“Okay, so I’ll take that as a no,” I clarify and she nods her head up and down fast a few times.
“Definitely … nooo.” She makes it abundantly clear. “Why are you asking?” She swings her arm around my shoulder, and her breasts push against my chest, making me want to go try for a baby right now, or at least practice.
“Chloe said she overheard Kailey talking about someone having a baby in their belly,” I divulge, and her eyes pop out and she shrugs.
“Really? I haven’t heard anything.”
We look out to our friends. Brady and Sadie wrapped in each other’s arms while he feeds her a piece of cake. Grant and Jessa, peering over at the stroller with their arms around each other’s backs. Lastly, Trey and Kailey. Her dress swishing side to side as she makes her way to her groom. He takes her in his arms, and she laughs when he dips her and then plants a kiss to her lips.
“Huh … I wonder who it is then?”
“Me too. But, I assure you Mr. Prescott, it’s not us.” She kisses my lips, igniting the fire that only she can put out.
“Whenever you’re ready, just let me know.” I wink, and she slaps my arm.
“You just want to practice,” she infers, and I tug her closer.
“Let’s go now. It’s not our wedding,” I whisper, and she shakes her head, but I tap her ass to get up. She stands, and we’re about to escape when we hear a guy scream. “No? Serious?”
Both of us turn our heads around and then amusedly look at each other. “I guess we know who’s going to be a daddy,” I say, and our eyebrows raise at one another.
MY ARMS OVERFLOWING with plastic bags of groceries, I sigh at the sight of Chrissy straddling Dex in the kitchen chair. Their lips locked and his hands half way to her tits. “Have some respect, this is Mrs. Fletcher’s home,” I interrupt them, and Chrissy laughs, pushing back from Dex’s embrace.
“Do you need some help?” Chrissy swings her legs from across his lap, earning a groan from Dex. When she wipes her mouth of his left over saliva, I debate if moving my ass in with them was a huge mistake.
“Nah, I got it.” The jars and boxes slam on the table when I release them from my grasp.
“Sounds like it,” Dex comments and grabs a beer from the fridge. Twisting it open, he returns to his seat, watching Chrissy and I unpack the bags and put the food away.
“You could help,” Chrissy says, but Dex shrugs.
We moved out of Brady’s two weeks ago when Mrs. Fletcher offered us her place. She was looking for renters, since her new permanent residence would be in Salt Fork Lake, and offered it to us. With Brady and Sadie’s upcoming nuptials, we all knew it was time to part ways, if even just across the street. It’s bad enough that Sadie and Chrissy both teared-up when Dex walked the last box over. Chrissy’s phone and our doorbell ring incessantly, although, I’m fairly certain Sadie has a key, even with my persistent disagreement on that topic.
When I leave Chrissy to cook dinner since it’s her turn, I disappear into the garage. I have a race tomorrow night to prepare my Mustang for. Once in the silence of the garage, I absorb the melancholy feeling that usually overtakes me when I start working on the car. The memories of times long gone, too hard to forget. The laughs, the razzing, the companionship that was built alongside souping up cars when I was younger. Then it abruptly stopped and I couldn’t pick up a wrench without flinging it into the drywall. The heart wrenching and loneliness suddenly replaced the self-fulfillment of it all.
When I received that call while on the road with the Beatskulls and Krypto, it was the second call in my life that veered me down a different path. The difference with this one was, it was a better one. A brighter one that held a future with it.
Don’t get me wrong, I didn’t get some calling from God and I’m not becoming a monk, but it had been a long time since I felt cared for. That she wanted to see my face, wanted to hear my voice. Wanted us to mend our relationship and forge ahead after everything that happened. That I wasn’t the forgotten one left behind to fend for myself.
Cutting my ties with Beatskulls and Krypto fueled the rumor mill and since my reputation wasn’t stellar, people chose to believe what they did. Not like other people’s impression of me has ever mattered, well, not since everyone turned their backs on me years ago.
Shoving my phone into the iPhone player, “In the End” by Linkin Park blares from the speakers and I slide under my car to tweak the throttle, remembering my first race. How intimidated I felt, but instantly faked my confidence and learned how quickly people believe the persona you portray. Have I taken it over the top over the years? Maybe.