Page 32 of Almost Had You

“As simple as that?” He shutters the emotion visible seconds before. “Pack your car and drive to Cape Cod to start a new life?”

I shrug. “Exactly that. You don’t have to go if you want to stay here and visit with your parents and friends, but I’m ready.” By enacting this plan, I’m telling him I’m serious about a new life. That I’m serious about him. “Mercer, I want you. This place though? It makes me behave in a way that I hate. I need out.”

“I’ll go with you,” he says, pulling his hands from mine. “I have stuff to take care of back there before I leave again anyway. You’re sure then? About all of it?”

I nod, glancing back to where my parents and my friends are standing, staring in my direction. “I am.”

Mercer chuckles when I meet his gaze. “I like your dress,” he says through his laughter.

“What’s so funny about it?” I reply.

He shakes his head, debating if he should speak it. “Why did the blonde stare at the bottle of orange juice?”

I roll my eyes all the way back. Mercer’s eyes flit from my cleavage back up to my face. “I’ll bite. Even though blonde jokes are awful. Why was she staring at the bottle of orange juice?”

“It said concentrate,” he says, chortling. I tell him it’s a bad joke, and he laughs even louder. I stand from the table and Mercer follows suit. “To your house then?”

“As long as you don’t tell me any more blonde jokes.”

“What about orange jokes?”

“The only orange joke I want to hear is the one where the oranges on my dress meet the floor of my bedroom.”

He snakes an arm around my waist and my body buzzes. “You’re insatiable, Ms. Wellsley.” I meet eyes with Preston and mouth the words thank you one more time before slipping into the crowd. I’ll pay him back one day, I’ll make it my dying wish.

Chapter Eleven

___________________________________

Clover

MERCER DROVE HISdad’s truck and I drove my car home from the festival. We’re at my house, I’m standing on one side of my bedroom and Mercer is standing on the other. In a white uniform that was made for him, tailored to every muscle and curve of his body. He looks good enough to eat, but I just remembered the awful truth about what’s underneath the orange dress that has been the butt of twenty-seven jokes in my mind on the ride here.

“No, I want to. It’s just I’m not ready right now,” I say, hoping he won’t probe. He just called himself a Southern gentleman, didn’t he? “I need to change first, that’s all.”

He takes off his uniform shirt. “Ready how? Are you a recipe that needs to simmer? A loaf of bread that has to rise?” His words are light, but his gaze is fire. “I will take the dress off of you. We’ll solve the whole changing first problem when you’ll end up naked anyway.”

“Undergarments, Mercer. I don’t expect you to understand, but leave it to you to turn this into something about food.”

He pulls the white undershirt out of his pants, untucking both in a brusque move. “I don’t care if your bra and panties match, Clover. I want what’s under them. It’s always about food. Both things I want to eat. Same. Same.” His gaze turns hungry and I realize how embarrassing this is about to get. There’s no stopping it now.

“It’s a bit more complicated than that,” I exclaim, adjusting the deep V of my dress, even though I know everything is secure.

Mercer grins, not taking me seriously. “Come on, darlin’ Let’s get this started. I’ve been wanting you all day long. You’re cooked and risen and it’s sort of a lucky coincidence, I’m risen, too.” The bulge in his white uniform pants twitches to drive his point home.

I breathe out. I want it so badly. “You’re such a smooth talker, aren’t you? Tell me what smooth and suave thing you have to say about this.” I push the shoulders of my dress down my arms and slide the dress down to pool at my waist. My breasts spring free, and his face contorts in absolute confusion—brows furrowed and lips twisted. “It’s tape, Mercer, pick your jaw up off the floor.”

“What is happening here? It looks a bit like a Marilyn Manson music video, but I dig it.” He nods subtly as he studies me.

“It’s a trick most women would love to keep secret. You didn’t give me that courtesy. I can’t wear a bra with this dress, so I taped my boobs up and out. It conceals my nipples and makes things stand a little higher, keeps them inside the dress, if you catch my drift. I’m pretty offended you’re comparing my gaffer’s tape bra to a musician.” I point at my breasts. “A lot of women do this.” Especially in the pageant world, but that’s something I don’t want him thinking about. The old Clover. The one I swore to leave behind.

He presses his lips into a firm line, trying to control a laugh. “I’m really sorry I didn’t have the proper response when you pulled those puppies out. I think any man would have a hard time coming up with something smooth to say.” He swallows. “Hey sweetie, can I stick to you like your tape? If you can’t fix it with tape, you aren’t using enough tape? I like you like I like my tape, sticky and ready to bring things together?”

“Oh my gosh, enough!” I say, waving my hands. “I can’t take another bad joke from you today.”

He steps closer, running a thumb on each side, on top of the nude-colored tape. “The level of enthusiasm you have for undergarments renders me speechless right now. How the hell do you get this off without hurting yourself?”

I clear my throat. “Like taking off a bandage. I’d compare it to waxing my legs, but I have a feeling you wouldn’t be able to relate to that as well.”

---