Page 4 of Overdue

But, I can’t seem to stop slipping into the role of insulting asshole. Which leaves her the part of incensed vixen. The only difference now is she was dressed like a wet dream. Leaving me with raging blue balls. Ugh, why does she get to me like this?

Just when I’m starting to get my stupid feet back on the ground in this town. The last thing I need is Austen Caraway messing with my chi. Or is it chai? One is tea and the other is that self-centering mumbo jumbo. Either way, she is going to fuck it up.

Then again, I did catch a slight gasp when I admitted to staring at her ass? The way her face turned red is new too. I wonder if her ass turns that same color when it’s spanked? Damn it, that’s not helping the chub I have going.

Deep breath, Reed. Now start the engine on your truck. I’m not stupid, it’s just hard to think with all the blood centered between my legs. Calmly pull out of the parking lot. Don’t spin gravel as much as you want to. There are kids around. You need to make it home to start dinner without running over anyone.

Gran lives in an old two-story home at the other end of the block from the Caraways. If I walk to the end of the driveway, I can see the window of Austen’s bedroom. If I walk a couple of houses down, I can see inside Austen’s window.

The curtains are always closed tight to make sure no one can see in. I know, I checked on several occasions at night all through high school just to make sure. Wouldn’t want any pervs getting a look at Austen changing. Present perv excluded, of course.

“Gran, I’m home.” She’s sitting in the front room, reading a book. By the look of the front cover, I’d guess it’s a bodice ripper. What were those things? Corsets? Mmmm, I wonder if Austen has a corset. Jesus! Focus on something else. I can tell my brain that, but I’m not sure my body will comply.

“How do baked herb-rubbed chicken and steamed vegetables sound?” I had to completely relearn how to cook when I moved back. The doctor stuck Gran on a strict low-fat, salt-free diet with plenty of fresh vegetables. No more chicken fried steak for this house. It’s fine, though. I’ve slowly gotten better at hunting down recipes with some flavor. The first couple of tries had been pretty tasteless.

“Sounds perfect, sweetie.”

I leave my work boots by the front door and push Gran’s chair to the kitchen. She likes to help me cook. I don’t let her get around anything hot, but she’s turned into a whiz chopping the vegetables.

She’s doing so much better since being released from the hospital. She goes to physical therapy three mornings a week. I hired someone to help during the day while I’m at work.

“What mischief did you get into today?” I ask. Gran might be in a wheelchair, but that doesn’t mean she isn’t still a spitfire of a woman. “Learn any good gossip from Mel?”

Melanie Harbour graduated in the same class Dad did before becoming a nurse. Now she’s retired and only takes on the occasional patient. Fortunately, she adores Gran.

“The only gossip I heard was that you made an appearance at the library this evening,” She’s smirking at me.

“How? I just left there.” The rumor mill in this town has always worked faster than the speed of sound. “I behaved.” I did. Mostly.

“I doubt that.”

“She started it.”

Gran laughs. It’s a sound I never get tired of hearing. There were a few tense weeks I didn’t know if I would again. She hands me the prepared chicken in the container.

“It’s true. She was the one wearing the tight skirt, not me.” A man’s got to defend his honor. Gran takes a swipe at my arm. I guess she’s not buying it. Fine, it’s not much of an argument.

“Do you know why she moved back?” I ask. I always thought she was off to conquer the world. She told me once that someday her name would be splashed across every bookstore in the world. I would be just fodder for her memoirs. That had been after a particularly mean insult I made about her demeanor. Still, who uses the word fodder?

“Elise told me she was looking forward to taking a break from writing for a little while. Between you and me, I think she ran out of money trying to get something published. How did she seem?”

“You know Austen, as feisty as ever. Come on, we should just have time to catch the start of Wheel of Fortune before supper’s ready.” Don’t judge, I love yelling guesses at those puzzles. It’s even better when I can fill in something X-rated. We settle in while the chicken is cooking, but my mind quickly shifts back to Austen.

How could it be possible that she hadn’t been met with open arms by the publishing companies? I read all her stories in the school paper. Even the ones accepted in the town paper. She had as much talent as anyone, maybe more. What could have happened to Austen to make her give up on her dreams?

I’m debating gnawing on the arm of the couch when the timer goes off. We have a dining room, but it always seems so formal for just the two of us. We always eat at the small table in the kitchen. I can’t count the number of meals I’ve eaten at this table over the years while being glared at by the brown-eyed beauty down the street.

“You know, the last time I watched you push your food around on your plate that much was when the Caraway girl turned you down for prom.” What? I wasn’t paying attention. Oh, prom.

“I never asked Eliot to prom.”

“I wasn’t talking about that Caraway girl.”

“I didn’t want to ask Austen, either. I just didn’t want that asshole, Chad Weston, to take her. The guy had a nasty habit of sleeping with underclassmen and then talking about it the next day.” I rearrange my carrots and broccoli again into a forest. “Doesn’t matter. That was years ago.”

I never liked the thought of Austen being with anyone else. Not that I expected her to turn into a nun after I left. There had to have been boyfriends over the last handful of years. I just don’t want to face that reality.

Gran is staring at me like I’m missing something. I’m sure I am. I stab a piece of chicken and pop it into my mouth. Maybe if I talk with my mouth full, she’ll send me to my room.

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