and holding her was child’s play. “Nash, go and get the bouncer. His name is Butch.” Her voice wavered and she hated that both men could recognize her ingrained fear.

“No need for that, is there? Do you want to end up in jail? Because that’s where I see this headed in a hurry.” Nash held his hands up like a peacemaker, his voice full of appeasement, and took a step toward them.

Tally could feel Heath’s hesitation, yet he didn’t release her. “Holy shit. Nerdy Nash Hawthorne.” Heath’s laugh was like a rusted axle trying to move in a socket after years of disuse.

“Heath. It’s been a while, yeah?” Nash stepped closer, sounding like they were being introduced at church.

“I’d heard you’d moved back. Are you and my girl old friends or something?” Finally, his hand loosened. She pulled free and walked toward Nash.

“I think she’d beg to differ on being called your girl based on what I witnessed.”

When she came within a couple of feet, she recognized the anger, not reflected in his stance or voice, masking his face. It hadn’t crossed her mind that Nash might have had a history with Heath too, but they would have been in school at the same time in Mississippi.

“Are you all right?” His lips barely moved, his gaze on Heath as he slipped off his glasses and handed them to her.

She nodded and took the glasses automatically. He pushed her behind him and closed the distance between him and Heath. Grabbing onto one of Nash’s biceps, she attempted to tug him away. He didn’t budge. “Nash, let’s go, please.”

“She’s thinking about rekindling things with me, so I’d appreciate it if you’d get gone.” A taunting confidence threaded Heath’s voice.

Nash made a tsking sound, shook his head, and took another step forward. “Sorry, mate. Not going to happen.”

Heath threw the first punch, a slow, lumbering cross that Nash ducked. He answered with a well-placed, hard jab to Heath’s forehead. A tiny split in his eyebrow trailed blood into his eye, but he was seasoned, and instead of wiping it away, he rushed Nash with a bellow.

She was knocked backward, losing her balance and landing hard on her butt and hands. His glasses snapped. Scrambling up, she hollered for Butch while the two men rolled around on the gravel, neither one getting a hit in.

Butch ran over and worked to pry Nash and Heath apart. His yells brought a few more men over until between them, they pulled the two men apart. Heath sought to escape the hands like a wild animal in a trap. Nash shrugged out of Butch’s hold and dusted himself off. Heath seemed to have gotten the brunt of the beating, but Nash hadn’t escaped without a few welts, and his T-shirt was ripped along a side seam.

“Calm down, Heath, or you’re going to force me to call the police. What the hell was this about?” Butch paced, spittle flying.

“It was just a silly fight, Butch.” Tally took Nash’s forearm and guided him to the passenger side of her car. “Heath’ll calm down with us gone. No need to call the cops.”

Butch didn’t argue with her, only chucked his head and concentrated on keeping Heath at bay.

“My truck’s on the other side.” Nash thumbed over his shoulder, his words sounding strained.

“I’ll bring you back by later. Right now, let’s get out of here. Give Heath a chance to cool down. And you need someone to clean you up.” Her tires spun on the gravel as she hit the blacktop.

“Have you got my glasses?”

She was still clutching the pieces, and opened her hand between them. “I’m so sorry. I fell on them.”

He took them between two fingers and slid them on. The nosepiece was bent, one eyeglass sitting well above the other, and an earpiece dangled down his cheek. Scratches obscured one of his eyes. He grinned. “What? Not a good look?”

Laughter born of relief sputtered out of her. “Are you insane?”

“No, but fairly blind. I guess it’s a good thing you’re driving since I can’t see. Where to?”

“My place unless you have any objections.”

“Actually, I do. I assume he knows where you live. Maybe best not to stay there tonight. Let’s go to my place.”

At the crossroads where she needed to decide, she headed across the river into Mississippi. “You’re staying with your aunt, right?”

He nodded and a dread like getting called on by a teacher welled up. Ms. Leora treated Tally like a dirty, used piece of gum stuck on the bottom of a favorite pair of shoes. When she was a kid living downriver from Nash, she hadn’t understood the disdain.

“Will your aunt ask a bunch of questions or get upset?”

“I’ll tell her we’re having a sleepover for old time’s sake.” The flashing from the streetlights of Main Street illuminated his smile. Half of his upper lip was puffy and a few scratches along his cheek oozed blood.

She couldn’t summon anything resembling a smile. Things could have been worse. Much worse. Twisting her hands on the steering wheel in a death clutch, she looked straight out over the road. “Thanks, Nash. You stepping in like that … I’m not sure what Heath was thinking.”

“Were you really looking to get back together with him?”

“Goodness, no!” The denial reverberated through the car. She swallowed. After putting himself in harm’s way for her, didn’t he deserve the truth or at least a portion of it? “We dated for a couple months over the spring until I realized—” She bit the inside of her lip, not even sure what to say.

“Doesn’t seem like he’s changed much over the years.”

“I didn’t even think about you knowing him.”

“Once they jumped me two grades, we were in classes together.” He stared out the passenger window, his voice distant and unforthcoming. Considering she was the poster child for withholding information, she didn’t press him.

