Kiss My Boots

  14

  QUINN

  "Confession" by Florida Georgia Line

  - -

  "Why are you so damn hyper this morning?" Clay grumbles, cutting short the upbeat tune I had been whistling with a narrowed glare of his eyes.

  I giggle and switch from my whistling to tapping out a light beat on the floorboards with my bare feet. "Can't a girl just enjoy a Saturday morning?"

  He scratches his head, his hair messy from just waking up, and mutters under his breath before dragging his ass to the coffeepot. The coffeepot that, might I add, I made sure was full of strong, freshly brewed, delicious dark roast--just like he likes.

  "Seriously, Hell-raiser, you drink some of those energy drinks we told you to stay away from this mornin' or somethin'?"

  "Nope," I say with a smile.

  "I'm not playin' twenty questions with you, no matter how much you love makin' people work for whatever it is you want them to know."

  I feel my smile dim just a little at my brother's surly tone, but nothing can take away the excitement that hit a fever pitch around four in the morning, waking me up knowing I would be seeing Tate in just a handful of hours for our first date. Well, not our first date technically, but it might as well be. We're the same people we used to be, but also so very different.

  However, just because it would be hard as hell to kill this kind of excitement I've got rushing inside me, doesn't mean I'm not nervous talking with Clay about it. I've never kept things from him before, but this seems different somehow. A lot has changed since he gave me that pep talk a few weeks ago. I went into that talk with him not knowing what would happen when I came face-to-face with Tate again after all this time. Now, well . . . now I know, and it would hurt a whole lot if I didn't have Clay's support going forward with Tate. Wouldn't stop me, but it would still hurt.

  "I'm going on a date. This morning. Well, today, not this morning. Hell, I don't know. It's a date for some undisclosed time today and I'm excited about it."

  His mug stills halfway to his mouth and the tired look in his eyes clears. "With Tate," he says knowingly.

  "Yes, with Tate. He called last night to ask me, officially, out on a date."

  "Hmm." He takes a sip--a long-as-hell sip, if you ask me--of his coffee before arching a brow at me.

  "That's it? You 'hmm' me and then just nothing? You don't have an opinion? A little pep talk for me? Some kind of big-brother motivational speech?" I huff when I finish my rapid-fire questions and plant my hands on both hips, throwing every bit of sass I have at him.

  His lips twitch, but other than that, nothing.

  I puff out a grunting breath and shake my head at him, encouraging him to speak. My hair drops from the messy bun I had pulled it into earlier, and some of the dark strands fall into my line of sight. I blow them away, only to have them fall back into my eyes, effectively ruining my tough-cookie act when I have to move my hands into my bird's nest of hair.

  Clay starts laughing, deep belly laughs, when my ponytail holder snaps just as I'm wrapping it around my thick hair, leaving me with a stinging mark on my hand and a face full of thick, wavy strands.

  "Please keep goin'. You know I love watchin' you stumble your way through tryin' to be intimidating."

  "Whatever," I grumble, stomping to the junk drawer and grabbing a new hair tie, only to have that one snap too. By the time I finally get my hair back up and in place, Clay's still laughing his ass off. "You're such a jerk."

  "How am I a jerk? Because I think it's funny as hell when that shit happens to you?" he asks, still laughing softly.

  "Are you really going to give me nothin'? I tell you I'm going on a date--with Tate--and you give me nothin' at all?"

  He shrugs. "What do you want me to say, sugar? I'm not gonna stand in the way of this if it's what you want. You want me to remind you I'm here if you need me, for anything? Because I will if you need to hear that, even if it goes without repeatin', Quinny. I want you happy, and if Tate is the man to help get you there, then that's good, little sister, that's real good."

  "Well, I suppose that'll do," I mumble through the thickness in my throat.

  He puts his cup down and opens his arms. Not needing to be told, I walk into his arms and soak up his comfort. "I knew he was makin' his play to win you back, Quinny. Talked to him myself last night, just didn't know you had a date today. I really am happy for you and will support you with whatever you need from me. Just promise me you'll listen to what your gut's tellin' you now."

  I sniff and nod.

  "You talked to him?"

  His silent confirmation gives me pause: I'm afraid to hear how it went.

