I Do With You (Maple Creek)

Chapter 15 HOPE

Chapter 15

H OPE

Deputy West did more for me today than he realized. I’m sure he thought he was being a nice guy, warning me about Roy and Sheriff Laurier. What he actually did was show me that I’m done playing nice, which I’ve been doing for a lot longer than just this week. More like, my whole life.

Good girl. People pleaser. Nice. Kind. Sweet.

Blah! No more of that!

I think that version of Hope Mercy Barlowe is burning to ash in the hot flames inside my soul. I want to live, be loud, and choose things because I want them, not because they’ll make someone else happy. I want to have opinions and speak them. I want to be heard, respected, and celebrated.

I already started doing that the moment I turned away from Roy at the altar, but I’m taking it up a level, starting tonight. I’m gonna owe Deputy West a free toothbrush kit when he comes in for his next cleaning to thank him for throwing a match on this big pile of kindling I’ve been building.

How dare Sheriff Laurier put Ben’s rental car on blast to all the deputies? What did Roy think running to his father after our beach conversation would accomplish? And why do I care what the grapevine is saying about me?

Nope, I’m done playing nice. I promised Ben I’d show him Maple Creek, and by God, I’m gonna do it. Especially since it’s Saturday night. There’s only one place to be: Chuck’s. So that’s where we’re going, and anyone who has a problem with it can answer to me. And probably Ben. But definitely me.

Of course, Chuck’s is the place to be because it’s the only bar in town, but I’m choosing to ignore that. What’s important is that we’re going out tonight!

I ride the high of excitement and an I can do what I want attitude through getting dressed—cutoff denim shorts that are almost daringly short for me, a cute tank top, and wedge sandals—and doing my hair and makeup. I sing along loudly with the radio on the way there, not caring that my voice sucks or that Ben’s grinning as his eyes find me over and over, not paying nearly enough attention to the road. I get out and strut what stuff I have across the parking lot, swishing my hips a bit extra for Ben’s benefit.

No, I take that back—for my benefit, because I look good. I know I do. And I’m going to have fun tonight.

I parade myself right up to the door, feeling fierce ... until Ben puts his hand on the small of my back and reaches for the door.

“Wait.”

He freezes instantly, leaving the sounds of loud music and scent of cheap beer on the other side of the closed door. His dark eyes scan my face as he steps into my space, our chests less than a breath apart.

There’s no pressure. He’ll open the door, go inside with me, and have a few beers, and maybe, if I’m lucky, I can sweet-talk him into dancing with me. But Ben would be equally fine escorting me back to the car and heading home to the trailer. It’s my call, and he’ll support my choice either way.

I don’t mull over the options. I’ve already decided, I just need a second to prepare myself. Sitting around the campfire with tourists from out of town is one thing. Walking into Chuck’s is the equivalent of standing on the little stage at the city council meeting and announcing into the microphone that I’m on a Date, with a big ol’ capital D that may or may not mean dick . With a man who’s not my one and only high school sweetheart, who I almost married a few days ago.

Deputy West might’ve thrown a match, but walking into the bar is tossing kerosene on the fire. So I give the flames a good metaphorical squirt of the accelerant and puff out my chest with more certainty than I feel, faking it till I make it. “Let’s do it.”

Ben’s lips lift in a tiny smile. “Good girl. You’ve got this.”

Oooh, those words of praise do something to me.

But he takes it one step further, bending down to murmur in my ear, “And do you know how fucking sexy you look when you’re being all strong and confident?”

As the door opens, the heat burning my cheeks has nothing to do with the body heat coming from inside the bar. Nope, that’s all Ben’s doing.

He guides me inside, and though there’s no record scratch and no simultaneous whoosh of every head in the place whipping our direction, it definitely gets quieter as eyes all over the room find us. They track us as we walk toward an empty booth, stalk us as we sit down side by side, and monitor everything we’re doing.

For the record, we’re talking. That’s it, though I’m sure the Maple Creek newspaper will allude to something much more scandalous if they report my official reappearance after running away. Like, Gasp! The stranger had his arm thrown around Hope’s shoulders, and they were definitely canoodling . Again, for the record, Ben’s arm is on the back of the booth, and we’re sitting thigh to thigh. It’s not like I’m in his lap with my tongue down his throat, though that sounds like an intriguing idea. I would certainly enjoy it, and goodness knows, the always-gossipy Pamela Barnes would likely appreciate actually having something interesting to write about in her Maple Creek column instead of reporting on Mayor Haven’s appearance at another city hall meeting.

“You’re doing great,” Ben reassures me.

