Megaballs

  “But Grandpa,” I interject, “I’m so far from that right now. I mean, yeah, I feel some kind of… something for this Finley girl, but before tonight, I’d talked to her for all of like ten minutes. I don’t know anything about her. I don’t even know why she’s here. She’s a college kid from California. I’m the CEO of a multimillion-dollar corn farm in Iowa. Doesn’t seem like much of a match.”

  He holds his hand up to stop me. “Don’t give me that baloney. Your grandma was the mayor’s daughter, and my parents were dirt-poor farmers. The first time I met her, I was seventeen years old and working as a waiter at one of those fancy galas they’d have at her house. I poured an entire glass of iced tea down the front of her dress, which I claimed was an accident until she took her last breath, and she hated me for at least two months afterward. But I knew, I swear to the Good Lord I knew that day I was going to marry her. I don’t know how or why, but there was something about her that made me feel like no one ever had before.”

  “But Grandpa—”

  “If you ‘But Grandpa’ me one more time, I’m gonna knock you upside the head with that bottle… that is, after I finish the root beer out of it,” he warns, reaching for my drink, but I pull it back out of his grasp. “I’m not saying you need to marry this girl, but I do hope you’re not too much of a dunce to recognize fate playing its hand. What do you think the chances are of all this happening? You forgetting your credit card at the airport, forced to leave the lottery ticket to a girl who you admittedly had an immediate connection with, enough so that you lied to me to tell me you were seeing her? All the while, you’re dealing with this lawsuit crap, which should prove to you that money and power are transient. One day, you’re the king of the hill, and then the smallest little thing can happen and sweep it all out from under you, leaving you flat on your butt. If you’ve got no one to pick you up and dust you off, no one to show you the material stuff isn’t what brings the happiness, then what’s the point?”

  He grows quiet as I attempt to process what he’s said, then adds, “And now, for her to show up here, on the day you’ve had to make one of the biggest, most important decisions of your career so far… Is it all just coincidence, or something more than that?”

  “I don’t know, Gramps.” I stand and hand him the root beer so he can finish it, and then I walk up to the ledge of the porch, running frustrated fingers through my hair. “It all seems like so much. The future of the company, your health issues, the deal with Finley. My mind is spinning, and I don’t know what direction I’m supposed to be going.”

  Grandpa pushes to his feet, shuffling his slippers over to stand next to me. His shaky hand cups my shoulder and he pats me encouragingly. “Go the direction your heart leads you, son. That’s the only path to true happiness.”

  I STAY UP well past one in the morning, lying in bed, reflecting and ruminating on Grandpa’s wise words until I eventually drift into one of the best dreams I’ve ever had of Finley. Surprisingly, she’s not even naked in it. Just me and her, laughing and having a good time, while we run through fields of corn. In the dream, the land goes on for infinity, and I remember thinking how I could do that forever and be content.

  When I wake up Wednesday morning, I’m invigorated and refreshed despite the lack of sleep. I’m confident in the decisions I’ve made for Goodman Farms, that downsizing and liquidating my assets is the best route, and now, I just have to let it play out as it may. Much like I’ve done since I took the company over from Grandpa, I will diligently work to make it the best farm in the country, but I accept that biggest doesn’t always equate to best. And my self-worth isn’t directly correlated to the number of acres I own.

  Jumping in the shower, I think about the girl downstairs who I never saw coming. Grandpa’s right — though I may not know much about Finley now, I want to. There’s definitely something there; I felt it when we met, and it was there again immediately when she showed up yesterday. Bloody banged up head and all.

  I’m not exactly sure why she’s here, but after that kiss in the bathroom, I’m certain she feels whatever it is too. Vowing to myself not to overthink things today, to simply go with the flow and hope she’ll divulge her need to drive two thousand miles to show up at my grandfather’s house, I scrub head-to-toe, dress in some jeans and a T-shirt, and add an extra squirt of the cologne in my crotch region. You know, just in case.

