Rough Love (Tannen Boys 1)

She bites her lip, looking down and fidgeting with the edge of the paper placemat that proclaims Hank’s as The Best Honkytonk In Town. Nobody is willing to remind Hank that he’s the only honkytonk in town.

She doesn’t respond to my teasing and I think maybe I overstepped, but I’m not sure how to handle this clusterfuck.

The waitress stops by, and we order two beers and two specials. When she leaves with a promise of being ‘back in a jiffy with the beers’, silence descends.

It was always easy with Allyson. Words flowed and even quiet times were comfortable. I remember spending hours in the bed of my truck, staring at the stars in relaxed silence, and listening to her talk non-stop about anything and everything. Her after-school chatter session was the favorite part of my day.

“Oh, my God, Mrs. Finley is such a bitch! She knows it’s championship weekend, but she still gave us a huge project that’s due on Monday! Monday! Like we’re going to have any time this weekend at all. She’s basically anti-school spirit.”

I watch her mouth, mesmerized by the way her lips form the sounds that are washing over me. This girl could read the damn phonebook and I’d happily listen.

“Bruce! Are you even listening to me?” Fire fills her eyes as she calls me out for what she thinks is my dismissal of her rant.

I run my thumb across her cheekbone and she melts into my hand. “Yeah, Al. I’m listening. Finley’s a bitch . . . blah, blah, blah. Honestly, though, I got a little lost thinking about kissing those sexy lips.”

I did hear every word, but kissing her so she forgets what’s bothering her is what she really wants right now. It’s what I want too.

This weekend is a big deal for both of us. Al is a varsity cheerleader and this is her last championship game to cheer at. I’m the rock of the defense, the leader of the team even though I’m a junior. I need to prove myself. She wants to go out on top.

She licks her lips in preparation, and I lean in, covering her mouth with mine. She tastes like cherries, a new ChapStick she started wearing a while back. We lose ourselves in each other, forgetting about the pressures of our teenage life, letting go of the expectations and responsibilities that rest on us, not worrying about the future as we meld together. I wish there were time for more, but reality sets in.

“Come on, let’s go start on your project now because after the game, you’re mine.” I take her hand, pulling her toward the library.

“I’m always yours.” The promise is quiet, under her breath almost, but I hear it. I feel it.

Now at Hank’s, it’s not the comfortable connection we used to have. No, that’s nothing like right now.

Allyson looks over at the pool tables as a cheer breaks out. “Looks like they’ve got a winner,” she says uselessly, just filling the silence.

I revert back to the Neanderthal ways that have served me so well over the years and grunt. I guess she’s not the only one running hot and cold.

Allyson rolls her eyes, huffing just a little. “What was that? Is that what passes as conversation these days?”

I raise a brow, challenging her little bark of displeasure with my continued silence.

She pulls her napkin from her lap, throwing it on the placemat. “This was a mistake. If you didn’t want to go to dinner with me, you should’ve just said so.”

As she stands, I put a firm hand on her arm, holding her back. “I just . . . I don’t know what to say.”

That takes the wind out of her sails, and she collapses back to her seat as she confesses, “I don’t know what to say to you either.”

It’s quiet again, but thankfully, the waitress saves us by dropping the beers off. I watch Allyson’s lips pucker around the bottle, zero in on her tongue licking the liquid residue off her bottom lip. I force myself to take a sip myself in an attempt to wash that image away.

“I remember the first beer you ever drank. Made a face like it was watered-down piss,” I say, my lips quirking at the memory.

She does make a face at that. “Johnny Jackson’s back field party, right?”

I hold up my bottle in celebration, impressed that she remembers, and we clink. “I’m guessing you’ve had a few more since then. Fuck knows, I have.”

Even I can hear the bitterness.

Her nose crinkles cutely, but she seems sad as she asks the million-dollar question. “What happened to us?”

I damn near choke on the celebratory drink I took, sputtering roughly. “So much.”

It’s harsh, and I know I’m being an asshole, but I can’t stop it. I’m so angry at her still, and I’m angry at myself for still being attracted to her. Because I am.