“So are you,” I tell him. He cuts his eyes toward me, taking a break from scanning the room. “There’s a lot of people here and a lot of eyes on us. I know how much you love that.”

He nods, agreeing with me. On the number of people or his dislike for them? I’m not sure. Probably both.

“Hello, Hope.” The waitress, a girl named Brooklin who was a couple of years ahead of me in school, sidles up to the table. Rather than her usual customer service voice, her greeting is laced with more venom than I expected. Guess I can put her in the Team Roy column. “What do you want?”

“Can we get two drafts? Whatever’s on special is fine,” I tell her, not giving any mind to her piss-poor attitude. Tonight’s about me and Ben having a good time, not what everyone else thinks I should or shouldn’t be doing.

Her smile is faker than spray cheese in a can, and when she turns to leave, it’s instantly replaced with a bitchy sneer that curls her glossy lip. She finishes the Mean Girl act with a flip of her dark curls and an eye roll she makes sure I see, as well as everyone else.

“Friend of yours, I take it?” Ben teases, running his nose along the shell of my ear. I can hear his evil smile in his voice. “Wanna give her something to really be upset about?”

I hum, thinking that actually might be a great idea. But we did just get here, so maybe we should hold off on the make-out sesh until I have at least one beer’s worth of plausible deniability in me. “We’ve never had issues before, but obviously not. Probably gonna be a lot of those discoveries tonight.”

“What’re we discovering? Our wild sides?” Joy echoes, sliding into the booth across from me and wiggling her fingers like she’s casting some magic spell.

I texted her and Shepherd as soon as I came up with this night-out plan, asking them to come. Joy because she’s my best friend, Shep because he and Ben already pregamed some chatter about teaming up against Roy, so if push comes to shove, I figured they’d have each other’s back. I’m venturing out, but that doesn’t mean I’m stupid. Roy’s got friends in this town, and Deputy West isn’t the only officer on Sheriff Laurier’s squad. Others might not be as gracious.

Shep winces as he firmly states, “My sisters do not have wild sides. They’re virginal angels with tendencies toward being Goody Two-shoes.”

Joy and I lock eyes. Three, two, one ... We burst out laughing. “Shepherd, if you believe that, I’ve got some oceanfront property to sell you—in the Sahara,” Joy offers. “I’ve got at least fifty shades of wild sides that you don’t know about.”

“Gahhh!” Shep replies in mental anguish, and even Ben laughs at my brother for that one.

“We might not be as bad as you, and I might not be as bad as Joy, but would a Goody Two-shoes run away from her wedding?” I add, laughing at his assumption. Admittedly, I’ve been as boring as toasted white bread for most of my life. But that’s changing. And even as bland as I’ve been, I’m not a virgin, nor an angel, especially given the thoughts I’ve been having lately about Ben.

Like him kissing me again. My lips, my neck, my breasts, my thighs, my clit. Oh God! Something tells me he would be great at kissing that particular sensitive spot. It’s something Roy never did. Even imagining it sends heat pooling low, and I clench my thighs, looking for some relief.

Whoo, they need to turn the air-conditioning on in here!

Shep shakes his head, sulking. “Fine, you don’t have to be that innocent, but I don’t want to hear about it. La-la-la ...” He puts his fingers in his ears and squinches his eyes closed like he’s five.

Joy snorts. “Glad to know we have your permission to whore it up, big brother. As if I needed it in the first place.”

My brother groans when she says whore as if it actually pains him, and I can’t help but laugh. It feels good to banter and chat like this, like my current situation isn’t a TV soap opera script.

Brooklin reappears with our two beers, and Joy orders two more. “Both of those for you?” she questions Joy, who says, “Yep” with a withering glare I wish I could copy. Maybe I’ll have her teach me. When Brooklin turns her attention to Shep, her whole demeanor changes like someone flipped a switch in her brain. Or more likely, her panties. “ Heyyy , Shepherd. Anything I can getcha?” I’m pretty sure she means is there anything she can do for him. Like maybe on her knees in the bathroom. Blech!

Shepherd’s a local celebrity since he plays hockey for our minor-league team, and as such, there are ice bunnies who throw themselves at him everywhere he goes. Whether he goes along with their pushy advances or not, I’ve never asked. I guess I prefer being in the dark about his sex life, too, though I’d never go so far as to assume he’s an innocent Goody Two-shoes.

I’m curious as a cat to see how he responds to the waitress. She’s gorgeous, even after hours of slinging beers and burgers, and certainly down to play tonsil hockey at a minimum, but she’s also being a pretty obvious bitch to Joy and me, and I don’t think that’ll help her fare well with our overprotective brother.

