Conception (The Wellingtons, #4) Page 4

  My brother lifts his beer to me. “Right on. To you finally sowing your wild oats. Still can’t believe you’re twenty-two and you’ve only been with one girl.”

  I set my beer down and turn to him. “I can’t believe you’re twenty-one and already plan on being with one girl for the rest of your life.” I expect the words to rattle Clay.

  But he surprises me with a shrug as he takes a sip of his beer. “You know what Mom says. When a Wellington man knows, he knows.”

  I groan at the reminder of Mom, the romantic—which is probably why it’s still so hard for her to believe I’m coping at the loss of my relationship.

  There’s some silly family superstition that she claims goes all the way back to my great-great-great grandfather who escaped the law in Great Britain and made a name for himself in America in the early 19th century. I’ve heard the story so many times I can practically recite it. Supposedly, after a string of bad luck, he found himself on a ship, bound for the newly independent country, at the young age of twenty-two. According to Mom, he met the love of his life shortly after his ship docked and spent the next sixty or so years devoted to her. His son had the same romantic fate, as has every Wellington male in the line of succession after, including my own father. And, apparently, now Clay.

  “Whatever, dude. You can buy that mumbo-jumbo all you want. She clearly was wrong about Gwen and me, so while you pine over Maria, I’m spending my summer chasing whatever tail I can.”

  Clay rolls his eyes. “Knox, you can barely say that with a straight face. Be honest. You have no idea what you’re doing when it comes to women.”

  “Wanna bet?”

  An answering grin splits his face. “You’re on, brother. You get a girl’s number tonight at Mickey’s and I’ll tell Mom not to worry about how you’re dealing with Gwen leaving you. You don’t get a girl’s number tonight, I get to take Maria out on your Kawasaki.”

  The bike, my pride and joy only second to my 1956 Ford Thunderbird, hasn’t been driven by anyone but me. Gwen, terrified of what she called death traps, refused to take a seat behind me. The thought of Maria being the first honey on the back of my bike isn’t appealing, and Clay knows it. That’s why he made these terms.

  If I back down, he’ll think me a coward. At the same time, I’m not so sure that one night will be enough to get into that girl’s good graces. Hell, I don’t even know she’ll be there.

  But I want to wipe the smirk off my brother’s face, so despite my best judgment, I hold out my hand to him. “Deal.”

  AFTER MRS. MAYFIELD LEAVES WITH promises of bringing by a pitcher of her world-famous lemonade the next day, I head straight to my bedroom for a nap, tired after the nerve-racking drive yet on edge from my conversation with that infuriatingly handsome man. It’s ages before I finally drift off into restless dreams of brown eyes and soft touches from the devastatingly handsome dreamboat whose name I now wish I’d gotten.

  Ugh. Not exactly the way I anticipated starting this summer off.

  Distraction in the form of a gorgeous summer boy toy wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world. I’m not usually attracted to the arrogant, cocky type, especially not ones who think it’s copacetic to enter young women’s vehicles without permission. Yet there was something about him. Something that didn’t ping my Bundy radar—if that’s even a thing—and even more annoyingly, the way he seemed at such ease put me at ease. Definitely annoying.

  Not wanting to waste any more time thinking of the man, and clearly too wired to nap, I crawl out of bed, pleasantly surprised when I rise to the sound of…nothing. I dart to the window to see that, while the sun isn’t shining, the rain’s ceased. I rush to the car, grab my luggage, and spend time getting my room situated for the summer. Grams told me I could use the master, but as it’s where my parents slept, I opt for the room I’ve always used.

  Now that I’m freshly showered and eager to get to Mickey’s, I style my hair in a half-up, half-down fashion, with my bangs just skimming the tops of my eyebrows. I go for the minimal-makeup look: just a few swipes of mascara and a light-pink gloss for my lips. Like Mrs. Mayfield said, it’s blazing out, so I choose a pair of Daisy Dukes that accentuate my long legs and a teal tube top that’ll keep me cool.

  There’s no such thing as modesty in a heat wave. That’s what I can hear Sunny telling me.

