Chapter 11

Hours later, a ton of food was spread across several tables, and blankets, lawn chairs, and loungers dotted the grass. The appetizing aroma of food grilling on several cookers’ floated on the hot, summer breeze and created mouth watering aromas that teased the senses.
Everywhere a person looked there were groups of people milling around and talking. By all appearances, half the city had shown up. Children and teenagers were laughing and yelling as they darted in and out between the parked vehicles that littered the grounds and the natural spring-fed pond: our come to meetin' place for the Fourth of July celebration.

Kool-aid was being consumed by the children, while the teenagers guzzled cans of pop and sweet tea—stealing the occasional beer when they could get away with it. And for the adults who wanted a stronger beverage, the wine and whiskey flowed in abundance.

Aubrey-Marie Jackson, in her mid-thirties, a tad overweight, and a very subdued librarian during the week, was doing the watermelon crawl: her twin sister, Audrey-Jean—just on this side of totally drunk—was right smack dab in the middle of the mud-wrestling contest with me and some of the other women, and at the sound of the judges' cowbell, the screaming, giggling, mud throwing, and body-slamming, commenced.

Around the pit, the hoots and hollers echoed from those who stood by watching, and as with anything requiring girls wearing tiny bits of scrap material, or wet, mud-smeared t-shirts, you had those who made catcalls and smart-ass comments. Despite that, most kept their comments at a level nothing less than good ol' fun—nothing offensive or creepy. However, for those who hadn't found their manners, they were quick to locate them, or find themselves squared up against men who were ready to throw-down.
Regardless of what was happening outside of my mud-smeared world, I was too busy watching what was happening inside the pit to care. Brice, all muscle and slick, tanned skin, had come wading into the muck and mire in nothing but his boxer briefs. My eyes bulged at the sight and next to me, Minx gasped, “Holy hell…if son ain't packin'. Woo-wee!”

From beside me, her abrupt squeal rattled my eardrum, and though it took everything I had to draw my eyes away from Brice and what he was...packin'…I jerked my head in her direction, only to find her ass in my face and on her way to being tossed over Tyler’s shoulder.

I had barely gotten my head jerked back from my bird's-eye view of Minx's rear-end, before I found myself being tossed over Cole Thompson’s shoulder. Balancing upside down, I raised my head in time to see Brice pause in mid-stride, his eyes pinned on us, before eyebrows crashing down in a scowl he swiveled his head, looking over the girls nearest him. Stepping forward, he picked up a squealing Jenny Myers.

I found in that moment I hated Jenny as Brice placed her on his shoulder. Afterward, all four of the guys gave a whoop, as another underwear-clad friend of theirs, tossed Ashley onto his shoulder, before turning, they all began making their way out of the mud-pit.

As Hank Jr. blasted the surrounding airwaves, Minx shouted, “What the hell, Tyler?”

Wiggling on Cole's shoulder, I huffed, “Dammit, I feel like a freaking sack of sweet feed up here, Cole,” then rounding on Tyler I screeched, “Answer her goddamn question, Tyler. Or I will climb off Cole's shoulder and come over there and whip your fucking ass!”

At that, Tyler shook his head and scolded, “Jeez Ry, potty mouth much?”

“Oh, shut the fuck up!” I retorted, as Jenny, having finally quit giggling, complained, “Yeah, come on guys… tell us what's going on!”

Even with my head pointed in the opposite direction of Brice, I had little problem hearing him reply, “Well, darlin' we're gonna play a little game of chicken!” Then stepping past me and Cole, he waded into the pond up to his waist.

With another whoop, all the guys waded into the water until they were all waist-deep, and Minx, Jenny, and Ashley, and I began waging war on one another, and even as Brice carried a squirming, giggling, dueling Jenny on his shoulders, he stole glances at me.

Once, when I caught him peering at me, I watched his body go rigid, his eyes go dark, and a rhythmic tick came to life in his clenched jaws. Then, slowly, his hot gaze crawling upward from my chest until his eyes met mine, he pointed at his chest and then back at me, before jerking his gaze away.

