Toying With Her Read online

  We walk around the farm while I tell her about my plans. She’s very familiar with the place. The farm isn’t what it used to be when Sterling rode here. Back then, it was full of energy, of life. We boarded horses, gave lessons, and the farm was the place tourists flocked to for trail and beach rides. But not anymore.

  My dad still boards for a few families, but he’s pretty much retired now. I help him out, especially during the summer. It’s a lot of upkeep. When I’m working here, I don’t bother with a watch. I pretty much work on the farm from sunup to sundown, so why bother with time?

  I promised myself if I ever scraped the money together, I’d do something to honor my brother. And I’m keeping that promise. I want this place to be a summer camp for kids who have a sibling with a chronic illness or who have lost a sibling.

  We wander around and I tell her about my plan to have a few horses for riding, a soccer field, gym, pool, and a dance studio—that would be a great start. Not to mention, lodging for the campers and staff. There are several old barns on the land that I can convert. Kind of like I’m doing with my own house.

  “There’s a shit ton to do to make it happen,” I say. “But I want to do it to remember my brother.”

  She’s not saying a word, but her hand gets a little tighter in mine. We stop walking, and I tilt her chin up to me, seeing tears on her cheeks. “I don’t think I ever thought about how you felt when Levi was sick.”

  “That’s kind of the point,” I say. “My parents were great. They really were, but there wasn’t anyone I could talk to that understood. It was rough. It would’ve been nice to go off for a week and not be Levi’s brother, the healthy one.”

  “I wished you’d talked to me.”

  “No offense, but you were the last person I would’ve talked to.”

  “Why?”

  “Because my crush on you made it almost impossible for me to even breathe when you were around.”

  Rolling her eyes, she says, “Still, I wish . . .”

  “What does your momma say about wishing?” I ask.

  “Put wishes in one hand and shit in the other, and see which one fills up first,” she says with a huge laugh.

  “So that’s the big idea. I want to make it free for the families, and I’ll run it myself.”

  “A charity,” she says, looking around at the empty fields, visualizing it in her mind. “What about teaching?”

  “I’ll still teach during the school year.” I shrug. “I don’t want to give that up.”

  “But how are you going to afford to build it?”

  “My grandparents left me a little money, which I haven’t spent a dime of. And I’m spending the summer applying for grants.”

  “So you’re not working this summer?”

  “I’ll just be helping coach the football team when that starts back up.”

  “How can I help?” she asks.

  “I’m going to New Orleans in a few weeks to see a buddy of mine. He owns a hotel there and is interested in the project. You want to come with me?”

  She smiles. “That’s not helping. That’s you taking me away for the weekend to try to get me into bed.”

  My laugh is so loud, Levi probably heard it up in heaven.

  I pull her into my arms, but she places a hand on my chest. “Seriously, I want to help. Surely, you need donors.”

  Releasing her, I say, “I didn’t bring you out here to hit you up for money.”

  “I know that.” She reaches out for me. “I know when people are looking for a handout and when they’re not. It’s a skill you learn real quick.”

  “No money,” I say, firmly. I can tell this is new for her. I’m sure all kinds of “friends” come out of the woodwork when you strike it rich.

  “But Levi was my friend, and I want to help.”

  “No,” I say. “I mean, I know you’re rich, but this isn’t a charity case.” I stop. “Well, it kind of is, but I don’t want your money.”

  “You mean, my dirty money.”

  “Sterling, I don’t care how you’ve made your money. I won’t accept charity from you. No handouts.”

  “But . . .”

  “No,” I snap, and it’s so loud they heard it in hell, which is where I might end because of my pride.

  She turns her head away from me, and I follow her line of sight, staring at my place. We both turn and glance at each other at the same time. We can’t be upset with each other here. It just holds too many good memories. I step closer, giving her a little wink. “Forgive me?”

  “Always,” she says.

