Dirty South (A Blue Collar Bad Boy Romance) Page 5

  I cover my face. "I don't know. Amazing. Awful. I'm afraid I led him on, but I also don't know if he was just feeding me the same lines he feeds to the rest of the women he dates."

  "Well, what does that mean? You going out with him again?"

  "No! Definitely not. I should never have gone out with him once. I must have a self-destructive instinct."

  "Vernon is wearing his favorite shirt, just so you know."

  "I cannot believe our parents!"

  "It's all my mom, trust me. My dad just goes where she tells him and gives his stump speech."

  I sigh. "Well, I hope you remember the drink orders, because my head was too busy exploding to listen." Lynn laughs and we head back into the hallway. My dad is walking down the stairs, and I glare at him. "Our surprise guests are in the parlor. I'm getting drinks."

  "Lovely," he replies with a grin. "I'll have a whiskey."

  "We'll see," I respond, and head back to the kitchen.

  By the time we sit down for dinner, I have to admit that I'm not having a terrible time. The Dunleafs are friendly and talkative, with charming anecdotes to spare. Vernon is more interesting than I gave him credit for, even if his mother can't stop bragging about his MBA from Vanderbilt. I smile as he makes eye contact with me as she does so, and subtly rolls his eyes.

  I missed this aspect of Savannah. The feeling of an old town where everyone knew each other. When I was young that feeling drove me crazy, but now there's something comforting about it.

  After dessert, we move back into the parlor. Lynn, Vernon, and I end up on one side, with the older adults on the other. Lynn and Vernon have a sweet, teasing relationship with each other, even if they are very different. Vernon is much more formal and polite, without Lynn's rebellious streak. When the doorbell rings, I look toward my father.

  "Are you expecting someone else?" I ask with raised eyebrows, wondering what more he could have in store.

  "No, actually," he replies, looking genuinely surprised. "I think Mrs. Hunt might have left already." I stand, but he glances between Vernon and me and gestures me down. "I'll get it," he assures me. I watch him until he disappears behind the wall into the foyer, then turn back to Vernon.

  "Did you always plan to move home after college?" I ask.

  "Yes," he responds immediately. "This is where I want to raise my family."

  My ears prick up as I hear my father answers the door. "Boone!" he exclaims.

  I freeze.

  Chapter Nine

  "Sorry to bother you after hours, Mason," comes Boone's deep-voiced reply. "Just got these contracts for River Street that need your signature." I make eye contact with Lynn, who looks somewhere between alarmed and amused. "I was in the area, and figured I'd drop them by myself." I hold my breath, one ear toward the door, as Vernon continues talking at me.

  "What about you? Planning to stick around?" he asks.

  "Want to come in for a drink?" my father asks Boone. Please no, please no.

  "That's all right, I can see you've got company. I do want to meet Grace at some point, though," Boone replies.

  My face flushes. "Yes, for now, at least. I love Savannah...the trees..." I say to Vernon absentmindedly.

  "The trees?" Lynn echoes, her mouth twitching with the effort to hold back her smile.

  "Maybe she can come to the office sometime," my dad offers.

  "Um, yes, the live oaks, the history," I say to Vernon, struggling to remain in the conversation.

  "Alright then, see you Monday," Boone says to my dad, and I hear the front door close. My dad reenters smiling.

  "Business never stops!" he says apologetically.

  "Was that Boone Tillman? I warned Lynn to stay away from him!" James says with a fake laugh. Lynn rolls her eyes.

  "Hey, as long as he keeps my profits soaring like he has, I don't care what he does in his off-time!" my dad laughs.

  "Oh, really, Mason," Harper says with a smile. "So you'd be alright with Boone Tillman taking his off-time to spend time with your only daughter?"

  My dad waves her away. "What, Boone and Grace? She's a little young, don't you think?"

  "What's the age difference, seven, eight years?" Lynn pipes up innocently, and I shoot her a glare.

  "No, more than that," my dad says, frowning at this new idea.

  "To be fair, Dad, Mom is twelve years younger than you," I point out. I would never push his buttons like this in private, but I know he won't lose his temper at me with people around.

  "That's different!" he protests.

