15. Wade

fifteen

wade

The cold Coke goes down easily. I need the caffeine boost after the day I've had. Playing catch-up from the jobs I had to send others to do on the day the sprinkler broke at the school has wreaked havoc on my schedule. While all my clients are part of Jenkins Landscaping, I have my personal clients. There are people from my early days who prefer me over one of my guys. I get it. It's no different than someone having a favorite hairdresser. You like what you like.

My last job finished under the downpour. I actually used the rain to my advantage to not only fill the rain buckets for Mrs. Beasen's garden, but the soggy yard made it easy for me to dig the holes needed for her new hedgerow. She's my only client this far out of town and the only reason I am her landscaper is because she used to work for my dad, and he used to bring me out to her house every Sunday after church to mow her lawn. She tried to offer me dinner for my troubles, but with my wet clothes and wanting to get home to Goldie, I politely declined.

I hate the rain when it's coming down like this. It's too much, too fast and the ground can't absorb it quickly enough. When it starts pooling, ground covering comes loose and starts clogging the drainage system, which then leads to flooding. It's all nothing but a domino. As soon as one falls, the next goes and there isn't anything stopping them.

As I come around the bend, I see hazards flashing. I slow down and pull up behind the car, put my raincoat on, and turn my hazards on as well. Being out in the dark, in the rain, on a road with no lights isn't a great idea. But whoever is in the car seems to need help and I'd feel like a complete shit if I didn't stop to see what I could do.

The sedan looks like every other sedan you see on the road. Silver and four doors. Right away, I see the flat tire and curse under my breath. I walk to the passenger side of the car, hoping not to scare the driver, and wrap my knuckles on the window. As it goes down a little, I crouch, hoping the driver can see my face.

"Hi, I'm Wade Jenkins of Magnolia Grove. I was on my way home when I saw you. If you pop the trunk, I can change your tire for you and get you on your way."

The driver doesn't say anything but puts the window down farther. I crouch even lower and then sigh. Lemon's staring back at me, looking tired and dare I say, embarrassed.

"What are you doing out here?" I ask. "And where have you been? The entire town is looking for you."

"I—Jean knew I would be gone."

"But she didn't know where you were, and people were worried. Damn Lemon. Ms. Linda is putting fliers up with your picture on them tomorrow." I stand and shake my head, and then kneel down again. "Go get in my truck. It's warm in there. I'll change your tire and then maybe you'll head back to Magnolia Grove so the fine people in our community can rest knowing you're not dead in some ditch."

While the window goes up, I head to the other side and open Lemon's door. Before she gets out, I slip my coat off and hold it out for her. It's big enough that I can drape it over the gap between the door and the hood of the car, giving her a shield from the rain.

"Put this on."

"I'll be?—"

"I don't care what you'll be, Lemon. Put the damn jacket on and go get into the truck."

As much as I want to let her walk away, I don't. My father raised me better than that. I follow her to the passenger side of the truck and hold the door for her. I do slam it after she's in though because I'm pissed off. People have been going crazy in town, wondering where the hell she ran off, and since her parents don't live in town anymore, it wasn't like we could ask them. The last Ms. Linda heard they were off gallivanting with their RV.

Must be nice not to have to care anymore. I can't imagine running off without a care in the world, but I guess everyone is different. Her parents were never meant to stay in a small town, and I'm honestly surprised that Lemon returned. Especially considering how things ended with us.

Back at Lemon's car, I push the button to open the trunk and appreciate the shelter for a moment. I should've asked her for my coat back, but she looked so damn adorable in it, I couldn't bring myself to say anything. I do wish I had a hat on though, but the thought of going back to my truck where Lemon sits, filling the space with her perfume, doesn't bode well for me. After kissing her last week, she's been on my mind more than anything.

Of course, it doesn't help when I see Ms. Linda and she kindly reminds me of how single I am and how single Lemon is.

Lemon's trunk is full of who knows what. There are clothes, shoes, and empty grocery bags. Sacks full of books and more clothes. Boxes with the same and yet nothing. I condense what I can, moving slowly because the rain has picked up, and this is the only way I can keep my thoughts on the task at hand and not on the woman I love sitting in my truck.

When I have finally cleared enough space to lift the covering and retrieve her spare tire, I groan. Actually, I think I fucking growl because her damn spare is flat as well. I slam the trunk closed, letting my hands rest there while my breathing evens out. These are basic things I taught her years ago. Always have a full tank of gas before you leave. Always have a gallon of water in your trunk. Always have a spare and a tire jack. Shit, the list goes on and on. She's hell-bent on being independent yet isn't taking care of herself.

Out of frustration, I slam my hands on the top of the trunk and stomp toward my truck. I get in, seething about the situation and stare straight ahead.

"Wa—"

I hold my hand up and she stops. I need a moment.

Or ten.

"I know we're not together and you can do whatever you want, but for the love of God why is your spare tire flat?"

She says nothing, giving me no choice but to look at her. Lemon stares back, shrouded in my too big for her raincoat. She opens her mouth, and then closes it.

