“What are you feeling?” Cletus asked, his tone quiet, gentle. “I know it would come as a shock to both of us, but please let me know if I made an error in judgment.”
I turned my head to look at him, inspecting his handsome features. “What do you mean?”
“Helping Isaac and Repo, going along with their plan, improving it. I’m not going to assume anymore. So I’m asking.”
“No. I—you did the right thing. My mother is—she’s—well, she’s fading away in that house. Even if she doesn’t go on the run, we need to get her out of there, give her a breather, a chance to tell someone, ideally us, her version of events freely without the pressure of the FBI listening.”
He nodded, his attention and palm dropping to my breast, weighing it, massaging. I fought a squirm of delight, worked to keep my mind focused on the issue at hand, even though all I wanted to do was say, Whatever. I give up. You decide. Let’s have sex.
Surrendering to bliss, ignoring my worries, and instead having sex with Cletus was always the temptation. Let Cletus decide. I trusted him to decide. So why not just let him do it? I could pretend everything would work out just fine while he also kept me well stocked in breast massages and orgasms.
But that wasn’t right. A thorny, blossoming of guilt made breathing momentarily difficult. Listening to Cletus talk about all the ways he’d been running around town, meeting with folks to help me, help my mother plan her escape, thwart Elena Wilkinson and Kenneth Miller, while also fretting about my well-being made me realize how much time and energy he’d already forfeited.
Meanwhile, how had I spent my time? Hanging out in a jail cell eating biscuits, refusing to sort through my feelings about the unanticipated bequeathing of funds and property by my father, and having sex fantasies. That’s what I’d been doing.
I needed to pitch in! I needed to help. Not just use him for his big head. . . either of them.
Focus, Jennifer. What else?
I rubbed my eye, giving myself a little shake. “So, like I said, Isaac is lying about why he recorded us. I’m sure of that. But where did he get the DEA equipment?”
“Unknown,” came Cletus’s distracted response, communicating that he didn’t wish to discuss his theories regarding Isaac’s ability to get his hands on DEA equipment, assuming Cletus had any theories.
Of course he had theories. He always had theories.
I decided to let the matter drop, for now. “Okay. Then why do you think he’s helping Mr. Repo? Helping my mother escape? Why do you think he cares? Do you think it’s Mr. Repo? Isaac has been in town for years and, except for that one altercation in the Piggly Wiggly, he’s ignored me and my mother.”
His big hand continued its ministrations on my body and mumbled, “Perhaps loyalty to Repo. Or perhaps it’s to assuage his well-deserved guilt about being a terrible son and brother.”
My eyebrows ticked high on my forehead. Basically, in Cletus speak, this response meant he wished to change the subject away from Isaac as he had nothing kind to say on the matter and didn’t want to upset me.
“Any more questions?” he asked, his thumb circling my nipple, making it increasingly difficult to focus.
I shook my head, covering his hand on my body with my own so I could form words. “I—I don’t think so. It’s . . . a lot. I need to think.”
He nodded, leaning forward to kiss me. What I thought would be a light peck turned out to be a seductive drag of his lips against mine.
“I want you,” he whispered, nuzzling my nose, the rasp in his voice making my toes immediately curl.
I fought to swallow, tracking his eyes as he leaned back an inch. His gaze had already darkened, his hand gliding south, and I became increasingly aware of the hard length pressing against my thigh.
And just like that, despite my best intentions, my brain scattered.
The weight on my chest dissipated.
The swelling, thorny guilt dissolved.
And I succumbed to blissful surrender. To temptation. To Cletus.
“I feel like I’m using him.”
“Who?” Shelly sat in one of the big Adirondack chairs Jethro had made for the porch.
“Cletus.”
“What are you using him for?”
“For, you know.” I blushed. I felt the heat scale up my neck as the necessary word refused to leave my mouth.
“His sausage?” Sienna guessed from her chair, sharing a perplexed glance with Shelly.
“Yes,” I admitted finally, not sitting. I was too on edge. “More specifically, s-sex.” There. It was done. The word was out. I am ridiculous.
Sienna narrowed her eyes and mashed her lips together, obviously fighting a smile.
Meanwhile, Shelly frowned as though my statement was an unfinished riddle. “And?”
I turned away from their expectant expressions, leaning against the porch railing and gazing out at the chairs, streamers, and leftover plates of food from my wedding shower. The event had just wrapped up. I should have been out there helping Drew, Ash, and everyone else clean up the yard, not boring my friends with nonsensical thoughts.
But they’d dragged me over here, insisting they required my help. Then they’d cornered me, demanding to know why I’d been in such an odd mood since being released, why I’d been melancholy, distracted, and withdrawn. Sienna had asked if I was truly okay with my mother not being there for the party. Shelly had asked if I needed to speak to a therapist about all the upheaval in my life.
My difficulties and worries stemmed from all of it: my mother’s absence, the upheaval in my life, and my unhealthy fixation with Cletus’s . . . sausage.
But my present distraction and melancholy was more about me being confused than anything else. I didn’t know how to feel about myself, how to think about myself. I’d tried to make it a joke—I’m a sex fiend!—but that didn’t feel right either. My confession probably didn’t make a lick of sense to anyone. It didn’t even make much sense to me. I couldn’t understand myself, so how could I explain my worries to Sienna and Shelly?
I twisted my fingers and faced Sienna and Shelly again, a lump in my stomach. “No. Listen. It’s bad. I can’t seem to get enough of him. I think about doing it—with him—all the time. The poor man has me waking him up in the middle of the night.”
Even now, even after the swelling guilt, even after promising myself to be less of a sex fiend, what had I been doing leading up to our wedding shower while Cletus persisted in his diligence to help my mother?
I ignored everything of pressing importance and filled my time with Cletus.
I ignored Mr. Leeward’s calls about my “inheritance,” overwhelmed by it all. I ignored and pretended not to notice the way folks in town stared and whispered after my arrest, despite the fact that I hadn’t actually been charged with anything. I ignored and avoided all wedding planning activities, suggesting to both my mother and Ashley that we just call the whole thing off. Neither would hear of it and, despite not attending, my momma helped with the last-minute details for the wedding shower. She also finalized the remainder of the wedding week plans, tasking her assistant to be present, just in case she was “busy elsewhere,” to ensure the events progressed flawlessly.