  Harper laughs. "It's always different when it's your daughter, Mason!"

  "Vernon, how old are you?" my dad asks him.

  "Twenty-six, sir," he replies.

  "Now that's more reasonable. Grace is twenty-two, so that's only four years!" my dad exclaims.

  "Dad!" I protest, turning tomato red.

  "Oh, Mason! You really are terrible! It's one thing to ask a man's age, but another thing to reveal a lady's!" Harper says, struggling to keep her laughter under control.

  "Well, it's... you know..." my dad says, blustering.

  "I'm going to go get some water," I proclaim, standing up and heading toward the kitchen.

  "See, now you've scared her off!" Harper says as I retreat.

  In the kitchen, I gulp down a glass, and press the back of my hand to my cheeks. My father really is incorrigible. He sees me as a little girl in one moment, then can't wait to marry me off in the next. I hear a creak in the floorboards, and turn around, expecting to see Lynn. I smile awkwardly when I see that it's Vernon.

  "Sorry about all that," he says. "My mom can be quite determined once she's got an idea in her head."

  "It's not your fault," I reply. He runs a hand through his slightly reddish hair and takes a deep breath.

  "At the risk of seeming desperate, would you like to go to dinner with me next Saturday? There's a restaurant right by the river that has jazz on the weekends, I don't know if you've been since you've been back in town..."

  I look at his kind, hopeful eyes, and melt a little. "Yes, I'd love to. Do you think our parents are going to try to tag along?"

  "Oh, definitely," he says, his face breaking into a wide grin.

  "You know they're in there right now, talking about us, right? They probably started whispering the second you followed me in here."

  "I had to risk it," he replies. "I can't let you slip through my fingers again."

  I blush, and tuck my hair behind my ear. "So, do you plan to follow your father into politics?" I ask.

  "Not if I can help it," he replies. "I'm not as good at working a room as he is, and I do really enjoy business. I'm working for this start-up right now, but I'm not sure if it's got legs, to be honest with you. Where are you working?"

  "This place called Upland Designs. But keep it to yourself, OK? I used my mother's maiden name to get the job, and I'm still going by it. My father's name casts a long shadow around here."

  "Mine, too," he says with a smile. "But who are we to complain, right? I mean, look at all this," he says, gesturing around to the perfectly decorated kitchen.

  "You're right," I concede. "I just want to make my own reputation, that's all. What's your mother's maiden name?"

  "Varney," he replies.

  "Vernon Varney? Hm, I think you'll have to stick with your own last name," I say with a smile. "Shall we?"

  He holds the door open for me and we head back into the parlor. The room gets quiet as soon as we enter, and I watch Harper attempt to nonchalantly play with a button on her cardigan.

  "Y'all look so innocent in here," I remark, sitting on the sofa. "What were you talking about? The weather?"

  Chapter Ten

  I begrudgingly told my father about my date with Vernon, and now he's standing in my doorway, sipping a whiskey and watching me put on earrings.

  "I always pictured you with a nice boy like Vernon," he muses. "And an MBA to boot!"

  "What about you?"

  "What about me
?"

  "Were you a 'nice boy' when you were his age?" I tease him.

  "Of course I was!" he replies indignantly.

  "Not according to Mom, you weren't," I reply with a smile.

  "Tara doesn't have a leg to stand on!" he snaps. I look at him for a moment. His cheeks are red like they sometimes get when he's had too much to drink. In moments like this, I know he's in danger of losing his temper.

  "Alright, Daddy," I reply simply.

  "It's different, you know, for women," he grumbles to himself. I feel a flash of annoyance, but I don't reply. There's no sense in arguing with him. The doorbell rings and I grab my clutch.

  "You want to see Vernon before we leave?" I ask.

  "No, no, that's alright," he replies, and I wonder if he realizes he's a bit unsteady on his feet.

  "I'll see you later then." I almost tell him not to wait up, but I think he'd explode. Mrs. Hunt has already opened the door when I walk down the stairs, and she and Vernon are standing in the hallway.

  "Here she is, then," Mrs. Hunt says as she heads off down the hallway after giving me a little smile.

  "You look beautiful, Callie," he says almost shyly.