Her headlights brushed his aunt Leora’s house and her palms slipped on the steering wheel. Not many people intimidated Tally, but his aunt happened to be one of them. She parked and closed her car door as quietly as possible. A confrontation with his aunt would really top the evening off in a spectacular fashion.

The house was dark, the porch swing swaying slightly in the breeze, the chains warbling a squeak with each pass. She ran her hands down the legs of her jeans and didn’t move away from the car. Nash was halfway up the driveway when he turned to wait for her.

The prospect of heading to her apartment and trying to sleep in fear of Heath battering down the door outweighed her fear of a judgmental old woman. She locked up her car and joined him, but instead of heading to the front door of the big house, he led her through the fence gate and toward a guesthouse at the back of his aunt’s sizable garden.

In a nod to the main house’s classic gingerbread-style architecture, whoever had built the addition had taken it to the extreme. Swooping scallops, heart cutouts on the shutters, faded pink paint on the clapboard. In the moonlight, it looked like a magical, oversized dollhouse.

She grabbed him, somehow ending up with his hand in both of hers, and tugged him to a stop, keeping her voice at a whisper. “You’re staying out here?”

“I’m close enough to help Aunt Leora if she needs me, but enjoy a modicum of privacy. Good thing I’m secure in my manliness, right?”

Nothing seemed to faze the man, and after the events of the night and drama of the past few months, she appreciated his calm confidence.

Her eyes were level with his smiling lips, and her breasts pressed into his thick, hard biceps. She was aware of her femininity in ways she hadn’t been in a long time.

His rumpled brown hair curled up at his nape, a wave falling over his forehead. He smoothed it back, running his hand all the way to the back of his neck. He nudged his chin toward the front door. “Come on. My head is killing me.”

A round of stomach-churning guilt assailed her, for both the incident tonight and fear that he’d be Heath’s target in the future. “I’m so—”

“Don’t say it.” Without dropping her hand, he guided them up three short steps to a narrow porch and opened the unlocked door. When he shut it, he turned the deadbolt and secured the chain. “He’s the one with the mental imbalance, not you. Anyway, you didn’t ask me to come charging to your rescue. When I saw you walk out with him … I don’t know, I had a funny feeling something was wrong.”

“You’re giving me too much credit. Have you considered that I’m the one who’s mentally unbalanced?”

His chuckle reverberated off the walls. A staircase was directly in front of them while an arched doorway stood on the left, soft light permeating the shadows of the small entryway.

“What were you still doing in the parking lot anyway? You left a good ten minutes before I did,” she said.

“Catching my breath.”

His odd answer was forgotten when she stepped under the arch and into a big, airy room. A galley kitchen off to one side looked as if it had been added as an afterthought. Floor-to-ceiling bookcases took up eighty percent of the wall space. The rest of the room was taken up by lamps, a couch, and comfortable-looking chairs.

She’d never seen so many books except in a library. They were stacked on most of the horizontal surfaces. Extras were shoved on top of the neat rows in the bookshelves. The table closest to her held a particularly thick book with an embossed leather binding. She stared at the cover, willing the ornate letters to take their places in her head. Fancy script always gave her dyslexia more trouble than block letters.
The Life and Times of Charlemagne.

He disappeared into the narrow kitchen. When she joined him, he was drinking a glass of water. A bottle of pain pills sat on the counter. He set the glass in the sink. “Can I get you something? I’ve got water, OJ, beer. No tea, I’m afraid, unless you would like a cup of the hot variety.”

She fake-gasped. “Are you telling me you betrayed your Southern heritage and converted to English tea?”

“No choice. The withering look I got the first time I asked for iced tea made me want to crawl under a table. Ice in general isn’t the norm, much less the blasphemy of watering down good tea with the stuff.” He pulled his smile up short and dabbed the taut, swollen skin with his fingertips.

“Have you got a first aid kit or something? Go lie down and I’ll clean you up.”

“Should be one in the cabinet.” He pointed to the cracked door by the sink on his way out.

She gathered everything she thought she’d need while she waited for hot water from his tap. Balancing everything in her arms, she joined him. Sprawled on the couch, he rested his head on the armrest, face to the ceiling and eyes closed.

She set the first aid supplies on top of a stack of books on the floor and kneeled next to him. Surely he hadn’t fallen asleep in the few minutes it had taken her to get organized? Taking her time, she studied him.

The years had been kind, maturing him into a man that could disintegrate the staunchest of panties. He didn’t even realize how sexy he was, which only made him about a million times sexier.

A piece of hair curled over his forehead. She fisted her hand under her chin in a moment of indecision. Finally, she gave in to the urge and pushed the hair back with her fingertips. Once she touched him, it was a compulsion she couldn’t control. She threaded her fingers deeper into the thick mass of brown waves. He needed a haircut, but she imagined that sort of thing took second place to Charlemagne.

She dabbed a warm washcloth along a red, painful-looking welt along his cheekbone. Her fingers found his lips, soft and slightly parted, before she cleaned the area. She wet her own lips, her mind wandering dangerous paths. He was only an old friend. An old friend who stoked a fire in her blood.