“Not funny. Maybe I changed my mind now that you’re making jokes,” I proclaim, stepping away. He steps toward me, dipping his head into my neck. He doesn’t kiss me, he just breathes, exhaling, sending waves of goosebumps glossing across every inch of my skin. “Or maybe not,” I sigh. I can feel and hear his chuckle and it drives a ragged breath from my mouth.
“Go get ready, Clover,” he says my name like it’s an order. One I want to take. The ache is growing every second that passes.
I nod, cast my eyes forward and take myself back home in a lust-filled haze of longing.
There are self-served pep talks and weak promises as I shower and shave my legs. There are also nerves and foreboding as I think about calling Tannie for tips and tricks. That’s the logical thing to do, yet I know my body will tell me exactly what to do. What it has wanted to do since the moment he kissed me. Everything about my life is changing. Might as well start with this.
When I’m dressed in a teal dress that flounces against my knees, and coated in lotion, I take my shaking hands and trembling legs to my front door. While I blow dried my hair, I sent a few texts back and forth with Winnie and Tannie about trivial things to calm my nerves. I open my door and lock it, tossing my keyring into my tote bag. Turning to face Mercer’s house, I notice all of the vehicles. They’re lining the street, parked in his driveway—some are even on my side of the street. I was too distracted to notice before they popped up right under my nose.
“Bitty varmint,” I hiss under my breath, glancing at my watch. I left two and a half hours ago and now his house is chock full of people. I consider calling him, but that would make me look stupid, I’m right here, might as well join the party and ask questions later.
It’s raucous, there must be several Bluetooth speakers blowing out music at top volume. Sliding into the door, I hesitantly glance around. The dining room table is now a beer pong table, three men on each side. I went to a few parties back in my early twenties when my friends in college coerced me into it, and I determined quickly they weren’t for me. Not in any way, shape or form. Some big, burly dude who reeks of alcohol bumps into me on his way out and splashes beer down my well-moisturized chest.
He grabs my wrist. “Sorry, sorry. Wasn’t watching where I was going,” he says, Northern accent thick. His eyes flick over me in an appraisal and he quirks a brow. “Okay,” he adds, swallowing hard. “I must have had way too much to drink and drive. Uber it is.”
“Nice to meet you too,” I say to the closing door. Turning, I weave my way around another man telling a story to a group of more large men. Guns are involved in the narrative, and if I wasn’t sure before, I am now. These are Mercer’s workfriends.
When I finally get to the kitchen, I hear my name. Or rather, I hear someone behind me say, “You must be Clover from down south.”
I spin on my heel. I’m face to face with a rogue looking man. Not unattractive, but also not fiery handsome at first glance. “What gave you that idea?” I return, idly wondering how long it took to grow a face so full of hair.
“I’m Rexy,” he says instead, holding out a massive hand.
Shaking it, I reply, “I am Clover. Clover Wellsley.” I release his grip. “Where is Mercer?” I ask, clearing my throat. “We had plans tonight.” I grab a dishtowel off the counter and dab my dress and chest while cursing under my breath. I’ll have to find a dry cleaner sooner than anticipated.
Rexy glances around the party and fixes me with a smile. “We surprised him with a welcome home slash farewell gathering. We’ve been waiting for him to get back to Cape Cod for a while now. Seems he got a bit held up down in Alabama. Something about a woman with a weed for a name. Some pretty bird that bewitched him.” His lips twitch. “To answer your question, he’s probably taking shots in the upstairs office with the boys.”
I smile for the first time since I walked into the house. “Bewitched, huh? His word or yours?”
He tilts his head to the side to examine me further. “I have a lot of words, but who’s counting? Your accent is thicker than Mercer’s is.”
Self-consciously, I run a hand through my soft hair. “That’s what you get in Alabama, I’m afraid. Born and raised. Mercer is just better at hiding his accent,” I remark. “Also, I’ll have you know that clover isn’t a weed.”
“I spray it with herbicide at my house,” Rexy replies. “Fucks with my lawn.”
I nod. “Fair enough. I’m going to find Mercer.”
Tossing the towel back on the counter, I readjust the bag on my shoulder and walk past him. He clears his throat loudly. “It was the dress,” Rexy calls to my back.
I narrow my eyes at him over my shoulder. “What?”
“The lace gave you away, Clover. No one wears stuff like that here. How can I explain it in a way you’d understand?” Rexy gestures with his hands and then holds up one finger. “I’ve got it,” he exclaims, smirking. “You’re like a fish out of water.”
“I’m not stupid, you don’t have to talk to me like that. Moreover, it’s not polite.”
Rexy motions to someone across the room and my eyes trail the movement. Another man is now looking at me like I’m the mortal enemy.
“Pardon me for being rude,” Rexy says, stepping toward me. “I’m going to have to say you are a bit daft if you don’t leave Mercer and go back to the pit whence you came.” He swallows hard, and my heart slams against my ribcage. “He might be bewitched, but I assure you all he needs is a little exorcism to cure that ailment.”
The threat looms in the air between us, eviscerating the last strings of excitement I had for this night alone with Mercer. Without another word, I hit the stairs at a quick clip. There are only four doors at the top and they’re all open, so I peek in the first and see an empty bedroom, the next is the bathroom and the other side of the hall is where the noise is coming from. Peering around the frame from an angle I can’t be seen, I survey the room. Mercer is sitting in a beat-up desk chair that’s been pulled over to the window. His feet are propped up. There are four other guys in here, two sitting on the desk, and two others rifling through a cabinet pulling out bottles of alcohol. Two women are sitting on a futon against the wall, hands gesturing wildly as they speak to each other.
I hear a man call over to them, asking what they want to drink. Sierra and Luella are their names and like Rexy said, they don’t look anything like me. They are sleek and modern to my frilly lace. They are cool and refined, and I look like a show poodle trying to lose her virginity to a man way out of her league. Love be damned, right? People have to match. They have to go together. They have to fit. I didn’t fit in Greenton, but oh my goodness, I don’t fit in here either. I recall Goldie’s comments about buying black and getting rid of my dresses and I think she was downplaying to save my feelings. Big time.
Rexy booms from behind me. “Look who I found wandering around downstairs.” He puts a hand on my shoulder and guides me into the room.Farm truck.
Mercer’s eyes light up when he sees me. Thank God for small miracles. “Clover.” He rushes out of his seat and crosses to me. “How long have you been here? I thought you would call.” I should have called, I think. “The guys who were still in town threw this surprise party. I had no idea. I should have called you when they showed up.” He repeats his first question, a cautious thoughtfulness in his eyes.
“Just a bit. I haven’t been here long,” I reply, smoothing my hands down the side of this awful choice of a dress. “Got a beer spilled on me, and met your friend here,” I say, making the word friend sound like a question. “Guess I’m a bit late to the party.”
