Page 7 of Moonshine Kiss
It was too much, too real. If the miracle of miracles occurred and he kissed me or pledged his undying love to me, I’d die on the spot. Disintegrate into star dust. I was still a kid, a girl with a teenage crush that I might not survive. And I might not grow up into the woman that Bowie Bodine wanted.
“Just a headache,” I lied. “I think I’m going to take Juney home. She’s hit her quota of fun. Will you be okay with your brothers here?”
Scarlett and I always watched out for each other. Which is why she was giving me the squint eye right now.
“Cassidy Ann, what is going on with you?” she demanded.
“There you are.” Blaine appeared on the trail behind Scarlett. The way he was listing in his spiffy boat shoes, he’d had a shot or two of the ‘shine. We Bootleggers liked to test out our moonshine recipes on the summertimers before the Shine On. Were we the only little town in the country that rang in Black Friday with a moonshine tasting and drunken Christmas tree decorating? Probably.
“I’m sorry, Blake, was it?” Scarlett asked sweetly. “Me and Cassidy are havin’ ourselves a private conversation right now. How about y’all come back later.”
Blaine snorted. “You’re so country. Wait, excuse me. Y’all are so country.”
Oh boy. It was nice knowing you, Blaine.
Scarlett put her hands on her hips, and I sidled my way between them. My sheriff father wouldn’t appreciate it if I allowed my best friend to commit a homicide within town limits.
“Now, listen here, you entitled shithead,” Scarlett began.
Blaine peered around me at Scarlett.
“What’s your friend’s problem?” he muttered with scorn.
“Nobody has a problem,” I said calmly. “Scarlett, why don’t you go collect June for me while I say goodnight to Blake—”
“Blaine,” he corrected me with a frown.
Shit.Blaine wasn’t used to girls forgetting his name. But here in Bootleg Summertime, the Blaine/Blakes were a dime a dozen. Cute boys teemed the lake and swarmed the town all summer long.
“Blaine,” I repeated through clenched teeth.
“I thought we were going to spend some time getting to know each other.” He pouted and jabbed a finger into my neck. Depth perception was often the first thing to go with Hester Jenkins’ blueberry ‘shine. She’d perfected the recipe at seventeen and won Best Amateur Moonshine in the state three years running, entered under her mom’s name, of course.
“Well, now, honey,” I punched up the southern charm and went with “honey” to avoid any more name mix-ups. “Unfortunately, I’ve got myself a real bad headache. So you’re gonna have to excuse me. But I’m sure I can introduce you,” I offered. Misty Lynn was around. She’d be happy to take him off my hands.
He grinned at me with one eye closed, and I knew he hadn’t heard a damn word I’d sugared up for him.
“C’mon,” he slurred, taking me by the wrist. “Let’s go for a little swim.”
To be clear, at no point was I in any danger. My dad had made sure that June and I spoke self-defense like a second language. We were fluent in it. If Blaine had meant me any harm, well, that poor boy wouldn’t have been able to find his balls after I was done with him.
He was just drunk and a little stupid. Thinking that he was being charming, that dumbass tossed me over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes.
Like Bowie had three nights ago. Only I wasn’t amused this time. Or turned on.
“I’m not going swimming,” I told him curtly, hoping that my frosty tone would be the only weapon I’d need to yield.
We were back on the fringes of the party with me grunting at every step he clumsily trod. If he dropped me on my face, I was going to kick his ass.
“Who wants to swim?” Blaine hollered. His summertimer friends raised their beers and hooted.
“Put me down,” I said in no uncertain terms.
He spun me around in a dizzying circle.
“Knock it off, Blaine!”
“Put her down. Now.”