  Knowing I’ll be drinking, I slip my thongs on and decide to walk to Mickey’s. I throw my house key into my purse, sling it over my shoulder, and head out. The moment I open the door, a blast of heat greets me. With one longing look towards the lake, which I’d kill to jump into right now, I turn the opposite way and head to the bar.

  I’m barely through the door when a sweet Southern drawl—or perhaps a scream—pierces the night.

  “Oh my god!” Sunny exclaims.

  A huge grin spreads across my face as she dashes around the bar with her arms wide open.

  “You’re here, Meems! You’re finally here!” She rushes at me with such enthusiasm that her embrace nearly knocks me off my feet.

  I hug her back, and then she withdraws and studies me with a scrutiny that unnerves me.

  “Girl, when the hell did you get so damn smokin’?”

  A blush heats my cheeks. “It’s good to see you, Sunny.”

  “It’s about damn time, girlfriend. Now come sit and tell me everything,” she insists.

  I take a seat at the end of the bar, where Sunny claims is the best spot in the house. She pours me a drink, and I take a moment to check out the rest of the bar. She wasn’t kidding. I’m in the perfect position to scan the place, which is filled with what looks like a mixture of locals and summer folks all trying to escape the heat with air conditioning and ice-cold beverages.

  Over the next couple of hours, Sunny and I catch up in between customers. It comes as no shock to me that she’s dating Joe, Mickey’s son. She and Joe were constantly bickering every summer throughout high school. Seeing as he was the guy who literally tugged her pigtails whenever she wore her hair in the style, I was fairly sure it was out of attraction, not that either of them would admit it. Apparently, one night at the drive-in, with one precisely kiss placed on the back of her neck, was all it took for Sunny to finally admit she had feelings for him. While part of me was looking forward to a summer of us palling around together as single gals, I’m more than pleased for her.

  Which reminds me of Mr. Brown Eyes, but I shake the image of him out of my head.

  “So, what’s the word on Robert?” she asks, and I inadvertently groan. She cocks an eyebrow. “That bad, huh?”

  I use my straw to twirl the ice in my rum and Coke, trying not to make a face as I think about the last raging argument Robert and I had. “Ugh. I don’t want to talk about him tonight. Let’s just say I’ve been unlucky in the love department. I’m free as a bird. Ready to see where the wind takes me.”

  Sunny holds her hands up. “Say no more.” Then a devious smile crosses her lips and it kind of scares me. “I know just what you need. It’s perfect, really. A summer fling.”

  I start to protest, but then I think… Why not?

  Sunny must see it on my face, because her grin deepens.

  As I take a sip of my drink, I debate telling her about the mystery man, wondering if she knows who he is. Hell, if he’s what I’ve been missing out on the last four years, I could kick myself for staying away.

  “It’s my first night here, so let’s not get ahead of ourselves,” I tell her, deciding not to spill the beans. Knowing Sunny, she’d send us off with a box of condoms and a couple of bottles of Boone’s Farm, telling us to have fun in the back of Joe’s truck. “But…I suppose, if the right guy were to come long, I wouldn’t be opposed. After all, Grams did tell me to let my hair down this summer.”

  Sunny’s gaze flicks to somewhere behind me; then her lips curve into a mischievous grin. “Good. ’Cause there’s a wicked-hot guy who can’t seem to take his eyes off you. And, honey, if it weren’t for Joe givin’ me the busi
ness so damn well, this one would definitely turn my head.”

  I groan. “Sunny, I didn’t need to hear that. If you recall, I once caught the man streaking across the football field underneath a full moon just because Sam dared him to. I’ve seen his business. Don’t need to hear about how good it is.”

  Her eyes gleam with devilish delight. “Meems, you saw the boy. Trust me, he is all man now, and my how he’s grown.”

  “If you’re going to swoon over Joe, can you do it elsewhere?” I tease.

  She chuckles. “You take one look at the man eyeing you and you’ll be swooning just like me.”

  “I’ll take your word for it.”

  As much as I want to swivel in my chair and check out this mystery man, I don’t. Instead, I fiddle with my straw and feign disinterest.

  Sunny laughs, reading me correctly. She flips a coin to me and gestures towards the jukebox. “Go play me a song, Amelia.”

