Karma's Kiss, page 10
The book of the month is His Glory Ride. My mom described it to me earlier as a “fun little motorcycle book.” I took that to mean it was of a similar ilk to Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance.
I was wrong.
“I didn’t like the way the author described Nico and Roxy having sex on the motorcycle,” Laura Pearson says.
“What’s the problem? With reverse cowgirl, she’d be able to steer AND use the throttle while in flagrante.”
“I just think at highway speeds, it would be safer, and thus sexier, if he instead took her from behind while keeping control of the Harley,” Stacey Wolfe declares.
“Well when I was dating that biker back in ’96, we used to…” My aunt Tricia goes on to enumerate all the helpful tips about optimal two-wheeled sex positions. I stare mutely at the shrimp platter as my ears start to melt off my head. No wonder they don’t want Marie Claire in their book club! She’d faint if she heard this discussion!
My phone rings on the counter in the kitchen. Thank god.
I flee from the living room like my life depends on it, not even caring that the call is from an unknown number. I’ll chat with a car warranty telemarketer if it means escaping that discussion.
“Hello?”
“Madison. Hey.”
Sawyer’s voice sends tendrils of warmth through me. I soften like the infatuated fool I am.
“Hi.”
“I’m around the corner from you. Just finished eating dinner at Cactus Cafe with my grandpa. You were the only thing he wanted to talk about.”
I smile, then realizing I shouldn’t be smiling because of what I decided earlier (Sawyer and I cannot—will not—be happening), I wipe it clean with a sigh. “That sounds nice. Tell him I said hi the next time you see him.”
“Can I come by and pick you up?”
“I can’t tonight. I’m busy.”
“Doin’ what?” He doesn’t sound put out, just curious.
Voices drift in from the living room. “I for one would have appreciated a little bit more fondling—”
“Book club,” I answer, wondering how much he can hear.
“You’ve been allowed in? Heard that’s the hottest ticket in town. My aunt’s been trying to join since the ’70s.”
I laugh. “I’ve been granted temporary privileges only. Don’t tell your aunt. Anyway, aren’t you sick of me after last night?”
“No. And well…not gonna lie, I was sort of hoping there’d be a few extra cookies lying around that house…”
I grin. “Sorry to say they sold out this morning.”
“All right, I’ll take you as a consolation prize.”
I flush from head to toe and turn my back toward the living room just in case anyone’s looking in at me.
“I really can’t tonight.”
“Is my grandma there?”
“Yes, and she brought her pigs in a blanket.”
He groans. “Come let me in.”
“You’re here?!”
DING DONG.
“Now if that’s Marie Claire again, I’m not above using some foul language to get our point across,” Laura says.
I walk into the living room with the phone still pressed to my ear and tell the group, “That won’t be necessary. It’s just your grandson, Lolly.”
I continue into the foyer and open the front door to find Sawyer standing on the other side, phone still pressed to his ear as well.
He smiles a devastating smile. “Hey there.”
I shake my head and end the call. “You’re about to get your butt chewed out. You should have seen what they did to a woman who tried to barge in earlier.”
“Sawyer!” Lolly calls from behind us, pure elation evident in her voice. “Come on in, hun. I have your favorite pigs in a blanket over here.”
Sawyer steps inside and smirks down at me. His expression seems to say, What? Like it’s hard to get into book club?
The group’s discussion of His Glory Ride is completely derailed by the presence of Sawyer. I stand back and watch as they fawn all over him like he’s God’s gift to earth. They ruffle his hair, pinch his cheeks—the works.
“So handsome!”
“So tall!”
“And look at those dimples!”
Queenie gets him a glass of cold iced tea as Pamela starts loading up a paper plate for him.
“I’m really not hungry. Just came from dinner,” he protests, though in the end he accepts the plate and offers a hearty thanks.
“He was just with Crawford. Such a dutiful grandson. Takes him out to eat once a week,” Lolly brags to the ladies before turning back to Sawyer. “What are you doing here though? I don’t need a ride home for another few hours.”