“No, I’ll steal one of Joy’s beers,” he tells Brooklin and then blatantly turns his attention back to us, effectively rejecting her without saying No way, never, ever, be gone, THOT . I kinda wish he’d said it aloud, though, bitchy as that might be. “Ben, who’s your hockey team?”

Ben looks Shepherd right in his eyes and proclaims with zero hesitation, “I know less than fuck all about it, so I don’t have one.”

Shiiit. Those are fighting words, as far as my brother’s concerned, so I snuggle up to Ben’s side to remind Shep not to kill him. I like Ben and don’t want his death to be over something stupid like hockey.

“What?” Shep laughs in disbelief. “Everyone’s got a team.”

Ben shrugs. “The Ice Sloths?”

Shep sputters but somehow doesn’t seem offended. “Is that an Ice Age joke? You really don’t have a team?”

Well, now I know what we’ll be talking about all night, because Shepherd will take it as his personal mission to indoctrinate Ben into the crazy obsession known as ice hockey. At least it’s a welcome distraction from the curious looks coming our way from all over the bar.

I try to ignore them, staying tucked into Ben’s side and sipping my beer, occasionally meeting Joy’s eyes and silently asking, What do you think? Her easy smile says she likes Ben, and the twin-lepathy between us reminds me that she thinks I should rebound good and hard and fast ... on Ben’s dick.

Believe me, girl. I want to, I telepath back.

“You’re telling me there are rules for the fights?” Ben asks an hour and two more rounds later. “I wouldn’t expect it to be outright street fighting, but that sounds weak.” He throws his voice to a higher octave and taunts, “Oh, hold on, let me take my gloves off, put my big-ass stick down, and make sure the referee is watching so I don’t get a time-out in the naughty spot for bad behavior.” In his regular voice, he concludes, “It might as well be a duel at dawn between gentlemen.”

Ben’s good-natured teasing is getting Shep riled up—but in a twisted, testosterone-fueled sort of way, it seems like a good thing? They’re definitely bonding, I’ll give them that. “Better than jumping some guy from behind because you’re too much of a pussy to face him. Or you and your buddies ganging up on him when he’s alone.”

“True,” Ben agrees. He tilts his head, thinking, and then adds, “Can’t say I’ve done that, though. Any fights I’ve gotten into have been because someone’s running their mouth, so they’ve all been face-to-face, and then face-to-concrete.” He lets his tongue loll out and his eyes flutter up, playing like he’s unconscious.

“Your face or his?” Shepherd questions, peering at Ben’s perfect, handsome, probably-never-been-smashed-to-the-ground face, like he’s covered in road rash scars.

“Both, depending on the guy and me that day.” They laugh together, somehow having become friends over brawling, both sanctioned and unsanctioned. Men are weird.

“Not sure what’s worse: concrete or ice. We’ll have to watch a game sometime to debate it,” Shep says, forgetting that Ben’s only in Maple Creek for a short while.

I kinda forgot that too.

I’ve had my hand on Ben’s thigh while the guys have been talking, but at the reminder of the time limit of his visit, I grip him tighter, like I can keep him here with me by physically restraining him. He responds instantly by rubbing my shoulder with his thumb and giving me his full attention. His dark eyes peer into my blue ones, which are suddenly stinging. “You okay?” he asks, his voice low.

I can’t explain my abrupt mood swing, so I force a nod. “Yeah, fine. Wanna beat me at darts?” I ask Ben, then explain to Joy and Shepherd, “He chose Maple Creek by throwing a dart at a map.”

“That doesn’t make me a good throw—but yeah, let’s do it.” He’s still watching me like he can sense that I’m hiding something, but he takes my hand and helps me out of the booth as my siblings make a beeline for the boards. Ben blocks me in, though, my knees backed up to the edge of the pleather seat and his hands on my hips. If the music weren’t vintage rock, we could be slow dancing with how close we are—toe to toe, thigh to thigh, and chest to chest.

“Hey ...,” he starts, and I lift my chin. He scours my face, his gaze going from my eyes to my mouth and back. “Anything you need, anything you want, say the word and I’ll make it happen, okay?”

My lips stretch into a soft smile because I believe him. And though that doesn’t change the limit on the time we have together, it does make me feel better.

“Thank you. I think Shep likes you, and he doesn’t like anyone. I know Joy likes you. She told me to bound-a-rebound-a on you.” I bounce up and down on my toes a few inches so he knows I’m talking about sex.