  "That's all you're goin' to say?" I ask.

  "It's all you need to know, sugar. Wasn't a bad talk, and all you need to take from it is that I'm happy you're takin' this chance."

  My throat gets thick, and as much as I want to push him more, I can't say I'm upset about what he's willing to tell me.

  "Talkin' loud now, huh?"

  I look at him, confused.

  "Gut, Hell-raiser. Talkin' loud?"

  Smiling, remembering our talk a few weeks ago. "Been screamin' for a week now, Clay. Just gotta get rid of the big ol' scaredy-cat standin' in the way."

  His chest rumbles against my ear. "Let Tate worry about that, okay?"

  "Okay," I reply softly.

  - -

  Clay leaves to head down to the stables shortly after our morning chat, right before the clock even ticks past six in the morning. He doesn't tell me anything else about his talk with Tate and I don't ask, but he does make sure to reiterate that he'll be supporting me all the way while Tate and I begin this new phase of our relationship. I still can't believe this is real.

  I keep checking the clock, waiting. Not for Tate, seeing as it's still early as hell--according to him, I'll see him at eight and I'm to be ready for a day outside. I still have another hour and a half before he's expected to pick me up. No, I'm waiting for it not to be so dang early so I can call Leigh and fill her in.

  When I got back last night, she was the first person I called, not wanting to waste a second, since I knew she was still upset that I hadn't come to her with my feelings right after the first call I made to Tate five weeks ago. She couldn't talk long, having just gotten to the movie theater with Maverick for date night, but after she squealed through the line with me, she made me promise to call first thing.

  So that's what I'm doing. Standing in the middle of the living room, dusting the coffee table at six twenty-five in the morning while I wait for the next five minutes to pass.

  "Oh, fuck it." I toss the rag I was dusting with down and rush to the kitchen to grab my phone off the charger.

  "Hold on," Maverick answers in a surly tone that lets me know he just woke up. Oops. I forgot Leigh mentioned he was taking the morning off.

  "Hello?" she says a moment later, sounding like she's actually still sleeping.

  "Hi!" I rush out, my hyper excitement getting the best of me and ruining any chance I had of playing at playing it cool while she takes the time to wake up.

  "Quinn? Jesus, what time is it?"

  "Almost six thirty. You told me to call you in the morning," I remind her.

  "Yeah, but I didn't think you would call this early."

  I wave my hand in the air and roll my eyes. Not that it's effective, since she can't actually see me. "Tate's gonna be here in a little over an hour, Leigh. In a little over an hour I'm going on my first date with Tate Montgomery and I'm so excited, nervous, terrified, over the moon, I think my heart might stop."

  I hear her say something to my brother, Maverick's deep voice coming through from a distance when he replies. A moment later, the sound of her peeing hits my ears.

  "Seriously?"

  "You called me two hours after I finally got to sleep, Q. Excuse me if I can't hold my piss in long enough to wait until we're off the line."

  "Didn't you go before you went to bed? What the hell were you doing up at fo
ur in the morning anyway?"

  "I can't answer that, because you told me I wasn't allowed to talk about your brother's beautiful penis anymore," she replies, her voice sugary sweet.

  "Well," I say after a brief moment of shocked silence, my mind needing a second to purge the thought from my head. Then, like any girl that grew up with two older brothers that unfortunately didn't know how to warn someone before they walked around naked, I detach myself from the vision of it being my brother's penis she's talking about and pretend that Maverick had a Ken-doll crotch and my best friend was ridin' someone else's manhood. "You really need to be better about usin' the restroom after sex. You don't want bacteria and shit to fester in your bits. If that happens, you're gonna end up with a nasty infection from that penis you're so fond of and an appointment to let Tate check things out."

  "That . . ." She pauses. "I'm not even sure what to say to that."

  "Nothin' to say. You just need to make a mental note to practice better hygiene after your late-night playdates with my brother," I sass. Then, like a lightbulb going off in my head, another thought zaps through my mind. "Unless, you two are workin' on that niece you promised me."

  "Oh God, Q. Give that up, will ya?" She laughs, but it doesn't sound convincing.

  "Why? Because you're already pregnant?"