  CHAPTER NINE

  STERLING

  Is he ever going to kiss me? I pretty much gave him an open invitation, and that was over three hours ago. I thought for sure he’d kiss me while we walked around the farm, but nope. Then I thought he’d lay one on me as he opened my door to drive me home, but nada. I would’ve bet my left ovary he was going to kiss me when we parked in front of my house, but no luck. Surely the porch as we say goodbye will be the spot. The lyrics of “Kiss me” by Olly Murs play in my head, and I’m hoping he can read my mind.

  But as he opens my car door, his eyes aren’t even on me; they’re staring out at the Bay. Following his gaze, I see my daddy standing on the old dock we used to fish from. He’s just staring out into the water, my momma with her hand on his shoulder. It’s funny how you can feel someone’s emotions from their posture. My chest starts to hurt. “Something’s wrong?” I whisper.

  “Go,” he says, softly. “I’ll be right here.”

  I start towards them, but Momma turns, spotting me, and holds up her hand for me to wait. I watch her whisper something to Daddy, his head bowing slightly. Reaching behind me, I open my hand, and Rorke takes it, stepping beside me. Perhaps he shouldn’t be here. Whatever this is, maybe it’s a private family matter.

  Momma glances at Rorke, and the slightest smile crosses her lips. “What’s going on?” I ask. “What’s wrong with Daddy?”

  “He’s resigning from his position as deacon.”

  “Why?” I ask. Rorke’s hand slips to my waist like he knows what’s coming.

  “Please, Sterling. It’s been a long day. It’s for the best.”

  “Because of me?” I ask, but I already know. “Is that why? Because of what happened at the store? Because I can talk to the church board, the pastor. I’ll talk to the bishop. I can explain what I do. I can fix this.”

  “It’s done already. Let it go.”

  “There must be something!”

  “There’s not,” she says, placing a hand on my shoulder.

  “I should’ve never come home,” I say as Rorke pulls me into his chest, holding me.

  “Oh, baby, this was going to happen one way or another. They’d already stripped him of most of his responsibilities.”

  I lift my head, finding Rorke’s blue eyes closed. “You knew about this?”

  “Sugar,” I hear Daddy say, his voice still strong as ever. He holds out his hand to me.

  I take a step towards him then turn back to Rorke. He knew. Why didn’t he tell me? “Go home.”

  The pain in his blue eyes shocks me. It hurts him to leave me. I can see it.

  Walking towards my daddy, I feel like a little girl about to hear some of his wisdom. We take a seat on the dock, letting our feet dangle. He tells me that he hasn’t had any real responsibility in the church since stories of my success hit the town, that there were members of the church board who voiced their concerns to the pastor. I can guess which bitch led that charge.

  My heart breaks for my father. He loves his church, the parishioners, everything about the Catholic Church, really. I’m so angry I could spit. Angry they did this to him. Angry I’m the reason. Angry that it’s been two years, and my parents never told me.

  “After what happened at the store the other day,” Daddy says. “Well, the bishop was called. That was that. They’re letting me retire. It looks better.”

  Before I can object, he squeezes me a litt
le tighter. “I feel horrible,” I say. “This is all my fault.” He simply kisses the side of my head. I never expected my decision to invent a little sex toy would cause my parents such pain. Embarrassment for sure, but not this. “I love you, Daddy. I would never want to do anything that would hurt you.”

  “Enough,” he says gently. “You know, when you first told us about your little invention, I was shocked. I had a hard time with it. Your momma ripped me a new one.” He chuckles to himself, remembering.

  “How’d you get past it?”

  “Two reasons. First, I love you. And second, your momma,” he laughs again. “That woman is crazy.”

  “Then I guess you can blame her for my crazy.”

  He shakes his head. “Wouldn’t have my girls any other way.”

  “The world needs more men like you,” I say, leaning my head on his shoulder.

  “They’re around,” he says quietly, glancing back over his shoulder. “Closer than you think.”

  I follow his gaze, seeing Rorke sitting with my momma on the back porch. Stubborn man, I should’ve known he wouldn’t leave just because I told him to.