He laughs, but it fades into a real smile. He seems surprised. “Yeah? Your brother kinda reminds me of Sean. I’d pay good money to see the two of them go at it, rules or no rules.” He plants a quick peck to my lips, like we’ve done it dozens of times before and it’s a completely natural thing to do, and then he moves to my ear. His breath is hot and his voice goes rough as he groans, “And I’d love to fuck you, Hope. Anytime you want to.” He pulls back, scanning my face for a reaction, and there’s a real possibility I’m drooling, because he pushes my mouth closed for me with a cocky smirk. “Come on, they’re waiting on us.”

Us. I like that.

Ben doesn’t let go of my hand as we make our way over to the dartboard, effortlessly guiding me through the crowd as people move out of his way to give him space but then gawk at me trailing behind him. The grapevine’s firing up all around us, but I’m feeling too good from that kiss—and probably the beers—to care. In fact, I think I’ll have another. Beer, not kiss, although I’d happily take another of those too.

“Brooklin, another round, please,” I shout, waving a finger in the air to indicate the four of us.

She rolls her eyes, but she’ll bring them because she wants her tip. I’ve certainly got a tip for her: don’t be such a bitch. I think I’ll tell her that when she brings our drinks.

I stumble over my feet a bit as Ben stops moving. Oh, we’re here. Wow, that was fast, or else that beer—or maybe my hormones—is hitting harder than I expected.

“Yeah! Darts!” I exclaim as if the successful trek across Chuck’s was a hard-fought mile, not an easy fifty feet.

“Not sure giving her sharp objects is such a good idea,” Joy murmurs to Ben loud enough for me to hear. Actually, I think the guys at the next board give me a wary glance, too, like they’re worried I’m gonna throw my dart at them. Which I definitely—probably—won’t do because I’m a great dart player. I think. Though I haven’t really played much, but how hard can it be? The pointy end goes that way. See? Easy peasy, lemon breezy. “How many beers did she have before we got here?”

Ben’s supporting me with an arm around my waist, and when he looks at me, he grins like Joy said something funny. But she’s not funny. I am. Okay, I’m not exactly a rip-roaring riot, either, but I don’t want Ben thinking my sister’s the funny one. She can back off. He’s mine! To make sure she knows that, I growl at her, and she blinks, completely unbothered by the threat, which might have something to do with my growl sounding more cute puppy than the rottweiler I’d intended.

“None before that. She’s only had three,” he tells Joy. I think I hear her call me a lightweight , but I’m not 100 percent sure on that because Ben steps in front of me, placing his hands on my shoulders as he peers deep into my eyes. I think he might be about to give me another kiss, so I lick my lips to get ready and then pucker up. He chuckles low. “How many dartboards do you see?”

Disappointed that he’s not making out with me right now, I follow his finger with a squinted eye. “One board. Lots of black and red triangles. One teeny-tiny circle that I’m gonna hit. Bull’s-eye!” I hold my arms up like I made a touchdown. “Wait, that’s football.” Then I throw an arm out to my side. “Nope, hockey goal. Um, what do you do for darts?” I wonder in bewilderment.

“Yep, this’ll be fun,” Ben declares, and I agree, bobbing my head up and down. Except I stop that pretty quickly because it makes the bull’s-eye blurry.

We team up, me and Ben versus Joy and Shepherd, and get down to throwing semi-sharp objects at a spot roughly eight feet away. Ben’s pretty good, and I’m not too bad myself, though that’s probably because every time I’m up, Ben stands behind me and helps me aim.

Brooklin brings our next round, setting the glasses on a table beside us. “Do you have fried pickles?” Ben inquires, pushing his beer away.

“Ohmagawd, yes they do!” I answer before Brooklin can say a word. And then I gush, “I love pickles. And frying them makes them even better. Everything’s better fried. Chef’s kiss!” I kiss my fingertips and flick them in the air.

Ben orders two baskets of them, plus some gravy fries and a Coke while I take a drink of my beer, then burp aloud. “Oops, excuse me,” I mumble, but I can’t fight off the grin because one thing brothers teach you is that burps are funny. “Why the fries?”

“Nothing soaks up beer like fried potatoes,” Ben says sagely. “Especially with gravy.”

Everything’s funny, especially the way Joy rolls her eyes. “Did you know, that when you do that”—I roll my eyes the way she did—“your right eye doesn’t open as much as your left. It makes you look drunk.” A thought pops into my brain. “Wait! Do my eyes do that too?” I roll my eyes for her to check.

Instead of answering me, I hear her tell Ben, “You’re holding her hair tonight.”

“I’ve got her.”

And the way he looks at me, I swear it makes my whole body sizzle like fajitas on a hot skillet. “You’re really hot, you know that?” I whisper as he helps me aim my next dart. Given that Joy and Shep laugh, I guess I didn’t whisper quietly enough. “You’ve got this whole tatted-sexy-bad-boy-outside, sweet-caring-inside thing going on that I really like. I like your kisses too.”