I close my eyes and pinch the bridge of my nose. "For years, I talked about your safety and how you have to take precautions. Especially like this, Lemon. What if it wasn't me who stopped to help you? What if . . ."

"I wouldn't have opened my window for just anyone, Wade."

"But you did," I point out.

Lemon stares straight ahead. "I'm sorry, okay? I'm sorry I am here, that I broke up with you, that I disappeared for a week. I'm just . . ."

"I get it," I say after she trails off. "I do, Lemon. I would be the same way if you had a child with another man. You are the only woman I have ever loved. Still love. And it would tear me up inside if our roles were reversed. Goldie happened. It was a drunken . . ." I stop myself from saying it was a mistake because Goldie is far from a mistake.

My head moves back and forth, and I sigh heavily. "I was drunk and hurt. You destroyed me, Lemon. When you told me you wanted a break . . ." I pause and swallow the frog in my throat. ". . . from us, that you don't want to break up because you wanted your freedom, I thought I had died and gone to hell. The pain I felt from losing you, from hearing you tell me to leave you alone, to wondering what the hell I did as your boyfriend to make you feel this way—I had to numb the agony anyway I could. So, I drank. I sat there in the house with my brothers and drank until I was stupid."

"I know the pain I caused because I felt it as well."

My head turns sharply toward her. She meets my gaze. "Then why?"

"I don't know!" Lemon cries out. "My friends made the single life look great and they kept giving me shit about having a schedule to talk to you. I tried to explain how it made things easier for us, but they didn't get it, and they were relentless."

"Where are these friends now, Lemon?"

She looks out the window. "I regret it, Wade. I do, but that doesn't change anything because . . ."

I lean toward her, reaching around and gently pulling on her chin so we're looking at each other. "It changes everything."

Lemon pounces. Her fingers grip my wet T-shirt, pulling me toward her until her lips are pressed to mine. Her tongue pushes into my mouth and she lets out this moan that goes straight to my other brain. Lemon leans back, lets out a little "ouch" when her head hits the window. I slide closer, thankful the console is already up and out of the way.

"Come here," I say, as I pull her toward me. She straddles my hips, her mouth back on mine in a feverish passion. This isn't what I want from her, at least not everything. I just want her, the way we used to be but matured and moving forward, together.

Lemon shimmies out of my raincoat and then her fingers are on my shirt, pulling it upward. I let her take it off. I let her lead. I let her control the pace.

Her hips move against my crotch, creating friction and desire. She pulls away from my mouth, her fingers digging into my scalp.

"Wade . . ."

The sound of my name coming from her, wanton and needy is a moment I've dreamed about for years, something I've hoped and prayed for.

My lips kiss every exposed part of her I can find. She takes her shirt off, leaving herself visible for only me. Lemon sits back, her hips still moving and her eyes full of lust and need.

Slowly, she tugs on the straps of her bra, letting them fall. My heart races as my eyes search hers for the okay to touch her in places that are burned into my memory. I lean forward and press my lips to the valley of her breasts as my fingers outline the top of her bra. Her breathing hitches and her fingers are back to tugging on my hair.

My arm slips around her waist, increasing the momentum of her hips. This is as far as we can go, at least tonight. Tomorrow, things will be different. I'll make sure of it.

"Wade . . . I need . . ."

"Tell me what you need, and I'll give it you."

"You," she says, breathlessly. "I need you."

"You have me, Lemon. Heart, soul, mind, and body."

But this isn't enough, at least not tonight, and against my better judgment, I give in when her fingers undo the button on my jeans and she somehow maneuvers her shorts off.

"We can't, Lemon."

She pauses and looks at me like I have three heads.

"Believe me, I want nothing more than to be with you right now. But we can't."

"Am I going to regret asking why?"

I shake my head slowly and trail my fingers over her cheek. "I don't have a condom."

"Don't all men have condoms?"

Another shake. "I'm not all men, Lemon. Sleeping around isn't something I do. Besides, a man who's in love with someone doesn't find other women to occupy their time."

It's like she needed this moment to finally grasp how I feel about her.

"I haven't been with anyone since you, Wade." Her cheeks flush. "I'm embarrassed to admit this."

I swallow hard as words escape me. Over the years I've had nightmares after seeing her at school or walking across the street, wondering who has taken my place in her life. "I don't know what to say."

"There isn't anything you can say," she tells me. "I've never gotten over you."

"I know the feeling."

She starts rocking against me again, the only barrier between us are thin pieces of fabric. I can feel her . . . remember her with each graze over my hard on.

When her hand snakes through the opening in my boxers, my eyes roll back. I hiss when the cool air washes over my heated flesh. Lemon strokes my dick, up and down. Up and down. I could get lost in the sensation, the way her hand feels gripping me. I know I should touch her, make her feel good, but I'm so lost in the memory of us I'm afraid to move.

My eyes open quickly when I feel the weight of her shift. With my hands on her hips, I look at her. "Lemon, we shouldn't."

"I know," she says as she sinks down on my shaft. "Tonight. Right here. Just fuck me."

Every fiber of my being is screaming at me to tell her no.

But I don't.