  I roll my eyes, knowing she’s trying to get me into closer proximity to this man. But I comply, sliding off my stool and turning around, eager to get a glimpse.

  The thing is…when I do, I don’t see anyone looking at me.

  Not wanting to be obvious, I force myself not to scan the room. Then I turn back to get a hint from Sunny, but she’s already at the other end of the bar, pouring a drink. With a shrug to myself, I cross to the jukebox and start clicking through, trying to find something different than the Johnny Cash that’s been frequently playing. It’s summer in the South, so I’m not surprised, but I’m ready for something with a bit more pep.

  When I come across Michael Jackson’s “Rock With You,” I know I’ve hit the jackpot. And when I plop back onto my barstool, Sunny’s laughing.

  “Subtle, Amelia. Subtle.”

  I give her a coy grin then suck the rest of my drink down with my straw. I’m not exactly putting on a show. Hell, maybe I am. I don’t really care.

  Whatever it is, it works.

  Sunny’s eyes widen. Without a word, she steps back and mumbles something about getting me a refill.

  “I’d ask if this seat’s taken, but I’ve been watchin’ you for the better part of an hour and I know it’s not.”

  I turn to give him a sassy retort, but the words escape me when I take in the sight of the man looming over me.

  Just as I hoped, it’s him. And what I saw of him in my car earlier didn’t do him justice.

  He’s big. Like…really big. I really kind of dig it.

  His hulking figure towers over me. A plain white T does little to hide thick, muscular biceps. As much as I want to take his physique in even more, I force myself to look up only to be taken in by rich, warm brown eyes that seem to dance at my perusal. Rich, warm, familiar brown eyes.

  Oh, yes. I’ve just found my mystery man.

  Or, rather, he found me, just like he promised he would. I find I’m not even mad about it. Pretty pleased, in fact.

  I blink a couple of times, wondering if I’m just imagining it, but when I reopen them, yep, it’s definitely him. The stranger who fell into my car, tried to charm me, and then left with that stupid, cocky grin on his face, like he sensed the attraction in the air. Because of course he could. Only now, with him standing over me and not scrunched up in my Mustang, I get a better look at him.

  He’s grinning down at me with that same cocky expression. My cheeks instantly flame, and I pray that he doesn’t mention to Sunny how I was being a wuss who couldn’t drive in a thunderstorm earlier today. He doesn’t. Instead, he clears his throat and I realize he’s waiting for a response.

  “I can appreciate a man who doesn’t ask questions he already knows the answer to,” I reply, trying not to give away just how damn attractive I find him.

  His mouth twists up into a panty-melting smile. He leans forward, his lips nearly touching my ear. “And I can appreciate a woman who likes to suck on her straw precisely the way you do.”

  I catch my breath at the innuendo, even though it’s exactly what I was going for.

  “I’m—” he starts, but I’m quick to cut him off.

  “Don’t care. Just like I said earlier.”

  I care. I really frickin’ do. I’m simply not letting him in on that fact. Not yet.

  “Meow,” he murmurs. “Come on, kitty. Put those claws away and come out to play.”

  Did he serious just call me kitty? I cast a glare up to him, and once again, he remains unaffected.

  “Feisty. I like it. You should know, Sally, it only turns me on more. Just like those continuous glare you keeping aimin’ in my direction.”

  Right. Like I said, cocky. Arrogant. Infuriating. And downright gorgeous. The only thing keeping me from telling him he can stop with the innuendo is the fact that I’m actually enjoying it.

  He lingers for just a moment before rising away from me. Then he takes the stool next to me, falling onto it. He’s facing me, with one forearm resting on the bar, the other stretched out on the back of his stool. His eyes flick to my empty drink then he gestures to Sunny with two fingers. A moment later, two new rum and Cokes appear on the bar, and Sunny silently disappears. He pushes the glass across the bar until it’s in front of me. I glance from the drink to him, tilting my head.

  “My mother taught me to never accept a drink from a stranger.”

  “Good thing you seemed pretty chummy with the bartender before I came over, then,” he quips, not missing a beat.

  Quick wit to go along with wicked good looks? This seems promising.