  *

  The worst thing about not being able to sleep is stressing because you aren’t. I’ve been laying here for hours, telling myself I have to sleep, that I’ll be exhausted if I don’t, counting the hours until I have to be up. And I’d be lying if I said I didn’t consider heading back to New York. Maybe it was a mistake to come home. Daddy would still have his job. While it’s tempting to run, I’m not about to let those close-minded assholes win, to run me out of town. You’d think that thought would bring me enough peace to fall asleep, but it doesn’t.

  The list of things I need to do makes sleep impossible. I’ve got stuff to do tomorrow. There’s work to catch up on. I need to call the office and make sure everything is running smoothly. Check on some new things we’re working on. More importantly, my parents’ anniversary party isn’t going to plan itself, and after the terrible news today, I want it to be something truly special.

  The bay water laps against the shore like it’s calling me. I get up, reaching for my pink heart sticky notes and start to jot down a few ideas. A smile comes to my face. I’m not sure if this is a really good or really bad idea, but I’m going with it.

  CHAPTER TEN

  RORKE

  I know women have it rough with their periods and shit, but try waking up with a boner every morning of your life. Worse yet, try hiding the dozen or so you get in the waking hours. Not fun. The ole six to midnight thing can hurt, and if your shirt lifts, you’re embarrassed as hell.

  And the people who design men’s dress pants don’t seem to know to take the swelling that occurs into account. And morning wood is the worst, because you always have to pee, so you either end up trying to lean over or peeing in a damn arch.

  This damn thing will not go down this morning. I’m sure women are hyperaware when they have their monthly visitor. It’s the same for us guys. When you’ve got wood, your dick is the only thing you can think about.

  Come to think of it, the same thing happens when Sterling’s around. Fuck, thinking of her isn’t helping my present situation. My dick twitches just a little. Poor guy’s not been used, except by me, in quite a long time. There’s a serious lack of single women in this town.

  Lifting my head, I yell, “Go down!”

  My head flops back on the pillow. Damn, I’d like her to go down. I remember exactly how her lips felt that night. No girl had ever done that to me before. And even though she’d never done it before either, it didn’t matter. I’ll never forget the look on her face. She looked so vulnerable.

  She had the same look last night. When she looked at me from the dock, I could tell she was crying. Every muscle in my arms ached not being able to comfort her. And when she said goodnight later, her eyes were still red and filled with tears. I apologized for not telling her about her dad’s problems at the church, and I think she understood. It really wasn’t my place. I’m not sure whether some of those tears were my fault because I didn’t tell her. The thought of her shedding a single tear over something I did doesn’t sit well with me.

  I need to check on her.

  Suddenly, I realize I’m not thinking about my cock anymore. Thank fuck, my hard-on has gone down. The thought of Sterling crying was the remedy for that situation. I get dressed, grab a protein bar, my phone, and keys, thinking I’ll call her on my way to my parents’ house. I know my dad needs me to help him out over the summer. There are fences to mend and hay to bale.

  Sliding the door open, I head towards my Jeep. I can’t believe what I’m seeing. My entire Jeep is covered in pink heart sticky notes. And I mean every inch—the hood, the windshield, the doors, even the spare tire on the back.

  “Take that Levi!” I laugh out, knowing my brother is enjoying watching this unfold.

  A huge smile on my face, I circle my Jeep. A few minutes ago, I was suffering with the world’s biggest boner, but now it’s my heart that’s swelling. Yep, she’s given me a heart boner!

  How many sticky notes does this woman own? And how did she pull this off without me knowing? And what the hell does it mean? I snap a picture with my phone, laughing, and begin to circle my Jeep in disbelief. Did she do this to the inside, too?

  I open my door, finding only one pink heart in the middle of the steering wheel. It’s the only one with a message on it. Meet me at ten at the bakery.

  Shit, it’s almost ten now. I race around, pulling the notes off my windshield and windows, but leave all the other ones. I don’t have time to take them off now. Then I speed towards town, a trail of pink hearts behind me.