He peers over at me, almost shyly. No. Not possible. This man cannot be shy. “Came to see Madison, actually.”
The group—hearing this juicy piece of gossip—whips their heads in my direction. I blush and give a guilty little wave, like yes, that’s me. I’m the Madison he’s referring to.
I’m surprised by their slack-jawed expressions; I figured word had already spread through town that Sawyer and I are dating. After all, a few of these women were at The Black Door last night, only a few tables away from where we were eating.
“I told you that was them last night!” Laura exclaims, pointing a finger at Pamela. “We couldn’t be sure. We were a few chardonnays in and neither one of us remembered our glasses…”
“Wait,” Paulette Dougherty says, shaking her head. “I thought you were engaged, Madison. To that man from Alabama. Matthew something, wasn’t it?”
Within a fraction of a second, the group goes deathly quiet. There are a few awkward coughs. Lolly furrows her brows at me, expecting an answer and fast.
“I was,” I say with a small smile, trying to make sure Paulette doesn’t feel bad for bringing up the subject. “Not anymore.”
“Now she’s busy turning me down,” Sawyer adds, and I’m grateful for the quick subject change. “I tried to get her to sneak away with me tonight, but she wanted to be here for book club.”
The women give me approving nods as if they too would turn down a date with Sawyer Garnett, the town’s golden boy, for a chance to be included in this ultra-exclusive club.
“You all could spare her for a little while though, right?” Before they can respond with protests or approvals, he carries his plate and his iced tea toward me and nods toward the kitchen. “Come on, let’s go out on the porch and let them get back to it in here. Hate to interrupt.”
I don’t see any reason to argue; I like sitting on my mom’s back porch, especially in summer time. If you can get past the heat—usually there’s at least a decent breeze—it’s worth it for the ambiance. Jasmine scents the air, so pungent and sweet. The porch overlooks a sloping backyard filled with cedar trees and two stately live oaks that compete for attention in the center of the lawn. David and I used to climb up one and then leap across to the other. It’s how he broke his arm in the third grade.
Queenie’s entire property inclines down to a creek. I used to wade in it as a child, searching for tadpoles and collecting them in a bucket. Even now, I can hear the water trickling over the shallow rapids as Sawyer and I take a seat side by side at her porch table. I grabbed my plate from the kitchen on my way out, so the two of us dive into all the yummy food.
“I’m not even hungry, but I dream about Lolly’s pigs in a blanket.” Sawyer pops two in his mouth and chews with a smile.
“Bet you’re proud of yourself, getting everything you want.” When he seems confused, I tack on, “Just strolled on in here and stole me away.”
He licks his bottom lip but stays quiet. Maybe he knows I’m right and there’s no sense in denying it.
“You know I really should be pumping the brakes with you. Those ladies probably think it’s weird that you’re here…given my recent engagement and all.” It feels important that I remind him of the circumstances surrounding my return to Oak Hill.
“I don’t really mind what they have to say, and there’s no need to pump the brakes. Let’s just see where this goes, Madison. Don’t get in your head about it all. It’s simple. I came over to enjoy these pigs in a blanket, and once I’m done, I’m going to ask you to take me down to the creek. You’ll think I’m doing it ’cause I want to check it out, but really, I’m just trying to get you far enough away from the house so those ladies in there can’t peek through the blinds and watch me kiss you.”
I can’t suppress my smile.
I nod back toward the house. “By the way, you know that’s no simple book club happening in there.”
His eyes widen as he picks up a bacon-wrapped shrimp. “Oh I’m aware. I flipped through one of my grandma’s books a few months back to see if I should read it. The title sounded right up my alley. Standing at Attention, with a soldier on the cover. Thought it was a nonfiction book about war.”
“But it wasn’t?”
He shudders. “Not the page I turned to. Parts of him were saluting, but definitely not that flag…”
“Okay, what do y’all think?!”