  “I’m Knox,” he informs me, holding his hand out to me as if he wants to shake, but then he takes it back.

  I want to giggle at the act, but I don’t for his sake.

  “Phew. I can’t believe I got that out without you interrupting me. Now, babe, you gonna give me your name this time, or do I have to hassle it out of the bartender?”

  Well, since he asked so nicely… And knowing that Sunny would spill before he got the whole question out, I relent. “As amusing as it is that you call me Sally, my real name is Amelia,” I tell him, holding my own hand out as some sort of truce.

  “Amelia,” he drawls, trying it out for size. The sound of my name on his lips does things to my insides I’m not ready to explore. “Pretty name. And ‘ride, Amelia, ride’ still has a nice ring to it.”

  As he says the words, he takes my offered hand. The warmth of his broad palm encasing my much smaller one sends contradictory goose bumps across my skin. I pray he doesn’t notice, and if he does, he doesn’t let on. Instead, his fingers linger briefly over mine; then he withdraws to take a drink. The contrast between his immense grasp and the small glass has me wondering impure thoughts about the size of the rest of him.

  “So, Amelia, are you from around here or just visiting for the summer?”

  Well, we’re getting right to it, I guess. It’s no matter, I decide. Considering our run-in earlier—or his intrusion—we’re not exactly strangers.

  “I’m just visiting for the summer. You?”

  “Same. Summer plans?” he asks.

  I toy with my straw—with my fingers, not my mouth—then shrug. “What anyone does at the lake, I suppose. Sunbathe, swim, catch up on reading. Try to stay cool for however long this heat wave lasts.” My eyes drop to his lips to catch them curling up in a conspiratorial grin.

  “Keeping cool, huh? Does that mean skinny-dipping is in your future? ’Cause it sure is in mine.”

  Heat flushes my cheeks, and I can only imagine how pink they are. Sunny and I went skinny-dipping in high school, but never with boys. Not that Knox is a boy. No, he’s definitely all man.

  “If the mood calls for it,” I respond, hoping I don’t sound as breathless as I feel.

  I glance away just in time to see Sunny grinning at me at the opposite end of the bar, giving me a thumbs-up. I make a mental note to ask her later what she knows about this guy.

  “Well, you’ll have to let me know if—or when—the mood strikes you, Amelia.”

  The way my name rol
ls of his tongue reminds me of a rich, dark chocolate, so decadent that you want to moan when taking a taste, so exquisite that you want to savor every nibble. The thought has me fighting the urge to bite my lower lip.

  I blink up at him, torn between wanting to fake innocence or bring out my saucy side. “Guess we’ll just have to wait and see how hot this summer gets.”

  Knox’s hand forms a fist and he knocks twice on the bar. His drink isn’t empty, so I’m not quite sure the purpose of the move. When he takes another swig of his drink, soft eyes turn to face me.

  “You seem like a cool chick.”

  “Uh…you, too?” It’s more of a question; then I realize I just called him a chick. Nice going, Amelia.

  Knox just shoots me a grin that strangely morphs into a grimace. Once again, not sure what that’s about. A sense of foreboding washes over me.

  “I’ve gotta be honest with you,” he says. “Not that long ago, I got out of a…a long-term relationship and I’m here for the summer to get away from all the pitying eyes of my parents and friends.”

  It’s not like my heart breaks over his honesty. But still, it kinda hits a girl in the feels when a guy flirts with her then does an about-face, letting her know that she’s interesting, just not that interesting. Can’t we get to second base before having the commitment conversation?

  “As far as I recall, I was sitting here just fine. You’re the one who came over to me. You’re the one who hopped in my car uninvited, unwanted. There’s no need for a brush-off. You can just go rejoin your friends. My fragile little heart can take it.”

  I gesture towards the booth he came from and start to turn my stool back towards the bar, but then firm fingertips suddenly grip my thigh. My breath catches when my eyes meet Knox’s.

  “Wait a minute. That’s not what I meant. Or, well, it came out wrong. Truth is, I wouldn’t mind getting to know you a bit better. It’s just… I’ve literally dated the same girl my entire life, so I don’t really know how to do…this,” he explains, using two fingers to motion between us.