9. Jones

CHAPTER 9

Jones

T he peaches are showing off in the orchard. It's almost as if they're showing off just for Mia. They're ripe and plump, and when I take a bite of one, it's juicy as hell. It's perfect. Though not as perfect as they will be in a few weeks when it's peak peach season.

The peaches aren't the only thing showing off. Mia's ass is looking as plump as the peaches in the denim cut-offs she's wearing. And if her tank top rides up and teases me with a view of her belly button ring one more time, I'm going to gauge my fucking eyeballs out.

Each time I see it, my imagination has me sliding my tongue through the ring while I dip my fingers into that sweet pussy of hers. But that's never gonna happen. And the sooner I realize that the easier this summer will be.

"Think we got enough peaches yet?" she asks, pulling me out of my sex fantasy.

I clear my throat, my vision dragging up the length of her one last time, and say, "Yeah, this is plenty."

We have more peaches than we need. But I'm the idiot who let her keep picking so I could continue eye-fucking her.

It might not be right, but when it comes to Mia, the line has always been a blur.

"Let's pay and then we'll load up."

I whistle to a guy working in the orchard who has a wheel barrel. He hustles over and we set the full crates into the wheel barrel. We follow him to the pay station all the while, I keep glancing over my shoulders, and I spin my hat back around to hide my face. Ronnie wasn't wrong about one thing. The last thing I want is to run into Vince.

He and I used to be cool. Each week when I visited the orchard, we made small talk, and he thanked me for always supporting his family's farm. But a few years ago, he and Ronnie broke up and I couldn't keep my dick in my pants.

Ronnie is hot. And she's a sweet girl. When she came into The Pines one night upset, what was I supposed to do? Only it didn't stop at that one night. Ronnie and I fucked like rabbits for four solid weeks. The next time I went to the farm to pick up peaches, she told me she and Vince had worked things out and were getting married. We've been strictly friends since. I may have been a mess back then, but I would've never messed with a married woman.

I wanted to explain all of this to Mia. But what's the point? I don't owe her anything.

Mia helps me load the crates into the back of my truck. She swipes the back of her hand across her forehead. Seeing her like this, a little sweaty and breathing heavy, her tits rising and falling, has me entranced. My cock stiffens.

"Ready?" I ask.

"Are you kidding me? I didn't come all this way just to pick peaches."

My brows draw together. "You didn't even know where you were going when you agreed to come with me."

"You owe me ice cream."

I sigh and shake my head. "Fine. Ice cream, then we go," I grumble.

Spending time with Mia is unexpected and hell, it's a fucking gift. But right now, with my cock hard, all I can think about is getting back to my place so I can jerk off in the shower while I think about her and that damn belly-button ring.

The sexual frustration is affecting my mood. I cannot guarantee I'll be pleasant on the drive home. While she hurries up ahead of me, I can't look at her and I try to think of anything that will soften my dick before someone spots this tent in my gym shorts.

Mia sits at a picnic table, holding our spots, while I get in line for ice cream. I send Maverick a text as I'm waiting.

Me

Guess who I ran into finally at the orchard?

Ronnie.

Maverick

Holy shit. She's back?

Me

Yep. And she met Mia.

Maverick

Why the hell is Mia with you?

Me

She wanted to come with me for my weekly pick-up.

Maverick

I bet she wanted to come.

Me

Hilarious.

Maverick

Who said I was joking? That's your specialty.

You know I don't joke when it comes to fucking and making women come.

Me

Gross. You know this fucking conversation is off-limits. I'm never texting you again.

Maverick

You can't help yourself, you'll text me after you make her come.

After I get our ice cream, I join Mia at the table and hand her one of the cones. She accepts it with a wide smile. I straddle the bench across from her, not wanting a front-row seat to her licking her ice cream. My damn imagination would picture her licking my cock with that much pleasure.

It would be torture.

"That was a lot of peaches," she muses. "I think my mom will have to freeze some."