  "Thank you," I reply. I feel it, too. I'm wearing my favorite deep navy wrap dress, with a neckline that dips a bit too low to make it appropriate for day time. With my patent leather heels and diamond drop earrings, I feel perfectly ready for a night of jazz in a dark club.

  Vernon escorts me down to his car and opens the door for me, and we head over to the restaurant. I smile as we chat about our similar upbringings, and I wonder if Vernon and his friends, from one of the all-male high schools, dated the popular girls from my school. It's only a short drive over to the waterfront, and a valet takes his keys as we arrive.

  We follow the hostess down to the cellar floor, where wine racks against the walls and the low lighting gives the place the feel of an old speakeasy. The music hasn't started yet, giving us time to order. I glance over my menu at Vernon. He is certainly handsome, with a straight nose and a cleft chin. He and Lynn have the same eyes, though hers have a much more mischievous glint to them.

  When the food arrives, it's heavenly, a mix of upscale and classic down-home Southern cooking. I take a bite of crawfish etouffee as the lights dim, and a pianist and singer take the small stage. She's dressed in a long, silver dress that looks like liquid in the spotlight.

  "Good evening, folks," she says in a low, earthy voice. "I hope you don't mind if I try out something new tonight. I've been thinking a lot about love, in all its different forms." A couple slinks through the crowd toward the stage, clearly here for the show, and not for dinner. "Sure, love can be romantic, but it can also be needy, hot, obsessive, and of course, gone in a flash. This first song is one of my favorites, made famous by the great Billy Holiday, though we're going to take it a little faster than she did. Here's 'Don't Stand a Ghost of a Chance," she finishes as the piano starts an up-tempo introduction.

  I glance around the room as she sings, my foot tapping, and my gaze falls on the table to the left of the stage where the latecomers sat. Oh great, I think as I recognize Virginia's haughty profile, upturned toward the stage. I hope I don't have to exchange pleasantries with her after the show. I've avoided her so far since I've been back in town, and I'm not eager to catch up. I smile, wondering if she even remembers me. I'm sure she figured much larger in my life than I figured in hers.

  The man sitting next to her reaches out and grasps her hand, intertwining his fingers through hers and resting them on the white linen tablecloth. I frown. Is it my imagination, or does that hand look familiar, somehow? I shake my head, and focus back on the singer. Her voice isn't classically beautiful, but it has a grit to it that makes you believe she's experienced everything she's singing about.

  As the piano strikes the song's last notes, she nods to her left. "I just have to take a minute to acknowledge someone special in the audience tonight. Most people don't know this, but there was a huge collection of original, handwritten scores that were sitting in a conductor's basement not too long ago, and no one had the time or resources to make copies. And this man stepped in, bought them all, and had digital copies made and put online, so that musicians around the world could enjoy them. Mr. Boone Tillman, everyone," she says, leading the audience in a round of applause as he nods modestly.

  I nearly spit out my vodka and pink lemonade. I knew there was something familiar about him.

  "This one's for you, Boone," she says, and launches into Cole Porter's 'He's a Right Guy'.

  "You alright?" Vernon asks, leaning over.

  "Fine. Just went down the wrong pipe," I reply weakly. He nods and sits back, while I begin to nervously tear my napkin to shreds under the table. I can't get caught here, now, on a date with Vernon and with Boone on a date with Virginia. But I also don't want to abandon Vernon so early on in our date, especially after neglecting to call him back last week. This is what I get for not being honest in the first place.

  As the show continues, I'm mercifully safe in the low lights and with Boone seated in front of me by the stage. Even if he did look back toward me, he'd only see darkness. But as the singer starts on a song about heartbreak, I know the show is almost over. I don't want to hurt Vernon's feelings, but I have to do what I have to do.

  "Vernon," I whisper, leaning over, "I'm so sorry, but I'm not feeling well all of a sudden. I just have a terrible headache."

  "I'll take you home," he immediately offers.

  "No, it's alright. I think I need some fresh air and it's such a short walk home. I'll call you tomorrow."

  "Alright, if you're sure," he says. I get up and squeeze his shoulder, then quietly as possible make my way toward the exit. I head upstairs and then pause as the singer introduces another song. My bladder is about to burst, and I should have time to duck in the bathroom before I head out.