Confused, I glanced down at my chest and flushed ten shades of red when I saw the left side of my bikini top had gone askew as my naked boob, bobbed and danced for the world. Jerking the tiny square back in place, my eyes flew back in Brice's direction. However, he had his back to me, and for the rest of the time we were in the water, I never could catch his eye again, but I knew he still glanced in my direction, for I could feel his gaze on me, making my gut clench with awareness.

All I could think about each time I felt the pull, was I was going to, someway, somehow, make him mine that night!

Half an hour later, the game had ended with Jenny and Brice the victors, and having finished toweling off, I was blotting the remaining moisture from my hair when Cole came to a stop beside me. Throwing my head back until my hair no longer hung in my face, I reached out taking the canned soft drink he offered, grinning at him as I felt the slight prickling awareness I'd been experiencing all afternoon. Stepping closer to Cole, I wanted to see if I could make Brice jealous.

Standing up on my toes, I leaned forward, allowing myself to brush against Cole. His hands shot out to steady me, and as they settled around my waist, I tossed him a flirty look, purring, “How 'bout you go see if you can swipe us a bottle of whiskey.”

A grin spread across Cole's face, and grasping a strand of my hair, he tugged at it, murmuring, “Give me five minutes sweet-thing, and then meet me at the tire swing.”

After he'd left, I strolled in the swing's direction, casually glancing around so it wouldn't be so obvious I was hunting for Brice. When I located him, he was standing in the shadows of a huge oak tree—his face dark and unreadable as he tightly gripped a beer bottle in his hand, his eyes following me.

An hour later, the sun had set, and I was feeling the alcohol cruising through my system, stumbling a little and giggling a lot. Cole held my hand grasped within his, and he was pulling me toward an unknown destination, when suddenly the night sky lit up with the bright colors of the fireworks.

Steps slowing, I pulled Cole to a stop, as raising my eyes upward, and weaving a little on my feet, I oohed and awed over the sight, From beside me, Cole murmured, “Yeah baby, they're real pretty and all, but I got it in mind to get my hands on something much prettier,” then he began pulling me forward again.

Coming to a stop next to his pickup, he pushed me up against the passenger door and crushed my body with his as he placed his lips on mine. Though we'd shared several kisses and caresses throughout the evening, I'd quickly realized with the first kiss, I'd only felt a mild sense of arousal, nothing compared to the way a mere glance from Brice would set me on fire. I'd seen a few scowls on Brice's face throughout the evening, but I hadn't gotten the response I wanted, and I'd begun losing hope, thinking maybe I'd been mistaken about his interest in me. Yet, as Cole ran his tongue up the sensitive flesh of my throat, I realized I was still on Brice's radar when the prickly sense he was near shivered up my spine. What, I wondered, was it going to take to get Brice’s attention?

As Cole began sliding his fingers up the flesh of my thigh, he hesitated only slightly at the leg of my shorts, and when I didn't protest, he continued the upward climb as he worked his way toward the metal button at my waist. I still didn't protest, when, with the ease of practiced fingers, he slid the button loose from the buttonhole and began working at lowering my zipper. However, it was then I got my answer to what it would take, for as Cole slid his hand into my panties, a roar came from behind us and suddenly Brice was standing beside us, before reaching out, he gripped Cole by the back of the neck, as ripping him away from me, he growled, “You touch her again, and I'll fucking rip your goddamn balls off and cram them up your ass,” then grasping my arm, he began tugging at me to follow.

In my drunk state, the action caused me to stumble into Brice, and stiffening, he let loose with an *Un-fucking believable!* Then gently setting me aside, he rounded on Cole, and arm shooting out in rapid-fire motion, he pummeled Cole’s face, snarling, “You sorry son of a bitch—you got her drunk?”

That night was the first time I ever ugly cried, for shortly after that, Brice had gone to jail over my stupidity.