"So will the bar. Guess it will save me a trip from coming out here next week."

A family is seated at the table next to ours. The two kids eat their ice cream cones while they argue, and the parents try to ignore them.

"You sure you don't want to come anyway?"

I frown and she continues.

"You know, so you can see Ronnie ?" she says her name in a mocking, whiny way.

I groan. "I already said, It's not like that. Not anymore. Not since she and Vince got engaged."

She nods, like she just needed confirmation and luckily drops the subject. "I forgot how good their ice cream is," she says after a moment.

"Nothing better," I answer, taking a bite off the top.

But my tastebuds cause my brain to snag on a memory. The two of us sitting here years ago, devouring peach ice cream, talking about our future. Later we ate peaches while we lay in the bed of my truck, gazing up at the stars. That was the first night she let me go down on her. That was the night I gave her the nickname.

Peaches.

The arguing between the kids next to us picks up momentum and draws both of our attention. The little girl looks to be about seven or eight years old, and her little brother is picking on her. The girl's eyes water and at the same time, my heart squeezes in my chest. I can't help but think about the baby we lost. How she'd be about this girl's age right now.

It's fucked up that my brain does this. How something like this would trigger it. My breathing accelerates and I shoot off the bench like there's a fire beneath me. Suddenly Mia is standing too. I whip my attention on her and find tears streaming down her cheeks.

Shit.

Without thinking, I round the table and rush to her. She's already shaking by the time I reach her. I loop my arm around her waist. "C'mon, Peaches. Let's go."

She nods and lets me help her untangle her legs from underneath the picnic table. It feels unnatural to be the strong one in this situation. I've grown accustomed to being alone in my grief. But as much as it hurts, having her beside me and leaning on me as we shuffle toward my truck is comforting.

"I shouldn't have come. I don't know what I was thinking," she says, wiping her tears away once we're back in the truck.

"Mia—"

"You were right," she interrupts me, though I'm not even sure what I was going to say. "We can't do this. I can't do this…with you."

The following day goes by tortuously slow. I can't seem to get a beautiful raven-haired woman off my mind.

Since Mia's been back in Maple Ridge, she's wreaked havoc in my life. She confessed our secret on The Pines karaoke stage, she told me it hurt to look at me, we shared an intense kiss on the hiking trail, and then we shared a moment of vulnerability at the farm.

She didn't talk to me the entire drive from Palisades to Maple Ridge. I haven't heard from her since I dropped her off after the orchard, but in all honesty, I wasn't expecting to.

My brain doesn't seem to get the memo of how tired I am after a long shift at the bar. It keeps on going and won't let me sleep. When I get restless like this, I often become destructive. I make dumb choices I end up regretting. Like texting a random girl and telling her to come over.

But tonight, I go into the garage that connects to the bar and the alleyway and set my phone out of arms reach. I push the button for the garage door opener, and it slides up. The glare from the streetlamps shines inside. It's just after two a.m. and it's quiet. All the shops on the street are closed for the night.

I snatch a beer from the mini fridge that hums in the corner. It seems to be on its last leg. I can fix just about anything on my old truck, but appliances? Forget about it. This is another reminder of why taking over the family hardware store was a bad idea. Among other reasons.

Cammie seems like she was born for it. I don't think I've ever seen her so happy. I try not to think too hard about the fact that it could have something to do with Maverick. It all happened around the same time.

Taking a pull from my beer, the liquid bubbles on my tongue. It's not nearly as cold as the beer in the bar. But somehow it suits my mood. I lift the hood of my truck and get to work.

I'm two beers in and elbow-deep in engine oil when I hear gravel crunching in the alleyway. I peer around the hood of my truck and my breath hitches. Mia Cappella is standing in my garage.

She's dressed in a pair of tight, black biker shorts and an oversized T-shirt. She looks like temptation and sin. Like everything I crave and desire but know I can't have. Know I shouldn' t have.

But it doesn't stop me from wanting her all the same.