  The lower level of the old farmhouse is already full of chatter and laughter by the time I make my way down the stairs and into the kitchen, where everyone else is gathered. Nancy and Grandpa sit next to each other on one side of the table, Finley and Farrah are opposite of them, and much to my surprise, tiny Fiona is manning the waffle maker and several skillets on the stove while somehow singing “Under the Sea” with a British accent. No one else seems concerned by the six-year-old working tediously over an open flame, so I suppress my impulse to rush over there and take control.

  “Good morning, everyone,” I say, announcing my presence. The soles of my boots clomp loudly against the floor as I make my way over to claim the empty seat on the other side of Finley. “You ladies all sleep all right?”

  Farrah mutters something about missing a doctor and a bear, whatever that means, while Finley turns to greet me with a bashful smile and nods. “Yes, thank you. We were all so exhausted after our attempt at camping the night before and the entire day in the car. I’m pretty sure we were asleep before you shut the door.”

  “And your head? How’s it feeling this morning?” I scoot closer to take a better look at the knot that’s considerably smaller than yesterday, but wince as I see the dark rainbow of black, purple, and blue rings surrounding the bandage.

  Her face scrunches up in the most adorable way as she glances across the table. “I thought Nancy was going to have to put me in a straightjacket earlier when she cleaned and rebandaged it,” she half-laughs, half-groans. “I think I was so in shock yesterday after it happened that I was numb when she worked on it. This morning, though, not so much.” Her full lips slightly curl back up as she returns her gaze to mine. “But at least it’s not infected and the swelling is going down, even if I do look like I got in the ring with Floyd Mayweather.”

  “You’re still gorgeous, babe.”

  A collective gasp can be heard right before the entire room falls silent. Finley’s baby blues peer up at me with something that looks like desire — at least, I’m hoping to God that’s what it is — while the other four people in the kitchen openly gawk at us in disbelief.

  “What?” I challenge them, knowing damn well exactly what. “Haven’t you ever heard a man tell a beautiful woman she’s gorgeous before?”

  Fiona, who I’ve already learned has no filter from her brain to her mouth, snickers from where she’s standing inside the refrigerator door. “We’re staring at you, because you kissed her like… like that.”

  “Like what? With my mouth?” I taunt. “I thought that’s usually how kisses are given.”

  “She means all soft and sweet and ooey-gooey-like,” Farrah explains, lifting one finger in the air. “And you don’t use your mouth with an El Fresco kiss.”

  I cock a baffled eyebrow at her, ignoring the first half of what she said. “An El Fresco kiss?”

  “Yeah,” she shoots me a don’t-be-stupid look while picking up her coffee and taking a sip, “you know, when you rub the tip of your nose against someone else’s.”

  “Ohhhh,” I hesitate, “you mean Eskimo kiss?”

  Setting her mug back on the table in front of her, she scoffs, “Are you sure it wasn’t you who hit their head yesterday? Why would I be talking about the way people who live in Alaska kiss? That’s silly.”

  I open my mouth to reply, but Finley’s fingers make contact with my mid-thigh under the table, her electric touch stealing away my words and stirring my cock to life. My eyes snap to meet hers as my breath hitches in my chest. God, what is it about this girl?

  “Don’t bother,” she whispers on a giggle. “You
just get used to it.”

  “We’ll go with the El Fresco kiss then.” I laugh low and rest my hand on top of hers, lightly squeezing my fingers around hers. Dimitri would be so proud of me right now. I’ve got the rugged, let-me-plow-your-field look rocking, our eye contact is off the charts, and I’m currently the epitome of confidence, composure, and control. But the funny thing is, I’m not actively trying to do any of it; it’s what feels natural.