  Of course he had to be here with Virginia, I think to myself. If I can ignore the jealousy that's bubbling up inside me, and the image of him taking her hand that's on constant replay in my mind, then maybe I can see tonight as a positive. Clearly Boone's moved on, or he was just feeding me another line in the first place.

  I wash my hands quickly, and then hurry out the door. I can still hear the music as I head out the front door of the restaurant with a smile to the hostess. I turn right on the sidewalk, intending to walk along the river until I need to turn toward home, when I see Boone standing about ten feet in front of me, talking on his cellphone.

  "You and I both know that this property's not going over one-fifty," he's saying. I quietly spin around, moving slowly the other direction down the sidewalk so that I don't catch his eye with any quick movements. "I'm going to have to call you back," I hear him say. I pick up my pace, getting out of the light cast by the restaurant's awning and crossing the street.

  Is that the sound of footsteps behind me? I'm about to turn around when I hear his low voice at my shoulder.

  "Not so fast," Boone growls.

  Chapter Eleven

  "Boone! Fancy meeting you here!" I say, feigning surprise.

  The moon glints off his eyes as he narrows them suspiciously. "Where are you coming from?"

  "I...um..."

  "Because I don't think a woman wears a dress like that unless she's on a date."

  "You were on a date, too," I counter.

  "So you were watching me."

  "You happened to be seated in front of me, that's all," I reply, taking a deep breath.

  "You with your boyfriend?" he asks, cocking his head slightly.

  "No," I reply with a frown. Why would he think that? "You with your girlfriend?"

  He laughs. "I don't think so."

  "Oh, really?"

  "Not that kind of guy. Thought you knew that."

  "I guess that I had gotten a different impression," I say, feeling slightly miffed.

  "Sorry, didn't mean to lead you on," he replies. "I guess I just can't help myself sometimes. Hope there are
no hard feelings."

  I swallow the little ball of pain that just rose in my throat. "Not at all. I left because I didn't want to lead you on, actually."

  "You don't need to worry about that," he says with a smile, a dimple appearing on his right cheek.

  "Is that so?" I ask, an image of me wrapped in his bedsheets springing into my mind unbidden.

  The light seems to flicker in his eyes. "I wish I'd known that's what was troubling you," he says, sliding an arm around my waist. "I'm all for something casual."

  My mind whirs. If he doesn't have any emotional investment, then maybe I'm off the hook for lying. My entire body throbs as he moves in closer, pressing himself against me. He's been my fantasy for years...can't I allow myself just one night?

  "Later tonight, then," I whisper, looking up at him.

  He nods. "Your place or mine?"

  "Yours." The word is barely out of my mouth before his lips are covering mine. I practically collapse into him, and quickly wrap my arms around his neck to keep myself upright. His hands grab my ass and I swear I almost tear my dress off and throw him down on the sidewalk to have my way with him. Somehow, my conscious mind interrupts to remind me that we're in public.

  "Send me your address when you're home. I'll meet you there," I say, pulling myself away from him. He nods, and I straighten my dress as I turn around and hurry away, feeling like my knees are about to give out.

  When I'm about a block away from the restaurant, I hear the crowd begin to emerge. The show must be over. I feel a pang of guilt over Vernon, but not so much for Virginia. I speed up a little, making my way quickly back home.

  I stop on the front porch with my hand on the knob. I don't want to go in and risk waking up my father, though there's also the possibility that he's waiting up for me. Either way, it's safer to stay outside. I take a seat on the porch swing and inhale deeply. Through the trees, I can just see the fountain in the middle of Forsyth Square glowing ghostly white in the moonlight. I wonder where Boone is right now, and if he's kissing Virginia goodnight.

  I know what I'm doing is impulsive, and probably immoral, but I've been a good girl almost all my life – can't I allow myself this one night? To actually have sex with Boone Tillman... my body shivers at the very thought. A horrible idea comes to my mind: what if it's not as good as in my fantasies? I've dreamed about it for so long that I must have built it up to impossible heights. Or what if it's me? What if he's disappointed by my body, or my... performance?