Marge and Queenie turn around to survey the progress I’ve made at the Wildflower Weddings offices. It’s Friday afternoon—a week since I returned to town—and I’ve been on an organizing mission for the last few days. I’ve spent something like fifty hours toiling away, and in all that time I’ve only managed to clear a single corner.
“I don’t see a difference,” Marge says, lifting up her heavy glasses and squinting as if that might clear up the confusion for her.
“What?! I unpacked like fifteen boxes that were stacked all the way up to the ceiling! There were travel agency posters hanging here too, remember?” I tap the wall. “And remember that world map? That thing had fused to the paint, and I only managed to rip it off in little strips.” Half of it is still up there, taunting me. I frown at it like I’m hoping the rest will shrivel up and fall off. “We’ll just have to hang a picture over it or something.”
“Looks really nice, Madison. Good work.” Queenie claps. “Place feels brand new.”
This is an extreme hyperbole. I’ve focused on this one corner, but the rest of the office looks about the same as when I started. Actually, Queenie’s desk is somehow even messier. As if to prove the futility of my task, a bell chimes over the door as a FedEx driver arrives with a stack of five boxes loaded on a dolly.
“Where do you want ’em, Queenie?”
“Hey, Mitch. Go ahead and stack them right over in that corner.”
MY CORNER!
He rolls them my way, dumps the boxes unceremoniously, tips an imaginary hat in my direction, and whistles a little tune on his way out. All the while, my eye twitches. If I look back, I’m sure the world map will have miraculously regenerated on the wall.
“Those are probably new linen samples. I ordered some a few weeks back.” Queenie waves her hand to dismiss the thought. “We’ll get to them on Monday. Ladies, it’s quitting time. It’s a rare non-wedding weekend for us. Marge, how about we treat Madison to a lethal mojito down at Armando’s?”
“Oh all right,” Marge begrudgingly agrees, “but last time I let you talk me into happy hour on a Friday, I found my underwear in my purse the next day.”
MARGE.
Queenie cackles. “If it was just your underwear and not the rest of your clothes, that’s a win in my book.”
Before I agree to join, I check my phone, surprised to find I don’t have a text or missed call from Sawyer waiting for me. Wednesday night, he and I sat on Queenie’s back porch talking for an hour before he led me down to the creek. We skipped pebbles and waded into the water up to our knees; it was hard to keep our footing on the slippery rocks, but Sawyer kept a tight hold on my hand. I told him, “That way at least we’ll go down together.”
He kissed me in the middle of the stream, tugging me close until I had to tilt my head back to look at him with only the dim light from the back porch illuminating his face. He gripped my waist and held me steady. The frogs and cicadas watched on as his hands moved up my sides, dipping shyly beneath my shirt as I tugged him even closer to me. I liked the feel of his warm calloused hands on my skin, manly in a way that made me burn for more.
We kissed until I thought my mouth might bruise, until every part of me felt like a live wire, too awake, too keen. I wanted to beg him to lay me down on the moist grass and cover me with his body. I wanted to know what it would feel like to have him touch me in places that ached.
That was before I slipped in the water and—just like I’d promised—took us both down. We walked back up to the house soaking wet and laughing.
Queenie met us at the back door with towels.
I eyed her skeptically. “How’d you know we fell into the creek?”
“Darlin’, hate to break it to you, but it’s a straight shot from the living room down to that creek. If you thought these ladies weren’t spying on y’all that whole time, you’re dead wrong. Sawyer, your grandma’s ready for you to take her home, waiting by the front door.”
Sawyer laughed and shook his head, bending to kiss my cheek and toss me a wink before he went to find Lolly.
Thursday, I expected to hear from him. It’s just become a pattern with us. Since I’ve been back in town, Sawyer has found a way to see me just about every day. Then yesterday, nothing, and today’s been the same.
