Page 12 of Heart of Dixie
I gulped down the last melted sip of my margarita and waved him off when he reached for the pitcher. I should have stopped long ago, because somewhere over the past two hours the boy I’d loved—the one who still existed in my memories—grew and matured and melded into the man before me. The one who loved his family and cared about his students, and could joke about his community but was concerned about its future.
And I would leave him. Again.
His sudden silence seemed nervous, and worried me. If it meant he was contemplating dredging up old times, I’d have to pass. And if that hot gaze meant he wanted to rekindle the fun times, well, I’d have to pass on that, too. But it would be harder.
“I heard you went by Cooter’s house today.”
My gaze flew from the fireflies at the edge of the yard and met his. Damn, now I needed another drink. “I did, but how did you—?”
He shrugged. “Kissing Creek.”
“Of course.”
He stacked our plates on the edge of the wide table so there was nothing left between us. It was a nice view. “Was it okay?”
Was it?I let my head loll to the side as he rubbed circles with his index finger on the glass table. It seemed to captivate him. “It was . . . different. Smaller. Run down, but not trashy the way I expected. The inside was neater than I could have imagined.”
“Things aren’t always the way we remember them.”
“So I’ve heard.” I chuckled, which got his attention. “Mrs. Hoffer was there; that was bizarre. Baked me a coffee cake, moved around the house as if she owned the place. Told me to call her Elsie.” I studied Deke from across the table. The flicker of a few chunky candles in the pale evening threw shadows over the sculpted lines of his face. It was tempting to reach across to test its firmness. I’d already decided the film of whiskers must be soft to the touch. The margaritas were making me more curious than brave. I sat forward in my chair. “Do you happen to know if she and Cooter . . . you know?”
He grinned. “Were together?”
A moment ago he seemed tense; now he was amused. The man made me dizzy. Or maybe it was the tequila. “Yes, I suppose. Do you think they . . . you know—”
“Had sex?”
My eyes slammed shut. “Oh, God.”
“What?”
I allowed my lids to peek open in time to catch his raised eyebrows. “She had sheets hanging on her clothesline. I don’t even want to think about it.”
“People wash their sheets, Dixie.”
“Well, of course they do.”Their sex sheets.
His lips turned up in a teasing grin. “Even I wash my sheets, you know.”
Oh, God.I was out of there. Gone, before I could ponder any more about Deke and his melted caramel-colored eyes, about the whiskers on his chin that were calling to me to reach out and discover if they actually were as soft and smooth as the southern honey in his voice.
I rose with every intention of carrying my plate of denuded bones into the kitchen. The liquor in my system slapped me back into my chair.
Deke chuckled. “Whoa, there.” He hopped up to grab my plate while I made a second attempt to stand. A gentle press to my shoulder was all it took for my butt to land back in the seat.
“Not funny, Deke. I need to get home. Back. Whatever.” But I was talking to his back. Or rather, the memory of his back, which filled out that plaid shirt to perfection. Definitely time to go . . . wherever. Just a few deep breaths of fresh night air and I’d be fine. My heavy eyelids drifted shut.
“Here you go.”
My shoulders lurched and my eyes flew open as he snuck up behind me, the bastard. “Jesus, Deke. Are you trying to scare me to death?” He had a bottle of water in one hand and held out the other toward me, open-palmed. I squinted to see what he held. “What is it?”
He chuckled. “Just water and aspirin. Drink it all. It will help keep your hangover under control.” I popped the tablets and waited while he twisted the plastic cap off the bottle. The shoulder that jumped a moment ago now held the weight of his hand. Warm and heavy and comforting. And causing tingles where it rubbed the tense muscles there. It had been a long day.
“Drink it all.” With his free hand, he tipped the bottle back to my lips when I would have left half the water in the bottle. “I guess I wasn’t paying close attention; I didn’t realize you were such a lightweight.”
The heat of his skin through the thin cotton of my dress felt good—too good. I shook his hand off. “I’m not a lightweight. I attend cocktail parties nearly every week without getting blitzed. I can take care of myself.” But the admonishment may have been diluted by the yawn I delivered it through. I found my feet again, marched through the house, and managed to make it to my purse before he caught up to me.
“Oh no, princess. You don’t need this tonight.” He pulled my handbag off my shoulder and tossed it onto the kitchen counter.