  She snorts, the sound unladylike. "No, Jesus. We want to have some time to enjoy each other before we start a family. You should give it up, because I can assure you there aren't going to be any nieces or--"

  "Don't you say it," I warn, cutting her off.

  "Nephews!" she yells. "You are way too sensitive about that. Besides the fact that we're nowhere near ready to start our family, you need to get it through your head that there's a very real possibility that when we are, it won't be a girl!"

  "You're right. We can talk about my nieces later. Right now, you need to help me prep for my date. My date that starts in almost an hour. Shit, oh my God, I take it back--I'm more nervous and terrified than I am over the moon and excited."

  "Where are y'all going?"

  "I don't know! He just said we would be outside all day. That could mean anything. Do I even bother puttin' on makeup when we're gonna roast anyway? Should I wear somethin' nice? Shit, yup . . . definitely terrified."

  "Let's start with you calmin' down." She giggles. "Skip the makeup, you don't need it. Keep your hair up; just fix the mess you probably have it bound in already." She pauses, probably to see if I'll deny that she knows me so well. "Go with cutoffs, maybe a cute tank top, or maybe that flowy, blousy thing you have--the one with no sleeves. I would say flip-flops since it's gonna be hot as hell out, but you don't ever go without your boots, so that should about cover it."

  I nod to myself. "Okay, I can do all that. I look great in cutoffs. That sounds perfect."

  "Stop muttering to yourself, too. You're beautiful, you'll look beautiful, and even if you had a paper sack on, he's gonna think the same thing. Stop freakin' yourself out."

  "What's she goin' on about?" I hear Maverick ask in the background, and my eyes widen.

  "Don't you do it," I warn Leigh.

  "She's going on a date with Tate Montgomery today," she answers, ignoring me, and I can hear the smile in her voice.

  "What's he doing? Why can't I hear him?"

  "He's getting dressed." She giggles.

  "Leighton Elizabeth James," I hiss through thin lips.

  "I'm kiddin'. He's callin' Clay."

  "Oh, well, that's good."

  "Seriously, Q. You've got this. Give yourself a break. It's okay to be nervous."

  "What if I puke on it because I'm that nervous?"

  She laughs full out at that. "Seein' as you already puked on him once and he still asked you on a date, I'm guessin' he wouldn't think twice about it."

  I moan, embarrassed at the reminder of my drunken shame.

  "You need to go get ready."

  I nod. "Yeah. Holy shit. It's really happening."

  "You got this, Hell-raiser," she hoots; then I hear the click of her disconnecting.

  "I've got this," I mutter to myself, leaving the living room and walking through the big house toward my "wing." It isn't technically, but with just Clay and me in the place, the huge six-bedroom house feels too large at times. His room, the master, is on the opposite side of the house from mine, and with so much square footage between us, it often feels like this side is all mine. With both of us often working long hours, we could go weeks without running into each other, because this place is so dang big.

  I make quick work of pulling on a pair of short white cutoffs, grabbing the flowy black sleeveless blouse Leigh was talking about. Thankfully, I don't have to change my bra. The bloodred pushup bra being one of my favorites because it always makes me feel like an irresistible badass when I wear it, and today that is exactly what I want to feel like.

  My black cowboy boots with the bright teal design stitched into the leather go on next before I walk into my bathroom and fix my unintentionally messy bun into an intentionally messy bun.

  "Well, don't you look good," I tell my reflection, twisting to check out my ass.

  I lean into my bedroom to look at the clock, an eruption of nervous excitement taking flight in the pit of my stomach. I hope he's feeling this too. Just the knowledge that I'm going to see him again today is all it takes to keep me awake. I feel like a child waiting for Santa to come in the morning.

  One thing's for sure: with my gut communicating this kind of pure, euphoric excitement, there's no way it could be steering me wrong. It's time for me to put the fear aside and not let it stand in the way. I'll feel it, I'm sure, it won't just vanish, but I'm not going to allow it to be fed.

  I close my eyes, hold my breath, and pray for all I'm worth that this date, the one I've been dreaming of for so long, is the start of something one-of-a-kind beautiful.