I’ve tried to tell myself it doesn’t matter. I’ve been clear with him that I’m not ready to date, and though my warnings didn’t seem to act as a roadblock for him before Wednesday, since then, it’s been radio silent. I can’t help but feel like something’s off, but I can’t put my finger on what it would be.
“Madison, you in?” Queenie asks, drawing my attention away from my phone as she turns off her computer. “If we don’t leave soon, we won’t get a good table, and half the fun of happy hour at Armando’s is the people watching.”
I slip my phone back into my purse and shake off the ominous feeling. “Oh all right. Let’s see about these lethal mojitos…”
“I’m telling you, Madison,” Marge says as we walk out together, “whatever you do, keep your underwear on.”
CHAPTER 10
Sawyer and I are on the international space station, fooling around in zero gravity. As far as sexy dreams go, it’s a bit weird, but I can’t complain. We’re sort of aimlessly floating around while Sawyer tries to undo the Velcro straps on the front of my space suit. It’s really stuck together tight; NASA put their greatest minds to work on this damn Velcro.
Is this some repressed fetish of mine? Do I have a thing for astronauts?
My phone rings on my nightstand just as Sawyer succeeds in undressing me from the waist up. I ignore the ringing and try to delve back into my dream, but now my subconscious is having a field day with this setting. Loose packets of space food float past our heads.
I groan in annoyance and rip my phone off the side table.
David’s chipper voice grates on my nerves. “Morning, slugger. Rise and shine. Game’s in an hour.”
“Whatareyoutalkingabout?”
I don’t expect him to understand me since my face is pressed into my pillow, but he manages just fine.
“Softball. You think we’d let you go after your stellar performance last week? You were the MVP.”
“Hilarious. Now leave me alone. Mom and Marge got me drunk last night, kept me out until midnight. I have a hazy memory of Marge dancing on a table and taking off her bra through the arm hole of her shirt.”
“Well that will be burned in my brain forever. Appreciate it.”
“I’m going back to sleep now,” I groan.
“We need you!” he insists.
“No.” Then I hang up and toss my phone onto my bedside table.
It’s a few minutes later as I’m drifting in and out of sleep—trying and failing to recapture the magic of the space station from a few minutes ago—that I realize Sawyer will be at softball. He’s the captain of the team!
I sit up and toss my blankets off me.
Oh, this is perfect. Up until now, I’ve relied on Sawyer chasing me, but he’s fallen off the face of the planet in the last two days and I can’t reach out to him overtly because then I would have to admit to myself that I want to reach out to him. I’m supposed to be keeping my distance. That’s the plan, but going to softball doesn’t interfere with that. I’m going to the game because David really needs me. I can’t let the team down. I’m the MVP.
It’s good I’m already getting a move on because as I’m walking toward the kitchen with one hand on the wall to steady myself—hangover in full force—I hear a honk from out front.
“That’ll be David here to pick you up for softball,” Queenie says, smiling from the kitchen doorway as she watches me practically crawling my way toward her.
“Need. Coffee.” I sound like I’m dying. “And why is this house spinning? Are we on a boat?”
“That’ll be the mojitos. I’ll make you a hair of the dog.”
Five minutes later, I slide into David’s back seat with my sunglasses on and a baseball cap pulled low over my eyes.
Lindsey turns back to look at me from the passenger seat. “Morning!”
My response is an undecipherable grumble.
Then she sniffs and scrunches up her nose. “What is in that drink? It smells putrid.”
I look down at the reddish brown liquid Queenie handed me on the way out the door. “Tabasco sauce and lemon juice. Other stuff too. I quit watching her make it after she added a raw egg.”
Lindsey gags.
“They got me so drunk last night. I think I’m going to die. Can you roll down the window back here?”
I proceed to ride to the ballfields with my head lolling out the window like I’m the family’s beloved golden retriever. I force down three sips of Queenie’s hair of the dog before my stomach protests altogether and I toss the remaining liquid (though can you really call it a liquid if there are unidentifiable chunks floating in it?) onto the grass behind David’s truck.