  After Fiona announces that breakfast will be ready in ten to fifteen minutes, Nancy and Grandpa excuse themselves so she can give him his morning insulin injection. Strangely, he doesn’t grumble nearly as much as usual, getting up the first time she tells him to and following her out of the kitchen like a good patient. Farrah disappears not long after to go turn around her shirt that she just noticed was on backward, leaving just Finley and me at the table, with Fiona belting out her next selection from the soundtrack of The Little Mermaid, “Kiss the Girl.” For some reason, I feel like her timing on this particular song choice is not coincidental. Maybe because she’s trying to stealthily sneak a peek at us over her shoulder every few seconds. Or because the lyrics are pretty damn spot on.

  Finley’s cheeks flame red when she realizes what her niece is doing, and I love the fact she doesn’t have any makeup on right now so I can see her natural beauty. It’s the first time I’ve seen her wavy blonde hair down, and its much longer than I thought. Visions of those golden locks roped around my hand as I take her from behind float around in my mind.

  Shit, I’m gonna have a chub at breakfast. Good thing I can stay sitting for a while.

  “I think she wants us to kiss again,” I whisper, purposely loud enough for Fiona to hear.

  The singing gets louder as I make my move, smiling lazily as my mouth gradually lowers to Finley’s. Unlike yesterday, I don’t test the waters with the soft sweeping lips first; I dive right in for what I want — a kiss that states my intentions.

  But like the last time, our intimate moment is cut short. This time by someone knocking on the door.

  “I’ll get it!” Fiona shouts, abruptly tossing the spatula to the side and turning the burner off. “You two just keep on with the snogging over there.” Then she dashes out of the room.

  Grunting my displeasure at the interruption, I adjust my chub, hoping my shirt’s long enough to cover it, and stand to go after her as Finley does the same. I flatten my palm against the small of her back, taking note of how thin the material of her shirt is, and lead her toward the front door. Who in the hell could be here now?

  Just as we approach the entryway, I hear Fiona ask, “Who are you?” followed by a way-too-familiar female voice that replies, “Hi, I’m Finley, Teague’s girlfriend.”

  Finley

  WHAT IN THE HELL DID THAT WOMAN JUST SAY?!

  He has a girlfriend? With my name? Please tell me I’m still asleep and this is just one of those strange, ridiculous dreams that makes no sense whatsoever. Though, I do hope that kiss in the kitchen was real… unless, of course, he does in fact have a girlfriend, and then I just want to punch him in the nutsack for being a cheating asshole.

  “Oh, shit,” Teague hisses, as he runs into the back of me, seeing as how I’ve stopped dead in my tracks just before turning the corner to the front foyer. “What in the—”

  “Teague!” Fiona yells, cutting him off. “Some twat named Finley who claims to be your girlfriend is here, and she doesn’t look anything like my bloody auntie!”

  He grabs my arms and spins me around, panic painting his expression as he stares deeply into my eyes. “This isn’t what it looks like. I swear to you. I’ll tell you everything. Just let me get rid of her. Stay right here.”

  Pressing his lips to the top of my head, he hurries past me to the front door and I follow, having no plans of staying right anywhere. I want to see who this chick is, and even more, I want to hear what she has to say.

  “Jessica, it’s okay. They know,” Teague says, as he strides toward her. Jessica? What in the hell is going on?

  The twenty-something, extremely attractive brunette wrinkles her forehead with confusion as she regards him, and then her eyes cut over his shoulder to me, hot on his heels, and all the color drains from her cute, freckled face. “Oh, shit,” she repeats Teague’s initial response.

  “Yeah, my thoughts exactly,” he chuckles, though it’s lacking amusement.

  Fiona’s infuriated glare bounces from me to him to her then back to me, clearly as perplexed with the situation as I am. “Wait… your name’s Jessica? Why did you lie and say it was Finley? And are you really his girlfriend? Because he was just snogging with my aunt in the kitchen, and he’s supposed to be her Prince Charming, so are you trying to be a fairy tale wrecker?” All the questions I want answered tumble from her mouth one right after another — well, except for the whole Prince Charming part, but it was a nice touch. I make a mental note to buy her a new kitchen gadget later as a thank you.