  15

  QUINN

  "Don't Ya" by Brett Eldredge

  - -

  "Bite me, Tate Montgomery!" I screech, jumping when he tosses another worm at me.

  "Oh, come on, Quinn. You can do it," he teases, waving another of those disgusting things at my face.

  I cross my arms over my chest and give him a look that I pray screams, If you come near me with another of those slimy fuckers you'll never see me naked. But of course, it doesn't. He just smirks, props his fishing pole against the cooler he brought out, and advances, the worm still wiggling between his fingers.

  "Tate, I swear to God and all that's holy, I will shove my boot so far up your ass you'll never find it. Don't come near me with that . . . thing."

  "For such a tomboy, you would think you'd grown outta that phobia of worms by now." He laughs darkly, halting his advance and picking up my pole to murder the worm with the hook.

  Dis.Gust.Ing.

  "What? Just because I'm a mechanic, I'm automatically a tomboy?"

  Tate rolls his eyes and hands me my pole, murdered worm included.

  "Has nothin' to do with your occupation, darlin'. You're practically allergic to all things girly. And stop actin' like I meant it in a negative way. Anyway, I happen to have a preference for fresh-faced women wearing short shorts and covered in grease."

  "Oh really?" I ask him in a snarky tone. "Meet many girls like that while you were in Georgia?" The second the question leaves my lips, I regret it. It's easy to convince myself that there haven't been any other women in his life--even if he has hinted at brief flings with no commitment. However, crystal-clear confirmation of his romantic entanglements over the last nine years isn't something I'm sure I want to hear.

  "Quinn," Tate voices, trying to get my attention, but I just shake my head.

  I quickly cast my line, looking out at the lake before me, the clouds in the sky peppering the dark water with little white dots. The spot Tate brought us to is one of the most popular fishing holes in Pine Oak, but thankfully today we're the only ones out here. I'm sure that has more to do with the storm that I can smell getti
ng closer. There's just something about a hot summer day that carries a whopper of a storm with it. The air comes alive and there's a dangerous scent to it.

  "There wouldn't ever be," he finally says after a few minutes, drawing my attention away from the dark clouds in the distance.

  "There wouldn't ever be what?"

  "Anyone that could ever come close to the woman you are. I'm a little rusty flirtin', it seems. I'll take care in how I say shit like that in the future."

  I feel my shoulders drop, the tension leaving them. "No, I shouldn't have gotten so defensive. You don't owe me explanations like that, Tate. We weren't together, so you weren't doin' anything wrong."

  "You might not think I owe you an explanation, but Quinn, I need you to know regardless. You're right, we weren't together, but you've owned me since I was eleven years old, comin' to Pine Oak for the first time. I never--not once--in the time that we were apart, gave any other woman what was already taken. So, at the risk of ruinin' our date right when it's gettin' started, I need you to know that. I don't want to see you lookin' at me like I might not think you're enough, Quinn."

  "I didn't spend the past nine years without . . . scratchin' an itch," I tell him, embarrassed.

  "And neither did I, Quinn. Get it out now, darlin', and let's move on after, sound good?"

  "I'm not proud of it." My words rush out, and I feel the shame of them. I reel my line in, check to see if the murdered worm is still attached, then cast it back into the lake. "I tried to move on, you should know that, but . . . no one was you. I haven't been with anyone in a long time, though, and even before that, it was pretty infrequent."

  "Sounds like we were both in the same boat. I'll tell you whatever you wanna know, but you need to understand I don't want to know details, darlin'. You were livin' your life and I was survivin' mine. In the end, none of that matters, because we're gettin' our chance."

  "My mama . . ." I pause, trying to think of a good way to explain the enormity of damage caused to my head with her shit. "She's the reason I tried to find what I felt without you around and . . . she's the reason I stopped."

  I hear him reel his line in and look over to see him placing another worm on the hook. His concentration splits when he looks up from his hunched position and nods, encouraging me to keep going. The last thing I want is to be talking about this, but we're getting to know each other again, and while he might have known about my mama abandoning us--leaving me with a craving to feel loved, needed, and wanted--he has no idea about the news that came long after he left, news that brought the same feelings back, but this time riding shotgun with a whole lot of self-loathing.