  When I pull in front of the bakery, Sterling is standing on the sidewalk dressed in a blue lace shirt and white skirt. She looks incredible, as usual. When she spots me, she squats down, laughing so hard it looks like she’s about to piss herself. If any of my students see this, they’ll have a field day. I get out and admire the disaster that is my Jeep. Half the hearts are gone. The ones that are left are torn up, or barely hanging on. Somehow, there are two on my headlights that are in perfect condition.

  But the most perfect thing is the sound of Sterling giggling, her green eyes wet with tears from her laughter. “You drove through town like that?” she asks.

  “I didn’t have time to take them all off,” I say. “Is this your way of punishing me?”

  “This is my way of making up.”

  “I can think of better ways,” I say, placing my hands on her waist. “So we’re alright?”

  She nods. “The thought of someone I love being hurt because of me . . . Well, I’m not sure there’s anything worse.”

  “That why you don’t let anyone get close to you?” I ask and notice her eyes widen.

  Women always think men don’t notice shit, but we aren’t all idiots. Especially when we care about a woman. Ladies, if a man doesn’t seem to pay attention, it’s probably not a good sign. Because when a man loves a woman, he’ll know even the smallest things about her. What’s her favorite color? What it means when she’s quiet. Does she like sweet or unsweet tea? When to hold her. When to hold her tighter.

  “It’s best to keep my circle small,” she says.

  I take both her hands, creating a little circle, and she smiles up at me. “So why are we at the bakery?”

  “Daddy won’t let me intervene on his behalf. So I’ve decided to focus on their anniversary, and celebrating that. I want to make it special. I need your help,” she says.

  She’s got it.

  We spend the rest of that day, and the whole week, making sure everything is perfect. I can’t believe she pulled this all together so quickly, although I’m not sure why it surprises me. Sterling is a force of nature. I’ve seen her juggle a conference call with her office while at the same time drawing up a sketch for the buffet and party tables for her parents’ anniversary.

  I’m sure no one in Fall Springs has ever seen a party like the one that’s coming. S
terling says she’s mixing New York and Alabama. We spend the week with caterers, tasting food. There’s only one bakery in town, and they couldn’t replicate her parents’ wedding cake, so Sterling flies someone in who could. We taste dozens and dozens of flavors of cake until they have the chocolate taste her momma likes just right. I follow her around store after store while she picks out new clothes for her parents for the big surprise trip she planned for them. Flowers, table rentals, lighting, caterers—she didn’t leave a detail undone. And she swears everyone to secrecy, so the surprise isn’t ruined.

  Just when I thought we were done, Sterling calls me in the middle of the night with a new idea—fireworks. I try to tell her she’d done enough. I try to tell her there are probably all kinds of permits needed. But have you ever tried to tell a woman no once she’s got her mind set on something? Fucking impossible!

  Tonight’s middle of the night call brings a whole other set of worries. Does this woman ever sleep? My eyes half-closed, I answer the phone knowing it’s Sterling, and yawn out a hello.

  “Maybe I should add a vow renewal for Momma and Daddy?”

  I think it’s really too late to be making changes, but knowing Sterling, she could probably pull it off. “I think it’s going to be great, as is. They’re going to love it.”

  “Momma will love it. Daddy won’t, but that’s okay. The trip is more for him.” She releases a deep breath. “Did you check the weather?”

  “Clear all day.”

  “Okay, your parents will have Momma and Daddy out of the house at eleven. The event rental company is coming at eleven thirty.”

  She keeps rattling off details. I’d be lying if I said I could keep up. All I know is, I need to be there at five minutes after eleven. I figure she’ll tell me what to do then.

  But I’m wrong. It seems like the only thing she really needs me to do is just be beside her as she runs the show. I wonder if this is how she runs her business. She’s not bossy. She’s not ordering everyone around. Instead, she seems to trust that everyone knows what they are doing, and she’s just there keeping the ball rolling and thanking everyone. There’s kindness in the way she handles people. I’ve seen the other side of her. I know she can be ruthless when she needs to be, but she doesn’t use it unless she has to.