  “Her name is Jessica, and she’s not my girlfriend, or any kind of wrecker. I’ll explain it later, but right now she and I need to talk. Alone,” Teague grits out, wrapping his fingers around Jessica’s elbow and tugging her in the direction of the door.

  A mixture of jealousy and rage flares in my stomach when I see him touch her, though I don’t have any claim over him. I’m not even sure what in the hell is happening between the two of us, since we haven’t actually talked about anything substantial after my surprise arrival.

  Jessica’s round, troubled eyes focus in on me as she mouths the words ‘I’m sorry,’ before turning around and following him outside. By this time, Farrah, Nancy, and Grandpa have all gathered at the mouth of the hallway, each of them watching intently as the scene plays out like it’s the last episode of their favorite TV show. I should probably allow him and her a few minutes of privacy and wait for him to come back in to enlighten us on what’s going on. But screw that.

  “Fiona, go into the kitchen with your mom,” I order, the harsh tone of my voice surprising even myself.

  My niece, smart enough to know I’m not in the mood for one of her typical clever comebacks, nods and takes off in the opposite direction, coaxing Farrah to go with her. Thankfully, my sister listens, as do Nancy and Grandpa.

  Seething, I stomp out the front door and over to where Teague and Jessica are walking to her car, in the middle of a heated conversation, based on the flailing arms and deep grumblings. Well, I’m about to turn the temperature up a few more degrees.

  “How was I supposed to know she was here? You knew I was coming today, so a phone call would’ve been nice,” I overhear her grouse, as I draw near.

  “Because he didn’t know I was coming until I showed up last night,” I answer pointedly, triggering both of them to stop moving and twist around to face me. “Now, does someone want to tell me what’s going on?”

  “Finley—” Teague takes a step toward me, stretching his arm out to touch me, but I move out of his reach and shake my head sternly.

  I cross my arms over my chest and stare down both of them. “Answers. I want them. Now.”

  With an apologetic smile, Jessica begins, “Teague and I used to umm… date each other.” She pauses and glances over at him, as if she’s waiting for his approval to continue.

  He grunts and shakes his head at her then locks his intense, imploring stare on me. “Jessica and I are friends, used to be friends with benefits, but we haven’t been since…”

  His voice trails off and my anger level rises. “Since what? Why are y’all being so damn weird?”

  “Since I met you!” he shouts, shoving his hands through his thick sandy locks. “I don’t know what happened that day, but you… you did a number on my me. And after I left the restaurant and came back home, I haven’t been able to get you out of my mind. It doesn’t make any damn sense, but I can’t help it.”

  His candid confession helps soothe my irritation, and makes me feel quite a bit better about my own obsession with him over the last few we
eks, but I’m still thoroughly confounded. “Okaaay… so why is she,” I point at Jessica, “here now, pretending to be named Finley?”

  “When I got back from the trip, Grandpa was giving me a hard time about how I’m getting older and need to think about settling down, so I told him I’d met someone named Finley on my trip, which technically wasn’t a lie,” he asserts, “but I may have made it seem like we were trying a long-distance relationship.

  “Then, a couple of weeks ago, he had a mild heart attack and I moved out here to stay with him on a temporary basis,” he continues, never taking his eyes off me. “I thought if I had Jessica come out and pretend to be you on a work trip from San Fran, then it would distract him from his health issues and appease his worries about me. So on Sunday, she came and spent the day hanging out here with him, and I forgot he’d invited her to come back to visit today before she returned ‘home.’”

  Skeptical, I look over at Jessica, who’s nodding vigorously in agreement. “He’s telling the truth. I know it sounds crazy, but honest to God, that’s what happened,” she confirms. “When he first came back from his trip, I knew something was off with him. He was just… different. So I insisted he tell me what was going on, and once he told me about meeting you and everything, I cut off the benefits portion of our friendship until he contacted you to see if there was really something there.”

  “But you didn’t contact me,” I contend, swinging my gaze back to Teague. “I came here — to find you. And you haven’t even asked me why or how I found you.”