Bentley clears his throat. “That was part of the contract I signed to get DRs rented for tonight. No damages to the building or the employees…and no animals inside the building.”
My brows shoot up. “You signed a contract, Bent? That sounds so official. Professional—really unlike you in every single way.”
“I’ll have you know I’m the lead electrician at Rikki’s Electric now. You’re not the only one to grow up and get all fancy.”
“That’s awesome, man. Mom told me in an email. Really, that’s great,” I say, grabbing his elbow. “Let me say hello to the mayor and a few other people and I’ll ride with you over to DR. I’m assuming that’s where we’re taking this party right now. Or rather, that’s exactly where I want to take this partyright now.”
“Roger that,” Bent says. “Hear that, Mercer Monster? I just used military talk!” He cackles, holding his stomach.
“You’re real-time. Congratulations, buddy. You’re basically a SEAL now.” I release his arm.
He nods. “Yep. I’m going to tell Jolene Shaw I’m a SEAL and see if I can get lucky tonight.” I think I remember Mom telling me Jolene got married, but I’ll tackle that pill with Bentley later. His pension for the unavailable is a touchy subject.
I laugh and approach the mayor. He’s holding a large sign that saysWelcome Home Mercer. Our town head gives me a short speech that may or may not have been rehearsed ahead of time. It’s about how proud he is of me and what I’ve been fighting for. He shakes my hand. A firm, aggressive grip, that counters everything he just said. It tells me he’s still in charge and I go ahead and let him think that. After he leaves, my gaze darts to the left, to his wife, who turns and leaves with him, and then one step over to where Mayor Wellsley’s daughter always stands. Clover Victoria Wellsley.
She’s standing where she’s always been, where she’s supposed to be. The picture of aristocratic, Southern style. Her pastel dress flounces just above her knees, the purple hue complementing her tanned skin and svelte features. She has always been attractive. In high school, she wouldn’t grace anyone with a single date. It didn’t stop everyone from trying though. Time has been good to her, high school pretty turned into adult perfection. I lick my lips.
Gliding into her personal space, I pause in front of her. “Why hello stranger,” I say, pressing my lips into a cocky smirk as I bow my head in her direction. I draw out the hello far longer than is acceptable in proper English.
Clover tilts her chin up, straightening her back. “Mercer Ballentine. I’m happy you’re home in one piece, yet I’m a little angry I’m missing my quilting class because of it.” She smiles widely, showing me her pearly whites between perfectly glossed lips. This certain type of charm might be lost on some men. The kind who prefer the straightforward, no-nonsense vibe of a Yankee. Fortunately for me, I catch what Clover Wellsley is subtly weaving. She is flirting.
I fire back, “My, my, that’s quite a hobby for a, ah, lady of your young years.” It’s a subtle jab. We graduated together so we’re both almost thirty.
Clover clasps her hands behind her back, posture astute, her gaze demanding my full attention. “Surely you aren’t making fun of my quilting hobby. What do your hobbies look like?” She narrows her eyes, her truly captivating hazel eyes challenging mine. “A touch more nefarious than making quilts for babies, I’d gather?”
I hold up my hands, palms forward. “Now, now, Ms. Wellsley don’t get your tail up. I didn’t mean any offense by it, it was merely an observation.”
She looks away, completely finished with the conversation, and then lets her eyes flick to mine once more. “I think what you meant to say was thank you for coming to my homecoming. It means a lot to have you here, especially knowin’ you’re missing out on your favorite sewing class? Something like that, maybe?” Clover winks, her black lashes long and thick.
Nervously, I drum my thumbs against my thighs, and reply, “Yeah, something like that.” I can’t recall the last time I smiled this hard. Clover takes a step back, her high ass heel snapping on the flooring.Just ask her, idiot,I tell myself. “You fixin’ to go over to the Dizzy Rocket?”
Clover backs up another step. “And waste more time in this precious day God made? I don’t think so, Mr. Ballentine.” Her smile is as wide as mine, and it makes my stomach flip. It’d be rude to let my eyes wander any place except her face, but even in this confection of a dress that covers most everything, her bare arms force tiger thoughts to my mind.
“I’ll buy you the very best glass of white wine that Dizzy Rocket offers. What do you say?”
She inclines her head to one side, and her curled hair barely moves with the gesture. “I’d say fine, one glass of wine. Only because quilting class is over and I heard that DR has a few bottles of Grand Cru. No lady can say no to a glass of that.”
Tilting my head back, I laugh, relieved she’s said yes. “I’ll see you there, Ms. Wellsley. I look forward to it even.”
She smirks, then says, “You’re surprised?”
“What, that you agreed to let me buy you a drink?”
She laughs. “No silly, that you’relooking forwardto buying me a drink.”
Rocking my head side to side, I press my lips together. “Yeah, I suppose I am.”
“Classic,” Clover says as she waggles her fingers over her bare shoulder and walks off.
I’m sweating when Bentley comes over to collect me. I’d forgotten how hard this was. Women. The real world. Alabama women, more specifically. It’s a kind of work I haven’t done, or even thought of, for half a year. “I’m out of practice,” I tell Bent, as he tells me who all is going to be at DR.
“It’s like riding a bicycle. Unless you’re Teddy Vondtete, because that poor boy could never ride a bike. You get back on it and keep it straight, and you’ll have the ladies in your lane in no time. Don’t you worry about that, I have a plan.”
“No plans, Bent. No.” Nothing but trouble comes when Bentley makes plans.
He laughs. “I’ll put in a good word and you’ll be bending over Billy-Jo before the night is over.” She was one of my high school girlfriends, a safe place and a familiar face. “Nope. Not happening and I don’t need your good words or any of your words for that matter. I can bend over Billy-Jo if I want to. I think I have my sights on something a lil’ more fancy.” I watch as Clover’s cupcake, purple dress disappears out the airport exit.
Bentley grabs the bag by my feet and slings it over his shoulder, sinking from the heavy weight, as my mom and dad wave me on. We walk outside and the Alabama heat again welcomes me home. “Clover Wellsley won’t touch you or any other man if her life depended on it. She can’t shit where she eats, you know that. She’s too high-falutin’. I’m trying to save you time, brother. Don’t waste time gettin’ twisted up wantin’ perfect when perfectly good is ready and waiting. It’s downright rude.”
