Page 16 of Twisted

She blinked a few times, his sexiness making it hard to breathe, to think, and it then registered that his voice was yankee. A sort of calm enveloped her; this man was inherterritory, and she knew just how she could help him. With a practiced, sultry smile, she batted her eyes and leaned onto her forearms, pressing her breasts closer together and raising her little ass in the air.

“Well sir, not to ruin your choices, but my mama makes sweet tea better ‘an anyone ‘round here,” she purred. He let out a little snort, dropping his gaze and shaking his head before he returned his eyes to hers.

“Does your mama bottle it for convenience’s sake?”

Maisie’s smile grew as she shook her head, her long, curled locks swishing across her bare shoulders.

“No, sir. Best bet is Milo’s or Sweet Leaf,” she answered, ensuring to bat her eyes again just for added effect. He gave a gentle nod, prying open the door, the cool air felt all the way across the dim space. It barely made a difference, shutting the lights off during the day to keep the heat to at least livable.

Watching as he selected a protein bar, her giddiness mounted the closer he came. When he tossed the bar and set the tea down on her counter, she could smell his rich aftershave—spicy in that manly way that meant he was too mature to keep wearing Axe. Wearing a coy smile, she rang him up, rolling the peach candy over her tongue, the tangy and sweet mixing in a glorious symphony in her mouth.

“Not from ‘round here,” she commented, glancing up at him. God, he was chiseled as if from stone, and the wrinkles around his eyes and across her forehead gave her a little insight into his true age, though he seemed to cover it well with good genes. What that didn’t cover, she could see that money did.

“No, miss. California, but I’ve had business in Florida for a while.”

His items abandoned, she clasped her hands and leaned across the counter again, eating up his every word. He rested the pad of his palm against the edge of the counter, leaning his full weight on it, casual in a way that was smooth as silk, in a way that made her innocent, teenage heart thrum like guitar strings in her chest.

“California,” she mused, dropping her cheek into her palm as she ogled up at him. “Sunshine and beaches and fancy clothes, huh?”

Her daydreaming aloud was rewarded with a snort and a shake of his head, his smile stretching wider. Her heart thumped all the harder. She just had to give him her number before he escaped and her chance at the life she’d always wanted vanished from view.

“More like buildings and smog and constant noise. I prefer it out here. It’s quiet. I could see myself settling in the south.”

This perked Maisie right up.

“Well, I’ve lived here my whole life, sir. I could show you the nicest parts of town,” she said, straightening up and batting her lashes, praying she didn’t seem too desperate. He nodded, lips pursed in thought as his eyes slowly grazed her body. She shivered under his appraisal, wondering if she measured up to his apparent scrutiny. But another part of her, the part her mother always called her ‘gut instinct,’ coiled up like a snake, preparing to protect itself. There was something hungry in those eyes, something predatory, but Maisie was too young, too naive to see it. She brushed it aside, seeing instead what she wanted to see.

And what she wanted to see was the knight in shining armor she’d always dreamed would whisk her away from the dreary life she’d lived.

“I may have to take you up on that, miss…?”

“Maisie Jane Walkup, sir, and you?” she said, sticking out her hand and jutting out her hip, a habit she didn’t realize she had. She was sassy, vibrant, stubborn—all things a girl blossoming into womanhood should be. The man clasped her hand with a softening smile, his eyes crinkling around the edges in such a handsome way. His hand was smooth, warm—not rough like the men around town from all the physical labor.

“Carter Robert Hale,” his smooth voice answered. She dropped his hand, unable to contain her girlish giggles or blush. He drummed his fingers once on the countertop, jerking his head to his awaiting car just beyond those panes of convenience store glass.

“I can wait, if you’re free soon.”

She nodded, exuberant, beaming.

“Shift ends in thirty minutes, Mr. Hale.”

“Please,” he drawled, grabbing his tea and protein bar. “Call me Carter.”

They spent the afternoon driving in his rental car—a black Mercedes Benz with leather seats and AC so cold she was shivering. Maisie had never been inside such a fancy car before, had never laughed so hard or enjoyed the company of a man this way ever. She showed him Iller Trail Academy, directed him downtown, then out into the countryside to her favorite spot in the entire world—Old Dam Valve.

“Swear to God, Maisie, I almost got expelled for that stunt,” Carter said, wiping at his eyes as she laughed at the memory he relayed.

“So, streakin’ at the championship football game. Can’t say I’ve ever been that adventurous,” she said, both of them calming as the sun began to set over the small lake before them. It was hushed, peaceful, crickets buzzing, fish jumping, a cool breeze rustling the branches of nearby trees. Carter chuckled, rubbing at his chin with one hand while his free arm stretched behind Maisie’s seat. She blushed, snuggling down into the plush leather, feeling like a princess in her chariot. They’d parked, rolled down the windows, and had been talking for hours now.

She wasn’t sure, never having dated much before, how to interpret his movements, his flirtations. She felt she couldn’t; she was used to teenage boys with body odor and braces, not a refined businessman. All the same, her whole body thrummed with excitement. Would he ask her on a date? Ask to meet her momma and daddy? It was only proper, right; it was how she’d been raised. Be chaste, a good girl, and the right man will come along and you’ll justknow. Maisie, though, was headstrong, and when she wanted something, shewantedit, damn the consequences.

“I think I should hire you to be my tour guide more often. Ever been to Paris?”

“Paris?” Maisie breathed, eyes finding his. He chuckled, nodding. She fiddled with her hands, suddenly feeling inferior, feeling hatred toward her parents for never taking her and Marie on vacations or investing more into worldly opportunities. All the money they made went toward the Academy, and Maisie had barely survived that hellhole.

“No…I’ve…uhh…never left Hope Mills…”

He didn’t answer right away. Reaching for the door out of a sheer wounded ego, Maisie tried her hardest to run from her inferiority right then and there. But his hand stopped hers over the handle, and she turned to face him, confused.

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