“Thanks,” Ben murmurs directly into my ear. His breath is warm, but it sends a shiver down my spine like I’m freezing cold. “Beautiful broken girl, mending yourself with gold, becoming more exquisite in the process. It’s sexy as fuck, Hope.”

“Wow,” I breathe. “You really think I’m sexy?”

He places the faintest, softest kiss to my cheek. “Do you have any idea what you do to me?” He pulls me back and I lean into him, then realize that I do feel it ... He’s hard behind me, his dick pressed to my butt.

“Oh!” I shift my hips a bit, rubbing back and forth across the ridge in his jeans.

“We’re right here, you know? Your brother and sister, who can see everything you’re doing,” Shep says, interrupting my moment with Ben with a most unwelcome reminder.

Ben chuckles quietly and then tells me, “Look where you want the dart to go, pull back, release, and follow through.”

I have no idea what he’s talking about. All the blood in my body has rushed south, and my vajayjay is singing a song because Ben thinks I’m sexy.

Hee-hee, vajayjay ... that’s a silly word. It’s better than vulva , though. Vullll-va. Vagin-ina. Varginia. Vagina . Hee-hee, they all sound funny! I wonder what Ben calls it. Probably pussy or cunt . I don’t think Roy ever called it anything.

I don’t remember throwing it, but the dart flies through the air toward the board, prompting me to momentarily focus on the game. Joy and Shepherd are winning by twenty-three points, but we’re gonna beat them. I’m already internally celebrating the bull’s-eye I’m sure I’m going to make when the dart bounces off the board and tumbles to the floor. “Damn it!” I shout.

“I don’t know what Roy sees in you,” Brooklin scoffs as she drops off our fried pickles and fries. “He could do so much better.”

“You want him?” I question harshly, my good mood soured by her attitude and the not-bull’s-eye. “You can have him. I don’t want him or his crappy vows. ‘ Obey’? ” I shake my head, but decide words are better than a movement that sends me off-balance. “Hell no. The only person I’m obeying is me, myself, and I.” I point at my chest so we’re both clear on who I’m talking about. “I don’t want to be a lonely lamp. I’m not a lamp! I’m Hope Mercy Barlowe, and I’m not living another day of my life for Roy Laurier.”

“A lamp? How drunk are you?” she asks in confusion. “You’re cut off.”

“I might be drunk, but at least I’m happy!” I bellow. “Unlike some people!”

I already had everyone’s attention, but that gets a response. “Oooh! Catfight!” someone calls out.

“Yeah, you seem like it,” she snaps sardonically, one brow arched as she looks me up and down.

She doesn’t get it, but I do. The truth is, I am happy. Happier and more alive than I’ve been in ... is it dramatic to say than I’ve ever been? Maybe, but it’s the way I feel.

Some of it is me. I’m fixing myself, thinking through the past and seeing it in a new light, and listening to my heart about what I want in the future.

Some of it is Ben. He looks at me with awe in his eyes. Even when I’m sloppy drunk or a crying mess that wants to hide, he sees beauty—not on the surface, but inside me.

And yeah, some of this happy is probably the beer, I admit as I burp again and then giggle. “Burps are funny,” I slur. “Issa funny word too. Burrrrrrrrrrrp. Like it sounds like what it is, ya know?”

“Onomatopoeia,” Joy says straight-faced, which also makes me laugh because I think she’s making up funny words. She must be suuuper drunk—unlike me, who’s just a wee bit tipsy.

“Tip me over and pour me out,” I sing, doing the teapot dance, which earns me several strange looks.

“You ready to go home?” Ben asks me, his arm wrapped around my waist again to prop me up. The adrenaline dump of telling Brooklin off has made me reach my limit and then speed on past it. Exhaustion hits hard, and my muscles feel like goo.

Put a fork in me, I’m done.

Ben must anticipate my answer, because he offers our untouched food to the people sitting closest to us and throws a fifty-dollar bill on the table, which reminds me ...

“Yeah, but I’ve got a tip for you, Brooklin.” I hold a finger up, making sure I enunciate. “You’re a bitch,” I say, clear as a bell and loud enough for everyone to hear.

“Boom, mic drop!” Joy adds helpfully, and the whole place erupts in laughter. “That’s my sister,” she proudly tells each person we pass as Ben and Shep herd the two of us through the laughing crowd and out of the bar, into the chill of the summer night.

“You got that one and I’ll get this one?” Shep asks Ben, who nods. The two men shake hands, sealing a bond formed over beers, darts, and maybe even a little hockey.