I finda movie playing on cable that I think we’ll both like, but I mute the damn thing a moment after finding it, in favor of listening to Clara June sing Archie to sleep.
A warmth spreads through my chest as she sings lines from Johnny Cash, promising to love forever.It’s a song about a man and woman,Walk The Line, but it works just as well for a bedtime song, too. I love that she sings it so well, that it’s Archie’s favorite, too.
When she comes out again, her white sundress smeared mid-thigh with blue ice cream from Archie’s hands, she looks so goddamn gorgeous that I actually struggle to catch my breath for a moment. And thank god I tucked myself away before I came inside, else I’d be fighting a damn steel beam for her attention right about now.
“He’s out,” she says, tucking a leg beneath her as she takes a spot next to me on the couch. “That was really sweet of you to grab that peach tree and plant it with him.” Her eyes twinkle against the reflection of the TV. “That was really very sweet, Coach Dean.”
I can’t help but smirk. I love hearing her call me Coach Dean. I can’t help but envision coaxing orgasm after orgasm out of her, saying, “C’mon now baby, give coach another, I know you can.” Makes me harder than I already am just entertaining the fantasy for a split second, and because I refuse to be anything but a gentleman, I knock that out of my brain quickly.
“He had fun. And I hope it gets Mrs. Salinger off your back.” I scratch the back of my head as I glance at the movie playing on cable. It’s black and white. Marilyn Monroe.How to Marry A Millionaire, maybe. I don’t know. The secrets of the JFK assassination could be playing and I wouldn’t care. Not with Clara June sitting so close to me, the lights low, my heart racing—she’s all I can focus on. All I can think about.
“It should continue to fruit but if it doesn’t, gimme a call and I’ll bring over some fertilizer,” I tell her as my hand slips from my thigh to the cushion, inching toward her knee. When my fingertips finally graze her, she looks down, and for amoment we both watch as my palm slips comfortably over the curve of her knee.
I bring our gazes back together, and stroke my finger and thumb along my mustache. “Archie’s quite the conversationalist.”
Her eyes widen. “Oh lord. What did he say?”
My hand can’t sit still on her leg, so I start making small, gentle strokes, exploring her bare skin. Thank God for white sundresses. “He played outside today, at his auntie’s house.”
She nods, looking relieved. “Yeah,” she says, pulling at the end of her lashes as she sinks closer to me on the couch, her elbow now resting nearly on top of my shoulder. “I went to my friend Jackie’s house. She’s in IT. She lives close, off of Birch.”
“So not your actual sister or your ex-husband’s sister?” I ask, wanting to know more about her even though she and I have already swapped family trees.
Clara June shakes her head, dropping her hand to the top of my shoulder, tracing the seam of my shirt. My cock is rock hard, and I thinkthisis the moment, right here. The moment I know that I have it bad for Clara June Colt, and that I’d likely stop at nothing to have her.
I wish it was watching her laugh because she’s got a great, sexy, soft laugh.
I wish it was watching her with one of her sons, being the amazing mother that she is.
I wish it was during Tanner's hospital stay, when she was a rock for him and her other sons.
But it’s here, on the couch, the ends of her fingers playing lightly with the seam of my old Carhartt long sleeve t-shirt, me smelling like potting soil and California sun, an old movie on, her body slowly melting against mine.
She’s so beautiful that watching her makes my chest tight,makes my mind race with all the things I now know that I absolutely cannot live without.
Her. A family. A household to look after. Love, so much love that I can’t possibly spend another day feeling lonely. Happiness, in the traditional sense, that doesn’t come from a football field or a can of beer.
“No siblings. And Troy, the boys’ father, was an only child, too.” She looks up from where she was watching her fingers play on my shoulder. “The boys call her Auntie because they’ve known her like an aunt since they were born. She’s been there for me, through it all.”
I nod. “I’d love to meet her.”
Our eyes hold. She knows what I mean. I do want to meet Jackie, but it’s not about Jackie. It’s about meeting someone so important to her, and someone important to the boys, too.
“That would be nice,” she says slowly, drawing out her response not because she isn’t sure. I think she pulls each word apart like taffy because she’s surprised. Surprised that I’m moving this quickly when we said slowly? I don’t know. I want to move slowly, but when she’s next to me like this, it’s hard.
I’m wrestling my brain, and maybe a few other vital organs.
“Archie also told me that I fixed your box.” I suck in my cheeks to prevent an eruption of laughter or a smirk the size of Texas.
Her eyes widen.
I laugh just a little. “So he wasn’t referring to your washing machine?”
She hides her face in her hands and shakes her head, leaning back from me, shirking away as embarrassment eats her up. I don’t even know the context, but it’s gotta be good if she’s this embarrassed. “Oh Jesus Christ,” she mewls,shaking her head as I laugh, hooking my palm around her thigh to keep her from getting away.
“Don’t bring him into this,” I tease. “Unless he can shed some light onto how I fixed your broken box?”
“Oh, Dean, stop,” she begs, her face beet red, visible even in the low light. I tug her hands away from her face, and dip my head close, pressing my lips to hers. She isn’t expecting the kiss, but when her hands slide over my cheeks and her thumbs stroke the ends of my mustache, I know she’s glad I kissed her.
